shakes

The problem was my babies were too strong. The lions I mean.

Well, I didn't build them, so I suppose that they aren't really my babies. Still, I knew those machines inside and out, better than Alfor I'm sure; and I made them better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. They needed those repairs too. The man was a brilliant ruler, but I don't think he knew a hammer from a monkey wrench.

Which leads me back to my current problem. About the lions being too strong and all.

God, I don't even know what I was thinking. I should have known better than to use that Arusian alloy. It was just too heavy. Stronger than the normal compounds, true, but the stuff that the Alliance uses for the space fighters would have worked just as well. I should have sacrificed the added boost to the weapons system and strengthened the ionic shields rather than trying to replace the shield's defensive properties with a stronger metal. But then again, given how many times those poor machines were ripped up by Lotor's weapons, I thought that stronger metal was the way to go. How could I have known that Haggar would finally get the balance right between intelligence and strength in her robeasts?

But I don't think I'll ever be able to forget their screams.

The worst part was that it wasn't a clean death. None of them were.

You'd think that with the way the metal twisted, something would have punctured them with enough force to kill them. Like that stupid safety bar behind Keith's seat. Or the panels when they were forced inward in the blue lion. Or when the sides of the green lions head buckled inward, almost touching each other--surely Pidge should have been crushed. Hell, that damn robeast punctured the red lion with a javelin from stem to stern. There's no way that it could have missed Lance.

But it did. All these opportunities when they could have died; all miraculously dodged. And so they lived, and so I lived, long enough to see them, trapped beneath all that twisted metal, blood staining everything, screaming in pain even as they tried to live. I think that my nights will always be tormented with the sight of Allura trying to stuff her guts back into her stomach, or Lance wriggling and pined through the shoulder, or Keith with half his chest gone and still trying to fight.

I know that I'll never forget the sight of Pidge, face so calm, so collected, even as the robeast's foot descended and--

Shit. My hands are shaking again. I wish they'd stop. C'mon, goddamn it. Don't shake. Don't shake now. Don't betray me like this guys, c'mon. Not when Sven's watching. He's going to come over and ask me what's wrong and I'm either going to have to tell him or lie through my teeth and say it's nothing. It's not 'nothing'. But it's still not something that I want to share with him; I don't think I can share it with him.

I suppose that it's sort of sweet, his concern for me. Annoying, frustrating, and way too hover-y, but sweet. If you like that sort of thing. Personally, I think that he needs to back off before I hurt him. Hah. There's a laugh. Me, hurt Sven? I can barely control my body, let alone get through the complex muscular responses needed to form a fist and then send that fist in the direction of Sven's face.

Please, please, please don't come over. Please don't ask me how I'm doing. Please to don't ask if I want to talk about it, because I swear, one of these days I'm going to take you up on that offer and you are going to regret it until your dying day. You will, Sven. I know you.

Stop shaking. Stop it. You shouldn't be shaking. You shouldn't. Compared to the others, you escaped light. You're still alive aren't you? So you won't build anything anymore. So what? You're breathing, you're living, you're better off than almost everyone you love.

I want a drink.

Voltron
Feed Todesengel