You’re Mad, I’m Mad

Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. They would so not approve of this.

When In Rome . . .

Another lovely day dawned on the planet Arus. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping . . . all in all, the stereotypical scene for a disaster just waiting to happen.

The wait was not too long.

"SVEN!"

Lance’s joyful shout echoed through the castle and surrounding grounds.

"Not so bloody loud, Lance," Sven muttered, massaging his temples, and trying without success to ease the massive hangover he seemed to have developed.

Lance wasn’t helping matters, as he glomped onto Sven and squeezed tightly. Sven started to turn blue, matching the shade of his Lion quite nicely.

Suddenly aware of the desperate motions of Sven’s hands, and of some odd gasping noises above his head, Lance looked up. "Sven, what’s the matter?" Sven had passed blue and was heading toward mauve. Lance released his grip fractionally. Sven immediately drew in a breath as deep as he could and slumped against the doorjamb.

"Sven, what are you doing here? How’d you get away?" Lance was nearly capering in his excitement.

"What are yu talking about?" Sven opened one bleary eye and immediately closed it. "And would yu please stop that? Yur making me dizzy." Rather than blue, he had faded to looking a little green.

"From Romelle, how’d you get away from her?" Lance had calmed down, but was still grinning ear to ear.

"Romelle who?"

But Lance was not able to reply as the rest of the team, in varying states of undress, came thundering up the corridor. At the sudden cacophony of noise, Sven’s eyes rolled back in his head and he swayed at the increase of the speed and intensity of the drums pounding beneath his skull.

"Lance!" Keith called, skidding to a stop, and looking him over worriedly. He didn’t even notice Sven in the doorway. "I . . . we heard you yell! What’s going on?"

Lance grabbed Keith’s arm and pointed. "Look! Sven’s back! He escaped!"

The play of emotions over Keith’s face as he turned in the direction Lance indicated was interesting, to say the least. Surprise, happiness, the start of a smile, which quickly died and was replaced by a scowl as he moved on to fear and jealousy. His fierce glare was lost on Sven, who didn’t even notice, with his eyes closed and all. Keith stepped protectively in front of Lance, who blinked cluelessly.

"Hi, Sven." Keith’s voice was cold. This was competition for Lance’s affection, and it could not be tolerated.

As if his words broke a spell, Pidge and Hunk swarmed over Sven, managing to not quite smother him. They didn’t even notice the way he winced at their shouts.

This was rapidly getting out of control, he thought, wincing as the drums started beating the rumba. If something doesn’t stop them in about 2 seconds, I’m going to murder the bloody lot of them, Doom or not.

The gods of plot holes were listening . . . kind of.

"What’s going on?" A pleasant soprano voice drifted up the corridor. Well, it would have been pleasant, had it not been for the razor sharp edge it carried, or the way it was roughened by years of screaming. Sven blinked as his teammates snapped to attention against the opposite wall of the hallway, facing him. Keith was sweating. Lance’s eyes were rolling in fear. Completely nonplussed at this, Sven turned in the direction of the voice.

His jaw dropped. Coming toward him was a submissive’s dream come true. The woman- not much more than a girl, really- was about average height, average build. She was beautiful, if you went for the blond, blue-eyed type. Her hair was done in a braid the thickness of Hunk’s wrist, and the tip of it just reached her waist. She wore leather. Black leather. Skintight, black leather. Rather more skin was showing than leather. Her wide studded belt carried a whip coiled at one hip. Her wrist bracers and collar were also studded. Her thigh high boots were neatly cuffed, and the 4-inch heels rang on the stone floor. She stopped right next to Hunk, who shivered and looked like he wished the floor would swallow him up.

"I said," and her tone said she didn’t like asking questions more than once. "I said, what’s going on?" Mouths worked, but no sound was produced. She sighed, sounding very put upon. "Lance." At the sound of his name, Lance trembled violently, and Keith closed his eyes. "I heard you shout." Her voice became very sugary sweet. "Tell me what it was about. Now."

"M-Mistress . . ." Lance stuttered. "I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m so sorry!"

The girl unhooked the whip from her belt, and, tapped it, still coiled, against his chin. "Yes, I’m sure you’re sorry, indeed . . . now." Lance was mesmerized by the whip, his eyes wide. "But you know how Nanny abhors noise like that in the morning. Forgetting that, no matter what the reason, is grounds for punishment. Do you want to be punished?"

Lance swallowed. "N-no, Mistress. Please."

"I’m sorry, Lance. I didn’t finish my sentence. Do you want to be punished now, or later?"

Lance was spitless in fear. Keith, sensing this somehow, tried to divert the girl’s attention. "Mistress . . ."

"What is it, Keith?" she said, affably enough, but the way her eyes flickered to him told a different tale.

Keith swallowed in turn. "M-Mistress . . . he was just surprised to see Sven." He made a motion with his head.

The girl frowned slightly. "Sven?" She turned.

"Princess Allura?" Sven managed to remember her name through his amazement. Not to mention through the increasing cadence of the drummer.

"Oh, Sven." She smiled at him, and he shivered. It looked like her teeth were slightly pointed. Then, she quirked one eyebrow. Behind her, the boys relaxed slightly, now that her attention was safely off them, and Lance let out a silent sigh of relief. "I thought Romelle had taken you. What are you doing here?"

"Everyone keeps talking about thees Romelle. I’ve never met her. I never even heard of her until Lance mentioned her." Very carefully, Sven shook his head, hoping it wouldn’t fall off his neck like it seemed to want to.

A serious frown puckered Allura’s brow, before she recalled that’s how wrinkles start, and consciously smoothed it away. "Not heard of her? She’s had you for about 3 years. Are you all right?"

"Except for this massif . . ." he was about to say ‘hangover,’ but thought better of it, "headache, I’m fine, I guess."

Again the quick frown. "Romelle must have been very lax. You’ve forgotten all your discipline. Get into line." She jerked the still coiled whip over her shoulder at the boys.

"Excuse me?"

"I distinctly remember telling you to call me ‘Mistress’ when you first arrived. Shamefully lax. This calls for special punishment. Boys," she said over her shoulder without turning around. "You may go." Within seconds, the corridor had cleared. Sven blinked again. Allura very slowly uncurled the whip. "Before I start your punishment," she said very softly, "I do have a question."

"Yes, Pri . . . Meestress?" I can’t believe I said that, Sven thought.

"Does Romelle really wear 6-inch heels?"

It turned out that she had a riding crop down one of her boots as well.

***

Lance laughed. "Saving the universe? What have you been drinking?"

Sven sighed. "Eet’s not funny, Lance. What has happened here?"

They were sitting in the rec room. Well, Lance was sitting. Sven, mindful of the hiding he’d received not too long ago, chose to lean cautiously against a wall. Who’d have thought that such a delicate looking girl could wield a switch with such ferocity?

"No, I mean it, what have you been drinking? You look like you’ve got the hangover from hell." Lance grinned shamelessly.

"Now yu notice. Why deedn’t yu notice before?"

"Surprise, I guess." He leaned forward, out of Keith’s arms, unmindful of the scowl this earned him. "Now, what’s happened to you? Where have you been if you weren’t with Romelle?"

"Lance, for the last time, I don’t know any Romelle. I fell asleep in my room last night . . . perhaps a bit worse for drink, yes . . . and I woke up today in thees . . . madhouse. The Princess I remember is a sweet, gentle girl, who wears a lot of pink . . ."

Keith shuddered. "Doesn’t sound like much of an improvement."

"And she was truly concerned for her people," Sven finished.

"Oh, she’s concerned for her people, all right," Lance replied. "That’s why we’re here."

"Oh, so yu are here to save the universe, den." Sven smiled weakly. "I tought I was going crazy."

Keith snickered. "Only if we’re saving the universe from the claws of another dominatrix. Or maybe from the clutches of safe sex."

Sven had the unpleasant sensation of the world wavering about him. "What?"

Lance sighed. "Maybe Romelle brainwashed him," he said, looking at Keith. "What do you think?"

Keith shrugged. "Could be."

"Why don’t you just tell us what you remember?" Lance offered to Sven.

About halfway though his recital of their escape from Doom, Lance started smiling. Soon he was howling with laughter. Wiping away the tears streaming down his face, he managed, "Oh, you’ve got an overactive imagination!"

Sven glared at him. The pounding in his head hadn’t subsided at all; in fact, Lance’s amusement had only brought on more drummers. It felt like he had a tympani section of an orchestra in his cranium. "All right, hot shot, yu tell me what is dees!"

So Lance did, with Keith chiming in as necessary.

Yep, the world was definitely widdershins.

Sven blinked. Then he blinked again. "I see. Excuse me." And he fainted dead away.

***

Sven opened his eyes warily. But the cave above him was comfortingly familiar, and he relaxed. He was still on Planet Doom, still the crazy man who lived in the caves near the Pit of Skulls.

He made a solemn vow never, never again to drink any of the brew that the Doom soldiers drank. Even the dim light so deep inside the cave was far too bright, and his own breathing echoed painfully loud. All in all, it was shaping up to be a first class hangover. He couldn’t even remember collapsing, but the dream had been far too vivid. He shuddered, and winced as it caused his head to throb.

It was rather a relief to know that leaving Doom and getting back to Arus had been a horrible nightmare. That whole bit Lance and Keith had told him, about Arus and Pollux being rivals in the porn film industry, was just a bit too far-fetched, even for his less than stable psyche. Galaxy Garrison was an actor’s guild, and had dispatched them in response to Mistress Allura’s call for some suitably submissive stars . . . no.

Distantly, he heard a woman’s scream, and, despite his headache and cottony mouth, he went to investigate, staggering and clinging to the walls.

He found a blond woman huddled on the skull littered floor of the cave. She looked up at his approach, and smiled gratefully. "I’m Princess Romelle, from Pollux . . ." She stared, mouth gaping, as Sven blanched and fled in terror.

December 13, 2001