"Do I have to?" She whines, but quietly; as she's shucking off her uniform. It's fine, she could still wear it. Even though the feeling of the oil on her palms as she throws off her shirt makes her gag (and then turn momentarily green, as she huffs in a great big mouthful of oiled air), and even if it's sunk through to her fur underneath. "It's so cold, Adora."
And that's fine for cadets like Adora, who have smooth skin across their bodies and dry off quickly. Less fine for cadets like Catra (--of whom Catra is the only one), who are covered in fur that retains the frigid water for long enough to chill her to the bone. The nervous anticipation of it is enough to kill any lingering sensations Adora's face and fingers might have instilled; right now, all Catra feels is a terrible sense of dread.
She still holds off on removing her leggings and underwear, crossing her arms against her bare chest with a shiver. There's still a chance Adora might change her mind, if Catra looks at her sadly enough with big, round eyes. It's worked once or twice before.
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And that's fine for cadets like Adora, who have smooth skin across their bodies and dry off quickly. Less fine for cadets like Catra (--of whom Catra is the only one), who are covered in fur that retains the frigid water for long enough to chill her to the bone. The nervous anticipation of it is enough to kill any lingering sensations Adora's face and fingers might have instilled; right now, all Catra feels is a terrible sense of dread.
She still holds off on removing her leggings and underwear, crossing her arms against her bare chest with a shiver. There's still a chance Adora might change her mind, if Catra looks at her sadly enough with big, round eyes. It's worked once or twice before.