TDM 001

[raiamods]

TEST DRIVE MEME 001 ❀

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential character nudity, violence, trypophobia (images) as well as light mentions of gore.

Please note: FOR THE FIRST 24 HOURS AFTER 'HATCHING', CHARACTERS WILL FEEL WEAK AND ANY POWERS THEY HAVE WILL NOT WORK.

Test drive meme threads can be considered game canon for players who are later accepted and wish to keep their CR. The rescue mission prompt will be a TDM-exclusive, but the other prompts that you see here will also appear on our first game log. There will, of course, be more going on that week.

Please reserve questions about consequences for altering or meaningfully investigating the setting for the first log of the game, where we will have a Mod Questions thread at the top of the log. On this test drive meme, please reserve this thread for clarification and setting questions.

On the first day of reserves (May 10th), only players who participate in the TDM will be allowed to reserve. You must link an AC-length thread from the TDM for early access. Starting on the 11th, any prospective player may submit a reserve. Our hope is that this will avoid overwhelming our reserves.

❀ HATCHING

Congrats, you've woken up in an egg. I'm sure this is exactly how you wanted to spend your Saturday, right? There's no time to get curious and check out the other egg sacs. By the time you've fought your way out of the membranous sac, spilled electric blue goop everywhere, wiped it out of your eyes and sundry other orifices to get your bearings, you have a spear (or a gun) leveled at your face, throat, or other vital organs. Even if you might be inclined to fight, you can barely lift your arms to protest being grabbed and dragged off. Before you can even get a word in edgewise, you've been thrown into a holding cell.

Characters will not have a chance to retrieve their items at the time of the first hatching, and may not even know there is anything left in the remaining eggs.

The holding cell stinks of something sour and acidic, like rotted citrus, but you are not alone. Several other detainees sit in similar squalid confusion, dressed strangely and equally gooey. Time to make nice, ask questions... figure out what the hell is going on, and maybe do something about all that slime?

Over the next few days, a few things become clear. Despite the alien greeting, your captors speak a language that you understand, and the unpleasant circumstances are revealed to be a matter of necessity, not choice. Supplies are low, but they ensure that the new arrivals' time imprisoned is as painless as can be — they offer hot communal showers of less than three minutes, some strange starchy meal-replacement, and medical treatment to those in need. You might strike up a conversation with your new best friend in the shower over a low soap dispenser or when you realize you might need to share towels.

The cost of these luxuries comes in the form of touch-and-go interrogation by the security officers keeping tabs on the cells and supervising the shower time.

A few notes:

☆ Your character may get pulled away for interrogation at some point. No torture, no drugs; just questioning.

☆ Locals will be stopping by outside the freestanding holding cells to ogle or ask questions. Are you really going to be mean to that little kid staring at you with wide eyes?

☆ Characters will be let out for bio breaks. No one has to pee in a bucket, that's just inhumane!

☆ Attempts to escape will probably get you tasered. The mods will not facilitate escape-plots/etc on test drive memes. However: if you app and are accepted you are more than welcome to chat with us about the possibility of having escaped or attempted it.

❀ EXPLORE THE BASECAMP

On the heels of a little benign interrogation, a medical inspection, and a stern talking to by Captain Childe, the survivors at Basecamp Leviathan determine one thing: you don't appear to be an active threat.

Released from the detention center after three days, you are given the run-down by the locals — you're on a planet called Ethyraia, and the people around you are survivors of the catastrophic crash of the UCSS Adamant several years prior. You, in fact, showed up on the third anniversary of the crash. Weird coincidence, huh?

You're being allowed to mingle with the others. The first order of the day is having a proper meal at the mess hall — some of the Adamant's survivors will be friendlier than others. They've been stranded here for years, remember? Some of them will be so desperate to talk to someone who has news of other places, and some will be giving you the cold shoulder.

You'll be fed the same as the rest of them. A plastic plate of crumbled protein of unidentifiable origin and gravy over rice with a single wilted stalk of broccoli and a cup of the worst coffee you've ever had. Maybe somebody bumps into you and spills said coffee, maybe you make it all the way to one of the long tables set out for communal eating.

Time to strike up a chat with your neighbor — maybe ask them to pass the salt?

(What do you mean, there's no salt!?)

After a meal — it's hard to say which one you'd call it, since the whole crew is on rotating schedules — you may decide to wander the basecamp. Folks in every department could use a hand. Those willing to help out may get friendlier reception than those who play the tourist. For more info on what else you might find, check out the LOCATIONS page.

During this time, characters will be able to return to the Central Chrysalis where they hatched. While there are no clues as to how they got there, they might find items — their own, or someone else's. Everyone is strapped for supplies, but try not to snatch up anything that isn't yours. The security officers don't look kindly on people chasing one other down the hall, trying to get back their dirty magazines.

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to help out anywhere. Every little bit of assistance you offer to the locals will raise their estimation of you. You could easily help clean dishes after the meal, help fix leaky piping or repair hammocks. You could stop by the aid station and assist with the wounded. You'll be watched closely and some of the survivors will be warier than others, but most will appreciate the opportunity to have a 'break'.

☆ If your character leaves the basecamp and wanders outside the Leviathan, they may begin to notice that what they perhaps took as a giant cave is actually an enormous dragon. Everything they see that seems 'human made' will look varying levels of worn down, patched, repaired and patched again. This is not a place of prosperity and happiness. Many people are recently injured, or have new scars or missing limbs.

☆ PCs will be warned about going beyond the shade of the dragon's wings. For the sake of the test drive mods will not be facilitating plots that deal with characters going further; we ask that players with an interest in exploring this wait until the game is fully open.

❀ RESCUE MISSION

"There's no time to waste," the woman says breathlessly as she grabs your arm. She pulls you to an augmented reality sand table and you will find yourself standing alongside some of the others you may recognize as having 'hatched' with you. There are murmurs by the Adamant's survivors as they pour over data. Maybe you remember Captain Childe from the stern interrogation she gave you a few days ago, but in any case but she's standing at the edge of the sand table looking at the distance scaled between the enormous huddle of HUD badges — the Adamant's survivors — and a tiny pocket of pulsing green some fifteen kilometers away.

"They knew better," Captain Childe says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "They should have been back hours ago."

"Fucking scientists," says a man with a faintly French accent. He is scarred and battle-worn, and looks properly pissed off. He's also sporting several fresh injuries, one of which seems to have warranted the use of a crutch. "They'd lose their heads if they weren't attached. Let them wait out the storm."

"No," the captain says. "They're too close to the Rat Nest. We don't need a repeat of —" she trails off, as if seeing you for the first time. She looks you up and down, and then: "You've been told by now that everyone here has to pitch in. If you know how to fight, be ready in ten minutes. You're our rescue squad." She turns and walks out, and there's an awkward moment where everyone present is looking at you to make a choice.

Ten minutes really isn't a lot of time to get ready to walk into danger. Or maybe you aren't a fighter. Maybe you just don't care. But either way, there are people looking to you. To see how you'll react. To see what you'll do. To see if you belong.

What'll it be, hatchling? Fight or flight? Maybe you ought to start coming up with a plan.

FIELD WORK

There's a cadre of scientists cut off by acid rain. From their last transmission, they were driven into the Rat Warrens — and you've been tasked with rescuing them. Too many members of the Security Team are themselves injured, and none of the remaining ones have experience leading a fire team. Let's hope you do — or at least that you can fake it.

Maybe you've hand-picked your team. Maybe you're just stuck with whoever else was closest. Either way, your companions are some of the people you might recognize as fellow 'hatchlings'. If you know them already — good, you've got a head start on what they might be capable of out in the field, and you can chat about the little things. You know, like the weather. Acid rain, gotta love it.

Either way. You're given few small slabs of surprisingly lightweight alloy that has a sheet of — is that hide from the Leviathan? — stretched across them, to divide up amongst your team. "Helps with the rain," Ensign Porter says, trying to sound cheerful despite the grim set to his jaw. "Just come back in one piece. I kinda feel responsible for you guys, you know?"

Before you know it, you're outfitted for the trip. Weapons (if you didn't have your own) and maybe some medical supplies, handed over with a grimace by Doc Sunya.

So then it's just you, your tiny team and a fifteen kilometer hike. Oh, and the acid rain. Luckily, the shields seem to be keeping it off, but it's hard to hear anything over the impact of the drops. Anyone want to play I never?

Or maybe you think you should make a break for it. This is your first time being outside the Leviathan unsupervised. You've got supplies, and other people with as little to lose here as you do. Maybe you should talk.

THE RAT WARREN

You've made it to the last transmitted location of the scientists. What you find doesn't bode well — one of them seemed to have an arm torn off — at least, you think it's an arm — the way it's been disintegrated by the rain makes it hard to tell.

One thing's certain, though. There are bloodstains leading into the nearby maw of a hole in the ground. There's a putrid odor wafting from it, and the sound of frantic scrabbling.

You have an idea of what might be down there. 'Giant rats with tentacles', Porter had said. Don't let the tentacles grab you, they leave chemical burns that usually result in amputation if they can't be treated immediately. But there's a chance the scientists are still alive, and you need to make your choice.

If you and your small team venture down into the darkness, what happens next is up to you. You'll be encountering hoards of these monsters. The scientists are still alive, but will they stay that way? And more importantly, can you get them back to the Leviathan in one piece?

PCs versus the local fauna, round one, FIGHT!

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to put player characters 'in charge' of the planning/logistics phase. If another PC tags into your thread, you and that player can decide which PC will be 'leading the charge'.

☆ Your character will have: a mini-railgun, a spear (if they don't have their items/weapons from home), a first-aid kit, the acid rain shields, ration bars (that are essentially condensed protein bars — they do not taste good) and one of the smartwatches, which will have a mini holographic HUD displayable on its interface. If your character is the sort to request other things, feel free to assume they received them (within reason — please remember that resource scarcity is the name of the game — feel free to be creative here!).

☆ There are fifteen kilometers to cover. If your character has an ability like superspeed/etc, please keep in mind it will work, but you also have your allies to consider. Normal walking time over this distance, given the difficulty of the environment (steep hills, acid rain, unknown territory, etc) would translate to several hours to an average person.

☆ Feel free to use the NPC scientists however you'd like. If you want your character to find some dead, you can. If you'd prefer they be rescued, that is also acceptable. These are essentially 'your' NPCs that you are using to facilitate the story at this point — the sky is the metaphoric limit!

❀ BOOZE

A week. You've been here for a week.

By now, you might have tried to venture out of Basecamp Leviathan and experienced firsthand the acid rains that the security officers warned you about. Or you might be teaching the kids at the schoolyard how to gamble. In any event, Thorkil seems to take pity on his disoriented new friends and taps his distillery for a little help.

Invitation passes by word of mouth to meet at the memorial wall. Moonshine of questionable quality is passed around in tin cups — hope no one's afraid of germs — as Thorkil explains the great relief it is to be gaining people instead of losing them. This settlement isn't big, and they aren't overburdened with hope or supplies, but there's been a lot of loss in the past three years. Some people might be willing to look at the arrival of these newcomers as a sign that things are turning around.

Bottoms up, hatchlings, and ... Happy Birthday?

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to turn this into an impromptu party. Maybe you're celebrating getting all the scientists back alive! Maybe it's something like a wake to remember them in the sad event of their passing. Either way, many of the engineers and other NPCs may join you in this moonlight drinking session, as well as whatever PCs you tag out to or are tagged by.)

❀ OBLIGATORY NETWORK

Welcome people of all kinds to Basecamp Leviathan! I'd give you a hand moving in except...

I have no hands.
Because I'm an AI.
Get it?
It's a joke.

My name is Cartagena. But anyway, this isn't about me or the Adamant for once. This is about all of you. So if you would kindly fill out the following questionnaire to get to know each other; it would also be very helpful for my systems.

NOTE: Participation is MANDATORY.

That was another joke. It's all voluntary. You people and your free will.

1. What is your name?
2. Where are you from?
3. What's your favorite smell? Please describe it as you would to a person without a nose. Because I do not have a nose.
4. If you could be any animal in any world, what would you be?
5. How old are you?
6. Did you enjoy this questionnaire?

Thank you for your participation! Please enjoy the rest of your stay here at Basecamp Leviathan.

NAVIGATION ❀

Comments

[swordjock]

[ In the darkness, Adora's eyes go wide, and she drops her gaze shamefully to her feet, as if just looking at Catra now would be some kind of violation. ]

Oh. Oh. [ There's genuine horror in her voice as the various implications of Catra's words sink in. The how doesn't really matter, only the fact it wasn't her choice, and Adora feels suddenly nauseous with guilt, even if she had no way of knowing. ] ... I'm sorry.

[ She says, whether or not Catra cares to hear it. The silence is deafening, broken only by the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and the moment Catra gives her a lifeline, an outlet for all her nervous energy, she grabs hold of it with both hands. Still mortified, she keeps her eyes intentionally low; only glancing up periodically to scan for threats or obstacles in their path. ]

... Glimmer didn't tell me anything. Not yet, anyway. We had to stop and refuel, and I wanted to give her some time to recover, because she seemed upset, especially since Bow was still mad about what happened with the Hea... [ does Catra know about that? ] ... what happened before Prime showed up. I figured I'd let them work through their stuff first, then come up with a plan for our next move.

[ The one that started as get back to Etheria with Glimmer, and before Adora even realized it, changed to get back to Etheria with Glimmer and Catra. She already left Catra behind once, and no matter what, exactly, Catra is to her now — she's too important to make that mistake with twice. ]

Actually, the only thing she mentioned was you. That you saved her life... but you were doing it for me. [ If Catra wanted this conversation to be about Not Her, boy did she pick the wrong topic. Last time, Adora left the question of why open ended, and got nothing but biting sarcasm for her trouble. So this time? She'll take the more direct route. ] Is that true? I mean, you have to admit, it sounds kinda crazy. But I— Catra, if he hurt you because of me...

[ Not everything is about you, Adora — but Catra went and made it about her, after years of trying to make her feel worthless, a thousand angry proclamations of just how little Adora meant to her anymore. Of course she'd blame herself for whatever happened after that transmission cut off. Of course she'd try and bear the weight of Catra's actions, as if she's the one responsible for them. ]

[usurpurr]

[Oh, so Glimmer gets time to recover before she has to tell Adora anything, but Catra has to spill as soon as she sees her?

She's bitter about it, huffing derisively when Adora aborts mentioning the Heart. So that's the bad thing Glimmer was feeling so cut up about? Please. Triggering a superweapon barely even ranks on Catra's list of crimes. At least she didn't want to blow everything up.

And of course Adora's back on this, always choosing the worst time to try to get Catra to talk honestly. She's still in the process of cramming down every emotion and outburst that's clawing to crash out; she's got nothing to spare to soothe Adora's precious guilt complex, even if she cared to.]

I only did it because your friend got in my head! [Not wholly a lie. Catra might have done something eventually anyway, but it would have been too late. It's bold words coming from the person who's almost hiding in Adora's jacket, anyway; gripping it like the universe might decide to turn around and rip it away from her. Her ears flick, down and then to the side; steeling herself to make a decision.] He wasn't gonna keep any of us around for much longer anyway. As soon as you [accusatory, how dare you adora] showed up, he would've had everything he needed. [Glimmer's words still ring with a truth that stings - that Catra had tried to ignore. But she was right. Prime, with his literal army of clones, doesn't have a place for her. Or -- not one Catra's willing to accept.] I just wanted to screw things up for him first.

[so much for not caring to soothe adora's guilt. it's just convenient that it goes hand in hand with Catra's posturing. See, it was all for herself. Totally.]

[swordjock]

[ Disbelievingly: ] That's seriously it? You wanted to do your one good thing, and then just die? [ Her voice breaks on the word, at having to confront her worst fear out loud. She's thought about defeating Catra, about all the ways they've hurt each other over the years, but the idea of her being gone forever, even not by Adora's hand, hits hard. ] It doesn't work that way.

[ Catra should know that. She should know Adora. If she really wanted to sever that last, tenuous link between them, she should never have apologized. Shouldn't have justified the anguish Adora went through day in, day out, at her inability to finish things; all the sacrifices she could have prevented by making the ultimate one herself.

(Not her own life, but Catra's. So much pain and suffering because Adora was too selfish to destroy the only thing she ever loved for over fifteen years. She has to justify it. She has to believe that it can be justified.) ]

If you want to stay here, that's fine. [ It's not, but Adora can pretend otherwise, can put her selfishness aside for the sake of seeing Catra safe. ] But I'm not giving up on you. I can't. I spent years waiting for the good in you to win out over the bad, because I know you, Catra, or I thought I did, anyway, and I was right. I was right to have hope, even when I told myself that we were always going to be enemies. That I had to accept losing you to make the nightmares stop, to win the war... to be She-Ra.

[ They'd faded over the last year, since the portal, and she convinced herself that maybe she had accepted it, but that was a fool's errand from the start. Catra's occupied almost her entire thoughts for the past week, to the point where she feels guilt about not thinking about Bow and Glimmer enough by comparison. But then, they've never made her feel like her heart's in a hurricane, desperately looking for some kind of calm before it tears apart completely. She loves them, but not in the same dangerous, fierce, possessive way she does Catra.

Besides, she's not She-Ra anymore. She can choose her own destiny, now, for the first time in her life, and she chooses this. ]

I don't care if you did it to screw with him, you saved us. And I'm going to save you, whether you ask me to or not. Even if you hate me for it.

[ She doesn't have to help again, doesn't have to ask; she just has to take Adora's hand when she reaches out. Not that there's any reaching happening now, only Adora wrapping her arms around herself as if bracing for Catra's bitter, scathing reply. She's made her decision, and the look on her face says she isn't changing her mind. ]

[usurpurr]

[What does Adora want her to do -- throw her arms up in the air and admit it, a frustrated and obnoxious Yeah, kinda! that might actually, hopefully, get Adora to shut up for at least a few minutes?

It'd probably make Adora cry, and Catra thinks that would give her a vicious satisfaction -- but Adora's voice breaks, and it... doesn't feel as good as Catra thought it would. Even though every word out of Adora's mouth stings like an accusation, salting Catra's wounds. All Adora cares about is being right - all she wants to do is say I told you so, and rub in the fact that Catra was wrong.

She can only grit her teeth so hard, can only tense so much before she whirls around; all intent to wait to reach the privacy of the gymnasium abandoned in the bright burn of anger.]

You think it's that easy?! [Insult her more, Adora.] You think, what, I just didn't try hard enough to get out?!

[Because that's what she's hearing. Adora says she'll save Catra, like it's that simple a thing to do, and Catra doesn't hear a determination born from care. She just hears the overbearing insistence, the age-old story of Adora coming along to fix all Catra's mistakes.]

Well you're wrong. If I could've gotten out of there, I would have. [She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to flicker out of this world, insignificant and alone.] And even if you think you'd have an easier time of it --[ahem, that's a coded go fuck yourself]-- it's too late. [Her eyes are burning too, but they're prickling with something that's different to the hot burst of anger; and her sharp-clawed hand is trembling when she gestures at the white jumpsuit, the top half still hidden beneath her defensive grasp of Adora's jacket.] I ruined his plan. You really think he was just gonna wait around to see if anyone was gonna show up for me?!

[swordjock]

Of course that's not what I'm saying. If you'd just listen to me—

[ She's saying the opposite — that Catra could have saved herself, but she chose to save Glimmer instead, even if it almost cost her everything. But like she always does, Catra only hears what she wants to hear. (And yes, Adora is guilty of the same thing, but that's different, because she has Catra's best interests in mind. The same way she had Glimmer's, and everyone else's, and okay, maybe there's a pattern here, but Adora's too stubborn to acknowledge it in the middle of an argument.)

Stubbornness can't save her from reality, though. Somehow, in the midst of all her decision making, Adora never once considered the idea that she wasn't in control of what came next. That she'd already lost before ever setting foot on Horde Prime's ship. ]

... What? [ Realization visibly dawns on her face, and she takes a half-step back, as if to put distance between herself and the words. ] No. Nononono, it can't be too late, you— you're still here, Prime wouldn't just... [ kill you, but that means the alternative must be worse. That he found some other way to hurt her, use her, and judging by Catra's reactions, the pain in her voice when she says it's too late, he did. (But as long as Catra is alive, Adora selfishly doesn't care. Nothing is worse than the idea of her best friend dying, alone and afraid, never knowing how close she was to being rescued. To going home.)

Even if she can barely stop her own from shaking, she closes the distance between the two of them, reaching out her empty hand to cover Catra's trembling one. ]

Please, Catra. Whatever's wrong, whatever he did, I... we can fix it. I promise.

[ She knows how loaded those two words are, and she puts everything she has into making them sound believable. It's up to Catra whether or not they actually do. ]

[usurpurr]

[She should be satisfied, when Adora recoils from her - but the sharp stinging that shoots down Catra's throat and into her chest is far from smug, and Catra's shoulders feel too heavy to have won.]

You can't fix this, Adora. [She feels small, now. Shrunk beneath the admission of defeat, rage blown out as quickly as it had come; leaving just Catra. Tiny and tired, an unwanted edge of a plea in her voice. She just wants Adora to stop.] It already happened. [The thing on her neck, the thing that jolts white pain through her nerves when she scratches at it -- it's there for good.

She wants Adora. She wants her to hold her in against her; to let her hide her face in her shoulder and curl into her and let it all go, everything dark and scared and guilty spilling out onto her--

--instead Catra snatches her hand away before Adora can grasp it, using it to grab and tug at the collar of her jacket. Like Catra could use it to cover up any more.]

If I'm here, it's because Prime wants me to be. [If she says it any louder than a hoarse croak, she'll lose her grip. It's impossible to hide the low, anxious twitch of her tail as it is.] He sees everything, Adora, he-- [knows everything] --he's got people everywhere. And I... [her hand's drifting towards the back of her neck, away from the collar; self-consciously brushing toward the device.] I don't know if I'm one of them.

[swordjock]

[ Adora's expression was already pained, but she looks like she's been slapped when Catra snatches her hand away, leaving her grasping at empty air. ]

I... I don't understand. [ Genuinely, she doesn't. Is this what Glimmer was so terrified of? ] You said you were done with the Horde, how can you not know? What did he do to you?

[ She's never dealt with anything like this before. Hordak had Imp to monitor them, Shadow Weaver had her spies, but neither of those is what Catra is describing: the idea of not knowing if she's a traitor, as if she's somehow not in control of her own actions, her own mind. Having her memories erased has always been Adora's worst nightmare, but she might have just found something even worse. ]

... Let me see? [ She says, taking another tentative step forward, watching the movement of Catra's hand towards the something on the back of her neck. ] I won't touch anything, don't worry.

[usurpurr]

[Oh, like she believes that for a second. 'I won't touch it' is a falsity that comes right before the yanking out of a splinter, or the clearing of debris from a wound. It's like telling someone to brace for the count of three, and then acting on one -- it's just something you say so that they don't have time to rethink it.

So, yeah: Catra is about a thousand percent convinced that when Adora says I won't touch it, what she actually means is I'll do whatever I want to it.

The step back that Catra takes is mostly instinctive, keeping the same distance between them. Because, at this point -- even with their history, or maybe because of it -- while the thought of Adora screwing around with the thing on her neck is terrifying, there's actually... no-one else that Catra could believe wouldn't use it to extort something from her. Adora's still a soft touch. If nothing else, the hero complex of hers that Catra's exploited so many times will keep her from deliberately trying to hurt her.

So:] Not here. [is what she croaks, the tips of her claws stopping shy of her nape as her eyes flick to the wide, empty space either side of them. She'd take any private space - any supply closet or unused room, where she doesn't have to worry about anyone else seeing her this vulnerable and weak - but as it turns out, the inside of a dragon's corpse is a bit lacking on walls.

She wants to get this over with, she tells herself. Her legs feel like they're trembling when she turns back to the direction of the gym, not too far away now, and picks up the pace.]

Sparkles tell you what happened to Hordak? [There's a shake to her words when she asks, though Catra's trying to force a normal tone. One favour, Glimmer, that's all Catra's asking. She can forgive blabbing about almost anything else, as long as it means she doesn't have to explain this.]

[swordjock]

[ This time, Catra's retreat is tempered by her words, and so is Adora's pain at her reaction. She nods once, stiffly, an agreement not to pursue the topic any further, as long as Catra is willing to explain things at some point, and falls back into step behind her — this time, pointedly looking anywhere but the back of her neck, to an almost exaggerated extent. She's... trying. ]

Hordak? [ Even if Catra can't see the way her face scrunches up, the confused way she repeats his name should be answer enough, but: ] No, she didn't mention him. Why would she? I figured he was just working with Prime, being all evil and spooky in space.

[ Catra wouldn't mention it if the truth was that obvious, though, so Adora scours her memories for anything relevant; even if what she comes up with feels like a stretch at first. ]

We've dealt with some of his creepy clones, though. Or Prime's clones, I guess, I don't really know how it works. But they're the ones in those weird, all-white outfits. Kind of like, uh... [ she trails off, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, as she remembers what's hidden under her own jacket. ] ... like yours.

[ Growing up in the Horde, Catra was never one to conform. She always made "adjustments" to her clothes, and requisitioned a custom uniform after rising in position to Hordak's second in command, probably just because she could. It's a small thing, comparatively, but Adora had been so hyper-focused on Catra being here, then on the Horde symbol itself, that she never stopped to consider all the other implications.

Adora swallows hard, trying to keep down the fresh wave of nausea rising in her throat, and prays Catra doesn't hear it. Having her think Adora is disgusted in her, and not whatever happened on that ship, is the last thing she wants. She doesn't have all the pieces yet, but she's starting to figure a few parts out, and all of them are bad. ]

[usurpurr]

[Catra scoffs weakly. If it were Hordak being Hordak, then yeah, 'evil and spooky' would probably sum it up. And Catra probably would just be dead, instead of curling her shoulders in to herself as Adora apparently stumbles onto a realization that Catra was kind of hoping she wouldn't have.

Catra's tail lashes self-consciously when she hears Adora swallow, her ears pinning back like she's ready to balk. Which -- yeah, she is. Adora might think that she could get everyone off of Prime's ship intact, but she has no idea what it was actually like. How impossible it would have been.]

I'd change if I could, okay? [she snaps, quick and overly defensive. This has been on her mind a lot.] There wasn't anything in those eggs for me like everyone else. This is all I've got. [Not even her mask. She's had that thing since forever. She's worn it every day since she got it. It's part of her identity, and now it's just -- gone. Melted down or tossed away like junk, because she's sure not important enough for Prime to have kept it somewhere as a trophy.] So unless you're volunteering to swap [ha, like Adora's broader frame would fit Catra's clothes], just back off about it.

[Bad enough the first thing Adora did was cover her up, like she couldn't even stand to see the Horde's symbol any more. Catra's the one who's earned the right to hate it.

Catra, who's shifting Adora's jacket on her shoulders, like it might have slipped despite her tense hold on it. Or like she's worried Adora might remember about it, now that the attention's on Catra's clothes, and try to take it back from her. (--Which, yeah, that's not happening. No matter how all this goes, Catra's not letting go.)

With her glare focused on the hallway before her, Catra lets out a sharp breath; a noise that, not too long ago, would have sent soldiers scurrying away to their duties. She doubts Adora's going to be cowed by it.]

Hordak hasn't been Hordak since we all got taken up. He's just one of them now. [Her tail flicks, again, and Catra tries very hard to not think about how she'd still found him; how she'd caught the faint smell of the Fright Zone on one of the clones, and thought there was at least someone she knew around.

And, failing to not think about that, she tries harder to not think about what her recognition of him had led to.] Did any of them ever say anything to you? They're not even people, they're just -- [now it's Catra who's swallowing hard, trying to keep hold of the wave of anger and losing] --vessels.

[Like she might be now, the terror in her chest reminds her.]

He can see what they see, and hear anything that they hear, and he -- he knows everything that they do. He can take them over at any time -- he can make them do anything he wants. [Catra's not even aware of her words picking up, starting to speed with the pace of her heart. She's Thinking about it now, the realities that she's been trying her hardest to not face head on, and the worst part of all of this is that Catra doesn't know what any of this means for her.] They're all connected, they've got this... [she knows the word for it, because it's been lingering at the back of her thoughts; along with all the other details about places she's never been, planets she's never heard of, and conquests she never partook in.] hivemind [it's a dirty word in her mouth; her lips curling back around it, like it might snag on her teeth and tear apart against them], and anything that any of them knows gets put into it. Prime doesn't even have to talk to them, he just thinks and [she gestures at the air, a nothing movement, and doesn't even realize her claws have snapped out tensely until their sharp lengths click together.] it's all his.

[Which means, probably, that everything that Catra knows is his now too. And Catra's had to give up a lot of things in her life: but no matter what, her thoughts and her will had always been hers.

Maybe that's why there's a threat of panic clawing at her throat, or why her hand is so rough when she shoves past the covering to the gymnasium.]

They've all got the same weak point. Every single one of them. [Or maybe the panic is actually fear, because now that Catra's standing in the gym -- nothing has changed. Being in the gym doesn't mean she's not still hiding in Adora's jacket, like a scared kid huddled under her best friend's blanket. It doesn't mean she's not in a too-perfect uniform, the white fabric resistant to all the dirt and grime that had tried to discolour it. It's no more secure or safe than the hallway they were in, the slapdash equipment lending no comfort or familiarity. And even if she were to scale all the way up to the top of the cavernous room -- it wouldn't have the smog and smoke of the Fright Zone, no acrid smell of burning rubbish sticking in the air.

There's no comfort for her in here. Why did she even bother?]

On the back of their necks, they've all got a... [the pupils of her eyes are needle-thin, and Catra's stomach is rolling so violently she's sure she's going to be sick. The words stick in her throat, and she has to fight to get them out:] ...a port. [Her hand twists in Adora's jacket; pulling it tighter around herself. She doesn't want to think about the thing on her neck; the thing that's cold and hard and painful to the touch.] Hit it hard enough, and they just -- [is the room swaying, or is that just because her lungs won't hold a full breath? Catra tries one, and it doesn't make much of a different as she gestures again; limply.] -- go straight down.

[She's scared. She is so, so scared. Too scared to let the jacket go; too scared to let Adora look at the back of her neck, for fear of what she might find there. Her hands are shaking -- her everything is shaking, and you know what? Catra doesn't have to go through with this. She doesn't have to know what's on her neck. She can put it together well enough from her nightmares.]

--This is dumb. [Even her voice is shaking. And just as soon as she's entered the gym, Catra's turning sharply on her heel, ears back and intent on fleeing leaving again.] We're not doing this.

[swordjock]

[ It's so hard to not interrupt when Catra speaks. So hard to just listen, to not ask a thousand questions, to interject at every pause. (Catra answers most of them herself, but a thousand possibilities whir through Adora's head in the seconds before each one, and somehow the reality is still worse.) It's even harder to not reach out and pull her in, give her the comfort that Adora hasn't been able to offer in years, when everything she's describing sounds straight out of a nightmare.

The fact Adora finds herself with any sympathy for Hordak surprises her, even if it's utterly dwarfed by her concern for Catra and Etheria at large. If he'd just died, Adora would have barely spared him a second thought, but she remembers the slavish devotion of the clone they interrogated weeks ago. At the time, tired and frustrated by the non-response to her threats, she'd taken it as a combination of nonsense, an attempt at fear mongering, and sycophantry — but to be not just born for a purpose, a destiny, but bred for it, forced into it, enslaved by it, is infinitely more horrifying than anything the Horde ever did.

Some distant part of her brain, the part that belongs to Adora the soldier, the tactician, is filing away Catra's words, the information on Prime and his army; partly to use against him (not against Catra, never against her, now) but mostly because she never wants to make Catra repeat them again. All through the explanation, Adora's gaze is pinpoint focused straight ahead, almost unsettlingly so, and her initial reply comes through gritted teeth, in a voice that barely sounds like her own. ]

I'm going to destroy him. [ She mutters, and if her eyes flash bright blue for a second, if her declaration carries the kind of surety that only She-Ra's tone usually possesses, Adora doesn't notice. Her pursuit has always been of victory, not death or destruction, even for her enemies, but she wants to kill Horde Prime. She wants to destroy him so thoroughly, so absolutely, that nobody will ever have to suffer at his hands again; she could tear off his head herself and react not with horror, but with satisfaction.

Lost in her dark thoughts, Adora abruptly snaps back into a more lucid state as Catra spins around, her intent to push past and run clear as day. (Maybe she'll never stop running, driven by the same terror that has her claws snapping out, her pupils contracting, her whole body shaking.) Expression as unyielding as her body, she moves to stand in Catra's path, even if there's no real way to stop her from stepping a few feet to the side and bypassing Adora completely. It just has to buy her a second or two, not forever.

Her words are the only thing that can give them that. ]

We've been fighting for three years, and suddenly a loser like Horde Prime makes you think about giving up? That's not the Catra I know.

[ Her fear of driving Catra away wars with the fear of losing her, and the latter wins out. The tin cup in her hands finally clatters to the ground as Adora wraps both arms around Catra, bracing herself for the struggle, the pain of claws and teeth lashing out in surprise and anger in her direction. She buries her face in Catra's shortened hair, breathes in strength from the familiar scent, then shouts over her head into the empty air of the gymnasium; as if she can make Prime hear her voice through the empty void of space itself, whether or not he's listening through Catra. ]

He is never taking you back. Do you hear me? Never.

[ Catra can leave. She can go, and break Adora's heart in two, and carry half of it with her always. But she isn't being taken from her ever again. ]

If he really knows everything, then he knows he screwed up. He knows I'm coming for him. [ She laughs mockingly, but the sound is a growl, pained and angry. Adora thought she hated Hordak, hated Shadow Weaver, but now she knows what hatred really feels like. It threatens to hollow out her insides, fill her up with nothing but bitterness and rage, and only her love for the woman in her arms is powerful enough to keep it at bay. ] But clearly, Prime doesn't know as much as he thinks he does. Because he has no idea how strong you are, Catra. He lost the moment he ever thought he could win against us.

[ Not Adora. Not Catra. Us. ]

... Stay. [ Adora pleads, and what she really means is stay with me, but she can't say that. Catra had asked her the same thing, once, but Adora hadn't listened. She hadn't understood. (She thinks that maybe she does, now.) ] Until we can figure this out. Whatever happened, whatever he did, or tried to, you're still Catra. You still matter to me. [ Again, quieter, but with more emphasis, as she finally loosens her hold on Catra's body: ] Stay.

[usurpurr]

[The solid wall that is Adora freezes Catra in place, the steeled look on her face driving deep into Catra's heart. She's not ready for this, she hasn't braced herself, she's not prepared to be shattered underneath the hammer of Adora's words.

In that moment, when Catra's blood runs cold and the urge to retreat seizes her, it's not Prime that she's afraid of. It's Adora. Adora as she's appeared in her nightmares, ready to lay rightful blame at Catra's feet. Adora, determined and unforgiving, finally pushed too far by Catra's actions -- and just like in Catra's nightmares, she's got nothing to use to defend herself from the scathing hatred that's about to pour forth.

The clatter of the cup barely registers to her, and she's oblivious to the damp of the alcohol that splashes onto her bare feet. And instead of whatever it is Catra's fearing, instead of a nightmare playing out, Adora brings her into her. Wraps her arms, warm and solid and stinking of acid and vermin, tightly around her; and something inside of Catra feels like it breaks, splintering and cracking all the way through with the quiet, rattling gasp she takes.

It's filled with Adora. Everything is. There's no way Catra can't smell her this close. Underneath the dried sweat and muck (--where did that rescue mission take them?), buried beneath the buzz and tang of acid and petrichor, is Adora: just as Catra remembers her, just as she's always been.

She feels Adora's nose in her hair, like she's burying herself in her - like she's as desperate to find the memories, the comfort, of shared spaces and closeness as Catra is - and Catra, somehow, doesn't know what to make of it. Doesn't know what to make of Adora's solemn promise, reverberating with surety through Catra's bones and into the air around them; loud, and clear, and full of barely-bridled anger. But it's not anger at Catra.

He is never taking you back.

She's trying to breathe, but it's all coming in tiny, little gasps; the shudder in her shoulders and her chest rattling all the way through to her lungs. She's hung on Adora's every word - on the vehemence, the anger, the hatred burning through them. All the while struck by the novelty, the bizarre wonder, of it not being because of her, but for her.

Adora says she's strong, but Catra doesn't feel it. Not when her claws are pricking her palm in her own tight fist; not when she's dazed, her head swimming, the vestiges of panic still lingering in the rasp of her breaths.

And certainly not when she releases that fist, her hand flying instead to grip around Adora's back, pulling her closer and burying her face into her shoulder the second she feels Adora's arms loosening. Scared that despite her plea, she's going to let go, step away - and leave Catra without the one comfort she's desperately clinging to.

She's not crying, but the heaving of her chest says it's a near thing; pressed so close to Adora, she can't see or smell or hear anything else. Hiding in her.]

I didn't think-- [oh, no, there they are - hot tears, threatening in her eyes. She scrubs them into Adora's shoulder, denying them; willing them away. Like she's fooling anyone right now.] --he could do it to us. He could've done it from the start, but he was just playing with us.

[Delighting in their fear, their uncertainty. Toying with them. And Catra had known that, of course, but she'd still had some delusion of capability. Of control. Over herself and the things she could do, if nothing else.

But it truly was 'nothing else'. From the moment she was ported up to the ship, it had been over: for Catra, for Glimmer, for Hordak. Their governance over their own minds was only theirs until such a time that Prime grew bored of their antics, and somehow, that's even more horrifying in retrospect.]

[swordjock]

[ At first, Adora thinks she must have grown numb to Catra's claws digging into her skin, or that the pain is running on some emotionally-charged delay, waiting to hit when she least expects it. She feels like she's caught in a reverie when Catra is the one to pull her in again, but even then, her first instinct, long before the rest of her brain catches up, is to lock her arms back into place, tighter than before. To not let go, now that Catra's given her the permission she needs. ]

He's a monster. [ She whispers, quietly, against Catra's hair. And I've killed monsters before. She's never used that word to describe anyone, only princesses as a whole, back when she was so hopelessly naive. But surely even that Adora would have recognized Prime for what he really was. ] ... When we rescued Glimmer, she couldn't stop shaking. I don't think she fully understood what you saved her from, but she knew enough.

[ It's not just you, is her implication. Catra isn't weak for being terrified of that fate. Any of them would be. They've all stared down death for years, practically accepted its presence out of necessity, but this strikes a deeper fear into Adora's heart — the idea of not just being unable to help her friends, but being used against them. Again.

(Only this time, there's no sword to break, no artifact to shatter, just her mind itself being stolen from her. The First Ones would be proud.)

Adora loosens her hold gradually, going from 'unyielding' to 'firm', just to make sure Catra doesn't feel trapped against her will. She's still terrified that this is all somehow temporary, that she'll wake up in the morning to it all having been a dream, or Catra still refusing to have an actual conversation with her, but she pushes it aside. Right now, Catra is in her arms. Right now, Catra needs her, and Adora isn't going to think about anything beyond that. ]

I trust you, okay? Even if you don't trust yourself, I do. Remember that. [ Amazing how fast a single act, a single apology, can change her entire perspective. Adora trusted Catra with her life, once, but for the past few years, the only thing she could trust was Catra's apparent desire to take it from her. Now? She's giving it to Catra willingly — at least, whatever small part is hers to give, that doesn't already belong to everyone else. ] I'll find you those new clothes, and we [ we, because she isn't going to reveal anything that Catra doesn't want revealed ] can figure out how to get rid of Prime's... [ like Catra, the word port sticks in her throat, and she restarts: ] ... how to fix what he did. There are engineers here, and scientists — someone has to know something.

[ Not for the first time, she wishes Entrapta was around to help, even if she has no idea how either of them would react to the other's presence. She doesn't want Catra to feel like someone's specimen, or science project, but she can't just live her life in Prime-takeover limbo forever. ]

[usurpurr]

[It's kind of reassuring, that Glimmer didn't even know the worst of it and was still messed up. Not that it does anything to fix the yawning void that's opened up in Catra's chest, a feeling of pain so deep and visceral that it wouldn't take any effort at all to convince her that it came from a gaping wound, bandaged only by the force with which she's pressing Adora against it.

Because Adora trusts her, apparently, somehow. And that's the worst thing she could do. Prime's not the only monster around -- Catra's one too. She might not have the means to control people like Prime does, but if she had had them--

The shudder that wracks Catra's body is directed at herself, at that void, and the way her claws press against Adora's shoulder to keep her close can't be anything but selfish. Because Catra would have done it. She almost had done it, to Adora, when that disk sent her from one extreme to the other - either flopping stupidly about or rampaging murderously in the snow. Catra would have relished in her control over her, would have gloated as she unleashed her on her friends; and would have taken a deep, disgusting satisfaction in Adora's mindless cooing in the aftermath.

Adora shouldn't trust her normally, let alone if she's under Prime's command.]

--No! [And yet, she's still with Adora for the moment. Greedily soaking up the comfort of her arms, slowly matching her breathing to the strong beat of Adora's heart. Up until Adora mentions bringing someone else into this -- and Catra hadn't realized how much she'd softened in Adora's hold until she's stiffened again, jerking her head up to protest with wide, frightened eyes.

It takes a moment to remember herself, to school the fear into something more obnoxious. A stubborn glare, wet at the edges.] You can't tell anyone about this! [Her ears are still down. Scared. She's trying to sound authoritative, but Catra has never been less in control.] Nobody here's gonna know anything about it, and even if they do they're just gonna-- [the prick of her claws is probably sharp. she's a bit too stressed out to mind them, fighting to drag the next word up:] use it.

[use her.]

Nobody else can know. [Nobody. She shouldn't have even told Adora, and she hadn't even going to, but--

--but she wanted this.

She wanted Adora.]

Promise me. [Not that Adora's any good at keeping promises anyway--]

[swordjock]

[ Adora tenses when Catra yells, bracing herself for a struggle that never comes. Trusting Catra comes so naturally to her that she doesn't even consider the turmoil her words might have caused, that Catra would ever compare herself to someone like Horde Prime, even at her worst. For a long time, Catra has cast a bigger shadow than Hordak, than Shadow Weaver, in Adora's mind, but she's never been some distant, incomprehensible evil. She's always been Catra.

And now she's begging Adora to keep her pain a secret, out of fear of it being used against her. But Adora has an even greater fear — it being used against all of them, Catra included; not by some researcher, but by the monster who put it there in the first place. In an attempt to be soothing, Adora runs a hand down the back of Catra's head, carefully avoiding venturing anywhere near the chip. ]

Catra... [ She starts, her tone already a warning. Adora wants nothing more than to say I promise, but her agreement would only be temporary, and she won't make another oath she can't keep, or one stacked with caveats. ] You can't live like this forever. Even once he's gone, you'll be worried about him coming back, or... or worse. [ If Prime can take over anyone, what's to stop him doing the same to Catra, knowing Adora could never hurt her anymore? ] I'll stay with you the whole time — nobody's gonna touch you unless they have to. But you need to do something.

[ Adora might be (baselessly) confident in her ability to take Prime, but she has no defense against his armada if it shows up before Bow and Glimmer. Not without Mara's ship, and not without She-Ra. Prime sees all, Catra had said, and if he could track Hordak's signal through the portal, there's no reason he can't track hers here. ]

It doesn't have to be right now. [ She tries a more placating tone, offering Catra time, even if it's still clear that they don't have an infinite amount of it. ] I... we can talk to those scientists I saved. Ask a few questions, see if we can trust them, and go from there. If that doesn't work, we'll just try someone else. They won't know the truth until you're ready, and if anyone tries to use this against you... they'll have to go through me.

[ Even if it means making an enemy of the people she's been trying to work with for the past week, she won't see Catra chased out for something that (for once) isn't her fault. It's not quite the two of us against the world, but it's close — more like if the world turns against you, I'll still be by your side. ]

[usurpurr]

[No. No, Catra has already decided. She's not letting anyone steer her choices any more.

Her fur bristles under Adora's touch, openly defiant before Catra even opens her mouth. And her hand, previously clutching at Adora like a lifeline, loosens as she prepares to withdraw.]

We can't trust them! ['We'. She's fallen into it without realizing.] We don't even know who they are! Even if you think you [derogatory] can trust them, you don't know what they'll do to me when they find it! [The lashing of her tail is only mostly anxious. There's some genuine anger there, too. This is all easy for Adora, she's not the one risking death or worse. She just sees a problem, and of course she's putting herself in charge of fixing it.] I'll figure it out without them.

[And without Adora, if it comes to it.]

[swordjock]

I'm asking you to trust me. [ Why is that so hard? her voice seems to say. Of the two of them, Adora has always trusted easily, naively, blindly — the latter two slightly less so, after learning some hard lessons, but a smile and kind words are still about all it takes to get her on-side. (Sometimes not even that. Barely a day out of prison, and she was already risking her life for people she'd never met before, just because they needed her.) ] Unless you can dig it out of your own neck, I'm not seeing an alternative here, Catra. [ Immediately, worried she's given Catra an idea: ] Don't do that, by the way.

[ Catra seems stable enough now, all things considered, but Adora doesn't know what the first sign of the chip acting up will do to her, or the next time she wakes up from a nightmare with Prime's voice echoing in her ears. Adora hasn't even met him face to face yet, and she's already had enough of his presence for one lifetime. She can only imagine what it must feel like to have him in your head. ]

Just think for a minute. They aren't with Prime, or the Horde. That makes him their enemy, too. There's no reason for them to do anything to you except help. What don't you get about that? [ Nothing. There's nothing Catra doesn't get, she's just being Catra about it, and as she threatens to pull away, Adora stares down at her, tears glistening in the corner of her own eyes. ] You know I'm right!

[usurpurr]

[Oh, yeah, she totally needs Adora to tell her not to gouge out the thing on her neck. Adora hasn't even seen the scratches healing around it yet, or the itching scabs close to its base. Catra's not going to claw it out, but it's not for lack of trying.

And Adora doesn't get it, of course. Why did Catra even want to tell her -- what part of her scared, deluded brain tricked itself into thinking Adora might actually help her? All she wants to do is foist her off on the first person who tells her what she wants to hear, and then it's over for Catra.

How many times does Catra need to learn that she's the only one she can count on?]

I don't want their help! I don't want them anywhere near me--!

[She doesn't want to shove Adora away, breaking out of the only comfort Catra's had in years. But she still does it; translating her fear into the force of her push, wanting Adora to be the one sent stumbling back instead of having to step away herself.

They're both crying and Catra's pretending they're not; pretending that there are no angryscared tears welling over her eyes as she glares Adora down, and pretending there's nothing in Adora's. Pretending the rapid beating of her heart is anger and frustration, and not a desperation; a loneliness; a broken wish to just have someone on her side for once.]

Just forget it! [All the vitriol Catra can summon, pushed into those words and a weak half-lash of her tail.] I don't know why I bothered telling you -- you don't even care what they'll do to me! As long as you get to feel like you've done everything you could--

[Some things never change, huh?]

[swordjock]

[ The force of the push shouldn't be enough to send her reeling, but combined with the anger in Catra's words, the exhaustion of the past day, everything she's been through since crawling out of that egg (and long, long before then), Adora's strength finally leaves her, and her backside hits the floor of the gymnasium with a painful jolt up her spine. She knows she must look pathetic, staring up at Catra with pain on her face and tears in her eyes, unable to even stand up and chase after her when she inevitably tries to run again, but she's thoroughly, utterly, spent; physically and emotionally, in a way she can't ever remember feeling. ]

Of course I care! [ Of all the things Catra could accuse her of, true and untrue, that one cuts the deepest. ] I was risking my life for you!

[ Maybe that's not the argument Adora thinks it is, considering how little her life is worth anymore. But it's the best she has without knowing if the others would agree to her plan, or if she'd end up trapped alone on his ship with Catra, searching for a way home that didn't even exist; the both of them running forever through endless haze of green, green, green.

She doesn't even know what she's pleading for this time, whether it's stay or listen or understand or just stop. Stop falling into the same traps, the same misunderstandings, the same assumptions, that drove them apart so violently in the first place. The awful cycle they've been trapped in for years, that she thought was finally broken when Catra sent Glimmer back to her. ]

Don't do this, Catra. You don't have to be alone anymore. [ Fighting against her own body, Adora struggles to her knees, and reaches out her hand. ] We can work things out together — Prime, finding a way back home, all of it. Don't you want that?

[ It's all Adora's ever wanted. But she isn't allowed to want something so small, so selfish, when she has so much to give to so many. ]

[usurpurr]

[Usually, Catra enjoys it when Adora's on the ground in front of her. There was a time when the deep sorrow in her eyes brought Catra the thrill of victory; when Bright Moon was falling around them and Adora was alone, and sad, and utterly destroyed by her failure.

Maybe the difference is that now, Catra's her failure. Maybe that's why Catra can't find any vindication in her anguish, and why she can't stand to see her looking at her like that.

She wants to work things out, she wants to curl in the safety of Adora's shadow, she wants to hold tight to her best friend and know that nothing in the world, the universe, can hurt them when they're together.

Instead she shrinks back from Adora's struggling hand, withdrawing back into the enclosure of her jacket, and pleads with her to understand.]

They'll kill me. [If they're good-willed and make a single misstep, she's dead. If they're ill-willed and want her gone, she's dead. If they're Prime's enemies and see her as a threat, then as soon as they have the opportunity, they'll take her out. It's what she'd do.] You don't even know these people, and you want to let them screw around with my brain?

[can you see why she's unwilling, adora. and shaking her head, taking a step back from adora; her tail winding anxiously around herself.]

I'm not letting them near me. [And right now, Catra won't budge on that.]

[swordjock]

[ Quietly, not expecting Catra to believe her: ] I'm trying to protect you.

[ It hurts so much that she can't do it herself. But there's nothing that Adora, with or without She-Ra, can do to fix Catra right now. All she's good at is hitting things, and that's the opposite of what they need. ]

... You said something about a hivemind. [ She doesn't want to talk about this, and she imagines Catra probably doesn't, either — but they need to. ] Can you still feel it — him? Prime, or his other [ she's not calling them vessels, not with what that implies for Catra ] clones, anything that can tell us if he might be tracking you, or, or watching, somehow.

[ She's trying to understand something she has no way of understanding, desperately figuring out if they (not just Catra, but all of them, with what Prime showing up here would mean) can afford to wait. Logic says that they can't, they shouldn't, but the fear on Catra's face, the anxious movements of her tail, appeal to a part of Adora that few other things or people can. The part that has always broken the rules for Catra, even when Adora's entire identity was constructed around following them.

Her hand stays extended, trembling lightly from the exertion of holding it out. ]

I know you probably can't be sure. But I'll trust whatever you say, if you promise that you'll keep being honest with me, no matter what changes. I want us to be on the same side, but that means not hiding things from each other. Good or bad things.

[ Give her something, Catra. Give her this. ]

[usurpurr]

[She doesn't know if she believes Adora, but there's a large part of Catra that wants to. It's the same part that had desperately hoped that somehow, Adora would come bursting onto Prime's ship for her - that She-Ra's blazing energy would burn through the clones as easily as any bot, that she'd reach into the pool and grasp Catra's struggling hand; that she'd haul her up and out to safety.

Unwittingly, her hand drifts under the jacket, trailing up to the back of her own neck again. Adora's implication is clear: if Catra could feel anything, if she thought that Prime was close by, then she wouldn't have a choice.]

I--I don't know. [She doesn't want to die because of a maybe, and Catra's following up quickly - like Adora might pull out her sword and do the job herself:] But he's not here now! I can't -- feel him, or anything. I'm still me.

[She thinks. She hopes. The truth is, it makes her feel sick to think that he's watching right now; sat in his throne, delighting in her suffering.

Adora's still reaching out for her, and Catra just--doesn't know why she's still bothering. Adora and Scorpia, they both just... don't know when to give up.

And Catra's sick of fighting them, of forcing them away and leaving herself alone. So when her knees tremble, she lets them fall; thumping lightly onto the ground with Adora, meeting her at eye level. Vulnerable, and scared, and for the first time in a long time: compromising, even if through action more than word.]

I don't want to die. [The tip of her tail twitches, self-conscious like that's somehow a confession. It feels like one - coming out quiet, and small; like a dirty, shameful secret.] Not because of him.

[And not like this.]

[swordjock]

[ Adora manages a tired huff; humourless, but fond, even with tears stinging in her eyes. ]

Oh, you're definitely still Catra. Nobody else could be this much of a pain in my ass.

[ But then Catra is on the ground with her, and Adora surges forward, almost knocking them both over with the force behind her hug; falling against her as much as pulling her in. All of her remaining strength is in her arms, in making sure Catra can feel the familiar warmth wrapping around her again, hoping she can find some relief in it. ]

You won't. [ Adora knows she has no right to sound as certain as she does, but she has to be. For Catra, if not herself. ] I promise. Nothing is going to come between us again.

[ Until the next decision Catra doesn't agree with, anyway — the thought worms itself into her brain, but she forces it away, convinces herself that it won't happen. This isn't Thaymor, and Catra's done with the Horde; she'll understand Adora's actions now. She has to. ]

I missed you. [ She breathes into Catra's hair, and hopes the confession doesn't sound as pathetic leaving her lips as it does in her head. Adora was the one who left. Adora was the one who hurt Catra in the first place. What right does she have to miss her, after all that? (But she does, and with the threat of losing her again still gripping her heart like a vise, she can't keep quiet about it.) ] I missed us. I'm sorry I couldn't save you sooner — that I didn't try harder, or say the right things, or take you with me the first time I left. You don't have to forgive me, but I'm going to do better from now on.

[ She'd stopped blaming herself for Catra's choices after the portal, but only because she thought she was unreachable. Somehow, Glimmer had done what Adora couldn't, and the guilt is eating her up inside all over again, wondering where exactly she went so wrong that it took three years, a space tyrant, and someone else's plea to get Catra to listen. ]

[usurpurr]

[A surprised scoff breaks through the thickness of Catra's throat, when Adora so affectionately calls her a pain in her ass. There's no reason why it should make Catra feel better than any assurance or platitude Adora's offered - except it's real. She's not going to be taking Adora's word on anything any time soon, but the void in Catra that's been craving the cracking edge of affection in Adora's voice soaks it up eagerly; latching greedily to the fondness in the insult, the softness in her eyes. And when Adora throws herself at her, Catra's breath is caught in the force of her hug; her arms squeezing almost too tightly around her.

Nothing is going to come between us again, she says, like Adora wasn't the one who drove the wedge between them. And I missed you, I missed us, like she wasn't the one who chose to abandon what they'd been.

The anger, an old and rotten thing, rattles loosely in Catra's chest. It's drowned out by the surge of tears welling, the loneliness and regret of the last three years swelling up and out in a small, shuddering rasp.]

I-- [I'm sorry, she should say. Or I wouldn't have gone, or I wanted you to stay, or I missed who you used to be, or anything -- anything at all. Because it's not Adora's fault they wound up this way, no matter what that angry ball in her wants to say.

You made your choice, rings loudly in her flattened ears, and Catra can't deny that truth any more. But what else was she supposed to do? Abandon everything and follow Adora in the hopes that somehow, everything would work out for her?

(--Her life probably would have gone better if she had. If nothing else, she probably wouldn't be feeling such a crush of relief because for the first time in a long time -- Catra's not the only one in the universe who doesn't want herself dead.)]

Don't you hate me? [Her voice is tight, her words barely threaded together.] After everything I did--?

[swordjock]

[ When Catra cuts herself off, Adora rubs calming circles against her back with one hand, just firm enough to be felt through the jacket and jumpsuit combination. It's odd to be touching her own jacket on someone else, and maybe she'd comment on that, if Catra didn't push out every other thought in her head a moment later; replaced by awe at the sheer absurdity of the question.

Her hand stills, and she pulls away enough to make eye contact, her sad smile all the proof her words need. ]

Catra... I never hated you. [ It would be easier, so much easier, if the truth was different, and Adora knows it, and she knows Catra knows it, which is the source of half the pain in her voice, but the truth is: ] I don't think I could ever hate you.

[ Adora can hate what Catra became, hate what she's done to her friends, to Etheria, to herself, most of all; a bitter, barely recognizable wreck compared to the girl Adora grew up hand in hand with. But hate Catra? That's not something she's capable of, and the thought should scare her more than it does. Just how much would she be willing to forgive? How much is she allowed to? The portal, Angella, all the times Catra threatened to kill her friends, stopped only by circumstance over intent — how can she put all that aside and still call herself a hero, let alone worthy of She-Ra?

... But she's not a hero anymore. She's not She-Ra. And this boiling, festering rage inside her towards Horde Prime isn't something she could aim at someone so precious to her. Not without losing what makes her Adora; the opposite of first and foremost, but the only identity she has left. ]