Upon his return from the academy, Prince Tirion began the weighty undertaking of learning his role as future ruler of the fledgling empire. Not immediately, it must be said. The night of his return he spent with his father. As a sort of "welcome home, son" gesture, Lotor convinced the otherwise cautious prince to have a drink with the ol' man, so to speak. One drink led to another and soon both men were in high spirits. So high, in fact that Tirion's undertaking of learning his role as future ruler of the fledgling empire wasn't going to happen until sometime late into the afternoon of the next day — but only after some coffee and extra-strength ibuprofen were administered.

But, oh, the night before.

As with most conversations held under the influence of large amounts of alcohol, it was intermixed with moments of sudden brilliance and strange insight — as well as incomprehensible mumbling and stupid jokes. Sadly (in some cases, not so sadly in others) little would be remembered the next morning — until someone asked what a pair of men's briefs and a traffic cone were doing hanging from the ornamental chandelier in the main hall. Some things are better left forgotten.

Still, much can be learned from those who's inhibitions have been lowered (or, in this case, drugged and tied up in the corner). We join the conversation between King and Prince, father and son, already in progress:

"So that's why Napoleon didn't win the Battle of Waterloo. S'cause he was too short." Tirion said. "Guess he didn't see the sign that said ‘you must be this tall to strategically place your cannons and achieve victory'."

Lotor considered this for a moment and concluded, "Earthlings were an odd bunch. Who would have thought being a bit on the short side could thwart a man's ambitions for world domination? Seems a bit hokey to me."

Tirion shrugged. "S'what they taught us in school." He glanced at the empty cups littering the table in front of him and added, "At least, something like that. I think. Maybe not exactly like that. But it sounds better the way I put it, anyway."

The two fell silent and looked into the fire. For now, it was still safely in the fireplace but, in the back of both men's minds lurked the slight possibility that it might venture outwards as the evening went on.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was fighting against Voltron and..." Lotor began.

"Yup." the prince said immediately.

"How d'you know?"

"‘Cause I've heard ‘em all." Tirion said.

"Even the one with the six armed robeast that could shoot lasers and..."

"Yup."

"What about the mutant tree robeasts that..."

"Yup."

"The flowers that put the whole planet to...?"

"Yes."

"The time Haggar clonned..."

"Ooooooooh, yes."

Lotor eyed his son suspiciously. "I get the feeling you're not taking me very seriously."

The prince tried to look innocent but couldn't quite manage, pulling off a sickly smile instead. He couldn't tell if his father bought it or not. He'd taken his glasses off earlier when they (and the effects of alcohol) ceased to help him see better. Now everything was a comforting blur.

"‘Course I do." he said. "S'just that I've heard ‘bout all I can take of Arus. S'all you talked about when I was little." He hiccupped. "You were always twisting the heads offa my action figures if they reminded you of the Voltron Force. And then there was that blond Barbie doll. Why'd I get that, anyway? It disappeared the next day. Never did find it. Very mysterious."

"Yeah, heh, mysterious." said Lotor. He changed the subject. "I might'a talked about it. A little." He ignored his son's snort. "But, you just wait until you fall in love and then you'll understand."

Tirion waved a hand dismissively, knocking over a cup in the process. He picked it up and peered inside, saying, "S'not likely to happen. I'm about as good a catch as a disfiguring rash."

Lotor scowled. "I can think of a LOT of people who could use a good disfiguring rash." He glanced over at his son who was eyeing him oddly. "Er...I mean, you underestimate yourself. There's much worse out there."

The prince raised a thin white eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Uh, I dunno. The plague? The Black Death? Ebola?"

The eyebrow raised a little further. "So, what you're saying is that, in a choice between me and a leper, I might come out on top?"

"Prob'ly. Might depend on how much money the leper had."

"Father!" The other eyebrow joined the first in twin indignance.

Lotor gestured expansively. "You worry too much. You'll find someone and everything'll change."

In the back of Tirion's addled mind, he recognized this moment as one all young men go through — "the Talk". He hadn't expected it to be like this for him, though. He especially hadn't expected to be drunk out of his gourd. Often, he felt it was better to be dead sober around his father, who didn't make much sense even then. Now, on the same mental (and blood alcohol) level as him, things made more sense. Which was disturbing. But not quite as disturbing as the image of a black, foaming plague rat with his glasses on that the prince couldn't quite get out of his head.

"So..." he said. "...So, what do I do when I do find her?"

"Then you walk up to her and say, ‘My sweet Allur...'...um...I mean, ‘My sweet, insert name of desired female here, come with me to the Casbah!"

Tirion seemed doubtful. He didn't know who the Casbah were. "What if she says ‘no'?"

"Then, you watch her for awhile and pick juuuuuust the right moment. And, when she's alone," his eyes went dreamy and distant, "you sneak up behind her and grab her and say, ‘You will be my Queen, ha ha ha!' And then you pick her up and head for your spaceship and distract her friends by sending down a big robeast with tentacles and shiny nobby things. And then, when the robeast's got ‘em in his clutches, you say, ‘Marry me or watch your friends die, ha ha ha!'" His expression darkened. "And then you watch as SOMEHOW the lions get free and the princess kicks you in the shins and gets away. Then, she jumps in her lion and suddenly Voltron's there and that stupid blazing sword appears and they cut the robeast in half and you have to retreat and come back to Doom and get scolded by your obnoxious fish-faced father."

There was a slight pause. "And this works, does it?" asked the prince eventually.

Lotor, breathing hard and muttering to himself, finally snapped out of his little fishback...er...flashback and looked up. "Oh...yeah. Guaranteed."

"With all that ‘ha ha ha-ing' and everything?"

"Right. The laughing is compulsory. They just don't take you seriously as a villain unless you laugh a lot."

"Sooo..." Tirion said, scrunching up his face in bewilderment, "I'm supposed to be a villain then?"

Lotor thought about it. A moment of insight into the author's mind at this point might well have given him a pointed answer. In the absence of such an insight, however, he still managed to come up with the answer he would have gotten all the same.

"Dunno." he said with a shrug.

Tirion nodded. No insight was forthcoming to him, either. Ha.

"I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later." said the king.

"Yup." said the prince.

They looked at each other for a moment. Lotor's eyes developed the distant look of one ready to say something profound.

"You know," he said, "Life...is like..."

His son prepared to strangle him, as soon as he could make out which of the two blurry Lotor-like shapes was the real one.

"...a packet of mixed nuts."

Tirion relaxed. Maybe his father wouldn't have to die after all. He tried to look interested.

"Indeed? How so?"

"Well, everyone wants those little sesame sticks, no one wants the peanuts, and there are never enough cashews."

The prince felt fairly sure that that last statement wouldn't have made any sense even if he was sober. "I don't quite follow you." he said.

"Well," Lotor said again. "It's like...it's like...the nuts are people, right? And...the sesame sticks are like the people who...um..." He trailed off, trying to remember his point. "Never mind." he said finally. "Life is nothing like a packet of mixed nuts. Forget I ever said anything."

Tirion nodded then added cautiously, "Ummm. Do we have any?"

"Any what?"

"Mixed nuts. I'm in the mood for some cashews."

"Tough. Your mother picked the last one out yesterday. All that's left are the peanuts, and no one likes those."

Oh, the injustice! His mother always got the last cashew! Come to think of it, she always got pretty much everything she wanted. And who was going to eat all those stupid peanuts? No one. They'd just sit there and be ignored for the rest of their miserable, salty, peanutty existence while the rich, tasty sesame sticks were all gobbled up.

There was definitely some sort of societal connection that could be made, but whatever synapses it could have been made on were currently not firing in either brain present.

The prince sunk down in his chair. "Shucks." he said.

"Might be another packet in there, though." Lotor suggested.

Tirion brightened. "Yeah? I'm gonna go look." He stood up, a little unsteadily.

Lotor stood, as well. "I'll go with you. It's not safe to go into that pantry alone. A man could get lost in there. Took me two hours to find my way out last time. They were about to send the dogs out for me."

The two headed for the door.

"We'll leave a trail of peanuts." Tirion said. "They'll be safe enough. Especially on the ground."

"Good idea." Lotor slapped his son on the back. "With thinking like that, I bet old Napoleon would have won the Battle of Waterworld hands down, despite the fact that he was vertically challenged."

"Waterloo." the prince corrected.

"Whatever." replied his father and the two slouched off down the hall.