[Of course Adora suggests the gym. It's kind of where Catra was counting on going, too.
At least she can still predict some things about Adora, even if she doesn't see the jacket coming -- literally, despite watching in bemusement as Adora shucks it off. She doesn't startle this time, but her ears drop back in confusion - and then embarrassment - when Adora drapes it across her shoulders. There's something uncomfortable stirring in her stomach, an old familiar feeling... and it promptly curdles, turning rotten, with the explanation.
It makes sense that Adora doesn't want the Horde's logo parading around here, and Catra bites down the bitterness as she tugs the jacket closed over her chest.]
I'm not helpless, Adora. [Offense is an old friend, and grousing comes naturally as Catra holds the too-big jacket together from the inside, hiding the symbol splashed across her front. It stinks like egg goo and acid, and Catra's glad for the sharpness of those scents masking over Adora's.] If I wanted something different, I'd find it myself.
[Not that she wants to be stuck in this jumpsuit forever, but she doesn't need Adora going out and requisitioning clothes for her, like Catra's incapable of doing it herself.
Still, she's glad to not have to see the white and black of the jumpsuit from the corner of her narrowed eyes when she turns, tail lashing, to start her exit. She's not going to walk straight through the crowd of people she deliberately and knowingly let down; and neither is she going to acknowledge the shrouds making the fallen. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, only feels her head start to lower in avoidance of acknowledgement once, and when Catra meets the exit: she keeps going, not breaking stride to check Adora's pace. It's not like Catra's running - Adora can keep up without her slowing down.]
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At least she can still predict some things about Adora, even if she doesn't see the jacket coming -- literally, despite watching in bemusement as Adora shucks it off. She doesn't startle this time, but her ears drop back in confusion - and then embarrassment - when Adora drapes it across her shoulders. There's something uncomfortable stirring in her stomach, an old familiar feeling... and it promptly curdles, turning rotten, with the explanation.
It makes sense that Adora doesn't want the Horde's logo parading around here, and Catra bites down the bitterness as she tugs the jacket closed over her chest.]
I'm not helpless, Adora. [Offense is an old friend, and grousing comes naturally as Catra holds the too-big jacket together from the inside, hiding the symbol splashed across her front. It stinks like egg goo and acid, and Catra's glad for the sharpness of those scents masking over Adora's.] If I wanted something different, I'd find it myself.
[Not that she wants to be stuck in this jumpsuit forever, but she doesn't need Adora going out and requisitioning clothes for her, like Catra's incapable of doing it herself.
Still, she's glad to not have to see the white and black of the jumpsuit from the corner of her narrowed eyes when she turns, tail lashing, to start her exit. She's not going to walk straight through the crowd of people she deliberately and knowingly let down; and neither is she going to acknowledge the shrouds making the fallen. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, only feels her head start to lower in avoidance of acknowledgement once, and when Catra meets the exit: she keeps going, not breaking stride to check Adora's pace. It's not like Catra's running - Adora can keep up without her slowing down.]