The Wondrous Life of Lance (Voltron)

Chapter Two

Remember, written before season 4!

After three days of the same routine, Lance can see he's not the only one who's itching to do something.

His fingers are looking worse for the wear, but even though they’re basically three useless sausage-like appendages, they ache a little less. He can take occasional deep breaths before any shuttering pain strikes in his ribs. Lance’s biggest problem seems to be his stubborn cankle, which hasn't gone down any and still throbs with a vengeance. He fears he might need a splint, or that he might've fractured something.

But, apparently, he's well enough to leave his small room/cell.

When Ezor opens him cell door and exclaims, “Let’s play a game, Paladin,” Lance is beyond surprised.

He eyes the lanky general. “Does this said game involve fighting to the death?”

She hums, lifting a fingers to her chin in contemplation. “Unfortunately, no. Prince Lotor would disapprove. But, there are other things to bet besides your life.” A competitive sneer distorts her face, and Lance suppresses a flinch. “Like one's dignity.”

“You know what, that sounds even worse. Count this guy out.”

Cocking her hip, she frowns. “It's amusing when you assume you have a choice. Now, come on. Let's go play before Acxa decides against it!”

Lance heaves himself up. He walks with a limp more pronounced than he needs to, but makes sure not to exaggerate it too much, so any keen eye can't see anything false about it.

By the time they get to what Lance now dubs the Throne Room, real heaves shake his chest and genuine sweat peppers along his skin. He hasn't been this exhausted in a while, and that says a lot.

He only perks up when he sees what is laid out. From the colors and shapes of the cards strewn across the table that wasn't there yesterday, Lance can only assume it is the alien version of Uno. Well, he hopes, anyway.

“You got me worked up for nothing!” He accuses. It comes out breathy, his deprived lungs still calling the shots.

Ezor (he kids you not) only gives him an amused “heh” sound before taking her seat. She makes a show of crossing her legs primly, obviously satisfied with herself.

Acxa is shaking her head from next to the conniving general, while there is a free seat between Zethrid and Narti, which he assumes is meant for him.

RIP Lance. He can vividly imagine Zethrid being dealt a bad hand, and in anger, crushing him between her biceps as she takes his.

Said buff general hisses in annoyance. “Why am I roped into this sissy game?”

“Now, Zethrid, not everything is about brawn. We must use both our muscles and our minds.” Acxa rebuffs, deft fingers shuffling the thick stack of cards with precision.

“That's why Zethrid isn't any good at this,” Ezor giggles, gleefully attempting to rile up the other general.

Zethrid clenches her teeth,“I will crush you!”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm so scared.”

Lance observes the four generals in shock. A phantom pain begins to smart within his chest; this back and forth between these supposedly evil Generals remind him so much of Team Voltron. The bantering, the teasing insults, and the friendly fights all happen much in the same way between all the Paladins.

Now Lance can see why they would make him play. They want him to sympathize with them. Or at the very least see his found family within their ranks. It's jarring, and sneaky. And it's working.