A moment of panic grips Catra's heart when Adora's fingers slip from hers, and her eyes shoot up suddenly to track her, pupils contracted into slits.
There's the feel of magic under the table as Melog begins to grow in size. Catra's ears twitch rapidly at the increasing sound of her companion's growl, becoming audible enough for regular ears to hear, and she clenches her empty hand into a fist that's so tight she feels her own claws break into her skin.
Adam's hands follow with Adora's, adjusting his measurement with a boisterous laugh that bounces off the walls. Catra hates it.
Get over it, she tells herself harshly. But she can't tear her narrowed eyes away from the pair of them, so similar and so matched and so stupid, and she hates to admit it but she can hear the blood pounding loudly in her ears as they fold back, flat and jealous and spiteful (and -- scared), against her head.
Her thumb jabs too hard into the screen of the communicator, and cracks begin to form.
"I don't know, Adora." It comes out coldly, without her really meaning to. This is -- bad. This is bad, and she's learned just enough about herself to know that it's bad. Her heart is beating too hard in her chest, her blood is boiling, her vision is narrowing and her throat is closing. She's going to fly off the handle if she hangs around here any longer, and she's so close to snapping at Adora and ruining everything, and it's all Catra can do to grit her teeth and lay the damaged tech carefully on the table with a slow exhale of breath. She can't let Melog go after Adam. She has to control herself.
Her last message to Bow ('having tons of fun! (✌◠▽◠) don't wait up for me!') blinks on the screen.
"Excuse me," she says, and this time it comes out dangerously bland. Her smile is tight when she turns it on Adora's... parents, standing from the table with grace to offer them a slight bow. Her hand, the one that's not clenched in a blood-drawing fist, flutters up and over her heart. She can be polite. She can use manners. She's not the one who got kicked out of a princess ball. "I really have to be going. Thank you so much for your hospitality."
The respect simpering in her voice is fake. It is so, so fake and it makes her angrier. Melog growls, and an image of rushing through the foliage outside flashes before Catra's eyes.
Yes, she thinks desperately. Get me out of here.
And they do; vanishing in motes of magic without so much as a glance back Adora's way.
no subject
There's the feel of magic under the table as Melog begins to grow in size. Catra's ears twitch rapidly at the increasing sound of her companion's growl, becoming audible enough for regular ears to hear, and she clenches her empty hand into a fist that's so tight she feels her own claws break into her skin.
Adam's hands follow with Adora's, adjusting his measurement with a boisterous laugh that bounces off the walls. Catra hates it.
Get over it, she tells herself harshly. But she can't tear her narrowed eyes away from the pair of them, so similar and so matched and so stupid, and she hates to admit it but she can hear the blood pounding loudly in her ears as they fold back, flat and jealous and spiteful (and -- scared), against her head.
Her thumb jabs too hard into the screen of the communicator, and cracks begin to form.
"I don't know, Adora." It comes out coldly, without her really meaning to. This is -- bad. This is bad, and she's learned just enough about herself to know that it's bad. Her heart is beating too hard in her chest, her blood is boiling, her vision is narrowing and her throat is closing. She's going to fly off the handle if she hangs around here any longer, and she's so close to snapping at Adora and ruining everything, and it's all Catra can do to grit her teeth and lay the damaged tech carefully on the table with a slow exhale of breath. She can't let Melog go after Adam. She has to control herself.
Her last message to Bow ('having tons of fun! (✌◠▽◠) don't wait up for me!') blinks on the screen.
"Excuse me," she says, and this time it comes out dangerously bland. Her smile is tight when she turns it on Adora's... parents, standing from the table with grace to offer them a slight bow. Her hand, the one that's not clenched in a blood-drawing fist, flutters up and over her heart. She can be polite. She can use manners. She's not the one who got kicked out of a princess ball. "I really have to be going. Thank you so much for your hospitality."
The respect simpering in her voice is fake. It is so, so fake and it makes her angrier. Melog growls, and an image of rushing through the foliage outside flashes before Catra's eyes.
Yes, she thinks desperately. Get me out of here.
And they do; vanishing in motes of magic without so much as a glance back Adora's way.