#alien differences

Lotor, seated beside her, had taken significantly more coaxing to get him out of his armor and into Earth attire. It was only after repeated assurances from Allura, Shiro, Hunk, and even Keith that there was No Need For It that he'd finally relented. And she had to say: Lotor looked good in casualwear. He had a low V shaped neckline on a plain cotton shirt, a thick leather jacket in a rich, dark shade of brown (a worker's coat, she knew, but one with heavy enough leather it satisfied his need for armor), and an orange-and-black striped scarf that hung rather artfully off of him. His boots were furred as well, pants tucked into them, and she noted with some amusement that somebody had cajoled him into tucking a sprig of vibrantly colored leaves behind one ear.

"I don't know how much of this I can stomach," Lotor mused over a sip of his drink. The sugar and caffeine content wouldn't agree with a Galran system, to be fair, their natural inclinations leaving them wired enough as is. Keith had, in his own time on Earth, never developed a taste for highly caffeinated or sugary treats. "It's very good, just, quite a lot," he reassured, not wanting to give Hunk the wrong idea.

"I'll finish it for you if you like," Allura offered, making decent headway on her own drink already. She had never possessed any species-based adversity to sugar.

Lotor quirked a smile her way, as though sharing a joke with her, and Allura smiled back. They'd swapped spit in significantly more substantial ways than this, after all, but it seemed neither of them were above feeling playful over an indirect kiss.

"Careful with the knives," Keith cautioned, examining the one he'd just selected. "They're sharp."

Shiro chuckled, slinging his prosthetic arm around Keith's shoulders, enjoying his own drink, while Pidge and Keith took up a familiar banter of "yeah, Keith, knives are supposed to be sharp," and "you know that's not what I meant."

Allura waited to see what everyone else was carving, finishing off both her and Lotor's lattes before selecting a gourd for herself. Upon it, she carved a "traditional" jack-o-lantern face, figuring she may as well go for the basics if this was to be her first stab at it. Lotor had selected one of the thin, superfine knives with tiny serrated edges to construct a veritable artwork out of the ridged orange surface, depicting a mythological figure from Zaalian legend that was meant to frighten evil, which was, apparently, the origin for this pumpkin carving ritual their humans had.

"This was lovely!" Allura stated once all the pumpkins were carved and candles were lit inside them, cheerfully glowing in the autumn early-evening.

"It was," Shiro agreed, having carved a rocket ship into his, rather than a face. "We'll be excited to see your Altean harvest festival, tomorrow."

And Allura was excited to share it with them.

It took less cajoling, the following morning, to convince Lotor to don traditional Altean garb. She'd tease him for his soft spot for Altean culture, but she knew it was partially born of a terrible loneliness, and today was not the day to unearth such feelings. Instead, she went up on her tiptoes to tweak a lock of hair invisibly back into place, smiling at him.

"You look good in a tabard," she said, skimming her fingers gently down the front of the embroidered cloth, light pink and dark blue, in traditional Altean autumnal colors. That orange and red were considered autumnal on Earth had been festive and new for her, but she couldn't help her preference for the evocative coldness of her home planet's colors. Her own dress was of simple make, a sleeveless dress that held itself up by being bound around her bosom, with a long double-circle skirt that would flare nicely during the traditional dances. Overtop was a long sleeved jacket that fastened by tying a knot in the lengthy front bit, and was short around the rest of the torso. She also had ribbons in her hair, one of which Lotor curled a finger around to stroke playfully, lifting a lock of hair along with it to bring to his lips.

"And you look good in this, princess," he purred, making her grin and flush.

"You would say that if I were in naught but a paper sack."

"Is that something I can one day witness?"

"Lotor!" Allura chided gleefully, laughing with a weightlessness she'd not felt–-well, since before her father passed. It was happening more and more often now, though.

The two strode out into New Altea arm in arm, pretty much instantly accosted with a veritable crowd of well wishers, many of them with laurels in hand hoping they'd be the ones to crown their prince and princess in the bounty of fall.

Allura, of course, subjected herself to the crown of an Altean child, looking no older than 30 at the most. It was a cheerful wreathe of pale pink, small leaves and rich blue, much larger ones. Lotor, for his part, accepted a crown of dark green leaves just starting to turn blue at their bases, interspersed with tiny flowers so pale they hardly even seemed pink anymore, basically white. Together, they put on a stately image, rather looking like the fey royalty of myth, if Allura was not too boastful in thinking such.

Her paladins were already dressed and exploring the festivities, Hunk talking shop with the many cooks that put together such an event, Pidge hanging near their mother as she discussed agricultural sciences with Altean farmers, Lance flirting predictably with a number of young Altean women who seemed delighted to have his momentary attention, Coran conversing with the mistress of ceremonies about new practices and old traditions, and Keith and Shiro were where Allura planned on dragging Lotor next.

"You are familiar with this?" Allura asked, getting a knowing smile from her friends as she pulled her sweetheart to the booth.

"In theory," Lotor said with a nod so serious she wanted to kiss that contemplative look straight off of him. As though reading her intent on her expression, he quirked a smile and seemed to visibly force his shoulders to relax. "I've not had the chance to gain any real experience."

"Then I shall teach you."

As a princess, she'd naturally been expected to keep herself chaste, but that didn't mean she was a stranger to romantic affairs. She'd taken her fair share of boyfriends, and even a couple girlfriends, to the harvest festival before, and was well familiar with the ever-unchanging—even now, after ten thousand years—braid pattern that wove a couple's bracelet. It was a five strand braid, with a vast array of colors laid out on the table before them to choose from. For Lotor, Allura selected a royal purple, a happy lilac, a passionate red, a somber pink, and a wizened cyan. For her, she noted that he picked a royal purple, passionate red, a somber pink, a wizened cyan, and a hopeful gold.

"You and I seem to be of a mind for one another," she noted mirthfully.

"Only that you are my beacon of hope," Lotor agreed, a small purr in his tone.

"And you, my font of joy."

Standing together at the booth amidst other pairs of lovebirds, Allura showed Lotor the five strand braid that had survived ten thousand years before her time and would survive another ten thousand after she was gone, his chest pressed close against her back as he observed her movements over her shoulder. He was a quick study, his sharp mind one of the many things she admired and appreciated in him, so he likely stood over her, breath in her hair, the twigs of their autumn crowns catching on one another, longer than he strictly needed to in order to memorize the braid. Then again, it wasn't like she minded.

Despite her headstart, his clever fingers and her much smaller wrist had him finishing his braid for her scant moments after she finished her braid for him, and they fastened the cords around each other's wrists with all the cheerful gravitas of a pair of sweethearts at the harvest festival. She extended her arm forward to admire the sight of the cord against it, and he seemed to be doing much the same, if subtler than she was, his wrist held close to his chest.

From there, it was chatting with friends and strangers alike over good food and strong drink, dancing to live music amplified by nothing but the air around them, and sitting about the bonfire companionably cursing that no matter what planet they went to, there was always some kind of small, biting insect that would flit about such ample opportunities as these to make a nuisance of itself.

"Come, my love," Lotor purred in Allura's ear, about three cups of very good Altean mead and a rousing bout of campfire stories later. "We've a Galran autumn to celebrate tomorrow, and should be well rested for such festivities."

"Mmm, only if you carry me," Allura acquiesced, trying to pout but probably not managing it very well. The sight of him simply made her too happy. The sight of all these Alteans, most of them strangers to her but Coran and Merla out in the crowd somewhere, safe and happy and celebrating just as their ancestors had. The sight of her paladins, leaning on one another's shoulders and soused on a better drink than nunville (though one that wasn't nearly as lasting in the vacuum of space, unfortunately). The sight of—well, of a future she'd never thought she'd actually get, now somehow settled into an impossible present.

Lotor chuckled, and his strong arms lifted beneath her knees and shoulders, cradling her as a knight would carry a princess, or as a groom might carry his bride.

I should really find a good time to propose to him… Allura thought to herself, nuzzling in against his jaw with a contented little sigh to herself.

She was, thankfully, not nearly as hungover as she could've been the following morning, in part likely due to her lover's prudence at calling it a reasonably-timed evening, and found Lotor already up, armored, and grinning.

Not long later, she was in her paladin armor, and hiding a discreet smile as Lance complained, "I don't think you understand what we mean when we say 'cozy' autumn vibes, Lotor."

"This is cozy!" Lotor said cheerfully, genuine pride in his warlike culture bleeding through with a youthful joy he kept closely checked, but managed to peek out in times such as these. "Or it shall be, once we're done. One cannot relax in celebration of a job well done until one has completed the job, after all."

"I'm honestly just excited about stabbing something," Pidge said, flipping a Galran spear around before placing it back amongst the others, probably (wisely) deciding not to go with a weapon that was taller than they were.

"Uh, I'm not, are we like, sure about this? What if some of us hang back here and the rest of you go on the boar hunt that sounds like a better idea to me," Hunk said nervously. "And isn't boar hunting, like, super dangerous? I didn't really pay that much attention during those parts of history class but wasn't one of the big deals about going on a boar hunt how crazy dangerous it was? I mean we already saved the universe as Voltron I don't see why we have to keep endangering ourselves when that isn't even necessary."

"Not at all, Hunk," Lotor said with good cheer. "Certainly, these hunts used to be quite dangerous, but since leaving Daibazaal we have changed to hunting much smaller game. The wild boars of this planet are practically harmless; it is why we use these outings to help train and test our youths as they prepare to transition into the dangers of adulthood."

"See? It'll be fine!" Pidge said, cheerfully thumping a hand down on Hunk's back.

"Man, only the Galra would think tromping around in a forest and stabbing something is 'cozy,'" Lance groused.

Shiro was quietly contemplating a spear, which he ultimately brought with him, and Keith had his bayard at his hip and his Blade in hand, flanking Shiro as a knight with his commander. Allura took her place at Lotor's flank, who naturally helmed their expedition, Coran at his other side, and their group left to go, as Lance put it, "tromp around" in the woods in search of prey.

It was a brisk, overcast day, wind biting at their armor and Allura glad she'd brought her helmet, sunlight peeking through occasional gaps in the clouds to dapple the forest floor in brief flashes before disappearing again. Lotor led their hunt with expertise Allura found quite overtly attractive, and she spent more of the hunt admiring how he looked with sharp eyes, crouched to examine trails and clues, far more than she spent admiring the forest around them. It was a lovely forest! Just hardly of any interest to her when her sweetheart was grinning with unchecked confidence, entirely at ease with his people's autumnal custom.

When they did eventually find a boar, there was much screeching to be heard. Mostly and firstly from the boar, that reared and charged, but then also from Hunk and Lance, who remarked quite shrilly that this was not small game. Allura wasn't sure what they were on about. The boars of even Altea were much larger than this, which was about the size of Kaltenecker, and Allura knew from historical accounts that the boars native to Daibazaal were far more bestial than even Altean boars.

Ultimately, it did not matter that Hunk and Lance were of no especial help on the hunt. Between Pidge's innate bloodlust, Shiro's calm and lethal accuracy, Keith's Galran instincts, Lotor's Galran upbringing, and Allura's skill with a spear, the boar was downed swiftly and with as little pain for the animal as was reasonably possible.

"Let's never do this again," Hunk heaved, breathing hard despite how little he'd done.

"Agreed!" Lance groused.

"Oh, stop it you two, this was a lovely outing," Allura said, tying a knot around the boar's hind legs and throwing the rope over a nearby branch, hoisting it up to field dress so they didn't have to bring back the dross. Lotor, in his own display of physical strength, offered to carry the carcass single-handedly back to the lodge they were staying at, and Allura passed it over to him with a flirtatious brush of fingers against his hand.

Once there, they permitted Hunk to do what he pleased with the meat, and gathered with strong Galran wine, a beverage that translated literally as "red juice" and left one's tongue a vibrant scarlet when imbibed. Traditionally, the boar would be roasted with wild leeks and small, hard, dense yellow onions that had survived even after the destruction of Daibazaal, but Hunk added his own array of vegetation in as well. Nobody complained about the breach in tradition, as all of them knew it would inevitably taste much better, if they allowed Hunk to do as he liked.

This was not half as public as the Altean harvest festival, closer in scope to Earth's pumpkin carving. Just a group of friends and loved ones, sharing good food and rich drink, chatting and telling stories of previous "conquests" (they did not stay especially on topic, which Lotor did not begrudge them) while wiping grease from their chins and nudging logs onto the fire. Like this, the tradition was, in fact, quite cozy indeed.

Though Allura was, she could admit, rather biased. After all, she made such an observation from where she was tucked up close against her lover's side, a large furred pelt from one such previous conquest draped around their mutual shoulders, feeling the warmth that radiated off Lotor's larger form with his hand at her waist, his cheek resting atop her silver hair and the quiet, barely-there rumble of a purr in his chest.