Author's Note: Giving credit where it's probably due, I have to say that this Allura was very likely inspired by a piece I read by Zejan. However, I have taken it down a slightly different track, and to a much greater extreme.
Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. The song is done by Garth Brooks (gasp!).
The Red Strokes
The scene is dimly lit, and only a few vague shapes can be seen. As the first lilting strains of piano are heard, a bright spotlight picks out certain objects and the view plays over them: a caddy of pencils, a few empty canvases stretched over frames, leaning against the wall, an easel. There is a sketchbook on a table, open to an obviously rough pencil outline of two figures looking out an arched window. However, it's still easy to see that one figure is female, the other male, with dark shaggy hair. He has his arm around the smaller figure, who has long hair flowing loose down her back. She's wearing a long flowing skirt. The girl has her head against the man's shoulder, and her arm around his waist. Despite the rough quality of the sketch, there is quite a little talent in the hand that drew it; the two figures seem to flow into each other, in a way that suggests they are one soul living in two bodies.
The lighting suddenly brightens to normal daylight. At the bottom of the sketch, there is a bit of writing that had been obscured in the darkness. The graceful script reads "Oh, Keith . . ."
Slim, nearly delicate hands pick up the sketchbook. Careful not to blur the penciled lines, one long index finger runs down the page. Allura smiles dreamily, her finger gently touching the paper, then she sets the book down again, and moves to open the drapes on another window. The room she's set up as her studio is in a tower or perhaps on a corner of the castle, as there are tall arched windows on two sides that let in strong light. After opening all the curtains, Allura returns to her worktable and smiles down at her sketch.
Something out in the corridor draws her attention, and quickly she flips the page to something less indicative of her feelings. She grins as she sees what she's turned to just as Keith and Lance enter the studio, laughing. They stop short, and their mouths drop open, gaping over her shoulder. Puzzled, she looks over her shoulder, and smiles a bit proudly when she discovers they are staring at the painting on the easel. It is of Hunk, standing with his legs slightly spread, arms crossed over his chest. His muscles bulge, seeming almost to ripple in spite of the flat canvas. A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. It is not quite finished; an outline of Yellow's head can still be seen, though Hunk has been fully painted.
Blushing slightly now, Allura pulls their attention away from the painting and to the sketchbook. The page shows Lance in a number of different poses, the largest of which has him winking, his fingers veed in the victory sign. Lance laughs again at that, and Allura grins impishly up at him. She doesn't notice how Keith's eyes soften as he studies the page, or the way his lips curve in a tender smile.
Later, the day has turned into a scorcher. Allura's hair has started to escape from her braid, and is sticking to her face. She's wearing a white sundress, sprigged with blue and pink flowers, and she's still hot, fanning herself. She's sitting propped up against the arm of an old sofa, her sketchbook against her knees. Keith is seated near one of the windows, opened to catch the slight breeze. His dark hair waves. He's leaning on the wide windowsill, arms crossed beneath his cheek, and it appears he's asleep. Allura smiles, and glances down, flipping a couple pages. Several sketches of Keith in various poses grace the papers, including his current sleeping one.
Trying to be quiet, she rises and crosses to her worktable. An empty pitcher and a couple of glasses, sweat beading on the outside, rest on a tray. She sighs, then picks up the tray and tiptoes from the room, silent on her bare feet.
She's only gone a moment when Lance slips in, jacket slung over his shoulder. His eyes light on Keith, asleep at the window, and his smile is amazingly similar to Keith's earlier one as he lets the jacket fall. Coming up behind Keith, he brushes some of the midnight hair away and breathes softly into his ear. Keith looks up and smiles at him drowsily, as Lance kisses his cheek.
Blinking, he sits up and turns slightly, his eyes searching the room. Lance grins down at him, shaking his head slightly. Not finding Allura, Keith gives Lance a wicked grin, and pulls him down to straddle his lap. Lance is surprised for an instant, then relaxes, his arms about Keith's neck. Stretching a little, Keith reaches up for a kiss, his palms pressing gently against Lance's back, then, as their kiss deepens, sliding down to rest on his hips, pulling him closer. Lance's fingers curl in the hair at Keith's nape.
Allura appears in the doorway.
Her eyes wide, she gasps, dropping the tray, one hand flying to her mouth as she stares at Lance and Keith twined on the chair. The pitcher and glasses shatter at her feet, and the boys start at the sound, heads whipping toward the door. Lance pales as he sees her, and makes a move to get up, only to be stopped by the pressure of Keith's hands against his hips. Nervously, he looks down, but Keith is calm, his dark eyes gazing at her steadily, almost daring her to say a word. Mechanically, Allura looks away, kneeling down to pick up the broken glass and pile it on the tray.
A second pair of hands starts to help her. Surprised, she glances up into Lance's suddenly serious blue eyes. Just beyond him, Keith is standing, still scrutinizing her. Abruptly, her face flushes red, and she pulls her hands away, leaping to her feet. Tears streaming, she screams at him, at both of them, flinging one arm violently to the door. Lance recoils, shocked. Reluctantly, he picks up the tray and sets it on her worktable, then he and Keith walk out, Keith's arm around Lance's shoulders. Keith pauses in the doorway, looking back. Allura has her back to the door, arms crossed over her chest, quivering. He shakes his head sadly and leaves.
Still in a rage, Allura lunges for her sketchbook, still on the sofa. Sobbing, she rips the pages of Keith, of Lance from the wire binding and crumples them into small balls. She throws it against one of the walls, then drops to her knees, weeping into her hands.
It's another day. Allura examines her sketch and nods in satisfaction. With quick motions, she begins to rough out the pose she wants onto canvas. Under her hands, Pidge comes to life, his eyes sparkling with intelligence behind his glasses. He is sitting on a sofa, looking up, a book balanced in his lap. In front of him, on the far arm of the sofa, the space mice are cavorting, and he's laughing at them. Below, toward the bottom of the canvas, she draws a close up of Green's head, with Pidge doing a handstand.
However, her mind is not entirely on her work. Her eyes keep straying to the crumpled pieces of paper in the far corner of the room.
After a moment, she puts down her pencil, gets up and walks very slowly to the corner. Gingerly, she picks up the papers and smoothes them out, first one, then another, at her worktable. She sits and studies them, frowning in thought. Her fingers lightly brush the sketch of Keith sleeping.
Automatically, she reaches for her sketchbook. Turning the pages, looking for a fresh one, she comes upon the drawing of her and Keith at the window. Smiling sadly, she trails her fingers over the paper, not caring that the pencil lines are smudging. She takes a deep breath, then yanks the page from the book, and rips it into small pieces, tossing them into the air. They fall around her like confetti, catching in her hair. She ignores them as she finds the clean page, and grabs a sharp pencil.
The nearly finished portrait of Hunk and the barely begun one of Pidge rest against the wall. Allura stands, smiling at her easel. Carefully, she lifts down the canvas and rests it on her worktable then wraps it up in heavy brown paper.
Stepping out into the corridor, she sees Keith walking far down it. She calls out to him, and starts to trot down the hall. Keith freezes at the sound of her voice, and turns around warily. She has the grace to look ashamed when she notices his carefully blank expression. He is unprepared when she thrusts the awkward package into his arms. She smiles at him like nothing has happened and dashes back down the corridor the way she has come, leaving him staring after her in stunned confusion.
Close up on Allura's painting as the music winds down. Somehow, it manages to impart an unfinished feeling, though it is hanging on the wall and is complete. Maybe it's the way some of the brushstrokes seem to just fade away to the sides and bottom, the way so much of the canvas has been left untouched by color. In the center, Keith is pictured. Gentle sunlight is picking up highlights in his black hair, casting barely discernable shadows across his face. His dark eyes are looking directly at the viewers, and he's smiling happily. Behind him, chin resting on Keith's shoulder, one arm hanging almost carelessly around Keith's neck, is Lance. He's grinning his usual cocky grin, and his blue eyes fairly dance with mischief. The same sunlight has made his hair glow nearly bronze. His other arm has snaked around Keith's waist, his hand and Keith's loosely entwined. Above them, surrounded by a faint blue nimbus, are their Lions. Black seems to be roaring defiance at the sky, standing ready to attack, while Red crouches almost playfully, tail waving in the air, head close to the ground. The colors are sharp and vibrant; Lance's eyes are bluer than blue has ever been, light appears to fall into Keith's black hair and be lost, and his flight suit and Lance's Lion are so red that the word may well have been invented just to describe them.
Very slowly, the light dims to night. The view pans around and focuses on two figures standing on a small balcony, back lit by the stars. They're about the same height, masculine; one has shaggy hair that floats over his shoulders. They are kissing deeply. After a moment, they break it, and merely stand, arms about each other, foreheads touching gently.
***
May 5, 2002
© randi (K. Shepard), 2002.