Naturally, she expects the assault. What she doesn't expect is the severity of it. Not Catra's hand on her shoulder, lulling her into a false sense of security as her instincts scream that this is a trap. The next minute, she's on the ground, glass digging into her back, and she knows it's too late to do anything but brace herself. To ride out the storm that Catra has always been, all their lives.
So Adora doesn't struggle when Catra pins her. She only winces at the claws digging into her skin, squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't have to meet Catra's gaze anymore--which is a mistake, because she doesn't see the slight movements that would give her at least a millisecond's warning before her shoulder feels like it's being ripped off, and she does scream. Does howl like an animal as her legs kick out feebly under Catra, either unable or unwilling to hold it in. Why bother? Catra knows her. She knows how much it must hurt, even if the words are worse.
By the end of this, she might be putting "crazy" back on the list. (But then, nothing Catra's saying is wrong, is it? Adora didn't mean any of it, but that doesn't change what happened. How she made Catra feel. It's too late to fix things, but the guilt stays with her; a weight on her shoulders she'll never be free of, just like all the other burdens she carries.)
When it's finally over, Adora barely even registers the damage. The sleeve of her jacket has been torn off completely, along with a decent chunk of her shirt, exposing the bloodied skin underneath. She's not in danger of bleeding out, but she knows only adrenaline is keeping most of the pain at bay now--and it's going to be much, much worse when it hits.
Dully, she says: "... No, I think that about covers it."
And this is her acting, again, not because she wants to, or because she's any good at it, but because she has to. Defending herself won't help things--won't make Catra stop, or tell her anything she doesn't already know. She's pretty sure Catra isn't in the mood to listen, anyway.
"So, did it help?" She curses herself for asking, for caring, when she already said she wouldn't. Quickly, still with half her body on fire, she twists it into something more believable, almost supportive. "I mean, this is what you want to do to Adora, right? It's good practice."
no subject
So Adora doesn't struggle when Catra pins her. She only winces at the claws digging into her skin, squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't have to meet Catra's gaze anymore--which is a mistake, because she doesn't see the slight movements that would give her at least a millisecond's warning before her shoulder feels like it's being ripped off, and she does scream. Does howl like an animal as her legs kick out feebly under Catra, either unable or unwilling to hold it in. Why bother? Catra knows her. She knows how much it must hurt, even if the words are worse.
By the end of this, she might be putting "crazy" back on the list. (But then, nothing Catra's saying is wrong, is it? Adora didn't mean any of it, but that doesn't change what happened. How she made Catra feel. It's too late to fix things, but the guilt stays with her; a weight on her shoulders she'll never be free of, just like all the other burdens she carries.)
When it's finally over, Adora barely even registers the damage. The sleeve of her jacket has been torn off completely, along with a decent chunk of her shirt, exposing the bloodied skin underneath. She's not in danger of bleeding out, but she knows only adrenaline is keeping most of the pain at bay now--and it's going to be much, much worse when it hits.
Dully, she says: "... No, I think that about covers it."
And this is her acting, again, not because she wants to, or because she's any good at it, but because she has to. Defending herself won't help things--won't make Catra stop, or tell her anything she doesn't already know. She's pretty sure Catra isn't in the mood to listen, anyway.
"So, did it help?" She curses herself for asking, for caring, when she already said she wouldn't. Quickly, still with half her body on fire, she twists it into something more believable, almost supportive. "I mean, this is what you want to do to Adora, right? It's good practice."
She'd laugh, if it was funny in the slightest.