Catra is up in a flash of movement, the bandages on her feet providing much-needed traction against the smooth floor. She's almost free, but Adora - stupid Adora - manages to grab a fistful of her shirt and the fur underneath and yanks her back down, and Catra screams with both the burn of pain and the injustice of it all.
"Let me go!" Her voice is getting hoarse from screeching, but that does not deter her. Her legs kick, clawed toes digging into the meat of Adora's legs as she shoves her hands against her head, trying to push herself off of her. She doesn't care what parts of Adora she digs at or scratches, and only years of friendly gamboling keeps it so that it's her palms nearest Adora's eyes instead of deliberately blinding her. The feel of Adora's face on her stomach, pressing into her as she struggles is -- is -- is something else entirely, heats her in a completely different way and fuels her desperation to get away; to fling herself up onto the pipes that cross haphazardly around the Fright Zone and run until she reaches a quiet, dark corner where she doesn't have to see Adora's stupid face or her stupid hair or hear her stupid voice or feel her stupid hands--!
She tries to move back enough to be able to knee Adora in her stupid dumb throat, but her grip is too tight and her arms too strong and Catra yowls loudly, the sound reverberating and echoing off the walls, in aggressive frustration. "I had my showers this week!" sure she'd tried to get out of them both, and she'd barely stayed under the cold spray of water long enough for it to soak through to her skin, but she'd still done it. "You can't make me do this! Why do you hate me?! Let go of me!"
(Later, in Catra's future, when someone snarls a certain accusation at her ("Adora didn't run away from the Horde. She ran away from you."), this struggle of theirs? Will be one of the memories that makes it ring true.)
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"Let me go!" Her voice is getting hoarse from screeching, but that does not deter her. Her legs kick, clawed toes digging into the meat of Adora's legs as she shoves her hands against her head, trying to push herself off of her. She doesn't care what parts of Adora she digs at or scratches, and only years of friendly gamboling keeps it so that it's her palms nearest Adora's eyes instead of deliberately blinding her. The feel of Adora's face on her stomach, pressing into her as she struggles is -- is -- is something else entirely, heats her in a completely different way and fuels her desperation to get away; to fling herself up onto the pipes that cross haphazardly around the Fright Zone and run until she reaches a quiet, dark corner where she doesn't have to see Adora's stupid face or her stupid hair or hear her stupid voice or feel her stupid hands--!
She tries to move back enough to be able to knee Adora in her stupid dumb throat, but her grip is too tight and her arms too strong and Catra yowls loudly, the sound reverberating and echoing off the walls, in aggressive frustration. "I had my showers this week!" sure she'd tried to get out of them both, and she'd barely stayed under the cold spray of water long enough for it to soak through to her skin, but she'd still done it. "You can't make me do this! Why do you hate me?! Let go of me!"
(Later, in Catra's future, when someone snarls a certain accusation at her ("Adora didn't run away from the Horde. She ran away from you."), this struggle of theirs? Will be one of the memories that makes it ring true.)