[ part of lance had been hoping that whoeveritwas would leave after seeing the main room empty-- that they'd only come to deliver something and it would be sitting on the desk for him to discover later. the guards don't come and make conversation with him, after all, and he doesn't speak enough galran to try. he shouldn't even want to try. maybe it's an isolation tactic to make him more amenable to learning the language or cooperating. lance isn't used to being alone, but he also doesn't want to make nice with his captors. shiro hadn't made nice with the galra. he bet shiro was defiant the whole time, never cooperating, refusing the food they put out for him, refusing to let them break his spirit.
he knows, logically, that shiro did cooperate, that shiro ate their food and played by their rules and fought in their arenas, or else he wouldn't be alive, but he can't imagine shiro sitting alone and miserable in a room like this, speaking to no one and feeling like a child sulking in his room while the adults all wait patiently for him to come to his senses. maybe lance should be trying to talk to the guards. shiro would've been making an escape plan. if he did anything, it would've been certain and confident.
he finds himself wishing zarkon would come see him. at least then it wouldn't be his choice, it would be something happening to him that's out of his control, and for a couple hours at least the uncertainty would stop.
but the newcomer isn't galra. the newcomer speaks english, and lance's head whips up quickly, eyes widening. ]
Pidge...?
[ no, not pidge. older than pidge, older than him, too tall, too-- soft-looking, somehow, longer hair. no paladin armor either. he swallows down the painful surge of hope that this had been a rescue. a rescuer wouldn't knock on the damn door.
no subject
he knows, logically, that shiro did cooperate, that shiro ate their food and played by their rules and fought in their arenas, or else he wouldn't be alive, but he can't imagine shiro sitting alone and miserable in a room like this, speaking to no one and feeling like a child sulking in his room while the adults all wait patiently for him to come to his senses. maybe lance should be trying to talk to the guards. shiro would've been making an escape plan. if he did anything, it would've been certain and confident.
he finds himself wishing zarkon would come see him. at least then it wouldn't be his choice, it would be something happening to him that's out of his control, and for a couple hours at least the uncertainty would stop.
but the newcomer isn't galra. the newcomer speaks english, and lance's head whips up quickly, eyes widening. ]
Pidge...?
[ no, not pidge. older than pidge, older than him, too tall, too-- soft-looking, somehow, longer hair. no paladin armor either. he swallows down the painful surge of hope that this had been a rescue. a rescuer wouldn't knock on the damn door.
warily, ]
Who the hell are you?