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IMPORTANT! READ THE NOTES! UNDERSTAND THEM! AND THEN READ THIS PIECE OF SHIT/ART! THANKS! :)
Takashi Shirogane (Shiro):
Shiro was not a struggling arts student. If anyone ever asked (especially his Nan) he would always laugh and brush them off.
"Yeah, the pay at the cafe's not great, but the rent's not too bad so I don't starve. And besides, I got a scholarship for acting school, all expenses paid!"
Agreed, it could be hard, but Shiro had figured out how to buy food and be an adult (sort of), and having a Nan like his, it was actually hard to not get help with the rent.
It was hard growing up only remembering one parent, and only a scarce amount of that one. Shiro's mum died in childbirth, his dad died in a crash when he was nine. In that same car crash, Shiro lost most of his right arm and was left with a scar across his face. Finding a decent prosthetic limb was difficult, but nowadays, pretty much anything's possible when you have the money. And you know what wasn't hard? Money. (Unless you were calling it, 'cold, hard cash.')
His dad had been loaded when he died, and that didn't stop after he did so, as his mother, Shiro's Nan continued to run the company, and if Shiro had wanted it, he had money at his fingertips (almost literally considering the mightily expensive metal arm he carried around).
But he hadn't wanted it. Shiro (being Shiro and obstinately stubborn about these sorts of things) didn't want help. He'd scored a scholarship, and he was proud of it. He was going to make it worthwhile, and he was going to teach himself to be grateful for what little he had.
His Nan had understood completely, but that didn't stop her hounding him over the phone every Sunday after she got home from church.
"Have you eaten well this week?" (Her personal favourite.)
"Is your flat leaking?" (The answer was always, 'no', the landlord was a bit of a handyman and kept all of his flats in good repair.)
"How's school?" ("Uh, yeah, great, Nan! We've been studying script writing and reading. Yeah . . . Oh, right, you meant tuition fees. Nan, I've got a scholarship. Yeah, they pay for everything . . . Uh-huh . . . Hang on, I think that's Matt . . . Yeah, it is! Got to go, Nan, sorry. Same time next week? . . . Cool, love you lots."
Yeah, Shiro was doing fine, but as soon as he read the scrappy letter on the campus notice board, he was interested.
Small project, sponsored by DreamWorks.
Needs actors with minimal experience.
Auditions this Friday evening at 6pm. If you can't make it, call the emergency contact at the bottom of this note.
The job is paying, and will supply credits for St. Tracy Memorial Campus students.
For more information see . . .
No, Shiro was not broke. And yes, the note looked dodgy as all fuck. The thing about DreamWorks was probably fake. But it also looked interesting. The guy, Paul Bishop, had evidently put a lot of thought into it, even giving it a name and a symbol.
Voltron: Legendary Defenders.
Yeah, it had a nice ring to it, and Shiro could definitely get his head around being a paid actor anytime.
Boudie and Jackson had been Shiro’s neighbours since he moved into the flat when he started at St. Tracy’s.
Both of them were mechanics at the workshop down the road.
Shiro hadn’t even suspected they were gay until he walked in on Boudie undoing Jackson’s belt with his teeth.
Their ship name is Backson. Shiro refuses to mention it ever again.
Katie Holt (Pidge):
The only reason Pidge got dragged into it all, was because of her pain in the ass little cousin.
Yes, the little cousin who was six foot to her five-two-nine. Believe it or not, Pidge could actually remember a time when she was taller than him . . . just.
Takashi could be a little shit, and an absolute smartass, but he was also one of the sweetest guys Pidge had ever met, and she had promised to keep an eye on him. He acted his twenty-two years, but Pidge knew Takashi was still a kid compared to her. He still saw the good in the world, the hope that shone down on sunny days, and the music that played in the surf along the waterfront.
Takashi was in early summer, Pidge had witnessed the harsh cold of winter itself.
But Pidge was not one of those bastards in their late twenties who blame everything on the next generation. She knew her failures were all her own.
Didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
Pidge should have been a robotics engineer. This time three years ago, she thought that plan was mint. Her parents didn’t.
You see, most parents would love for their child to become an engineer, get rich, and buy them stuff, but Pidge had been a child star, involved in plenty of stage shows over the years, so hers were convinced that acting was all she was destined for.
Yeah, Pidge loved acting, but she never considered it for a job, so it was hardly fair that her parents forced her to go to acting school.
Of course, Pidge wanted to be an engineer, so she was smart, and she formed a plan; Go to acting school and university, become swamped in shit loads of work, fuck up, drop out of uni (but stay in acting school because, ‘parents’) and hate life. Yay.
So now, she was back at uni, studying the same course again, having graduated from acting school last year.
But for some obscure reason, she’d decided to give a shit about her little-but-not-little cousin, and was back at the St. Tracy campus. She couldn’t find Takashi and was getting irritated. Where the fuck could he be?
It was as she was passing the notice board that she noticed the letter. It was kind of hard not to notice it, it was covered in bright pink highlighter. After reading it through, she scowled and sighed.
Yes, if Pidge wanted to find Takashi, she’d have to go to the auditions.
As a child, Lance was an excitable spaz. You might think not much has changed, but he was annoying. To the point where he got kicked out of multiple kindergartens. He hadn’t even made it to school and his parents were getting phone calls home almost every day.
It was the seventh kindergarten (his parents were counting) that found the answer.
Dance.
Actually, it was the work experience kid. She had the same issues when she was his age, and immediately took Lance under her wing, even asking his parents if she could take him to her ballet class.
His parents were hesitant, but when she insisted it would be good for him, they agreed.
Lance mastered ballet and even figure skating (oddly enough as he was extremely clumsy off the rink.
Everyone remembered the teen who cried the most at her funeral. Turns out even Lance failed to cure her depression, and dancing, which once fixed her hyperactive disorder, could not heal her mind any more.
Hunk and Lance had been friends since kindergarten (the seventh one) but Keith and Lance didn’t meet until Lance left middle school for high school.
Hunk had not gone to the same school, but heard quite a lot about the hot-boy-in-the-school’s-emo-band, as Hunk was the only person who knew about Lance’s bisexuality.
Hunk (being Hunk and an awesome friend) agreed to go to the restaurant where the band was playing that Friday night, and also agreed to be Lance’s ‘wingman’. Anything really, to get a good look at Lance’s crush (because, hey, Hunk was allowed to be curious, he was Lance’s best friend).
And Lance (being Lance) could not keep his mouth shut, at all, eventually getting a shout out from the mullet wielding lead guitarist.
After that, Lance was considerably quieter.
Lance didn’t see Keith until next Monday, and almost regretted being a dick on Friday. Almost.
Keith looked terrible, and that thought crossed even Lance’s mind. He had grey shadows under his eyes and looked like the newest recruit for the undead army.
It wasn’t until Keith walked into the classroom door at the start of break that Lance decided to talk to him.
“Uh, hey, you might remember me-”
“You’re the asshole from Friday. I can’t really forget you.”
“Yeah . . . sorry,” Lance rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I get a little excitable sometimes in the evenings-”
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt but I’m really not in the mood to talk to spastics. Get me a coffee and I might consider it.”
Lance watched Keith walk away, the taller boy’s shoulders drooping with despair.
Ten minutes later, Lance plunked himself down on the floor next to Keith and sheepishly held the coffee cup out towards him. Despair didn’t hang around Lance long, sheepishness was sort of the only long standing emotion he had.
Keith, looked from Lance to the cup and back, wide eyed, before taking it.
“Thanks?”
“You better be, I had to get past Honker to bunk out of the school for that.” He jerked his chin at the coffee cup and huffed out a breath, having run all the way to the coffee shop and back.
Keith laughed at their English teacher’s nickname, and Lance looked over at him, almost shocked.
“I really wanted to talk to you.”
Now this really surprised Keith.
“Why would you want to talk to me?”
Lance looked over at him and shrugged.
“I figured us hot dudes should stick together. You know?”
Keith shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Whatever, loser.”
Lance looked like a puppy that had just been thrown a treat.
Neither of them admitted to remembering how Lance asked Keith out, but they both did really; holding that memory closer than their own hearts.
It had been after a soccer game, Lance and Keith were sitting on the now empty pitch, watching the sun set and the stars come out. Lance still sweaty and practically glowing from the recent win . . . Keith was stealing glances at him, smiling to himself.
Lance said something that wasn’t remotely funny. Keith laughed, not to please Lance, but because somehow, the ridiculousness of it made it seem hilarious.
Then the words had popped out of Keith’s mouth and bombarded a startled Lance before Keith could snatch them out of the air and bury them deep forever.
“I love you.”
There was a moment of silence, Lance staring at Keith with his mouth hanging open, Keith staring at the grass, crimson spilling onto his cheeks.
Just as Keith looked up, and excuse to leave on his lips, Lance kissed him. It was a pretty terrible kiss, but neither of them cared much. For teenage boys, it’s quantity, not quality.
It had happened shortly after Keith and Lance had started dating (which Hunk was over the moon about btw).
Lance remembered watching his mum’s lips move, not hearing any words after, “She’s dead, Lance.”
The tears rolled down his cheeks and he did not remember giving them permission to do that.
And he’d ran away.
Like he always did.
He was always just the boy who ran away.
At least that’s what he thought.
Lance’s mum saw a boy who was much older than he should have been. He already had the world on his shoulders, why did she have to burden him with more bad news?
Hunk saw his best friend in the whole entire world, and he knew that nothing would come between them. No matter how hard it tried.
Keith saw someone who’s emotional strength greatly surpassed the type of strength he strived for in the gym. And not only did that infuriate him, but it made him fall even more hopelessly in love with him. With Lance. With the boy that cried openly, spoke freely, and wore his heart on his sleeve. And that infuriated Keith as well, but most things did, so that was alright.
For some reason Lance found himself at Keith’s place, and soon he was pounding on the door, hot tears still rolling down his cheeks.
The door was jerked open, and a tall, balding man stood, looking Lance up and down disapprovingly.
“Well,” he snapped, “What do you want?”
“K-Keith?” Lance stuttered.
“No, that’s not my name-”
Keith barged past him.
“Lance?!”
Without even waiting for an answer, he grabbed Lance by the front of his shirt and dragged him up to his room.
Slamming the door (and locking it) Keith whirled on Lance and grabbed him by his shoulders.
“Lance! I told you not to come here-” Keith trailed off as he saw the tears rolling down his boyfriend’s face.
“Oh God. Lance? What happened?”
Lance hiccupped and only managed to say, “She’s gone, Keith. She killed herself-” before bursting into renewed tears.
Keith didn’t say anything. He just pulled Lance into his arms and held him tight.
Yes, Spacedad is gonna be making a comeback . . .
“Hey, Shiro-”
Shiro was curled up under his desk, covered in a blanket, with only his rainbow socks and hair floof sticking out.
“Uh . . .”
For once, Liz was actually lost for words, mainly because she had so many questions. For instance, ‘How manly are those socks, Shiro?’ sprung to mind, followed by, ‘What happened?’ and, ‘How do you even fit under that blanket?’. She also had half a mind to take pictures and laugh.
She couldn’t help it. There was something so comical about seeing a guy almost twice her height with the ability to stay standing after running ten miles straight and bench pressing four twenty year-olds (albeit skinny ones) huddled under a cat patterned blanket and . . . was he whimpering?
“Shiro, you’re gonna have to tell me what happened if you want me to stop laughing at you.”
Shiro’s face came into view, glaring at her.
“School is hard.”
“Dude, trust me, I know, but you go to acting school. How hard can it be?”
Shiro ‘humphed’, and merely said, “I thought you ‘knew everything there was to know’ about acting school.”
“Aww, come on, you and I both know I’m not completely perfect.”
That brought a laugh, though he hid it well.
Shiro and Lance got along surprisingly well, despite the fact they were almost polar opposites.
Lance liked talking about the latest internet craze at loud volumes.
Shiro didn't mind listening as long as he didn't have to actually, listen.
But Lance could still be too much sometimes, eventually, Shiro broke.
"Hey, Lance?"
Lance stopped mid-word.
"Yeah, Shiro?"
"You wanna know a secret?"
"Sure!"
"I once lost, like, 27 pounds over the course of a week."
Lance's jaw dropped.
"Seriously? Dude, what is your secret?"
Shiro looked back down at his phone, deadpanning.
"I had my arm ripped off."