Catra does not protest when Adora leans into Adam, his burly body providing better support. Her arm slips away from Adora's waist, and does not make to move after the siblings when they step away.
It's Melog's reproachful bump against her thigh that moves her, the alien communicating a message along the lines of wallowing servicing no-one, and when Adora reaches for her hand she gives it; closing her fingers lightly around Adora's.
The least she can do is watch and listen to the people as they disperse, threads of uncertainty and distress in the air. Some of them are talking about leaving, some are worried for their children, at least one is convinced that the End Times have come. A couple of them wonder about her, though it takes until she overhears a hushed caution about She-ra transforming animals to do her bidding to realize it. (Her ears drop at that one, suddenly self-conscious and now hyper-aware that everyone in the village was just the same type of person as Adam and Adora. None of Etheria's motley assortment to be found.) They're not subtle when they look at Adora, fear written across every inch of their bodies, and Catra steps closer to her in response; very nearly walking on Adora's heels as if doing so might shield her from their stares. Melog almost cloaks them, and it's only Catra's concern for the riot that might cause that stops them.
(People who are scared can't be trusted, she knows that too well. They're prone to act irrationally; lash out; try to destroy the source of their fear. They can't let them do that to Adora.)
The house is still hateful but now in a way that makes Catra ashamed to think of it as such, and she tries to slip away at the door. Melog's unrelenting presence behind her and Adora's grip on her hand keep her in place, until she tries to do it again at the threshold of the bathroom; at which point Adam's bulk blocks the exit, and then Adora's parents come rushing in, and Catra tries not to feel cornered by any of this or by the sound of water pouring from a tap behind her.
She feels like she can't breathe, the press of people in the small space trapping her as effectively as any of Shadow Weaver's spells ever did, and her grip on Adora's hand increases in increments until finally they pile out at Adora's request.
The breath Catra wasn't aware she was holding releases in a rush, and her shoulders fall. Somehow -- it wasn't what she'd been expecting. (She'd braced for punishment. For red-lit shadows to crackle over and around her, squeezing her muscles and compressing her chest while Adora was lectured about always following her, always getting into trouble for her, always cleaning up after her messes.)
She's incredulous, when Adora reaches for her. It takes her a moment of honest incomprehension before she grabs Adora's wrists, stilling her attempts to find any evidence of injury on Catra.
"You're such an idiot," she tells her, frowning. She wants it to come out firm, brusque; instead it comes out soft, and she shakes her head at herself and Adora both. Melog, standing guard outside the door, mewls a quiet message of concern. "You already took care of that."
The creature, Catra, the forest and probably any other living thing within a good radius. There were still parts that ached, bruised beyond doubt (being caught up in the aura evidently was not as effective as being the target)... but nothing broken. She'd deal. She wasn't the one bleeding all over the place.
She gets to work quietly, unusually subdued as she guides Adora to the sink and begins to wash the cuts. The cuts caused by the creature Catra had woken up. The cuts caused by the creature that Catra had woken up because she'd felt jealous, and insecure, and unreasonably hurt. She's not particularly careful about it - they were trained for efficiency, not comfort - and though the items in the kit look different to what they're used to they still smell about the same, which is how she knows which one the antiseptic is without having to ask Adora to read it. (It's the one that makes her lips curl and eyes water the moment she touches the lid. At least she never has to guess on those ones.)
She tells herself it's just the sap stuck in her fur that's keeping her ears down, and her tail from so much as twitching. It's gross, is all, and it's hardening and uncomfortable and so of course those features of hers are going to be like that. Nothing to do with the careful measuring up of the lacerations, trying to decide if they're going to need stitches. And certainly nothing to do with the knowledge of Adora's concerned family outside the door, or the fearful people in the village.
no subject
It's Melog's reproachful bump against her thigh that moves her, the alien communicating a message along the lines of wallowing servicing no-one, and when Adora reaches for her hand she gives it; closing her fingers lightly around Adora's.
The least she can do is watch and listen to the people as they disperse, threads of uncertainty and distress in the air. Some of them are talking about leaving, some are worried for their children, at least one is convinced that the End Times have come. A couple of them wonder about her, though it takes until she overhears a hushed caution about She-ra transforming animals to do her bidding to realize it. (Her ears drop at that one, suddenly self-conscious and now hyper-aware that everyone in the village was just the same type of person as Adam and Adora. None of Etheria's motley assortment to be found.) They're not subtle when they look at Adora, fear written across every inch of their bodies, and Catra steps closer to her in response; very nearly walking on Adora's heels as if doing so might shield her from their stares. Melog almost cloaks them, and it's only Catra's concern for the riot that might cause that stops them.
(People who are scared can't be trusted, she knows that too well. They're prone to act irrationally; lash out; try to destroy the source of their fear. They can't let them do that to Adora.)
The house is still hateful but now in a way that makes Catra ashamed to think of it as such, and she tries to slip away at the door. Melog's unrelenting presence behind her and Adora's grip on her hand keep her in place, until she tries to do it again at the threshold of the bathroom; at which point Adam's bulk blocks the exit, and then Adora's parents come rushing in, and Catra tries not to feel cornered by any of this or by the sound of water pouring from a tap behind her.
She feels like she can't breathe, the press of people in the small space trapping her as effectively as any of Shadow Weaver's spells ever did, and her grip on Adora's hand increases in increments until finally they pile out at Adora's request.
The breath Catra wasn't aware she was holding releases in a rush, and her shoulders fall. Somehow -- it wasn't what she'd been expecting. (She'd braced for punishment. For red-lit shadows to crackle over and around her, squeezing her muscles and compressing her chest while Adora was lectured about always following her, always getting into trouble for her, always cleaning up after her messes.)
She's incredulous, when Adora reaches for her. It takes her a moment of honest incomprehension before she grabs Adora's wrists, stilling her attempts to find any evidence of injury on Catra.
"You're such an idiot," she tells her, frowning. She wants it to come out firm, brusque; instead it comes out soft, and she shakes her head at herself and Adora both. Melog, standing guard outside the door, mewls a quiet message of concern. "You already took care of that."
The creature, Catra, the forest and probably any other living thing within a good radius. There were still parts that ached, bruised beyond doubt (being caught up in the aura evidently was not as effective as being the target)... but nothing broken. She'd deal. She wasn't the one bleeding all over the place.
She gets to work quietly, unusually subdued as she guides Adora to the sink and begins to wash the cuts. The cuts caused by the creature Catra had woken up. The cuts caused by the creature that Catra had woken up because she'd felt jealous, and insecure, and unreasonably hurt. She's not particularly careful about it - they were trained for efficiency, not comfort - and though the items in the kit look different to what they're used to they still smell about the same, which is how she knows which one the antiseptic is without having to ask Adora to read it. (It's the one that makes her lips curl and eyes water the moment she touches the lid. At least she never has to guess on those ones.)
She tells herself it's just the sap stuck in her fur that's keeping her ears down, and her tail from so much as twitching. It's gross, is all, and it's hardening and uncomfortable and so of course those features of hers are going to be like that. Nothing to do with the careful measuring up of the lacerations, trying to decide if they're going to need stitches. And certainly nothing to do with the knowledge of Adora's concerned family outside the door, or the fearful people in the village.