Lance thinks he's finally getting the hang of world-building to Monsters and Mana.

Allura is nowhere to be found, but he's not too worried about that. She needs time by herself after Lotor. Giving her space is the right thing to do, until she's ready to confide to someone. Lance doesn't mind if it's not him either. After all, her feelings don't have to be about Lance.

Keith and Shiro also excuse themselves from playing, vanishing for the training deck. Or wherever they're gonna go make some more lovey-dovey eyes at each other. He prefers to not to imagine that.

"I AM NYBI — the STORM HERALD of my clan FROZENCRAG!" Allura's mice scatter, retreating from the tabletop as Pidge booms this out, stomping a foot down and flicking the holo-game before it stabilizes. She lifts an arm over herself jerkily as a salute and looks up intensely at the lounge's ceiling. "I've left my home as a GNOME BARBARIAN to journey to the unknown, through storms and sun! My aura can strengthen me in TUNDRA as I can survive extreme weather, especially in the lowest of temperatures!"

"AND THEY CALL ME BRIGHTCUT—" Lance stands up on the couch as well, holding up his arms over his head and then flexing, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grinning. "The MOST DEADLY of ROGUES to cross paths with the likes of this realm! Master of POISON and DECEIT! Bringer of—"

Coran motions for them to sit down, glowering a little. "Alright, you lot! Focus!" he declares. An echoing of giggles in the Altean-blue dimness. Coran gazes around, raising an brow. "Hunk?"

"I'm good for right now," Hunk replies to him, leaning back on cushions and folding his hands over his abdomen. "My character already died from Lance's dark poison-strike in the last round and I'm rethinking my strategy for making a cleric. I may try half-elf class instead."

Pidge leans over to Lance, only two plush couch-cushions away. "So… you're a thief again, huh?" she deadpans, peering over the rims of Matt's eyeglasses skeptically.

"Uh, I'm a mercenary — there's a difference," Lance proclaims, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh yeah, you kill people and take their money."

He holds up a finger dramatically, also leaning towards her with an elbow planted on the tabletop.

"More like I'm hired to kill people and take their money, AND I tell nobody about the money part so it all gets to be mine," Lance corrects her, the edges of his mouth quirking. He taps his finger mirthfully against Pidge's lightly freckled nose, watching in unconcealed delight as she narrows her eyes and pretends to snap at Lance's outstretched, brown finger.

"Settle down, you two!" Coran makes a great show of clapping his hands, gaining their attention. "You've defeated the lich and rescued the village of Oparl. Now you'll head to a famed tavern—"

He's drowned out by whooping and high-fives. "What do they got there?" Lance asks eagerly.

Coran twirls his mustache, humming and considering this.

"A variety of meads and ales, I suppose—"

"—I'm gonna drink SO MUCH!" Pidge says, gleefully rubbing her hands together. "With all the gold coins we got from being heroes and my gnome-like tolerance to alcohol, there's no limit!"

"There is only one way to find out…" Coran drawls out, slyly holding up the 20-sided die.

She squeals and grabs it, rolling. As soon as it lands on exactly 20, Pidge hollers and leaps onto her feet, pumping her firsts into the air while Lance slaps his palms excitedly to the tabletop.

"An unlimited amount of mead it is!"

"My turn!" Lance snatches onto the die, kissing it with his puckered-up lips and rolling. This time, it slowly ends up leveling onto a 11. "Not bad, not bad," he murmurs, crossing his arms over his front and not appearing crestfallen about his results, nodding in acceptance.

"You may or may not get a hangover, if you attempt as much as Pidge's character," Coran points out, smirking. Lance tuts, waving off Pidge reaching out to pat his arm in mock sympathy.

After a moment, he leers towards Coran's direction, batting his eyelashes. "Say… are there any ~pretty ladies~ at this tavern available for… … a good time with Brightcut, the totally awesome mercenary rogue? I mean, we did deserve this celebration, after all…"

Pidge's smiling expression drops instantly, and her mood goes sour. "Seriously, Lance? You're thinking of hooking up during a space-roleplaying game?" she questions.

"Hey! I'm a man with needs!" Lance says defensively, uncrossing his arms. "Occasionally!"

"Certainly you may obtain a nightly partner out of your choosing," Coran informs him, shooing away one of the mice gnawing on Shiro's paladin. "But it appears you only have a sole companion left."

Lance frowns, squinting his blue eyes, until it dawns on him.

"You mean FROZENCRAG over here?!"

Hunk snorts a low, amused noise and nudges Coran who smiles back. "Tell 'em to roll for it."

"No way."

"Whatever," Pidge grumbles under her breath, a telltale hue of red on her cheeks. She rolls the 20-sided die through the holo-images, leaving a visibly frustrated Lance to groan and sulk.

Everybody waits, anxious or fearful or entertained, until it lands… on 17.

There's a collective reaction of sullen, raised voices and laughter. Coran ignores Pidge and Lance, going twinkly-eyed with wonder and enthrallment, clasping his hands together. "How marvelous! It appears you both have an tender and fulfilling night, sharing a bunk, with passionate—"

"Let's just skip this and defeat the next monster," Pidge interrupts, staring meekly and pleadingly at Coran who wags both of his forefingers importantly, side-to-side, hitching up his chin.

"Ah, ah, now," he scolds. "There are always consequences to your actions. Roll again."

"For what?"

Hunk takes a moment to eye their group in disbelief and then sits up, bending over towards Lance and whispering across the lounge's tabletop. "I think he means to see if anybody got pregnant…"

"Nooooooooooooooooo," Pidge gasps out, horrified by Coran's unexplained, devious smile.

"Pidge, use my dice," Hunk offers cheerfully, tossing it into the holo-images and on the board. "It hates everybody, including me, and won't roll above a five. You should be good."



"UUUUGH!" Pidge tosses the die harshly across the tabletop, covering her face into her hands and pulling her knees up. She peeks tentatively through his middle and index finger to a roll of 1, and flops backwards onto the couch, screaming victoriously and refusing to get back up.

"Your turn," Coran tells Lance who startles, paling.

"… … ME?"

"Hey, if I gotta roll — you gotta roll, Lance!" Pidge yells, out-of-view from the tabletop.

Lance glares at nothing in particular, grabbing onto the nearest die and jabbing his tongue out at Hunk snickering with Coran and brazenly watching the disaster unfold. "This stinks worse than what comes out Kaltenecker," Lance mutters, going for his roll with a wrist-flick.

He realizes his mistake too late when Coran's die lands firmly on 20, after a short tumble.

"My, my," Coran says, primly lacing his fingers and leaning onto them. "Not only have you gotten pregnant, Number 3… you are now the bearer of multiple, powerful half-gnomes."

A long, irritated noise escapes Lance. He slumps onto the holo-lit tabletop.

"You're paying for child support…" Lance mumbles, giving an obviously betrayed look at Pidge straightens up, her auburn hair mussed, seemingly dumbfounded.

Even with unfortunate circumstances falling onto Brightcut, Lance continues to play their campaign and tolerates his character's worsening situation — "Excuse me, why am I giving birth in the MOUNTAINS? Couldn't it have been near the water?" — and ends up trading the babies for more supplies and a chest of valuable gems, keeping on trekking until everybody starts yawning.

"We must postpone the next battle, I fear," Coran declares sleepily, as the overhead, bright bulbs turn on. He switches off the Altean tabletop, heading for the exit and stretching out his limbs.

In the corridor, Lance runs into a wide-eyed Pidge adjusting Matt's glasses, clearing her throat.

"Some game, huh?"

"Yeah," he breathes out, cracking an embarrassed smile. "Coran really shows no mercy."

Pidge grimace-smiles back, her cheeks warming.

"Sorry about the whole… baby thing…"

"It's cool. Not your fault." Lance shakes his head, chuckling. "For the record, Katie, if I ever had your babies, I wouldn't trade them to an innkeeper for an axe. That's just kinda cruel—"

"—Katie?" Pidge's lips open up, emitting her voice in a thin, squeakish note.

Lance shrugs his hands into his jeans, nonchalantly looking her over. "Ss'your name, right?" He hesitates, mildly concerned by how Pidge's face reddens so fast. "Do you hate it or something?"

"… no," she admits, forcing a big, carefree laugh.

Maybe it's because he's a few years older, but Lance notices how Pidge's shoulders tense, and he gets it. He does. Lance kinda feels the same way. If anything between them would happen, asides from a few quintants ago when Pidge stole a clumsy, deliriously yearning kiss in the med-bay off of Lance's chapped mouth, then it'll happen between them. It's not anybody else's business.

"Cool." Lance walks around her, playfully nudging their shoulders and grinning slightly, trying to calm his racing heart by rubbing over his collarbone. "See ya around, Kate."

She stumbles back, wiping at one of her flushing cheeks. "Uh, see ya."

On his way out of the corridor, Lance hears her groan and smack her palms over her face.

Me too.



Voltron isn't mine. Now I know I've already written a Plance before but I had to do strictly a cutesy one. And hey, it's Lance Ship Week! I decided to do "Day Two: Stormy/Sunny" and I'm just excited to share this with you! :) Any comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated and if you love Plance, holler at me!

This was inspired by an actual D&D campaign I was part of where I was Pidge and my friend was Lance and it was truly amazing,,,