"It was one. Time!" Even Catra kept forgetting about it until Adora brought it back up again.
Adora does not get the last word, and she's sure not getting the last kiss in; as she tries to pull away, Catra yanks her back to plant her lips on Adora's - rather a bit more aggressively, consequently a little more clumsily - before letting her go with a huff and a light shove to the shoulders. All of it (her scowl, her roughness, her attitude) is foiled by the brush of her tail against Adora's hip and the flick of her ears toward her as Catra turns and makes to lead the way out. It's annoying that the fun is at her expense, but it is fun and it feels just like old times, and she not so secretly loves that.
It takes until her hand is on the doorhandle for her borrowed time to run out. She keeps her palm on it as she turns around to face Adora, raising a still-damp foot to lean against the door and block the exit.
"Before we get out there," she doesn't want to, but her voice drops from teasing and playful to something more serious, though she's careful to keep it clear of - as Perfuma would say - 'negative energies'; "What are you going to tell them?"
Yeah, Catra would not be contributing any further to the mood whiplash if she didn't have to. She'd much rather have had Melog sneak them both out, and then spend the walk back to the ship teasing Adora.
"Look, I'm just gonna--" rip the bandage off is what she almost says, and then reconsiders. They've been having fun, but they're both still exhausted. The evening has been hell, and Catra knows better than anyone the fine line that sanity starts to tread when you're so worn down.
And she wants to make this as easy on Adora as she can, she thinks as she absently chews her lip. She can't take too long, or she's just going to start looking weird.
"--I heard some things," is what she decides on, abandoning her start. This way's more neutral. Gives Adora more time to prepare. "While we were walking back here. I think we should try to plan what you're going to say before you talk to them."
Adora's face falls, the last hint of a smile fading from her lips. Somewhere in her head she knew that this giddy, giggly haze wouldn't last once they stepped outside the bathroom, but she wasn't ready to let it go quite so soon, before the door even opened.
Catra hates to see the happiness fade from Adora's face, and though she's steeled herself for it she can't not feel a pang of regret.
It's better now than later, she tells herself. Better for Adora to arm herself with the knowledge of what's waiting for her; if not inside this house, then outside in the village.
"Nothing new." Her tail flicks unhappily, but Catra's eyes remain steady on Adora's. Being hated isn't fun, and it's something that Adora is so wildly inexperienced with. "Fright Zone stuff." (better clarify, in case Adora deludes herself into thinking it could be anything else.) "About She-ra."
She'll wait for Adora to unpack that one on her own.
"What?" The mention of the Fright Zone, while meant to offer an angle of familiarity, makes her heart twist up in her chest. It feels-- and it is -- lightyears away from here, this cozy little village, this peaceful home. In the scant few hours she's known them, her flesh-and-blood parents have offered her more comfort, more humanity, than Shadow Weaver's shown her in maybe her whole life.
How can this place be anything like the Fright Zone?
"... They hate She-ra." The realization drops, heavy and bitter and like copper, from her tongue.
Catra wants to curl against the door when understanding slinks down into Adora's mind, but she doesn't. Adora doesn't need her going and feeling bad about this.
"They're scared of She-ra," she corrects, pushing off from the door and slipping her hand off the handle. It's still a small room, they're still only a couple of steps apart; and Catra closes the distance, ducking her hands beneath the warm towel on Adora's shoulders to grip her arms. "Don't you remember?"
All those weird and messed-up children's stories about their evils and horrors. All the propaganda about how Princesses would kill their squadron and take the last survivor brutally and violently apart. She can believe, actually, that Adora - weirdo justice freak that she is - might have hated them for that. The rest of the cadets - the normal ones - were just simply terrified for their lives.
Admittedly, hatred follows quickly after fear. But Adora got over it quickly enough once she started hanging out with Glimmer, so it couldn't be that hard to get everyone else to do.
"No, it's different," Adora says, shaking her head. "The First Ones-- they don't just have made-up bedtime stories to make them fear She-ra. It's in their history. Mara..."
That's right-- Catra wouldn't know all this stuff, would she?
With a sigh, she reaches under the towel for Catra's hand, enveloping the back of it with her palm.
"Mara was the last She-ra in a thousand years, and everything I ever heard about her from Light Hope was that she was a blight on the She-ra line. That she was unstable, dangerous... a traitor."
The part of Light Hope that could feel-- that went against her programming-- knew better. But every line of her code was put in place by the First Ones. Every cold, condemning word she was forced to utter came straight from the First Ones' beliefs.
"... It's okay, Catra," she says, squeezing her hand. "I'll just tell them the truth. They'll understand."
She forces the words out through the lump in her throat, trying to make them sound surer than she feels.
Just a few months ago, she'd have found this whole thing hilariously vindicating. Perfect Adora being blamed by an entire village for something that someone else did last millennium? Sign past Catra up.
"It's not that different," she argues. Because she is a different person now, and there's a churning in her gut instead of spite, and Adora's doubt is always so obvious. She clearly doesn't believe herself.
Catra's hands flex on Adora's arms, squeezing them in what's supposed to be assurance but comes out a bit more aggressive than that. Catra can't help that; it's how she is. "I mean, come on. It was a thousand years ago. If these guys have any brains at all, they'll realize that something in their stories doesn't match up."
Adora had, after all, healed an entire forest and giant rampaging tree-creature in front of them. That wasn't something that dangerous harbingers typically did.
There's a knot in Adora's chest now that isn't quite letting up, no matter how reason's fingers pluck at it. But Catra's doing her best to reassure her, and her words make sense, and so Adora puts on her widest smile and pushes the knot as deep down as she can, to someplace dark and hidden.
"Yeah! See, exactly. I'm sure it's gonna go fine." She pats the back of Catra's hand, as if she's the one doling out that much-needed reassurance. "Come on. I've got this. And you've got my back, right?"
--Catra does not like that she can not see where Adora's doubt and uncertainty go.
Her eyes remain trained on Adora's for a long time, searching; but she can't see any traces of it, and Adora feels confident under her hands, and it all is -- very wrong. Adora is a bad liar and a worse actor, and there's no way Catra will believe she's actually as assured about this as she's pretending. But somehow, she can't find the cracks that she's sure must be there.
Is this a new skill Adora's developed, or was Catra always just too caught up in herself to notice her doing it?
"Of course I do," she agrees after a long moment. Her tail flicks, brushing Adora's leg. "Dummy."
...But she really feels wrong about leaving it at that. She can't see it, but she knows Adora. She knows her.
"And I guess you did manage to convince the Horde's strongest and smartest leader to fall in love with you." Like Catra hadn't already been for like, all of her life. She'll never admit to that, it's way too embarrassing. Her hands are already leaving Adora's arms, self-assured swagger returning as she turns back to the door, like her falling in love with Adora had been Catra's victory, somehow. "Getting these idiots to do it should be a breeze."
Adora laughs, and she doesn't have to force it -- Catra is sweet, no matter how many layers of smugness she wraps it up in. Adora's glad for her.
"Thank you," she says, reaching for her hand as they finally head back into the living room. God, it feels like they spent weeks in that bathroom -- when in reality, they probably only just dipped into the territory of uncomfortably long.
There's really no graceful way to leave your newfound family's bathroom after spending the better part of an hour screaming bloody murder in there, wrecking it and flooding it. And the fact she's leaving it hand-in-hand with the person she was just screaming bloody murder at, well, that's just the icing on the awkward cake.
Fortunately, Adora's been in so many awkward situations since leaving the Horde that she's now a seasoned pro.
"Hey, guys. Thanks for the towels. We wiped the floor-- uh, not with the towels, I turned my sword into a mop. That's just a normal thing I do, don't worry about it."
That gets Adora a raised eyebrow from her dad, a nervous chuckle from her brother, and an ushering into the nearest seat from her mother. There's a cup of tea set out in front of her, and in front of Catra's seat, too, and it's a bit chipped but the coaster has little floral paintings on it. It's nice.
She raises the cup to her lips and takes a long sip, her other hand still planted firmly in Catra's.
"I'm really sorry about this whole mess, again. We're not usually like this. I mean-- I am usually She-ra, and I do fight giant monsters, like, pretty often, and heal things? But uh, not so much with the yelling. And the bathroom-ruining. We normally get along great!" She enthusiastically holds up her hand linked with Catra's, as proof.
"It's just been..." she draws in a breath, lets it all out on that emphasis: "a really weird day."
Funny, how it all feels different now. It's the same house, same people, same cozy furnishings... some of them are a bit tacky, but Catra doesn't hate them any more. She gives Adora's hand a squeeze as they near her family, and Catra realizes belatedly that she should have taken a towel as well. To protect the furniture, if nothing else.
There aren't enough seats for all of them, she notes as they're fussed into a pair, and Melog hops into her lap as soon as she sits down. Catra's chair is closer to Adora's father, which is too far from Adora's for Catra's liking, and she has no issue with scooting her chair until it's properly in place. She notices the parents' slight frowns, and the look they exchange, and keeps those details all in mind.
They don't trust She-ra. By extension, they can't trust Adora. And after hearing Catra's yowling and seeing their small bathroom looking like a fight (--ha, as if they'd leave so little damage if they'd actually been going at it) had taken place, she can see what conclusions they're coming to.
She's a little offended that they seem like they think she might need rescuing. From Adora, of all people.
"I don't like water," is her shrugged contribution to Adora's awkward apology. Like that's a good enough justification for the mess they'd made. Her grip on Adora's hand remains firm as it's tugged around, and Catra's mouth and throat ache but she makes no move for her tea.
It's Adam's awkward laugh that breaks the silence, as he steps up and places a hand on the backs of each of their chairs. His bulky figure shadows them, and when Catra looks up he's got that same weird trying-too-hard-to-act-like-everything's-fine grin on his face that Adora plasters on when she's way out of her depth.
"Tell me about it," he says to Adora, trying to sound jovial; and if Catra wanted to destroy this family it would take her only two sentences at most. It's clear that Adam is Adora's biggest - and potentially only - supporter, and even he's unsure; basing his trust in her on what must be half-baked dreams and ideas of the sort of person he'd imagined his sister to be. "It's not every day you meet your long-lost sister and find out she's a living legend. How'd that happen?"
"I just... kinda found the sword!" Adora says, voice creaking with forced lightness. That really must be the most lackluster summary she could've offered. They all look at her with just barely-concealed frowns, and Adora pushes herself to keep going.
"Turns out it was lying around on Etheria the whole time, just waiting for the next She-ra to come pick it up. But there was nobody to come pick it up, because Etheria was stuck in its own dimension-- but then the portal sucked me up and dropped me there, so..."
"So it's true," her father's voice comes from the other end of the table, deep and severe. "It's not just a myth. The previous She-ra really stranded her planet in isolation."
Adora's shoulders tense, and her eyes drop to the shimmering surface of her teacup. "Well-- sort of. I mean. Yeah. But it's more complicated than your history shows, Mara-- the previous She-ra, she wasn't a bad person. She was trying to protect her world."
It's probably Adora's fault that Catra feels weirdly defensive about where this conversation's going, and about what Mara did. She doesn't even know who Mara properly is, other than the obvious points and the fact that it's her ship they're exploring the universe in.
Melog's mane remains a shimmering blue despite the beginnings of spikes, and they sniff at their joined hands as Catra's fingers flex around Adora's. She ignores their meowled question; and Melog proceeds to hop down, winding around their chairs before coming to a stop on Adora's other side, where their size shifts until the two of them are suitable barriers between her and her parents.
"She saved us." There's a disbelieving scoff in Catra's voice. She came into this knowing exactly how it was going to go, and it still rankles her for it to actually be happening. "We know what your people were doing there. Don't act like we're the ones who suffered for being cut off."
Even Adam frowns - at her attitude, she assumes, her tail flicking against the chair leg with annoyance. She's wrong.
"What do you mean?" He looks to his parents, seeming to still have the naive belief that the adults in his life will always have the answers to his questions; despite his parents being nowhere near old enough to have any knowledge, if it wasn't passed down. "What were we doing there?"
"I'm not sure what she means," Adora's mother answers, a frown pinching her features as she looks from Adam to Catra. "Our ancestors were explorers. They spread out to new, alien planets, settled them and enriched them with their technology. What are you trying to get at, dear?"
Oh. Do they... do they not know? Adora can feel herself starting to panic, like the truth is stuck in her throat and won't let her breathe. She tugs at Catra's hand, wordlessy shaking her head -- a mute, frantic please don't. Somehow, this feels like something she needs to protect them from.
Sorry Adora. But it is way, way too soon after her meltdown; and Catra has not had time to relax, or practice her breathing exercises, or even ride around with Melog. Her nerves are frayed, and she's back on a hairline trigger.
Adora's tugging at her hand, but Catra's claws are already digging in to the soft fabric of the chair. Melog starts a low, rumbling growl. Still blue, but Catra isn't inclined to do anything to stop them. Melog knows what it was like when the First Ones came. Melog suffered, too.
"That's what they told you?" There's a thread of strain in Catra's tone, something that would have been sardonic if her throat hadn't scratched it on the way up. "That they came and enriched us?"
Melog's growl deepens, and Catra's ear dips towards them. This time, she decides to translate.
"Melog says that they ruined Krytis," she repeats for them; and her hands are trembling. Their connection is a two-way street, and when Melog remembers what happened -- it hurts. "They came and took the planet's magic, and they turned it into weapons for themselves. They left Melog's people defenseless, and alone, and so weak that when Horde Prime came he destroyed them. Only Melog had enough magic left to survive the assault. Prime was weak to their magic. If it weren't for the First Ones--your people, Krytis might have taken the Horde out centuries ago."
It's not a direct translation. A lot of the words are Catra's. The sentiment, though, hasn't changed.
"And Etheria--" She cuts off, because there's a slightly manic edge creeping into her tone. It hasn't been that long since she walked Adora to the place where she'd laid down her life for the universe. It hasn't been that long since Catra felt her body go limp, and her heart slow, and cried into her as she slipped away. Only long enough to bury the memory. Not long enough to process it.
Catra can't think of those details. Her eyes ache, and she's glad she's too dehydrated for them to betray her.
"They turned us into a weapon," she says instead; and she does not choke on the words like she thought she might. They just come out bitter. Her grip on Adora's hand has become tight, like some part of her is terrified that it's the only thing stopping her from becoming a ghost. "Our entire planet. They turned us into something powerful; something strong enough to destroy the entire universe. She-ra's the only reason they didn't get to use it."
"Of course they needed weapons," Adora's father cuts in, voice rising with indignation. "How can you blame them? They were at war with the Horde, they had no choice."
Adora screws her eyes shut, tries to focus on forcing her breaths into a steady rhythm, inhale after exhale. Her head begins to pound as all around her the voices escalate, each person at the table lashing out with their own anger and hurt.
"That doesn't excuse what they did! Their war doesn't mean they get to hurt and exploit other planets!"
"Their war could've ensured peace on all those planets, had they won it! If they could banish the Horde for good, these sacrifices would all have been worth it. It's because She-ra turned on them and refused to fight that they lost. Our people were once a thriving empire, all across the galaxy! Now this," her father throws out an arm towards the window, gesturing to the tiny, meager village outside-- "is all that's left!"
Adora's ears ring -- a piercing sound that floods her skull with burning white, and she clamps her hands over her temples in a futile attempt to contain it. "I'm sorry!" she heaves out, strained and gravelly from her raw throat. "I can't go back and change the past. I can't save everyone. I'm sorry-- that your people are gone, but it's not... I couldn't..."
The words crumble to dust on her tongue as her hastily-reconstructed dam comes crashing down again, hot tears slipping down her cheeks in rapid streams.
Catra doesn't know when she stood, or when her hair bristled or when Melog's aura flashed into a burning vermilion. Her foot is on the table, as if she's about to leap over it and go right for Adora's father -- and then Adora cries out, and the rage that had tunneled her vision is shocked out of Catra's blood as she jerks back.
(She really had just been about to attack an unarmed civilian. Her heart pounds harder at the realization. She's not leaving as much of her past self behind as she thought.)
The urge to kick the table at Adora's parents is still real, and the claws of her toes dig deep into the wood.
Catra sucks in a deep breath, and retracts the claws she doesn't remember extending. She wants Melog to take Adora out of here, and leave Catra to deal with this - but she knows how that would end. Adora will forgive her for a lot of things, but Catra is pretty sure that that would not be one of them.
"We're going." She says shortly. And she does kick the table, then; but as a push that shoves it roughly away, instead of sending it flying into their faces. Tea sploshes across the floor as the cups tumble from their saucers, and it's not anywhere near vindicating enough. She's considering the urge to do more damage when she feels Melog's head beneath her hand, and with their body pressed protectively against Adora's legs, the last survivor of Krytis scrounges up enough of their magic to shift them.
And then they're outside, the night air brisk and still, mid-way between their ship and the village. It's as far as Melog could take them. Catra wants to kick a ditch into the ground; wants to scream her frustrations and vent her rage. Instead she whips around, tail lashing, to check on her best friend.
Adora's barely present as Catra and Melog whisk her outside -- she doesn't even have it in her to protest, dizzy with the ringing and the voices that echo inside her head still. She feels sick, and guilty, a thousand-year mass of black stone that weighs on her chest so heavily that she can barely stay upright. The memory of Mara that lives on in her, in the sword, gets tangled up in the whirlpool of her thoughts until it's swallowed up in it completely, and all Adora can hear is:
It's your fault. They needed you. You couldn't protect them. It's your fault.
Over and over and over again.
She blindly clings to Melog, silent all the way, until she feels them come to a stop. And when Catra turns to her, the look in those shining, unevenly-colored eyes brings a clarity that allows Adora to raise her head above water, if only for the moment.
"Oh," she murmurs, wiping at her cheeks. "Are we walking now?"
As soon as Adora speaks, Catra looks away. She tells herself she's just cold, when she folds her arms and hugs herself; but the downward press of her ears is all guilt.
She was supposed to have had Adora's back in there. She should probably just -- stop making promises, at this point.
"You don't have to," she mutters. She wishes she still wanted to kick the dirt, but instead now she drags her foot through it, feeling the grains and small pebbles stick. She still wants to rant and yell, but she'll hold onto it until they're on the ship. She has a feeling Glimmer will be just as pissed as she is, and Adora's not in any state to put up with more aggression tonight. "Melog can carry you."
Melog yowls their assent, and when they turn their head they shimmer and shift, until they can lick a reassuring strip up Adora's face. (--And that's not Catra's fault. Melog's capable of empathy all on their own.)
The show of affection draws a weak laugh from Adora's lips, and she reaches to scratch behind Melog's ears. "Thank you," she says, to them and Catra both. "I... think I kinda need it."
Melog rumbles at her, a sound that's an eerie echo of a purr, and leans into the scratches. It's only when Adora hits a ticklish spot that they fake a sneeze (--still copying Catra's), and shake their head to stop her. And then, because they do not actually want to stop her, they meowl a request.
It's coincidence, probably, that Catra actually has to say something in order to convey it.
"...You're tickling them," she says shortly. Melog turns their head to huff at her, and Catra's fur bristles despite herself. Another coincidence, probably, that she can't feel bad about herself and be annoyed at Melog at the same time. "But they say to keep going. Just... rub them instead, or something."
Adora doesn't look good, doesn't sound good, and can't possibly feel good after all of that. Asking her how she's doing seems like a cheap question, when the answer is so obvious. And... there's something Adora said as well, and Catra doesn't know how to address it. A few things, actually. And back at the Heart, too, and occasionally along the trip.
Catra's silent for a bit, quietly keeping pace. She... actually doesn't have enough information yet to address it.
"Hey, Adora." Her tone's returned to normal, and her hands have relaxed on her arms. Melog does have a lot to do with it, this time; calming one of them tends to do it to the other. "You and the She-ra's of the past... How closely are all of you connected?"
"Oh," Adora says with an apologetic smile, "my bad." And she adjusts her touch accordingly, fingers stroking a little firmer, until Melog seems pleased again. After all, they're carrying her. It's the least she could offer in return.
And it's nice to have something to focus her attention on, besides.
She doesn't expect them to walk on in silence the whole way, but the question that leaves Catra's lips catches her off-guard, and Adora fumbles a moment.
"Um... that's a good question," she admits, sheepishly lifting her shoulders. It's been an ingrained part of her since she first picked up the sword-- she's never really stopped to analyze it, to put it into proper words.
"The ones that came long before, I can barely feel them," she begins, sifting through the clutter of her thoughts to put together an answer. "Maybe just-- when I transform, and that power washes over me, it feels... big, and ancient. Especially in the beginning, it felt like it wasn't coming from me, but more, bestowed upon me. From many generations before."
She draws in a breath, looks from Catra to the top of Melog's head. Keeps stroking at the fur along their nape, to soothe herself, too. She's so tired, and her brain feels like a frazzled pile of nerves, and talking about She-ra now, after everything her parents said...
No, she can't let herself fall down that hole again. Adora shakes her head, focuses on the here and now. Catra's asking because she wants to understand. Adora wants her to understand, too.
"It's different with Mara, though. I'm not sure-- I mean, in a way, she's always there. But sometimes I forget, you know? It's like she's off in the distance, watching over me. Sometimes I see her in my dreams. But sometimes it's more like she's inside me, like-- like when I recognize things that I shouldn't, and realize those must be her memories. Or sometimes I feel things, but I feel them a little bit more, and I think it's because it must've meant something to her, too."
"... I've never told all this to anyone before." She bites her lip, tilts her head to try and catch Catra's eye. "I don't sound crazy, do I?"
That's... a lot different than what Catra was expecting, and her eyes narrow in contemplation at the ground for a moment until Adora's insecurities shine through - and then she can't help but scoff.
"Are you kidding? You haven't stopped sounding crazy to me since you left the Horde." She makes sure there's levity in her tone, and her tail brushes deliberately across Adora's face to dispel any delusion that she means to be taken seriously. She even actually looks at Adora afterwards; a side-long glance with the smallest quirk of her lips before Catra turns her gaze up, looking at the stars.
"So do you know about all the things they did? Do you..." ...this is straying into uncomfortable territory, for her. Some of the memories the chip had connected her to are still buried in Catra's mind, and sometimes sleep is a horrible thing. "...dream about that as well, or something?"
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boxitup2020-05-31 09:58 pm
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Adora does not get the last word, and she's sure not getting the last kiss in; as she tries to pull away, Catra yanks her back to plant her lips on Adora's - rather a bit more aggressively, consequently a little more clumsily - before letting her go with a huff and a light shove to the shoulders. All of it (her scowl, her roughness, her attitude) is foiled by the brush of her tail against Adora's hip and the flick of her ears toward her as Catra turns and makes to lead the way out. It's annoying that the fun is at her expense, but it is fun and it feels just like old times, and she not so secretly loves that.
It takes until her hand is on the doorhandle for her borrowed time to run out. She keeps her palm on it as she turns around to face Adora, raising a still-damp foot to lean against the door and block the exit.
"Before we get out there," she doesn't want to, but her voice drops from teasing and playful to something more serious, though she's careful to keep it clear of - as Perfuma would say - 'negative energies'; "What are you going to tell them?"
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"I don't know. I guess I'll just see what they have to say, and go from there."
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"Look, I'm just gonna--" rip the bandage off is what she almost says, and then reconsiders. They've been having fun, but they're both still exhausted. The evening has been hell, and Catra knows better than anyone the fine line that sanity starts to tread when you're so worn down.
And she wants to make this as easy on Adora as she can, she thinks as she absently chews her lip. She can't take too long, or she's just going to start looking weird.
"--I heard some things," is what she decides on, abandoning her start. This way's more neutral. Gives Adora more time to prepare. "While we were walking back here. I think we should try to plan what you're going to say before you talk to them."
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"What did you hear?"
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It's better now than later, she tells herself. Better for Adora to arm herself with the knowledge of what's waiting for her; if not inside this house, then outside in the village.
"Nothing new." Her tail flicks unhappily, but Catra's eyes remain steady on Adora's. Being hated isn't fun, and it's something that Adora is so wildly inexperienced with. "Fright Zone stuff." (better clarify, in case Adora deludes herself into thinking it could be anything else.) "About She-ra."
She'll wait for Adora to unpack that one on her own.
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How can this place be anything like the Fright Zone?
"... They hate She-ra." The realization drops, heavy and bitter and like copper, from her tongue.
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"They're scared of She-ra," she corrects, pushing off from the door and slipping her hand off the handle. It's still a small room, they're still only a couple of steps apart; and Catra closes the distance, ducking her hands beneath the warm towel on Adora's shoulders to grip her arms. "Don't you remember?"
All those weird and messed-up children's stories about their evils and horrors. All the propaganda about how Princesses would kill their squadron and take the last survivor brutally and violently apart. She can believe, actually, that Adora - weirdo justice freak that she is - might have hated them for that. The rest of the cadets - the normal ones - were just simply terrified for their lives.
Admittedly, hatred follows quickly after fear. But Adora got over it quickly enough once she started hanging out with Glimmer, so it couldn't be that hard to get everyone else to do.
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That's right-- Catra wouldn't know all this stuff, would she?
With a sigh, she reaches under the towel for Catra's hand, enveloping the back of it with her palm.
"Mara was the last She-ra in a thousand years, and everything I ever heard about her from Light Hope was that she was a blight on the She-ra line. That she was unstable, dangerous... a traitor."
The part of Light Hope that could feel-- that went against her programming-- knew better. But every line of her code was put in place by the First Ones. Every cold, condemning word she was forced to utter came straight from the First Ones' beliefs.
"... It's okay, Catra," she says, squeezing her hand. "I'll just tell them the truth. They'll understand."
She forces the words out through the lump in her throat, trying to make them sound surer than she feels.
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"It's not that different," she argues. Because she is a different person now, and there's a churning in her gut instead of spite, and Adora's doubt is always so obvious. She clearly doesn't believe herself.
Catra's hands flex on Adora's arms, squeezing them in what's supposed to be assurance but comes out a bit more aggressive than that. Catra can't help that; it's how she is. "I mean, come on. It was a thousand years ago. If these guys have any brains at all, they'll realize that something in their stories doesn't match up."
Adora had, after all, healed an entire forest and giant rampaging tree-creature in front of them. That wasn't something that dangerous harbingers typically did.
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"Yeah! See, exactly. I'm sure it's gonna go fine." She pats the back of Catra's hand, as if she's the one doling out that much-needed reassurance. "Come on. I've got this. And you've got my back, right?"
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Her eyes remain trained on Adora's for a long time, searching; but she can't see any traces of it, and Adora feels confident under her hands, and it all is -- very wrong. Adora is a bad liar and a worse actor, and there's no way Catra will believe she's actually as assured about this as she's pretending. But somehow, she can't find the cracks that she's sure must be there.
Is this a new skill Adora's developed, or was Catra always just too caught up in herself to notice her doing it?
"Of course I do," she agrees after a long moment. Her tail flicks, brushing Adora's leg. "Dummy."
...But she really feels wrong about leaving it at that. She can't see it, but she knows Adora. She knows her.
"And I guess you did manage to convince the Horde's strongest and smartest leader to fall in love with you." Like Catra hadn't already been for like, all of her life. She'll never admit to that, it's way too embarrassing. Her hands are already leaving Adora's arms, self-assured swagger returning as she turns back to the door, like her falling in love with Adora had been Catra's victory, somehow. "Getting these idiots to do it should be a breeze."
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"Thank you," she says, reaching for her hand as they finally head back into the living room. God, it feels like they spent weeks in that bathroom -- when in reality, they probably only just dipped into the territory of uncomfortably long.
There's really no graceful way to leave your newfound family's bathroom after spending the better part of an hour screaming bloody murder in there, wrecking it and flooding it. And the fact she's leaving it hand-in-hand with the person she was just screaming bloody murder at, well, that's just the icing on the awkward cake.
Fortunately, Adora's been in so many awkward situations since leaving the Horde that she's now a seasoned pro.
"Hey, guys. Thanks for the towels. We wiped the floor-- uh, not with the towels, I turned my sword into a mop. That's just a normal thing I do, don't worry about it."
That gets Adora a raised eyebrow from her dad, a nervous chuckle from her brother, and an ushering into the nearest seat from her mother. There's a cup of tea set out in front of her, and in front of Catra's seat, too, and it's a bit chipped but the coaster has little floral paintings on it. It's nice.
She raises the cup to her lips and takes a long sip, her other hand still planted firmly in Catra's.
"I'm really sorry about this whole mess, again. We're not usually like this. I mean-- I am usually She-ra, and I do fight giant monsters, like, pretty often, and heal things? But uh, not so much with the yelling. And the bathroom-ruining. We normally get along great!" She enthusiastically holds up her hand linked with Catra's, as proof.
"It's just been..." she draws in a breath, lets it all out on that emphasis: "a really weird day."
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There aren't enough seats for all of them, she notes as they're fussed into a pair, and Melog hops into her lap as soon as she sits down. Catra's chair is closer to Adora's father, which is too far from Adora's for Catra's liking, and she has no issue with scooting her chair until it's properly in place. She notices the parents' slight frowns, and the look they exchange, and keeps those details all in mind.
They don't trust She-ra. By extension, they can't trust Adora. And after hearing Catra's yowling and seeing their small bathroom looking like a fight (--ha, as if they'd leave so little damage if they'd actually been going at it) had taken place, she can see what conclusions they're coming to.
She's a little offended that they seem like they think she might need rescuing. From Adora, of all people.
"I don't like water," is her shrugged contribution to Adora's awkward apology. Like that's a good enough justification for the mess they'd made. Her grip on Adora's hand remains firm as it's tugged around, and Catra's mouth and throat ache but she makes no move for her tea.
It's Adam's awkward laugh that breaks the silence, as he steps up and places a hand on the backs of each of their chairs. His bulky figure shadows them, and when Catra looks up he's got that same weird trying-too-hard-to-act-like-everything's-fine grin on his face that Adora plasters on when she's way out of her depth.
"Tell me about it," he says to Adora, trying to sound jovial; and if Catra wanted to destroy this family it would take her only two sentences at most. It's clear that Adam is Adora's biggest - and potentially only - supporter, and even he's unsure; basing his trust in her on what must be half-baked dreams and ideas of the sort of person he'd imagined his sister to be. "It's not every day you meet your long-lost sister and find out she's a living legend. How'd that happen?"
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"Turns out it was lying around on Etheria the whole time, just waiting for the next She-ra to come pick it up. But there was nobody to come pick it up, because Etheria was stuck in its own dimension-- but then the portal sucked me up and dropped me there, so..."
"So it's true," her father's voice comes from the other end of the table, deep and severe. "It's not just a myth. The previous She-ra really stranded her planet in isolation."
Adora's shoulders tense, and her eyes drop to the shimmering surface of her teacup. "Well-- sort of. I mean. Yeah. But it's more complicated than your history shows, Mara-- the previous She-ra, she wasn't a bad person. She was trying to protect her world."
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Melog's mane remains a shimmering blue despite the beginnings of spikes, and they sniff at their joined hands as Catra's fingers flex around Adora's. She ignores their meowled question; and Melog proceeds to hop down, winding around their chairs before coming to a stop on Adora's other side, where their size shifts until the two of them are suitable barriers between her and her parents.
"She saved us." There's a disbelieving scoff in Catra's voice. She came into this knowing exactly how it was going to go, and it still rankles her for it to actually be happening. "We know what your people were doing there. Don't act like we're the ones who suffered for being cut off."
Even Adam frowns - at her attitude, she assumes, her tail flicking against the chair leg with annoyance. She's wrong.
"What do you mean?" He looks to his parents, seeming to still have the naive belief that the adults in his life will always have the answers to his questions; despite his parents being nowhere near old enough to have any knowledge, if it wasn't passed down. "What were we doing there?"
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Oh. Do they... do they not know? Adora can feel herself starting to panic, like the truth is stuck in her throat and won't let her breathe. She tugs at Catra's hand, wordlessy shaking her head -- a mute, frantic please don't. Somehow, this feels like something she needs to protect them from.
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Adora's tugging at her hand, but Catra's claws are already digging in to the soft fabric of the chair. Melog starts a low, rumbling growl. Still blue, but Catra isn't inclined to do anything to stop them. Melog knows what it was like when the First Ones came. Melog suffered, too.
"That's what they told you?" There's a thread of strain in Catra's tone, something that would have been sardonic if her throat hadn't scratched it on the way up. "That they came and enriched us?"
Melog's growl deepens, and Catra's ear dips towards them. This time, she decides to translate.
"Melog says that they ruined Krytis," she repeats for them; and her hands are trembling. Their connection is a two-way street, and when Melog remembers what happened -- it hurts. "They came and took the planet's magic, and they turned it into weapons for themselves. They left Melog's people defenseless, and alone, and so weak that when Horde Prime came he destroyed them. Only Melog had enough magic left to survive the assault. Prime was weak to their magic. If it weren't for the First Ones--your people, Krytis might have taken the Horde out centuries ago."
It's not a direct translation. A lot of the words are Catra's. The sentiment, though, hasn't changed.
"And Etheria--" She cuts off, because there's a slightly manic edge creeping into her tone. It hasn't been that long since she walked Adora to the place where she'd laid down her life for the universe. It hasn't been that long since Catra felt her body go limp, and her heart slow, and cried into her as she slipped away. Only long enough to bury the memory. Not long enough to process it.
Catra can't think of those details. Her eyes ache, and she's glad she's too dehydrated for them to betray her.
"They turned us into a weapon," she says instead; and she does not choke on the words like she thought she might. They just come out bitter. Her grip on Adora's hand has become tight, like some part of her is terrified that it's the only thing stopping her from becoming a ghost. "Our entire planet. They turned us into something powerful; something strong enough to destroy the entire universe. She-ra's the only reason they didn't get to use it."
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Adora screws her eyes shut, tries to focus on forcing her breaths into a steady rhythm, inhale after exhale. Her head begins to pound as all around her the voices escalate, each person at the table lashing out with their own anger and hurt.
"That doesn't excuse what they did! Their war doesn't mean they get to hurt and exploit other planets!"
"Their war could've ensured peace on all those planets, had they won it! If they could banish the Horde for good, these sacrifices would all have been worth it. It's because She-ra turned on them and refused to fight that they lost. Our people were once a thriving empire, all across the galaxy! Now this," her father throws out an arm towards the window, gesturing to the tiny, meager village outside-- "is all that's left!"
Adora's ears ring -- a piercing sound that floods her skull with burning white, and she clamps her hands over her temples in a futile attempt to contain it. "I'm sorry!" she heaves out, strained and gravelly from her raw throat. "I can't go back and change the past. I can't save everyone. I'm sorry-- that your people are gone, but it's not... I couldn't..."
The words crumble to dust on her tongue as her hastily-reconstructed dam comes crashing down again, hot tears slipping down her cheeks in rapid streams.
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(She really had just been about to attack an unarmed civilian. Her heart pounds harder at the realization. She's not leaving as much of her past self behind as she thought.)
The urge to kick the table at Adora's parents is still real, and the claws of her toes dig deep into the wood.
Catra sucks in a deep breath, and retracts the claws she doesn't remember extending. She wants Melog to take Adora out of here, and leave Catra to deal with this - but she knows how that would end. Adora will forgive her for a lot of things, but Catra is pretty sure that that would not be one of them.
"We're going." She says shortly. And she does kick the table, then; but as a push that shoves it roughly away, instead of sending it flying into their faces. Tea sploshes across the floor as the cups tumble from their saucers, and it's not anywhere near vindicating enough. She's considering the urge to do more damage when she feels Melog's head beneath her hand, and with their body pressed protectively against Adora's legs, the last survivor of Krytis scrounges up enough of their magic to shift them.
And then they're outside, the night air brisk and still, mid-way between their ship and the village. It's as far as Melog could take them. Catra wants to kick a ditch into the ground; wants to scream her frustrations and vent her rage. Instead she whips around, tail lashing, to check on her best friend.
"Adora?"
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It's your fault. They needed you. You couldn't protect them. It's your fault.
Over and over and over again.
She blindly clings to Melog, silent all the way, until she feels them come to a stop. And when Catra turns to her, the look in those shining, unevenly-colored eyes brings a clarity that allows Adora to raise her head above water, if only for the moment.
"Oh," she murmurs, wiping at her cheeks. "Are we walking now?"
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She was supposed to have had Adora's back in there. She should probably just -- stop making promises, at this point.
"You don't have to," she mutters. She wishes she still wanted to kick the dirt, but instead now she drags her foot through it, feeling the grains and small pebbles stick. She still wants to rant and yell, but she'll hold onto it until they're on the ship. She has a feeling Glimmer will be just as pissed as she is, and Adora's not in any state to put up with more aggression tonight. "Melog can carry you."
Melog yowls their assent, and when they turn their head they shimmer and shift, until they can lick a reassuring strip up Adora's face. (--And that's not Catra's fault. Melog's capable of empathy all on their own.)
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It's coincidence, probably, that Catra actually has to say something in order to convey it.
"...You're tickling them," she says shortly. Melog turns their head to huff at her, and Catra's fur bristles despite herself. Another coincidence, probably, that she can't feel bad about herself and be annoyed at Melog at the same time. "But they say to keep going. Just... rub them instead, or something."
Adora doesn't look good, doesn't sound good, and can't possibly feel good after all of that. Asking her how she's doing seems like a cheap question, when the answer is so obvious. And... there's something Adora said as well, and Catra doesn't know how to address it. A few things, actually. And back at the Heart, too, and occasionally along the trip.
Catra's silent for a bit, quietly keeping pace. She... actually doesn't have enough information yet to address it.
"Hey, Adora." Her tone's returned to normal, and her hands have relaxed on her arms. Melog does have a lot to do with it, this time; calming one of them tends to do it to the other. "You and the She-ra's of the past... How closely are all of you connected?"
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And it's nice to have something to focus her attention on, besides.
She doesn't expect them to walk on in silence the whole way, but the question that leaves Catra's lips catches her off-guard, and Adora fumbles a moment.
"Um... that's a good question," she admits, sheepishly lifting her shoulders. It's been an ingrained part of her since she first picked up the sword-- she's never really stopped to analyze it, to put it into proper words.
"The ones that came long before, I can barely feel them," she begins, sifting through the clutter of her thoughts to put together an answer. "Maybe just-- when I transform, and that power washes over me, it feels... big, and ancient. Especially in the beginning, it felt like it wasn't coming from me, but more, bestowed upon me. From many generations before."
She draws in a breath, looks from Catra to the top of Melog's head. Keeps stroking at the fur along their nape, to soothe herself, too. She's so tired, and her brain feels like a frazzled pile of nerves, and talking about She-ra now, after everything her parents said...
No, she can't let herself fall down that hole again. Adora shakes her head, focuses on the here and now. Catra's asking because she wants to understand. Adora wants her to understand, too.
"It's different with Mara, though. I'm not sure-- I mean, in a way, she's always there. But sometimes I forget, you know? It's like she's off in the distance, watching over me. Sometimes I see her in my dreams. But sometimes it's more like she's inside me, like-- like when I recognize things that I shouldn't, and realize those must be her memories. Or sometimes I feel things, but I feel them a little bit more, and I think it's because it must've meant something to her, too."
"... I've never told all this to anyone before." She bites her lip, tilts her head to try and catch Catra's eye. "I don't sound crazy, do I?"
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"Are you kidding? You haven't stopped sounding crazy to me since you left the Horde." She makes sure there's levity in her tone, and her tail brushes deliberately across Adora's face to dispel any delusion that she means to be taken seriously. She even actually looks at Adora afterwards; a side-long glance with the smallest quirk of her lips before Catra turns her gaze up, looking at the stars.
"So do you know about all the things they did? Do you..." ...this is straying into uncomfortable territory, for her. Some of the memories the chip had connected her to are still buried in Catra's mind, and sometimes sleep is a horrible thing. "...dream about that as well, or something?"
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