Svidge Week - Day 2: Sven’s Reality + Angst
(Might also be a scene in “Golden Madness”??? So???)
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Sven was nervous.
I mean, sure, he was willing to risk his life for the Guns of Gamora…but this?
This was madness.
Here he was, just an adverage member, on his way to meet THE HEADS of the Guns of Gamora themselves. The fabled Prince and his brilliant wife. The lakers of this great rebellion wanted to personally meet him.
And Slav.
“Just relax Sven, the Prince and his Princess in this reality are known to be 78% more merciful than in any other reality.” Sadly, even Slav’s universal probabilities did nothing to soothe Sven’s frazzled nerves as they walked through the last door to their meeting place.
Thus began the wait.
And no amount of shifting his weight or fidgeting did anything to ease the nervousness spinning in Sven’s stomach. Had they done something wrong? Was the Prince displeased with their performance? Were they g-
“Sorry for the wait!” Sven perked up at the sound of a voice, female but gruff. And a daintier, happier sound. Bells and bangles, he supposed.
Then he saw her.
And she made Sven’s knees go weak. He wanted to collapse onto the floor, but he was so taken by her appearance, Sven couldn’t look away. She simultaneously made him weak in the legs and heart pound in ways nothing ever had before.
She was gorgeous.
Small and pale and freckles all over her soft skin. A slender, toned frame that a pure white catsuit clung to. A laboratory official’s uniform, Sven dimly recognized. The only difference being the small, pale green shawl wrapped around her delicate shoulders. Everything about her seemed so…small and pale.
Except her presence.
She descended from the high staircase with the greatest amount of dignity and grace Sven had ever seen. Her gait posed and purposeful in every way. Seeming to radiate authority.
Gold, belled anklets ringing with every step.
Shining, golden bangles sparking on her wrists.
Her face came into clearer view, and Sven nearly started at it. Make no mistake, her features were as lovely as the rest of her.
But horribly scarred.
Her right eyelid appeared to have been sliced mercilessly, but it had, miraculously, healed enough to where it only left very harsh scars along her freckled skin.
Her eye, however, was another matter.
It had been removed completely in favor for a cybernetic one that appeared to operate just like the other eye. Sven, though, was no stranger to scars. But on her…they seemed almost cruel.
And she seemed proud of them.
Wearing the slashes along her right eye like badges of honor. As if a testament to her life. And it suddenly made this small woman seem larger than life.
Her hair the color of fire.
No wait…maybe? Not quite fire, but not quite orange either. A color Sven had never seen before. So warm and startling against the pale colors of skin and clothes, it was nearly as jarring as the slashes across her face.
But it looked so soft.
Long and curling to her slim waist. Pitch-black eyelashes, on both eyes, fluttered over to him to meet his eyes.
Sven nearly jolting.
Her remaining, human eye was the same bright gold as her bangles and anklets. Bright and warm and sharp with intelligence and purpose. Red lips curled up invitingly against the soft green markings under her eyes.
Pointed ears adored with long earrings.
“You must be Sven, it’s nice to finally meet you.” And there she was, standing right in front of him. One of the most beautiful Alteans he had ever seen. Sven had been right.
She was short.
Even with the heels.
But still, he grasped her outreached hand as respectfully as he could. Trying not to think about the callouses on the tips of her fingers or the softness of her skin.
Or the sweat coating his palms.
Their hands parted from each other in a way that almost hurt. He must’ve continued to stare at her, despite his best efforts. Face flushing red. But how could he not? It was impossible not to gaze upon such a bright little creature like her.
A woman who smiled like a defibrillator.
“L-Likewise Ms…?”
“Oh! It’s Pidge. Just Pidge is fine.” Pidge laughed, waving those small hands of her’s in front of her as if to swat away any formalities. Sven rolled the name off his mouth.
Pidge.
He liked it.
“So do you know why you were called here Sven?” Her tone now serious, her gold eye boring into his gray ones. Sven stood up straighter. Right. He was meeting the Guns of Garmora’s Prince and Princess.
"No ma'am." Her red lips gave a little twitch at the title, but she turned away from him all the same. Breaking that entrancing eye contact.
Looking towards Slav.
“But I'm guessing you have an idea as to why?" Slav didn’t even wait a tick. Closing two pairs of his arms and puffin out his chest proudly.
"Of course! For instance there is a 28% percent chance that in this reality you are here to kill us."
“Only 28%? I must be getting soft in the other realities then!“ Good Stars above that teasing smile on her face would be the death of him. Slav, however, took to comment as a grave offense. His large eyes narrowing in a near comical way. Shrieking his protest.
“Yes! ‘Only 28%’, are you doupting me?”
“Are you threatening my mate?”
Sven looked towards the new voice.
From the top pf the staircase was none other than the Prince himself. Founder and leader of the Guns of Gamora. One of the last Galrans alive.
Prince Lotor.
He truly was as fearsome as they said. Purple skin with yellow-azure eyes. Short silver hair trimmed just above his neck. Red markings, like bloodied cuts on his cheeks. With face full of sharp, chiseled angels that made him all the more intimidating.
Earrings dangling from his pointed ears.
As the Prince decended from the stars, Sven suddenly felt small. Dressed in black and metal plates, the Prince left no room to question his authority. Taking away all the oxygen in the room with his mere presence. His long, red-violet cape snapping behind him like a serpent as he glared at Slav.
“I’ll repeat myself one more time, were you threatening my mate?” Curling his lips back, Lotor snarled at Slav. The latter quickly hiding behind Sven. Shaking his head left and right vigorously. The Prince relaxing.
Sven’s heart having long since stopped.
Mate?
He couldn’t…
There was no way…
“Easy Pretty Boy, Easy…” Pidge laughed like the bells on her ankles. Bright and cheerful with that gruff voice of her’s. Walking over to Lotor, slipping her hand in his.
Pulling him down for a kiss.
The Prince’s eyes fluttered shut above Pidge as he reached for the shawl around her shoulders. All his remaining tension disappearing under Pidge’s care. Lips moving together in habitual sync. Slipping the green shawl off her body to reveal bare, smooth shoulders.
A bite mark like scar on one of them.
There was a noise Sven couldn’t place, in his head perhaps? A sort of mournful wailing. Dimly, Sven remembered the lessons about the near-extinct Galran race that the Guns of Gamora’s Generals had taught him, back when he had first enlisted.
“Galrans mate only once…”
They pulled away, the Prince’s eyes dreamy as he stared down at the small, smiling woman with the gold eye and scarred face.
Love in every feature.
“They chose a single mate who they trust to stay by their side…Marking them with a scar.”
“You’ll be the death of me Katherine.” But Lotor smiled as he said this, voice low and purring. Arms moving to wrap around Pidge’s slim waist. But she only rolled her mismatched eyes and smacked his shoulder.
Still smiling.
“Hush! We have work to do, you crazy thing.” She finally, finally looked back at Sven. Love lighting every single one of her beautiful, scarred features. Love.
Love for Lotor.
“They are then bound to each other. Never to leave, never to betray one another…”
“Sorry about that Sven, this guy,” At this, Pidge elbowed Lotor in the side. “He’s a handful.”
Sven couldn’t answer. He was a grown man drowning on dry land. His throat felt like it was stuffed with towels. Tongue dry and heavy in his jaw as he watched the Galran Prince and his wife smile softly at one another.
“Ah…so this is the reality that the Princess is the Galran Prince’s mate…” Slav murmured absentmindedly, coming out from his hiding space behind Sven.
While Sven could only smile.
“It’s alright.”
Like ripping his own heart out.