gιяαғғℓεs ~ кαωαιιαggяση

"What happened to your squad, anyways?"

He asks, feigning casual interest while being very intent on every word. Lotor gives him a half shrug, not even glancing up from the console, where he taps in commands with his clawed hands. Nice hands. Big hands that could tear him apart without a second thought. The idea of that probably shouldn't be so hot. But Lance pushes those musings to the side for the moment, opting to drape himself over the edge of the work desk to make himself as hard to ignore as possible. He was good at that.

     "I believe I mentioned it before," Lotor says curtly, "We parted ways."

     "You don't just 'part ways' with a team like that," he shot back, including air quotes for emphasis, "What really happened?"

Lotor does look up this time, with his face blank and eyes catching the reflections of the data displays. They're nice eyes. A little weird, maybe, with the yellow sclera and violet-blue iris slitted like a cat. His pupils were wider in the dim control room, distinctly a galra feature, but causing them to look a little closer to human. Altean? Same difference. Still pretty. Lotor pauses for half a second-- something he would missed months ago, but now Lance picks up on like a second language.

     "Why are you so interested?"

     "I dunno," it's not entirely untrue, it's a line of questioning fuelled more by curiosity than anything else, "It's just, I guess, you seemed pretty close."

Lance is assuming a bit, based on a handful of encounters they had before Lotor had literally flown in to their doorstep. But he liked to think he was pretty good at reading people when he put his mind to it. And there is a lot Lotor isn't telling them. He gets it on some levels. There's a ton Shiro doesn't talk about, and pointedly refuses to elaborate on, even if it kills Lance to know he's keeping things bottled up deep. There are petty fears that he would rather shove under the proverbial bed than let anyone else deal with. But he also can't help pressing, testing boundaries between them, because there's still so much about their new ally that he doesn't know.

     "The empire called for my death," Lotor begins calmly, "My generals were implicit in my perceived crimes. They did what they believed they had to if they wanted to survive."

     "What does that even mean--"

     "They intended to trade me for their lives and leniency."

The way he delivers the statement is even, but there's that edge of bitter cold to it that Lance would have heard even with cones over his ears. But it's the implications, everything he doesn't say, that has him speechless and reeling. The very concept is almost unfathomable, how could people turn on each other like that? Though the obvious answer is right there, because they're galra, and their world is a violent and cruel one where they're just as likely to stab someone in the back as they are to execute planetary takeovers. It's a twisted society that's been functioning for the better part of ten thousand years-- it's all many of their people have known. That still doesn't make it right.  

     "They did what?"

Lotor blinks at him, then gives him that look he uses often with Lance, one that speaks of someone who's being very patient with a child. He's lucky Lance is too focused on his own outrage at the moment to tell him to stop being so infuriating.

     "You see, when entering negotiations, it helps to have something to bargain with--"

     "Oh my god, I know that," Lance climbs over the console to invade Lotor's personal space, "It was a rhetorical question. Or I'm rhetorically pissed on your behalf."

     "I don't blame them for it--"

     "You should," He starts bitterly, "They were your friends. Friends don't sell each other out to galactic warlords. That's, like, super shitty."  

Lance is angry because he can suddenly see the path that's lead so many to pain and despair. No wonder the universe is such a hopeless place, if this is the currency of survival. There's no room left for softer things, compassion and comradery and tolerance. How can you do anything but survive? It tears at him, unsettles him on a deep level, rattles him in the way only things on a grand scale can. Instills that existential dread that only hits when Lance really thinks about how they're the only thing standing between the free peoples and the looming oppression of a dreaded empire.

Its not the first time he's come across someone who doesn't realize it can be any other way. He knows it won't be the last. It's equal parts disturbing and heartbreaking, and it doesn't help that he's become kinda attached to their local prince in exile. Sure, Lotor is a smug jerk on a good day-- but he's scary smart, one of the few people who can go toe-to-toe with Allura and not get his ass completely kicked, and even though he goes out of his way to try to convince them he's just a cold, calculating prince shunned from his homeland, he ends up doing nice things for all of them. (Maybe some are on accident, or a manipulative front like some of them seem to think, but that doesn't change the fact that Lotor remembers when Pidge is looking for a specific piece of tech and finds it at the swap market, or lets Lance tell him all about a distant blue planet he probably doesn't give a damn about. Those things still mean something.)

Lotor is quiet. His hands still above the console, as if waiting for something. For what, Lance couldn't tell, though the hesitation grew the doubt that maybe he had gone too far. Said too much too soon, maybe twisting a knife that hadn't been fully removed yet. It wouldn't have been the only time he's let his mouth get ahead of his common sense.

     "You certainly have peculiar notions on things like 'friends' and 'duty'," Lotor murmurs, "Though I'll refrain from mentioning the idealized reality you all seem to live in."

     "Except you just said it anyway!"

The prince flashes him a toothy grin. "Did I? Oh, my mistake."

The tension in the room eases, but doesn't dissipate completely. There are still a lot of things left unsaid, and Lance tries to decide when would be the best time to speak them into existence. He begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that maybe it's best to quit now, before he touches on a nerve too raw to be ignored or lost in idle banter. Yet, he also can't leave it lie-- that's just not in his nature.

     "It doesn't have to be that way," he starts softly, pointedly looking at the floor, "I know that's how it's always been but that doesn't mean it has to stay that way."

Shaking up the status quo is what they do on Team Voltron. Hopefully, it's for the better, though he personally thinks things can't get much worse. And even if it's only a little, bit by bit, maybe they can make a difference. They have to make a difference. And maybe Lance's pet project can be Lotor-- if he can show him, of all people, that there's a different, better way of doing things, then they might just have a chance with the rest of the empire. If he can only help one person, then this whole crazy space adventure would have been worth it.

Lotor catches his gaze when he finally lifts his head. It's intense in a way he can't place, murky but also piercing. He's got a lot of different emotions doing laps around his chest and he can't chase any one of them down to put a name to them.

     "It's going to take a lot more than pretty words and ideas to win this war," Lotor says at length, "But, I suppose, they can't hurt."

Lance grins. "We gotta use every assets we got, right?"

They don't trust him.

An intelligent, if unsurprising, move from them. Though it stands to reason that the paladins couldn't have survived thus far if they were wholly incompetent. And they would make poor pawns indeed if the lot of them just accepted an exiled galra prince with open arms. It would have marked them as weak, targets that would have crumbled too fast and too soon to be of any use to him. But this? This was perfect.

He's taking a calculated risk of his own, betting that their policies of compassion and mercy and other trivial things will keep him alive long enough to have his vengeance. He doesn't really care what happens to them in the end so long as they can help him get to the end. But for now, he has to play nice. He has to convince them that he's not just worth keeping around, that he's an asset to be invested in. That he'll be worthy of a place in their little coalition. He has to make them trust him.

Which, of course, they don't. Especially the altean princess who regards him with eyes of ice that hide a murderous rage he's all too familiar with. How would she feel if he pointed that out? That in the end she's no better than the rest of them trying to claw out an existence in the brutal universe. She's no different than the people she despises. And, not so very different from *him*, at least on a genetic level. Maybe that's why she gives him such a baleful gaze. She's not the first to shun his half breed status and she won't be the last.

     "If you try anything," she leaves the threat hanging, but he's been through this dance often enough to catch her meaning. Lotor is unfazed and unimpressed.

     "Princess," he drawls, "Surely we can put aside our animosity for a while?"

Yet she's not the only one who's radiating anger and stinking of barely contained fear. His galra side let's him sense it acutely, and he takes stock of which ones are the most affected by his presence. (Even in chains, they don't let their guard down. That's smart. For whatever small good that'll do for them.) The big one in yellow is half hidden behind some of the others, the one in blue and the one in the cloaked outfit of the insurgents. Funny, that particular rebel doesn't look galra, but he knows better than anyone that appearances can't be trusted. Like the little green child with their weapon at the ready. That one has danger written all over them, regardless of the other human that keeps trying to shield them. They look as though they may be related. How cute.

The champion is the only one he recognizes. He's sure they have a proper name, but he never bothered to learn it, and names weren't as important in the arena as winning matches. Things would have turned out differently if Lotor had ever faced that one in battle. He supposes they're all a little lucky they hadn't. It would have been a shame to have cut that one down, to have done anything to benefit his father's reign, even indirectly.

     "What exactly do you want?"

He wants many things. Some that are arguably unobtainable in this age, some that were never more than a fantasy created by a younger and more naive version of himself. Others are very real, and they are agonizingly close at hand, just waiting to be seized. But he has to be patient, or he risks undoing everything he's worked so hard for. (Not that he has much left after his most recent betrayal, which still aches like an old wound, one that he's been very determined to ignore.) He's waited this long. He supposes he can wait a little more.

     "Is it not obvious?" He feigns innocence, though he has no illusions of any of them taking it at face value, "We now have the same enemy."

Of course they know that. Lotor had destroyed the flag ship, ripped down its shields and more or less saved the pitiful defenders of the universe. They're a formidable foe, he realizes that now, but so woefully outmanned and outmaneuvered by the galra empire-- and he's not sure they truly understand the scope of their liberation campaign. Sooner or later, they'll be in over their heads. Again. And maybe that time, they won't be so lucky to have him to cripple their attackers. That, at least, he thinks might be finally dawning on them. He's offering them an obvious advantage in their ongoing fight. They would have to be stubborn and arrogant fools not to take it.

They resist the idea. It's to be expected. He did try to kill them once or twice. Heated words break out amongst them, and he takes care to not look too amused at their infighting and bickering. It's a petty squabble that needs to run its course before they realize they don't have much of a choice. They only have a chance of winning if they put aside their petty squabbles and face the cold, hard truth of the world.

In the end, the paladins come around. More or less. There are rules, of course, tight guidelines to follow, lest he find himself a foe instead of guest. But he can work with them. He can work around them. It's the game he's been born to play-- the game he needs to win if he ever wants to be out from under Zarkon's shadow. The other players just don't realize that they're also the pieces, to be moved around the board, sacrificed or saved, whichever is most advantageous. Or maybe some of them do. He meets the eyes of the so-called champion, who stares back unflinchingly.

Lotor gives them all his best smile, wide with teeth bared, meant to off put them even though it'll look like he's attempting to be friendly. Lest they forget he has fangs and that he knows how to use them. After all, it would also be boring if they just allowed themselves to manipulated. He'll give them a hint of the true viciousness of ambition lurking in his heart.

The world doesn't end. And that's a good thing, because they didn't have a backup plan. There was no second chance, no desperate bid for freedom, no tedious reset. It was all or nothing. And they came out on top with all the sweet victory they could ever want. Against all odds, they won. They won, and it's a flood of joy and relief and tinged with a little disbelief. And it's absolutely exhausting. Taako isn't sure if it's physical or mental or just an ungodly combination of both. Maybe it's the weight of over one hundred years of memories finally catching up to him. It's a lot to have lived through, and then to have lived through again, much less cobble back together a coherent understanding of his place in the world. Like, holy fuck. That's a lot to wade through. Sometimes it gives him such a bad headache that it's easier not to think about it, and focus on the here and now. On rebuilding. On reconnecting with those he'd lost but some how found again against all odds. Lup has taken to finding new ways to scare the living hell out of everyone, from floating through the bureau at night to phasing through walls. She even startled him and wasted a whole pot of soup when she popped her lich head up through it. (He had chased her, for all the good it wouldn't do, while she cackled and made full use of her incorporeal form. It had been equal parts nostalgic and aggravating.) Magnus carves ducks in between rebuilding jobs, even though Fisher has long since departed their universe. Merle is trying, and mostly succeeding, to boost morale as they shift through the wreckage, finding what can be saved and mourning what cannot. Everyone is there. Everyone is safe. And yet there's this looming feeling of impending doom that just won't quit. It's as though that through the act remembering, Taako has forgotten what it's like to feel safe. Ignorance really was a sort of bliss, as much as the fuzzed out edges of his life had caused a constant turmoil, because now it's a struggle to stay on top of everything. So much is the same and yet so much can never be the same again. You can't go through something like the apocalypse and not be changed. Sure, at his core he's still Taako, from TV, a living brand name, a hero to be sung about down the ages; but now he's a different kind of Taako. Literally. It still takes a lot to convince himself he doesn't need the illusion spell every morning, and sometimes he does it anyway. Just a little. Nothing too noticeable, but enough to make him feel better, especially on the very likely chance that he hasn't slept much. Sleep is hard now. Meditation is straight out the fuckin' window. Nights and days get stretched together when he's plagued with either insomnia, or worse, the dreams. No, not dreams, because that would imply fantastical but harmless mind adventures. These are memories. Always back to the goddamn memories. The worst ones, the times they almost didn't make it, when he had to watch friends die or feel the cold sting of death himself. Or memories that his brain decided to make up new, more grim endings; his sister, turned to ash, his boy, bleeding out on the floor. Endless rounds of games in a horror carnival that leaves everyone he ever cared about in pieces. Things that leave him awake and gasping and on the edge of tears. Things like that. His solution, brilliantly, is to not sleep. Not until he falls over from exhaustion or passes out while cooking. He's even got everyone fooled that he's a-okay. At least he thinks he does. No one says otherwise, and that suits him just fine.

Date night rolls around. Taako has been looking forward to it all month, a distraction and an excuse to monopolize Death's free time. No business talk. No family. No not-actually-family-but-kinda-sorta-maybe-adopted family. Just the two of them, together, for a nice evening. And god, did he need a break. There's still so many loose ends to tie up, so many things that still need to be sorted out. Not to mention the new void of what the hell he was going to do with his life now. Kravitz stops when he sees him. He squints at Taako, and frowns. "Are you okay?" "Just fine, babe," as fine as he could be, really, "Why, didja forget how gross I looked now?" When all else fails, self-deprecating humor is where it's at. He can preen and put himself down at the same time. Win-win. Kravitz pauses, brows knitted and looking at him intently, seemingly gathering up the right words. "Taako," he begins carefully, "When was the last time you slept?" "Dunno. What's today?" The reaper sighs. He rubs his forehead. Taako drapes himself lovingly in his arms. He's dizzy on an endorphin high and ready for a night out on the town with his most beloved bae. Even if said bae keeps looking at him with such a sour face, and-- "You're going to bed. Right now." "Oh no--" Taako attempts to bolt, but has already made the fatal mistake of allowing Kravitz so close. He might not technically be alive, but he has all the strength of a man his size, and Kravitz has him in a vice grip. He struggles. Any other day of the week and he'd be admiring those guns, but today they're helping commit a great betrayal. Taako whines. "Babe! C'mon!" "No," Kravitz picks him up and starts carrying him inside, "You look like I should be collecting your soul soon, and frankly, that's a little alarming." Taako does his best to wriggle out of his grasp, but it's fruitless. Kravitz can be just as stubborn as he is. Taako resorts to flailing and complaining. However, neither of those slow down the reaper, who's drawing ever closer to his dormitory door. "I don't need sleep! It's for the weak!" "Yes, you do," Somehow Kravitz manages to keep a hold of him even as Taako flips himself upside down, which is both impressive and infuriating, "We can go out another time." Taako huffs and crosses his arms, braid swinging freely and dragging on the floor. This sucks. He can't even get one lousy night to not think about how overwhelming everything is. Kravitz is the worst and he hates him. (He doesn't, of course, he adores his hot boyfriend who's sometimes a skeleton, who's both a badass and a giant dork. He's just mad at him at the moment.) Taako gives him the silent treatment. It's harder to do than it looks, because he'd much rather be vocal about the injustice that's happening to him. Kravitz sighs again. "Taako--" "I'm not talking to you." "Love, please," the pet names have come out, and he resolves to not let it affect him, "You know I care, right?" "I guess," Taako pouts as he's gently set on a couch, "But I wanted to spend time with you." Kravitz looks conflicted. Taako sulks and makes a point to avoid eye contact. So maybe he's a little cranky for only sleeping three hours out of as many days. It's still not fair. "I could stay." Kravitz says. He blinks dumbly up at him. "Do what now?" "Stay with you. While you get some rest. That's a lot creepier out loud than it was in my head." "Do you even need to sleep?" "No," Kravitz admits, "But I wouldn't mind. I mean, if you wanted me to. I don't have to. But I could, I have the whole night off, not that I expected to... do anything. For the whole night. I should stop taking now? I'm stopping now. Sorry." He can't believe he's in love with such a ridiculous, stupid, wonderful, and kind person. Entity? The definition was kind of up in the air for that one. Taako doesn't have to look to know that Kravitz is blushing, probably all the way up to his ears, off-kilter and rambling. He's still wrapping his head around the idea that there are persons out there who, honest to gods, want to put Taako first. Taako doesn't even think Taako deserved that. Sure, that's not what he tells people-- because no one needs to know how bad the inner battle gets. In some ways remembering has made it easier. In others, it's that much harder now. He thinks, that maybe, it would be nice to have someone at his side. Someone who liked him before his life's story got broadcast through reality. Taako considers the proposal for a moment. "Okay." "Okay?" "Okay as in, you best be ready to get super snuggled. I'm clingy as hell." Kravitz gives him a shy smile. "I think I can handle that."

"You sure this is the way?" Merle asks for the third time, attempting to peer over the edge of the parchment. Taako shoos him away, pouring his concentration into trying to figure out if the map was right way up. He should have brought a compass. Or someone with any sense of direction. But there weren't many people he trusted to come along on the mission, and even fewer of them who would approve of it. It was a sensitive topic concerning a secretly sensitive man; one who would never quite understand what they were doing, regardless of the fact he had made them promise to carry out his will. Magical memory loss was a funny thing like that; because how can you miss something, be angry about something, feel any emotion, if you couldn't remember it? Even now, with visions of multiple lives he's lead all clear in chronological order, there's still that headache that comes with it. The bitter guilt and anger over not knowing something so important. Which was why it was just him and Merle-- No Magnus, as strange as it felt not to have him there, because Magnus didn't know any more.   "This is definitely the right way." Taako says with confidence far beyond his means. Fake it 'till you make it, he always said. (Or was it Lup who had come up with that one? Maybe things were still a little jumbled.) "Neverwinter is right over there. Beyond that hill." Merle gives him a look that says 'whatever you say, bucko', but only crosses his arms instead of protesting. The dwarf has tried to keep the mood light, and Taako appreciates that, lest the enormity of the situation overtake them. It's one thing to kill bad guys, to strike down jellies and undead and gods-know-what still hid in the dark corners of the world. It's quite another to be actively seeking out someone to murder them. It's not even the murder part that has him distracted. That's easy, and the scumbag deserves it, deserves it a hundred times over for hurting someone so dear. What's got him a little shaken in their part in this new era they've accidentally created. The Day of Story and Song will live on in the collective consciousness of so, so many planes of existence, and they'll always be at the center of it all. Any where they go now, people know. They know of the Starblaster crew, their journey through universes, they know their faces and deeds and some of the stupider things they've done. It makes a lot of things simpler. It makes tracking down a tyrant-ex-governor really fucking hard. Taako resolves to kill him extra dead for making them trudge through all of these swamps. At least anything with two brain cells knows to avoid the two of them, and anything too stupid to get in their path doesn't live long. He can't believe he ever forgot this power, these things that make up his very core, and it's good to burn off a little steam on twig blights and awakened bushes. And now with a decade of extra adventuring under his sleeve, it's only compounded his magical ability. It's the same with all of them. Anyone would be hardpressed to find someone equal to the seven aliens that helped fight tooth and nail for their reality. "D'ya think he's okay?" It's a rhetorical question at heart, yet Merle asks it aloud anyway. "Pff, he's fine." Taako insists as he climbs over a fallen stump and tangle of exposed roots. He has to stop and pull Merle out of the snare when he inevitably gets himself stuck. "I'm sure he's carving ducks or playing ninja or whatever." It's almost too good, how he's able to lie to everyone. Including himself. Because it still feels wrong to be off gallivanting without Magnus. They'd been together for so long, been through tailor made hells and cosmic turmoil as a team. It feels wrong. Merle sighs. "I know, I know. It's for the best. I still feel bad though." "He's fine," Taako repeats, "I made sure someone would be there to keep him busy." And it had been such a trial to arrange everything. Because he had to do it in a way that kept Magnus in the dark while also not raising his suspicions. Luckily, Magnus had been willing enough to accept excuses and place enough trust in them to not notice anything. And maybe that's really what has him in a bad mood, the fact that him and Merle had to betray a man so open and honest. A man who nearly stumbled into their secret meetings about plans and intel one too many times. Taako can't wait to find Kalen and pop one in his ass.

He doesn't catch what Magnus says, but whatever it was, it has Lup laughing hysterically, nearly wheezing as she rolls off the bed. He should really see if she's okay, but judging by her muffled giggles, she's fine for the moment. Barry puts his hand in the cheeto bag, only to come back confused and cheese-less. Had they really finished the whole thing already? "Shh, shh!" Magnus attempts through his own snickers, "You have to be really quiet or it won't work!" "What won't work?" Barry asks. Instead of answering, Magnus rolls onto the floor beside Lup. She's trying to catch her breath, but breaks down any time she tries to look at the fighter. Barry joins them only because Magnus produces a tin of pringles out of somewhere, and certainly not because he felt left out or anything. Certainly not because it's real nice to lay next to Lup and just be, while she's vibrant and warm and very much alive. A lightning strike in mortal form, brimming with destructive potential and yet so sweet in a way that nearly broke him when she didn't come back. Nah. He's here for the pringles. "Lavender." Magnus declares, and Lup loses it again.   "The cookies?" They had been vanilla lavender macaroons, right? With enough of each to cover up the pungent drug Lup added to the batch. Where did she even find weed on a moonbase? "Those were chamomile," Lup sounds almost offended, "He means what you sound like, babe." However that doesn't lend any clarity to the statement. "Shhhh!" Magnus places his hands over both their mouths, "You can hear color." The concept is absolutely absurd, because senses don't work like that, and yet he's seriously considering it. Time has already gone a little funky, slipping sideways and slowing to a crawl. The scholar in him has a little voice that pipes up to say that it's just the altered state they're all in-- but it's soft and hazy, and goes quiet even as he tries to chase the trails of academic thought. Lup is laughing again, and it reminds him of the conservatory, of the way the sun caught her hair on an illuminated afternoon, how they shone like strands of gold. Golden and warm and all wrapped up in each other. "Holy shit." Barry says. "I can do you one better," Lup interjects, "Don't move." "Why not?" "Just trust me." She pats both of them on the arm, though she lingers on his. And they're still for a moment, and then another, even though there's a sensation that the world is trying to move around them. He could stay like this for the rest of the night actually. Even fall asleep, maybe. "Woaaah," Magnus sounds blown away by some secret revelation, "I can feel the ground moving." "I know, right? Fuckin' crazy." Barry isn't convinced that's what they're feeling, but he lets it go. No reason to contest the fact. Not when "Operation Distract-Magnus-For-As-Long-As-Possible" was in effect. So far, so good. Hopefully they would be a little less wasted by the time that Taako and Merle got back. Hopefully, they'd be successful in their own mission, and no one would be the wiser. Then again, he had watched them work for a year. His confidence in them might be a little shaky. But that was a problem for future Barry, not high-as-hell Barry.

"We are not lost!" "It's okay to admit you made a mistake," Merle tries to be comforting, "But this isn't the right street." "We. Are. Not. Lost." Taako spits out from behind gritted teeth. The truth is, they're lost. Again. At least this time they're in the city. The really shitty part of the city. Neverwinter is still rebuilding from the ravages of the Hunger, which is heartening to see, and also made their entrance easier. Whole sections are still in ruins however, broken and sad as people try to pick up the pieces, but no one notices the two strangers in their midst. Taako had the brilliant idea to cast a camouflage spell on both of them, lest they be recognized before they could find Kalen. He's so used to having one on normally that it hadn't occurred to him at first. He played it off as waiting for the right moment.   Somehow, true to their usual adventuring luck, they'd stumbled into the seedy side of town and gotten turned around. He's not scared of what anyone might try to do to them, not when Merle could backhand them into a wall with divine vengeance. It's the principle of the matter, and the fact that they're wasting time that would be better spent fulfilling a blood oath. "Just ask for directions." "No." "Taako," Merle sounds desperate, "Let's just get this over with so we can go home." Taako takes a deep breath. He's right. If anyone out of the three of them was to be the voice of reason-- Two. The two of them. "Fine," he concedes, "I'll ask the next piece of riffraff we see, but I'll have you know it's not my fault if they steal all your gold." Merle makes a comment that it's usually Taako himself doing the stealing, but he barely hears him as they round a corner and nearly collide with a group of rough looking men. He has a moment of regret for making himself look like some sort of ethereal beauty. Merle looks like an unassuming and grubby halfling with the spell, mostly because he thought it would be funny. But now they're staring down three humans and someone who might be half orc, looking at them like treasure has just fallen into their laps. "Hail and well met, my dudes," He forces a smile, "Would any of you happen to know the way to the Cheap Rat?" "That's not a place for the likes of you." One leers at them, at least a full foot taller than Taako. He also smells like he hasn't showered in a week. Gross. "Full of dangerous pieces of riffraff, it is." Oops. Him and Merle make eye contact. 

Suddenly, it's show time. He can say later that it was a badass, almost graceful fight, but it was really a lot of screaming and spell casting, over nearly as soon as it started. Merle even gets a hit in with Smoosher for good measure. Taako steps over their unconscious and bloodied bodies with disdain. At least they're not dead. He's pretty sure they're not dead. The amount of fucks he has left to give are approaching a dangerous low. "God, can't ask for one easy job." Taako complains as Merle wipes his warhammer on one of the thug's shirts. "I dunno, that was pretty easy compared to other times." "I'm not sure if anything can top some of those 'other times'," Taako air quotes, "Good shot at his knee, though." "I wasn't aiming for his knees."  Merle mutters, and he drops that thread of conversation. 

The Cheap Rat is a semi-famous pub in the Rogues Quarter of Neverwinter. It's famous for it's booze, hard-to-find location, the no questions asked policy, and again, the cheap booze. Taako has collected multiple reports of a man matching the slimeball’s description frequenting the establishment. He's reasonably sure this is where they'll find him, and if not, maybe they can get a lead to follow. It's a dingy, beat-up looking place, but is surprisingly crowded and filled with joyous voices within. Another day he might have even considered grabbing a drink there. Taako and Merle turn a few heads when they walk in, but they don't find any trouble beyond having to push through throngs of people to reach the bar. Merle is delighted to find that the bar stools are specifically designed to allow shorter races to climb up them, which is explained when he realizes the woman behind the counter is a halfling. She's installed runners along the back of the bar so she can stand level with even tall elven patrons. "What'll it be, boys?" She asks in a sing-song voice. Another halfling darts behind her with multiple overflowing glasses. As tempting as it is, getting lit probably isn't the best plan. Spell casting while tipsy is a big no-no. "Nothing for me, thanks, but listen, darling," She raises an eyebrow at the pet name but he continues on, "We're looking for a friend of mine." The word 'friend' in this context is like acid on his tongue. Taako smiles through it. She pauses, then leans on the counter towards him. "What kind of friend?" "I thought people didn't ask questions here," Merle pipes in, "Or was that a different rodent-themed bar?" The halfling laughs, and starts pouring a glass of whiskey. "No, you've got the right one. Why don't you two come on back and we can talk?" That sets off a red flag or seventy, but he's not sure he wants to risk trying to read her mind on the off chance the spell will fail. For once they can't rush in and take things with brute force. And he doesn't want any collateral damage, heaven knows Kalen has already caused enough of that already. Magnus wasn't the only one who lost someone when Raven's Roost crumbled. "Alright." He agrees tersely, and Merle follows as the halfling pulls them into a backroom. The door shuts behind them and the sounds of the Cheap Rat instantly cease. Taako senses a warding barrier, typically used against eavesdropping both mundane and magical, and he tries to calm the danger alarms going off in his head. Merle shifts nervously. "I know who you are," She pulls a necklace from under her shirt, "This little baby negates most illusion spells. And may I say, I'm honored to have you both!" Her eyes sparkle with admiration even as he's running through three different escape plans. Like the idiot wizard he was, he never thought that someone might be able to counter something so simple, ruining their disguise and with it the element of surprise. Hundreds of near misses rattle around his head with the chorus of what if, what if, what if; And that's not mentioning the times things went horribly wrong regardless. Merle kicks him. Knocked out of his near-panic trance state, Taako recovers. "Well, uh, that saves us a lot of trouble then." "I'm Tuge," She offers, "Who are you looking for and what can I do to help?" They do their best to explain the situation without giving up too many personal details. The incident at Raven's Roost isn't often talked about, but Tuge already knows about it. Her face darkens when he tells her who they're chasing and why. "That motherfucker," She fishes a key out of her pocket and tosses it to Taako, "Up the stairs, fourth door on the left. Try not to get blood on everything, yeah?" "Loud 'n clear, miss," Merle nods, "Thanks for your time." "Let me know if you need anything else!" Tuge calls after them as they slip out of her warded room and bolt up the tavern stairs. Stealth is neither of their's forte, so he's thankful now for the ruckus of the bar customers below. Even so, they creep along the wall, moving as only fast as they dared to. Taako can barely focus past the rapid fire pace of his heart, ramped up on adrenaline and fear and maybe a little thrill. They reach the fourth door on the left. He places the key in the slot and turns it slowly. They both slip in before slamming it shut behind them. "What the hell?" Snaps a man at the desk. He's aged, but still looking well off enough to maybe pass as nobility. Graying. A little fat. "Who the hell are you?" Taako dismisses the camouflage spell on both of them. Kalen's eyes go wide. "Your worst nightmare." He takes out his wand and Merle casts zone of truth. Because of course he does. At least he's good at it. "It's not--" "Oh no," Merle waves Smoosher, "Oh no, you don't get to try to explain yourself. End of the line, bub." "We were asked to do one thing, and one thing only," Taako snarls, "And that was to kill you fucking dead. This is for Julia." Kalen doesn't have time to grovel before he's shredded by a high-level magic missile.

Years ago, Lup had sworn off ever having children. It had been a sort of backwards piece of logic-- if she didn't have children, then they could never be left high and dry if she happened to kick it. Because she wouldn't wish the life of an orphan on anyone. She wouldn't trade those years for the world, every low and every high and everything in between with her brother by her side. But that bleakness, that lonely road, no, a kid didn't deserve that. And it was selfish too, to absolve herself of any further guilt, because she didn't have to be responsible for anyone but Lup. There was also a jealousy, a vindication that smoldered within her, of those who got to live a life that was normal and whole. Those who didn't get shuffled from distant family member to distant family member, grudgingly tolerated at best and all but ostracized at worst. No one taught them how to take care of themselves. They learned it all the hard way, with no one at their backs but each other, fighting for a little piece of the world to call their own. It was easy to become closed off. Independent to a fault. Fanning the fires of bitterness that would drive her to do great and terrible things. So she'd been an angry teenager at some point. Who hadn't been? The years on the IPRE campus may have tempered that, age and wisdom taking out some of the bite out of her rage, but it didn't extinguish the feelings. Redirected them, maybe. No one had ever found out who really set fire to the dining hall, after all. She found a new way to be angry, quietly catching light again at the realization she could never have her own children; not with a body that couldn't carry them. Magical alternatives were risky with little pay off at best, and downright unconscionable at worst. So what was the point? She would stand on her own, in defiance and spite with only a sibling for a helping hand. Something changed on the Starblaster. Okay, a lot of things changed on the Starblaster, like her sense of the universe and what home meant. Nothing says bonding like being flung between planes, or becoming so wrapped in the threads of time that you can't fucking die. Every year, every fight, every reset, and she was back on the same deck with the same people. And yet so very different. Because you can't live a century like that and come out unscathed. It wasn't all bad. There were beach parties, magical worlds that seemed too strange to be real, quiet nights in a crowded kitchen and desperate gambles for more time. It was everything they had been looking for, in a way-- they certainly got to explore multiple planes of existence. It would have been much better if they weren't running from a phantasmal, world-eating horror all the time. But she supposed it could have been worse. There was a boy she fell in love with during a century of learning and war. Shockingly shy in her presence, stumbling over words and finding excuses to talk to her. Almost unbearably sweet. So brilliant in his own way, yet somehow, still a nerdlord in worn out jeans. It happens so slowly, in the midst of everything else, that she doesn't realize how bad she's got it until the two of them pour their souls into a duet. And it doesn't matter that it was performed for a group of people or for a mysterious force hiding in a cave-- it was for them, and only them. Hearts rising and falling in perfect time. Synchronicity, simplicity, heartache and healing woven into sound. That was the day he went from an infatuation, a fixation, to a solid anchor of emotion in the storm that had become their lives. That was the day she said to herself, "Oh.", followed by a "Well, shit.". Lup traded a little bit of cynicism for a giddy taste of real, pure joy. She begins to reconsider things a bit. He loves her for all she is-- not despite her bad humor and destructive tendencies and a body that's caused more turmoil that she'd like to admit, but because she's Lup. He's something that's clawed deep into her chest in a way that aches so wonderfully. They really shouldn't be thinking of the future, especially when things are so uncertain, but she can't help but do it anyway. Settling down actually sounds nice after the hell they've been through. She starts thinking, that maybe, she would like to have the family now that they never had growing up. It's just a fantasy at the moment, one that might never come true, but she has to find every shred of hope and cling to it. If they stop hoping, stop fighting, stop living, then the Hunger will win. And it'll be the end of everything. It doesn't last. Because it can never fucking last, can it? They think they have the solution when they break the Light of Creation into pieces, crafting items of desire and power, and plunging an innocent world into chaos. Everything she's ever wanted to avoid was suddenly caused by her hand. People are dead. Children don't have parents anymore. And it's all her fault. The guilt crushes her, threatens to undo her, and she decides she can't let it stand. She doesn't think she can fuck up any more-- and then she gets stuck in a goddamn umbrella. Nothing could have prepared her for the utter loneliness that consumed her. The lack of seeing, hearing, feeling anything would have been enough to drive her mad. It nearly did. She learned patience in there, excruciating as it was, and fought back the beast of despair at every turn. It took every ounce of strength she ever had to stay herself. She knew there wouldn't be anyone to save her, not when all she had left was a quick note on the table for her lover. But she could hope. All she had was hope. 

A decade and a whirlwind of adventure later, Taako breaks her prison. Technically, she isn't alive, but this is the closest she's felt in far too long. Her very being is power and fury made real and she unleashes all of that on the encroaching shadows. Lup has been able to manifest her presence a handful of times, throwing everything she had behind her brother or the young wizard who had wielded Umbra Staff for a moment, but this was different. This is everything she ever was woven into a spell of fiery destruction. Death can't hold her. The Hunger can't stop her. She is the storm now, wild and awe inspiring, to be both feared and loved. This is her world now. Her family. Woe to any force that tries to hold her down.

"Sir," Ishikura wheezes, "We have a problem." "A fun problem?" Harlock answers before Zero can get a word in, "Or a problem-problem?" "Problem-problem, I guess?" Ishikura parrots back, "Nevermind, it doesn't matter, just please come with me." If he didn't sound so distressed, Zero would have said it could wait a moment. But instead he hands the half constructed sniper rifle off to Rai and follows Ishikura from the room. He means well, even if he's excitable, but he knows better than to burst in like the sky is falling. Unless something is actually wrong. "What happened?" Zero asks as he keeps pace beside him. They're only a few scant hours from raiding a terrorist cell, so it's the worst time for a distraction. There are still preparations to be made, plans to double and triple check, and trigger happy former-pirate-mercenary-whatevers to keep in line. If they've been compromised, then the past two days of grueling set up and utmost secrecy would be for nothing. "It's-- well-- complicated," Ishikura admits, "Someone hacked into the stockhouse." "Someone what," though their arms stockhouse was basically a glorified mobile safe, it shouldn't have been hacked of all things, "That's impossible." "I know! But someone did, we found it open and--" "What's missing?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" Zero pauses, "They didn't take anything?" Ishikura stops just before the tent, which is guarded by other team members, one of whom was sporting a black eye. Zero feels like there's a lot more to this story than he's getting from his subordinate’s ramblings. "They must have sent a kid in to do the dirty work," Ishikura goes on to explain, "We caught him trying to carry out an anti-tank gun." That more than anything else is deeply troubling. Children should never be anywhere near war and bloodshed, but the world doesn't work like that, and all too often they get thrown into the line of fire. If there's one thing that bothers Zero the most about this job, encounters with kids would have to be it. Angry yelling pours from inside the makeshift prisoners tent. He thinks he recognizes some of the words. “Good lord,” Zero can't help but be shocked when he finally enters, “How old are you?” The scrawny kid handcuffed to the chair sneers at him. He can't be more than maybe fifteen, with dirty blonde hair and fierce eyes. Zero has picked up enough Japanese between Kei and Harlock that he catches curses being spat their way, and colorful ones at that. The would-be thief also has the marks of a struggle, between a split lip and blooming bruises, and he would feel worse if he hadn't already seen the guard outside.   “He won't tell us anything,” Acceluder says to him, “And he pretends he doesn't understand English." As if to prove a point, the teen pointedly looks away, becoming very interested in the ceiling. Zero knows better. "I can handle this. Go help Marina." "But sir--" "Just trust me," Zero insists, "But send Kei over, would you?" Ishikura is obviously not okay with leaving him alone without any backup, but it's not as though they have a dangerous agent being held there. They're just a child; no matter how much fight or determination they've gathered up. And he has a feeling that the usual intimidation tactics aren't going to work. (God, not that he wants to submit some kid to an interrogation in the first place, but they have to find out who disabled the security computers.) Maybe if Zero has him by himself, he can show that they're not in any danger, and get some actual answers out of the boy. Ishikura and the others relent, leaving to find ways to be useful or to send Kei in his direction. Zero drags a chair over. "What's your name?" He asks, but the kid huffs and glares at him. Zero also refuses to believe that he doesn't comprehend English, but he tries Spanish and German just for kicks, which elicit a blank response. "Where are you from?" He tries again, "Do you live nearby? The closest town is a pretty long walk." Silence ensues. The kid refuses to make eye contact of any kind. Zero sighs.   "Listen, no one is going to hurt you. I can't help you if you don't help me--" "I don't need your help!" They snap back at Zero, flushing red as they realize their mistake. They clam up immediately.

Their tiny prisoner refuses to say anything more until Kei rolls in on the scene. She raises an eyebrow as Zero explains the situation, and throws a few lines of lightning fast Japanese at the boy. He sticks his tongue out at her. "I really just need to know who hacked the system," Zero grumbles, "And who wanted the weapons in the first place. We can let him go after we’re done here." "No promises," Kei says, "But I'll do my best." She shoos Zero off to a far corner before stealing his seat and chattering away. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to learn the language half of their ragtag team was fluent in, but it was easier said than done. He picked up most of his interpreter skills through osmosis anyway, rather than dedicated study, and he'd had other priorities lately. Priorities that mostly consisted of making sure Harlock didn't do anything extra stupid. While Kei talks, Zero pretends not to be interested. Kei has the boys attention anyway, which allows him to observe their body language unhindered, and he watches them begin to unravel. For all their vitriol, they look tired and hurting. Zero doesn't think it's an act. Not with the way they've reacted so spontaneously, without control. If some shadowy organization is employing him, then it's not as though they've given him much training. Which also isn't good; that means the kid is just a disposable pawn to someone. The thought makes Zero increasingly angry. "He says he did it." Kei pipes up. "Did what?" "Disabled the security system." "That can't be right," Zero frowns, "I need to know who actually gave him the program--" "I said I did it!" Both of them stare at the kid. "I did it," he repeats, "Your encryption codes are shit." "Then who were you stealing the weapons for?" "Me." "Why on earth does a twelve year old need an anti-tank gun--" "I'm fourteen!" They all but yowl, "And I'm going to kill those bastards if it's the last thing I do!" Kei is trying not to laugh, but Zero can see her shoulders beginning to shake. He wonders why these things always seem to happen to him. 

It takes a lot of yelling (from the teen, not from them) to finally learn that he does have a name, and a somewhat reasonable purpose for trying to jack armaments from them. He goes by Tadashi, and refuses to give a surname, and when Zero asked where his parents were, he point blank stated they'd been murdered. Apparently he's here on a quest for vengeance against the perpetrators, who he thinks are also the terrorist cell their own team plans to move on. Though Tadashi had intended to try to attack them as a one-person army. Just thinking about how that could have gone wrong alarms Zero immensely. "We can't just leave him here." "No," Marina agrees, "But we can't just let him run off to his death. We'll keep him here until we're done with this mission." Zero can't argue with that. Still, he wishes there was something more they could do than just drop him off back in town, to leave him with local authorities and hope he could find his way. It reminds Zero that for any good they do in the world, there's still so much they can't change. There are too many things for them to fix by themselves. He entertains the idea of maybe bringing Tadashi back with him, but rejects it just as fast. The life they lead is no place for a child, no matter how grown up he insists he is.