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[toebeans]

[ Shiro doesn't answer, tongue frozen in his mouth. Keith hands him the pouch with the leftover grapes in it and leaves-- he leaves and he doesn't know what to do in return. This could still be a trick. Haggar's done awful things before and he hadn't realized it; he'd be a fool to relax now, but nothing...happens.

He's locked in the room for another few days and talked to by various members of this group. One of them looks jarringly like the Galra that rescued him; Shiro recoils from him when he walks past the room, once, stomach dropping to his feet.

Every day that passes brings the joint wonderful-awful knowledge that this might be real. Despite everything, this may be real. There's no Haggar or Druids here. No torture, no fighting. It's the longest he's gone without either to the point that he doesn't know what to do with himself when he's not fighting for his life. He works out, instead. An assortment of push ups, pullups, everything he can think of to exhaust his body so his mind will rest. Now that they know he can understand them at least passably, they try to talk to him again, but he doesn't do more than vaguely entertain it, offering one-word answers.

Keith doesn't come back. The thing wearing his face is still gone. Maybe, it was a hallucination.

It doesn't matter; he doesn't dare ask, and in time, he's told that he's allowed to the common areas of their base. He's given a room with an actual bed. A room that locks. He's given a shower and spends a solid hour in it, curled in a ball under the hot water, shivering. He's given access to food: he squirrels that away in his room, in pouches on his belt. He's given a change of clothes - Galra issue, but this doesn't make his skin crawl. It's draped loose and comfortable. There's no armor to give it form, but the silks against his skin feel positively luxurious after the scratch of his jumpsuit.

He learns the exits and entrances where he can; the Galra around him know he's casing the place but no one stops him. It's entirely by accident that he runs into Keith the next time he's on a walk, counting Galra in here to try and see how many he'd have to fight to get out, trying to track patterns.

Keith stops and stares and before he can stop himself, Shiro touches a hand to his face awkwardly. He'd shaved off the scruff that'd grown in. He hasn't cut his hair, but it's freshly washed, piled in a knot on top of his head, the streak of white obvious but not as jarring any longer when he looks at himself. The updated translator does some good; Shiro can speak English and it's transferred into Galran, but he sticks to Galran for the time being. Better to perfect it now if it's the most common language out there. ]

My story checked out. I have a shadow, but now I get a room and somewhat free reign.

[synchronized]

Your accent is still horrible.

[ now that shiro is clean and mostly groomed, keith can see the distinctive human traits he presents more clearly. the angular jaw he has is so different from keith's own, as are the slant of his eyes compared to keith's. his skin is darker by a shade or two, but it's also a different undertone - a fascinating aspect, when keith considers that the galra have varying hues and striping or spotting as well. outside of the prison clothes, shiro actually looks... good.

strong. sturdy. like a warrior worthy of notice among the galra. even shiro's height is acceptable enough, even if he's somewhat on the short side of the galran average. keith bats away at the momentary spike of envy; this is neither the time nor the place for juvenile thoughts and insecurities.

keith unwinds his braid from around his neck, lets it fall down his back in a slow swing. soon he'll have to cut it to a more acceptable length; kolivan lets him keep it out of respect for thace's paternal instincts, but favoritism is a plague when it's among the ranks, and keith doesn't want to add another mark against him. keith sighs. both thace and ulaz had left to investigate the ship's parts where any accidents won't risk the blades' headquarters.

he resents that he couldn't go, but at the same time... ]

Do you want to sit? [ he deftly pulls up a chair for himself, only to use it as a stepping stool so he could sit on the table. ] I still have a lot more questions if you're willing to talk with me.

[toebeans]

[ It's like seeing a ghost walking around, looking at Keith. You should be home, he thinks, but maybe he is. This isn't the same Keith, despite looking, sounding and seeming like him. His Keith is home, alive and well. This is...he doesn't know. But it's not fake, this...world or universe or whatever is happening doesn't seem to be a hallucination. It's gone on too long to be that and it hurts too much at points to be anything but real.

Somehow, that's also not a comfort.

The Galra shadow he's picked up seems to drift off, content enough that he's got another Blade watching him so it leaves just him and Keith there and idly, Shiro wonders if he has sway here or if it's just that they assume Shiro hasn't tried to do anything so he's less of a threat and more of a nuisance needing watched.

It still makes his skin crawl, being around all the Galra, but they haven't hurt him.

Gingerly, he takes a chair and looks at him - takes in the sight of him in the Blade clothing and thinks how. ]

I don't have anything else to do, so.