Voltron: Legendary Defenders: Fugitives

ONE

Present Day.

Freya Vale was turning over a new leaf.

That was what she was telling herself, at least.

Peter Rabbit was sitting beside her at the bar. Peter's last name wasn't really Rabbit, but just as he called her Frays, she called him Rabbit. It was just one of those childhood nicknames kids gave each other, each for their own special reason. Except these names had stuck long past childhood - and they'd hadn't been given to each other in their youth.

The Whispering Willow, on the other hand, was in fact a bar. It was probably one of the few remaining completely undamaged bars in this part of the world, and it served the best Rogwat whiskey this side of the Division. Freya had never been much of a whiskey drinker, preferring to stick to some undisclosed mixed drink - something else the Whispering Willow was known for. Every month they'd showcase a new "mystery" mixed drink, asking their patrons to guess what it was. Those who did got the next month's drinks for free. Freya was two for two, and had every intention of figuring out this month's drink.

They'd been drinking for hours, well past curfew. It was completely dark outside past the bar's neon glow, and neither one of them was thrilled about the prospect of having to drive back to the Grot at night. Then again, Freya mused, putting it off any longer wasn't going to change the fact that they were going to have to drive back eventually. 

She finished off her drink, turned to the bartender, and smiled slightly. "Raspberry margarita, lemon-lime sugar, Tuson vodka, and a blackberry swirl from the Division."

The man shook his head, reach around him and pulling out a chalk stick. He struck a line next to Freya's name on a board that hung above the till. "I don't know how you do it, Freya. I definitely thought that the blackberry swirl would go unnoticed."

She shrugged. "I guess growing up in the Grot has its perks," she glanced at a group who had managed to spill several pitchers of some pink fizzy beverage and shrugged again. "That, and we can handle our alcohol better."

He chuckled, heading over to clean up the spill as Freya and Peter left money on the bar. "So," Peter began. "Feel like talking yet?"

She grabbed her coat, sliding into it and turning towards the door. No matter how much she prepared for the difference of temperature, it was still always a shock. "Not if you don't."

He sighed, following her out into the cold. "Fine. I had another vision."

"Of?" She questioned.

"I don't know. Some man. I didn't get a good look at him really." He trailed off, then began again. "He was wear a cloak. Seemed scared, terrified really... I don't know anything else besides that."

"That's unusually vague for your visions."

"The vaguer they are, usually the worse whatever it is will be. He was in a cave, if that helps. Had white hair. I think. It was hard to tell. There was something behind him, and whatever it was..." He shook his head.

"Bad news?"

"Bad news," he agreed. "I've never felt anything like it before. It was like the life was just being drained out of him. And to answer your question - no, I don't know who it was or how soon it's going to happen. I'll work on finding out who our mysterious dead man walking is, though. Your turn."

She nodded. "I had a bad feeling about today. You know what they say," she replied bitterly. "Always trust your gut."

"Well?"

"Nothing. Which is a first. Everything's been normal. Almost too normal, but I guess I'm not complaining."

"Well," Peter repeated. "Nothing is good. I'd say your intuition along with my vision being so close together is probably bad had there been something of note today."