Lavenders Blue ❦

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟChapter Seven; Lightbulb

"Yes, I'll see what we can do. Sorry about that." Lance smiles weakly, trying to show some care to the man with a thousand things to say. He's never worn so many fake smiles in his life, not even around Kuro and Haggar. (James deserves smiles, sometimes).

"Lotor, the man in the corner booth wants a refund. He wants a stronger drink to-"

"We don't do refunds." A grumbly voice says, the audible equal of burnt cookie crumbs. Like a bear emerging from hibernation, Zarkon steps out of his back office and into the dim light of his branded pub. He stomps over to the grizzly man in the corner, not because he was angry, but because his size and intimidating manner made every step a stomp.

"Don't try to scam me through my new workers, Sendak. Buy a stronger cup or leave my establishment before I get authorities involved."

"I could buy this place and run it into the ground out of spite in the snap of a finger. You best not tread heavy, Zarkon." He slanders. "Your employees would be better off as my servants nonetheless, I'd quite like to see it."

"Never return to this establishment. You've reached my last nerve." The owner growls, standing his ground. "You will not be granted the same mercy if I see you lurking outside of the Galra Empire once more." The other reacts like a defensive cat backing out of a spray bottle attack, and leaves the establishment without leaving Lance or his superiors a single cent.

Even when the man had finally retreated out of the pub, Lance remained still at the mention of the tyrannical empire, the very one which had claimed the life of his late father. "G-Galra empire?" He asks with shaky hands, rattling the kegs. "That man was Galra?"

Silently, Zarkon thunders over to Lance, eyes narrowed.

"What is your name, boy?" Zarkon spoke to Lance, who was cowering with weak-willed knees. He had never been good at speaking to intimidating people, let alone simply looking at them in the eye. They, well, intimidate him, and they spook him good. "Lance," He gulps. "Lance McClain."

Though he had originally thought that the man's angered, gruff expression was chiseled in, it softened upon mention of his name. "McClain.." Zarkon mutters. It feels familiar on his tongue.
"Come into my office for just a moment, young one. I'll pay you for your time."

Lance nods, eager for an extra coin or two in his pocket. Zarkon had to dip his posture down momentarily to fit in the doorway, but Lance is just fine getting through. He takes a seat in what he can assume is a chair covered with expensive animal felt. Soft and comfy, contradictory to Zarkon's leather seat.

"What is your mother's name?" His boss asks gingerly, leaning forward on the desk, hands clamped together in an iron grip.

"My mother, Rosa McClain, died quite a while ago," Lance looks to the floor, feet turned inward awkwardly. "My step-mother's name is Haggar. My Father remarried to her before he passed away as well."

"Haggar?" Yellow eyes widened. "And she remarried. . . boy." Zarkon said, placing a troubled hand on his chin, matching his troubled expression.

"Yes?" Lance replied, suspended in anticipation at his superior's odd reactions.

"Did you ever know that your step-mother was Galra?" Zarkon asked, leaning forward slightly. A creaaak slithered out from the sound and Lance just looked at him. Words were not formatting in his bran, nor were they reaching his throat any time soon. Haggar? Galra? That would explain a lot.

"I did not know that."  Lance said in response, mouth dry. "Did you two know each other in the past?"

"I'll fill out a statement to add a sum to your payment this week. You may leave." Zarkon says instantly, standing to see Lance out of the office. Rushed and hushed, Lance hurries out and thanks him while he can. The bear retreated back into his cave soon after.