She does not need any reminders, thank you, and Catra's fur bristles with annoyance at them.
"Clumsy me," she says sarcastically. And honestly, it's a testament to how much she's improved that neither of her hands 'slip' when she says it. (She still thinks about it, though, which makes it frustratingly clear that she hasn't improved enough. As if the rest of the evening hadn't made that obvious.)
Her tail continues to lash, and outside Melog warbles a question at her. She ignores them, snatching the gauze from the kit and beginning to pack it against the wounds with a proper professional amount of force. She is trying, she is trying so hard, and on nights like this -- on nights like this, she wonders what the point even is. She's never going to be a good person. She's never going to be someone Adora can be proud of. She's never going to be the sort of steady, reliable person that Adora can count on. She can't even get through one lousy dinner without pulling Adora into trouble.
A quiet voice in the back of her head murmurs Shadow Weaver was right, and Catra's ears twitch as if it were real.
"Look, I'm sorry for ruining your evening." It's not the heartfelt apology she'd started out wanting to give. This one sounds bitter and sarcastic instead, because - and she did not ever need to have a session with Perfuma to know this - that's what she's forcing the churn of her emotions into. Something familiar, something she knows how to handle. The words feel acrid and wrong on her tongue, and she hates herself more for every single one of them. "I'll just finish up with this and then you can call Bow and Glimmer," (their names are sneers on her lips and it feels wrong, as wrong as it ever did to snarl Adora's name with that same vitriol, and she wants to stop herself but she can't stop once she's started, she's never been able to stop once she's started), "and get back to playing the perfect daughter with your family."
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"Clumsy me," she says sarcastically. And honestly, it's a testament to how much she's improved that neither of her hands 'slip' when she says it. (She still thinks about it, though, which makes it frustratingly clear that she hasn't improved enough. As if the rest of the evening hadn't made that obvious.)
Her tail continues to lash, and outside Melog warbles a question at her. She ignores them, snatching the gauze from the kit and beginning to pack it against the wounds with a proper professional amount of force. She is trying, she is trying so hard, and on nights like this -- on nights like this, she wonders what the point even is. She's never going to be a good person. She's never going to be someone Adora can be proud of. She's never going to be the sort of steady, reliable person that Adora can count on. She can't even get through one lousy dinner without pulling Adora into trouble.
A quiet voice in the back of her head murmurs Shadow Weaver was right, and Catra's ears twitch as if it were real.
"Look, I'm sorry for ruining your evening." It's not the heartfelt apology she'd started out wanting to give. This one sounds bitter and sarcastic instead, because - and she did not ever need to have a session with Perfuma to know this - that's what she's forcing the churn of her emotions into. Something familiar, something she knows how to handle. The words feel acrid and wrong on her tongue, and she hates herself more for every single one of them. "I'll just finish up with this and then you can call Bow and Glimmer," (their names are sneers on her lips and it feels wrong, as wrong as it ever did to snarl Adora's name with that same vitriol, and she wants to stop herself but she can't stop once she's started, she's never been able to stop once she's started), "and get back to playing the perfect daughter with your family."