I took a day off from everything on Friday to just relax, and ended up coloring my sketch of Sarifel and Junera to pass the time.
I plan on polishing this up some more later, but for now I’ve gotta get back to other things, like an Andalite TF commission I should have finished a while ago!
New work in progress on one of my Andalite OCs. This one is Junera-Ixhenalli-Kihret, future War-Princess and chief buttkicker in the Second Yeerk War story I am working on.
“Junnie!”
Junnie looked up from her copy of Curious George and the Rocket. Her father stood at the door of the nursery, a big dopey cheery smile on his face, the sort he used on Alfie regularly. He was trying to look friendly, but Junera knew what it meant when he used that look on her. That was the look her daddy wore whenever he had to tell her to do something she didn’t want to do. He’d worn it to take her to the dentist (she had not gone quietly), he’d worn it when she had to get her picture taken for her passport (she had taken no prisoners) and if he was wearing it now, so that meant something was coming.
“Guess what time it is?”
Junera would not guess. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even if he’d bought her that power wheels for her birthday.
“It’s bathtime!”
Junera watched her father do jazz hands and then looked back down at her book.
“No.”
She didn’t have time to take a bath. She needed to see if George would crash the rocket like Uncle Lance crashed the station wagon. If he didn’t, he might be paladin material. From the door, she heard her father sigh.
“Junera…”
“No!”
She repeated her response again with gusto. Her aunts and uncles always told her about words like ‘Gusto’ and ‘jazz hands’ and Uncle Keith had taught her how to use the dictionary and it always made her feel smart to know what they meant. As she read the people in the book countdown, a shadow loomed over her. Junera looked up to see her father, hands on his hips, giving her a look she’d seen him give Uncle Lance when he’d crashed the station wagon. Why, though, was beyond her. She hadn’t crashed anything.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” her father said.
“What about the medium way?” said Junera.
“Okay, we can do this the easy way, the hard way, or the medium way.”
Junera looked up at her father over her shoulder.
“What about the right way?”
Her father pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fine, we can do this the easy way, the hard way—”
“What about the left way?”
“Junera!”
Shiro had gotten his daughter undressed, promised that they would watch a movie afterward, that he would keep her place in her book while she was bathing, gotten her the hot-pink bathrobe with her name on it in yellow curlicue lettering she’d gotten for Christmas, He had made sure the water was not too hot or too cold, it was just right. He had gotten Pogo the Bathtime ducky and Frida the Bubble bath frog (Uncle Hunk had told her that she couldn’t have a bubble bath without a froggie, even though Shiro had taken hundreds without one).
He’d made sure the shampoo was tear-free.
And He’d even gotten the grown-up’s bubble bath from his and Allura’s bathroom (lavender-scented).
Now, all that was needed for Junnie to get into the tub. If Shiro didn’t know any better, he’d swear that his daughter was just trying to get back at him for pulling her away from her favorite book. He turned to face his daughter, who was standing dangerously close to the door.
“Okay, young lady,” he said, using his ‘Lance, Keith stop fighting’ voice, “Time to get in the tub.”
Junera shook her head.
“No.” she said, “not until you get in.”
Shiro balked at her.
“You want me to bathe with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, okay.”
It was a small price to pay for his daughter’s cleanliness. Shiro had just pulled his shirt over his head when he felt something soft, like fabric, land on his feet.
Don’t be a robe, Shiro prayed, unless my beautiful, smart, obedient daughter is getting into the bathtub, please don’t let it be a robe.
A hot pink bathrobe lay at his feet.
He didn’t see Junera leave, but he heard her footsteps and voice as she ran down the hall.
“Anarchy! Anarchy!”
Shiro ran a hand through his hair as if that action would solve all his problems.
“Where did she even learn that word?” he asked no-one.
Allura was roused from her peaceful slumber by what sounded like panicked yelling. Which was odd, because nobody had set the kitchen on fire since Krolia had tried to bake Keith a birthday cake. Baby Alfor was on her lap, half dozing himself. Gathering her son up in her arms, Allura headed towards the sounds. What she found was her husband (delightfully) half naked chasing their naked daughter through the house, while Shiro tried to reason with her. She smiled as Alfor shifted in her arms. First she would put Alfor to bed and then she would help her husband accomplish the biggest mission he’d ever faced as the Black Paladin of Voltron: get Junnie into the bath and to bed.
But first she would need to get a camera to document this occasion.
This has about as much planning and research as your average Michael Bay film, but hey, I put my heart in it. And Shallura makes everything better.
It was horrible! The agony Allura of Altea felt in this moment dwarfed any difficult choice she had made as a queen, as a princess, as a paladin! The terror incalculable. And now, her whole family was at stake!
“Mommy! Alfie’s stinky!”
Allura’s daughter, Junera, pressed her nostrils closed with both her fingers, her eyes wide and buggy with overplayed annoyance. A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed baby Alfor sniffling and Allura prayed that he wouldn’t start crying again.
“I know, Junnie,” Allura said, “and I’m--trying to fix it. Please be--”
Allura fought down a gag and rolled down the car window.
“Please be patient.”
Allura had never been good with children. She had dreaded motherhood almost her whole pregnancy. But then, when she held Junera in her arms for the first time, tears welling up in her eyes, the man she loved with her, the family she had found by her side, it was like a switch had been flipped. She wanted to protect this child, this thing she had created through love and genetics.
They gave her an Altean name, Junera, “Juniberry child”, for the flowers she loved so much, that each paladin grew in the gardens and pots in their home.
And Allura wanted to make sure she grew up as beautiful as the delicate sweet blooms she was named for.
She grilled Lance relentlessly for tips and baby books, made at least three lopsided one-armed sweaters under Hunk’s tutelage before giving into buying cute clothes that said things like “I’m the princess you better run” on them, and made sure Coran was never as far as a phone call away (the kids loved Coran to bits, a sentiment he returned).
And every time she looked at Junnie in her the five years of life, she saw new reasons to love her. Every time her daughter read a new sentence or learned a new word, visited Shiro’s family, when they told her a bedtime story about Voltron, Allura found her heart growing just a little bit more.
Those were Shiro’s eyes, eyes that lit up when she was so happy, that could hold so much feeling at one time, eyes she could stare into forever.
And that face, that was her nan-nan’s face. The face she remembered from her childhood.
But her daughter’s hair, so much like her own, but streaked with ashy grey and black, was a mixture unique to her and so very lovely, Allura always thought.
She was brave too. Never afraid to speak her mind, never shy around people, never afraid to try new things.
She was a princess of Altea, through and through.
Even when she was too stubborn for her own good or arguing, Allura loved her and cared for her more than she could put into words.
And then, Alfor came into the world. Named for her beloved father, Alfor saw the whole world as one big adventure, a play date full of new people to meet and new things to see. He was sunny and friendly and full of love.
So full of love, in fact, that even Junnie was taken with him after a week or two of jealous pouting was under her belt.
He was a little prince. Her little prince.
But boy, could he make a big stink.
It had started easy enough. Her workload had been light today, the weather fair, so working at home with the kids seemed like a splendid idea. It had been a peaceful morning, with a peaceful lunch. Alfor and Junera had eaten agreeably and promised to stay in the nursury until she was finished. If they needed anything ,she had the baby monitor on and, Yes Junnie, you’re a big girl, I know, but if you need help, I’m in the next room over. She’d finished the first set of forms when she’d first scented it. A wet, hot smell that burned her nostrils and tickled her gag reflex. Then she’d heard the crying over the baby monitor.
Allura had dashed out of her office into the nursury where Junera was standing in front of Alfor’s crib, where the crying was coming from.
“Mama,” Junera said, turning to look at her, “Alfie’s stinky.”
Shiro and Coran were normally the ones to handle changing diapers. Allura had so far been lucky, always away on diplomatic matters or when Shiro had been in the other room when diaper changing had been needed.
But now, Shiro was on a mission with the other paladins, providing relief to a system stifled with drought and famine. And Coran was in Washington DC, helping to diffuse a rather sticky situation involving a migrant couple and an Altean baby. Which left just her. She and Shiro had not bothered with nannies or servants. They didn’t need them when they had at least five other people over at their house every other week (Keith still slept on their couch more than once). But now she was regretting it.
The concept was simple enough. Getting the baby’s diaper off and putting on a fresh one. But then she’d went to the bathroom cupboard and found no diapers, just an empty plastic bag labeled “Pampers”.
She couldn’t damage this diaper, then. Not until she could find more.
She’d cycled through every person she knew. No-one but Keith was planet side and he’d made it firmly known that he did not know how to change a diaper. So that was out.
And if she called the guards, they would undoubtedly turn a routine trip to the supermarket into an international spectacle of security (protection was fine, but stifling thy name was guard).
So, with much grumbling, crying, consoling, and carefully scooping disgusting bits of...red out of Alfor’s diaper with an ice cream scoop, Allura loaded her family into the car and set out on what could be her most important mission to date.
If Alfor was going to get changed, Allura thought as her daughter made an exaggerated gagging noise, then she’d have to do it herself.
Allura pulled into a familiar driveway.
But she couldn’t do it alone.
“You want me to change your child’s diaper?”
Allura nodded. She sat in an armchair in the Holt family home, across from Doctor Samuel Holt, while Alfor sat in a play pen on the other side of the room with his sister.
“Yes, Doctor Holt.”
Sam sighed and sat down the datapad he had been using.
“Your majesty...”
“Allura, please. We’ve known each other long enough.”
Sam nodded.
“Allura then. I don’t really know how to help you in this regard.”
Allura’s face fell.
“But you’re a doctor. For Aliens!”
Sam shook his head.
“I’m a xenobiologist not a--well, I am a doctor, but I think you’re looking for a babysitter.”
“Please just teach me how to change a diaper! I can’t reach anyone else! I took out the worst of it, but he still needs to be cleaned. You don’t have to do anything!”
Sam looked like a deer that had just been introduced to a gas tanker.
“I don’t know how to change a diaper!”
A sharp shot of anxiety went through Allura’s chest like an icicle.
“What!?”
“That was always my wife’s department.”
Suddenly, Alfor began screaming again.
“Mama!” Junera’s trilled, “Alfie’s stinky!”
Allura took a deep calming breath. Considering the smell that pervaded the room and made the man across from her make a face like a goldfish out of water, it was quite a feat. She would not scream. Queens do not scream. Princesses, maybe, Queens never.
“Could you maybe...call her?”
Holding his nose, Sam shook his head.
“She’s on Atlas duty with the Katie and Matt.”
“Quiznak.”
“Goggles?”
“Check.”
“Gloves.”
“Check.”
“Alright then,” Allura said, straitening her oven mitts, “let’s change Alfie.”
Alfor gurgled beneath them on the changing table. Slowly, Allura reached down to the safety pin that held Alfor’s diaper in place. It took her two tries before she finally removed her gloves and undid the pin. Slowly, she pulled back the flaps. The scent that hit her was nothing short of a chemical weapon.
“Excuse me!”
Allura made a beeline straight for the little Alteans’ room.
It was about two hours before baby Alfor was changed, cleaned and returned home.
“Allura, I’m home.”
Shiro walked through his front door to find the house unusually quiet. Odd. Usually someone was there to meet him. His daughter, his wife, his son. Had they gone out to eat.
“Allura?” called out again.
Junera ran into the living room up to him. She put her fingers to her lips.
“Shhhhh,” she said, “mama’s sleeping.”
“Oh.”
Shiro knelt in front of his daughter.
“Did mama finish all her work?”
Junera nodded.
“Yes.”
“Was it hard work?”
“Mama changed Alfie’s diaper.”
“Really?”
Junera nodded.
“She’s sleeping now.” said Junera.
“Then why are you still up?” Shiro stage whispered, leaning in.
“I’m not tired,” Junera said.
Shiro smiled and faked a wide yawn. Junera yawned back. He smiled and scooped his daughter up into his arms. How is it you could fall in love with a family all over again after only a day away from them?
“Come on,” he said, kissing his daughter on the cheek, “let’s go see how mommy and Alfie are doing.”
It turns out, Alteans are unable to digest peaches, even the ones processed for babies. Now, Allura’s children aren’t allowed to eat peaches in any regard and all five paladins of Voltron know the ten most popular videos about how to change a diaper on YouTube.
