The moment she awoke on the floor of the Black Garnet Chamber, Shadow Weaver knew something had gone very wrong. Her brain throbbed and contracted in with each iota of sensory input. One minute feeling too large for her skull, the next feeling far too small. The horrible absence of power was every kind of withdrawal perfected to a single, agonizing apotheosis.
"You fool," she hissed to herself. Her voice grated her throat and scoured her ear-drums, "you power-drunk fool. What have you done to yourself?"
The pain was exquisite. Her scars pulsed like they'd become fresh wounds again and the silky touch of her robes was like sandpaper on her skin. She ripped her mask off, gasping for air that burned her throat.
"Power," she groaned, rising like a revenant corpse to her elbows and clawing at the smooth surface of the Black Garnet. "Give me power." She found the thread of magic, coal-black and traced with red lightning, which bound her to the runestone. Her mind tugged hard at the magic within it. "Now…now!"
A small jolt, barely equal a drop of water or a crumb of food, snaked into her and she absorbed it greedily. Hunger, thirst, and aching pain vanished. The absence still crawled up the insides of her skin, but the small relief satisfied her. Shadow Weaver's pounding head cleared in time to hear rapid knocks on her door.
"Ma'am?" A woman's voice called, curving backwards with fear. "Shadow Weaver, are you in there?"
"Begone, you miserable little insect," she muttered to herself, "do not make me squash you."
"Ma'am…ma'am if you're in there you're needed in Lord Hordak's throne room right away," they hadn't heard her.
"Who is speaking?" she asked, wincing as the echo of her own voice galloped around inside her skull.
"Sgt. Kaiba of Regiment-"
"If you wish to remain a sergeant, my dear," Shadow Weaver said, "you will get away from my door this second. I will attend in my own time."
"It's…it's an emergency ma'am," the sergeant's voice trembled, "please be understanding. Lord Hordak has…requested your presence." Shadow Weaver groped for her mask, she couldn't be seen without it, not by anyone. She placed it on her face and dragged herself up by the stone basin of her scrying bowl. She glanced at the comm-screen on the far wall. Destroyed, along with every other piece of equipment in the room, from the power surge of the Alignment. What a bother. I'll have to relinquish this place to some empty-headed technician. Wretched technology. Waste of time.
"Ma'am?" The sergeant asked, voice quavering a little.
"Sergeant, I am now ordering you to leave," Shadow Weaver said, "And I cannot stress enough how important this order is to you. You do not realize how much depends on it."
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but protocol, when the Horde experiences an emergency like we had last night…please be understanding."
"Emergency?" Shadow Weaver repeated, quietly to herself, she turned her face to the door, "You dare lecture me on protocols?" She'd been asleep for nearly half a day.
"No, ma'am! We've been keeping guard while…while people searched for you. We were beginning to think you weren't in your chambers." Shadow Weaver's response died on her lips as she caught sight of movement in the dark corners of her chamber. Red eyes, with thin black pupils gazed morosely at her. Dark Dream emerged in a small, bat-sized scrap of its body. It looked ragged and radiated defeat.
"Sergeant, you will fetch your superior and return immediately," she kept her voice level even as the rage inside her burned molten hot.
"Yes, ma'am!" The sergeant's footsteps stumbled as she raced away.
"What has happened," she asked, her voice a rasp. She rubbed her thumb over the jewel in her mask, "tell me, child…how have you failed me?" Dark Dream floated closer, then became a trail of dark smoke that slithered into the jewel of her mask, until all of the Dark Dream was hidden within. It touched her mind with its essence and filled her with visions of the night before. Images flashed across her brain of a journey through the night, a golden thread of power, and a sudden dive towards Horde Square.
"No. No, no no no! What have you done, you stupid thing!" she said, voice dead with disbelief, "What is this?!" A figure, a small figure, wrapped in purple cloaks, with a mind like an animal's wriggled below her. A bolt of red movement, a flash of blue steel, a pair of familiar eyes, one gold and the other blue, glaring triumphantly up at her.
Sergeant Kaiba and her Lieutenant both froze as they entered the corridor and heard what, to their ears, could have been nothing else but the shriek of a furious, vengeful banshee.
"You couldn't find me," the Lieutenant whispered suddenly, grasping Kaiba's arm and spinning them around to march away, "I was catching a nap. I had my radio turned off. I was in the bathroom with nightmarish bowel troubles. I don't care, say whatever you want. But you couldn't find me and that's why you never came back here."
Kaiba nodded, reminding herself that hugging her superior officer and sobbing in relief was not what a ten-year veteran soldier did.
On Scorpion Hill, in the South Western Wing of the Fright Zone, loomed an obsidian pyramid emblazoned with the scarlet mark of the Black Garnet. The gatehouse fortress was the last stronghold of the Scorpioni. It rose like a black stinger, predating all of the high-steel walls and concrete foundations around it. The soldiers who patrolled it were no mere Horde Troopers. They were tall, muscular Scorpioni still bearing the red-plate armor that once marked the personal guard of the royal family. Gone were those days.
Once, portraits had lined these halls and glowered down on all who passed through to the heart of the once-sovereign kingdom that lived a hard, honest life before the arrival of Hordak. Now there was no place for that history, it was the dead past and must not distract for the bright future.
Here, at their ruined kingdom's doorstep, two scions of the lost line met in the Commander's Office to determine the fate of an innocent life.
Serket, by all old rights Queen of this land, shook her head, the straight, shoulder-length hair waving gently with the movement. She looked up into her little girl's eyes, a difference of almost two feet between them. Scorpia's smile thinned to become a tad more desperate.
"Scorpia, I don't know," her mother said, "is it really your pet if I have to take care of it?" The retired Commander looked over the new arrival to her home. The cub was clearly no housecat, the tiger-stripes alone gave that away, but he seemed a perfectly docile little creature. Purring and lapping at a saucer of milk like it was everything he'd ever wanted in life.
"Ma, please?" Scorpia said, "I would if I could, but I can't keep him in my room. He's such a big kitty! He needs room to lounge and things to test his claws on." She glanced at few claw marks on her pincers. "Other than, y'know, me." Serket frowned.
"Maurice," she called to a large, red-armored scorpion-man guarding the doorway, "please go get my buffing kit." Scorpia's face pinkened as he bowed and marched out. It didn't help that her mother's private office was covered wall-to-wall in baby photos.
"Do we really have to do this together, Ma? I have one of my own!" Serket, as if half listening, used a pincer to brush a few stray green stands of fur off her daughter's uniform.
"I know that, I'm just trying to be helpful, little venom," she said, smiling with pride.
"Oh, ma," Scorpia said, giving her a look, "we made an agreement about 'little venom'." The older woman sighed.
"Force Captain Little Venom," Serket corrected herself.
"Yes, thank you!" Scorpia sniffed proudly, "Now please, just let the kitty stay here? Pets weren't covered in Force Captain Orientation, but I'm fairly certain we're not allowed to have them."
"No," Serket said, "you're not. And I don't know how to take your whole 'strong, independent soldier' trend seriously if you're going to rely on your mother to look after your…adorable, fuzzy-wuzzy-oh, his little face is so precious!" Serket covered her mouth with one pincer as she watched the cub yawn, revealing endearingly dangerous fangs, and curled up into a comfortable ball to sleep.
Mother and daughter sighed, equally smitten. They were content to watch the cub until Maurice reentered with a small makeup box and the sort of heavy-duty polisher often found in a mechanic's garage.
Ex-Horde Commander Serket, the Bane of King Micah, took the buffing equipment from her bodyguard and laid it on her desk. She donned a welder's mask that, with glitter glue, emphatically declared the wearer as the 'World's Best Mom'.
"Very well," Serket sighed, "I suppose Kitty can stay for now. I have that hideous dresser I can't get rid. He can play with that. There's some pillows and..." She shot her daughter a sad little pout. "...and a big, empty bedroom that no-one uses anymore."
"How would it look if a Force Captain lived with her mother?"
"It would look wonderful to me," Serket grumped, "I see so little of you anymore. Bring that friend of yours by sometime. Catla?"
"Catra, ma, I must've mentioned her a dozen times!" She frowned as Serket approached her with the polisher.
"Oh, please," Serket asked, "for me? I never get to help anyone buff anymore. It's so relaxing." Scorpia frowned and looked around as if Catra might walk in any second to see her.
"Only," Scorpia said, very seriously, "because I have spent all night fighting for the Horde. I think I've earned a warrior's right to be pampered."
"My brave little Ve… 'Force Captain' Little Venom," Serket beamed, the polisher's whirring was so loud she had to shout, "you let me know if I'm using too much pressure, ok?" Scorpia grumbled at the indignity but nodded all the same.
"And you know," Serket shouted, "as long as you're going to get all nice and evened out, I know this gunnery sergeant down on the West Side battery who I think you would just love to meet!" Scorpia groaned, raising her own voice to be heard and ducking slightly away from the flash of sparks.
"Ma! I told you! I don't want to date any of your spinster friends!"
"Spinsters! Really, Scorpia, she's only thirty-three. Goodness knows what that makes me in your book."
"Can we talk about something else," Scorpia groaned, "like, y'know, how I was fighting for my life twelve hours ago?"Scorpia related the desperate fight with the warrior before her mother could answer.
"Potent as nitroglycerin," Serket said as she put away the polisher and flipped up her mask, eyes twinkling with pride, "you get that strong venom from my great-aunt, you know."
"Yeah," Scorpia said, "but…but…that other thing. The shadow." Scorpia gulped and glanced around. "Nobody could hurt it except…the big guy."
"The boy?" Serket asked.
"No... well, yes? It's complicated," Scorpia chewed her lip and gave voice to a question that had been bugging her since the shadow had wormed its way into her mind. "Would mom be proud of me?" Serket answered without hesitation, proudly and bittersweet, not even looking up from putting her buffing gear away.
"Sadrafa never doubted you'd turn out to be the young woman you are today. Brave, patient, thoughtful, and so full of love. Yes, she would be very proud of you," she turned, "what makes you wonder that?" A whispery, haunting voice crawled out of Scorpia's memories to hiss at her.
Disappointment. Useless. Unloved. Unlovable. What good is a Princess who has no power? What good is a Force Captain with no soldiers? Muscle without ambition? Wasted potential. Why bother, Scorpia the Last? Scorpia the LEAST. You should hope Catra never realizes how useless you are to her. You are just one of a million desert stones, buried and exhumed at the mercy of the high winds, never budging an inch. Forever unneeded. Unseen. Unloved.
A fuzzy shape shoved against her shin and she smiled down at the tiger cub.
"N-no reason," she said. She glanced at a picture of her late mother. Her size and strength, her red chitin, and the smile. "I guess, I just wonder… Is it… normal to miss someone more as time goes by, ma?" Slim, ballerina-pink pincers slid around her, squeezing her tight in a hug.
"Always, Scorpia," her mother said, "always." She tried a smile. "But she'd be proud of you for certain. You're exactly what the Horde needs right now. Someone young and strong. Not weighed down by…unimportant things. By the past." There was a flicker of sadness in the Commander's eyes that Scorpia almost missed. "It's good that you have your own room and your own life. Perhaps I'm too concerned with tradition. But you won't have that problem! Of course the kitty can stay here, that way you won't be distracted from your career." Serket's smile didn't reach her eyes.
Scorpia the Last, Scorpia thought, the Least. Her thoughts were spiraling into a whirlpool of anxiety and uncertainty. The future towering overhead, dark and forbidding as the shadow monster from the night before. Scorpia did what she knew best.
"I love you, mom," Scorpia said, hugging her mother tight. The embrace when it was returned chased away the darkness as quickly and powerfully as any warrior imbued with magic.
"And I love you, Force Captain Scorpi-ah!" She smiled painfully, sweating as the green tiger cub scaled her leg. "What a sweet, sharp-clawed little baby. No-no! It's alright, Maurice, he's mostly just getting the chitin right now!"
"Kitty!" Scorpia plucked him off her mother. "Careful, thats my mom you're trying to…oh!" Scorpia cooed when the cub pressed his flat, wet nose against her forehead. "You are just too cute! I promise I'll come see you every day! Yes I will!" Maybe, she thought, the future wasn't quite so bleak.
Hordak adjusted how he sat in his throne, feeling particular agony in his lower back from laying sprawled out on the floor of his lab. The little spy landed next to him, glaring suspiciously at the sword resting against the throne's side, pommel clasped tightly in Hordak's right hand.
A necessary tool, to help him move from the lab to his throne room, he had to present himself to Shadow Weaver in person. He could not stomach showing any kind of weakness and the sword was far less obvious than a crutch, even if its weight and shape hindered his movements at times. The doors to the throne room whined open as two Horde marines winched them manually from the outside.
Shadow Weaver stepped inside the chamber. The doors whined shut and both figures weighed each other across the dark space. Red eyes and white eyes met, wondering at the potential outcomes of this moment.
"You," Hordak said, "were not here to confront the intruder." Shadow Weaver's eyes dipped down to the sword at his side, widening a fraction in curiosity. "You were not here to take charge when the lesser officers congregated outside with no clear hierarchy." He bared his teeth. "And you were not here when, according to some mad raving from our troops, a miasma of fear and horror robbed them of their senses." Shadow Weaver's eyes floated like ghost-lights in the dark.
"You wished to be left alone for your experiment, my lord-"
"DO NOT give me excuses!" Hordak roared. Thrusting his head forward to glare down at her. "What good is a Second-In-Command, a sorceress, and a soldier who fails to answer the call for even one of those roles?" He bit back a fit of hard gurgling as the amniotic blood flowed sluggishly through his veins. By all the universe, he felt like he'd aged a century. His hand gripped the sword to steady himself.
"I can offer you my deepest regrets, sire," Shadow Weaver bowed low, like a woman accepting the headsman's axe, "and promise that this will not happen again under my watch. The power of the Alignment was all that the legends say and I have been comatose in my chambers for the last several hours."
"Is that supposed to persuade me that this isn't your fault?" Hordak growled, his tone quiet but dangerous.
"I admit I...underestimated the Black Garnet's potency-"
"An underestimation. One that, in one night, nearly brought the Horde to ruin. Magic is your self-proclaimed skill, Shadow Weaver, and when magic threatened this place you were useless. Do you appreciate how clear this failure of yours is to understand? Or must I elaborate? "
"Lord Hordak, I know I have erred greatly. But I have erred whilst carrying out your orders. The chaos of magic is exactly alike the chaos of a battlefield. Syphoning that immeasurable power to you took strength few mages of Etheria possess. If in performing this task I have allowed myself to be blindsided, I beg you to understand it was not by choice or by cowardice."
"No. Worse than that. It was pure weakness!" Shadow Weaver's eyes closed against his voice, her body grimacing in pain. "Weakness, Shadow Weaver. Use whatever synonym comforts you on yourself, but never me. You were lacking in what was necessary to either prevent this catastrophe or deal with its aftermath. Be it strength or wits or sheer luck, you were lacking. However, if there is any other reason for your absence… it may only benefit you to admit it."
"I...do...not understand your meaning, my lord?" She seemed pained by the words.
"There are disquieting rumors loose in my army, Shadow Weaver. Soldiers who've seen the black-heart of war, whimpering about a living shadow. A creature that has left my most decorated warriors nearly broken. Potent. Terrifying. Arriving exactly after the Alignment's end. Certainly, such a thing must be magical? You are my expert. It is a shame you were missing when it attacked. Is that too because of your inept handling of this experiment? The one you insisted on?"
"My lord," Shadow Weaver exhaled a cold breath as she felt the living darkness in her Mask's jewel stirring hungrily, "I assure you. I gave the Fright Zone every inch of my power during the Alignment. Whatever the nature of this attack, I will unravel it and see the threat to you eliminated."
"Weakness then," Hordak broke in, "that is your only reason?"
"Yes, sire, weakness. Please, forgive me." Hordak glared at her for a long moment before she spoke once more. "I have failed you. I was weak. I will never be so weak again. I live only to serve you and the Horde."
"I am concerned," he said at last, eyes drilling into hers, "that not all of our soldiers feel this way."
"The structure of command will be once again made clear to anyone who believes otherwise. On that point, my lord, Catra-"
"The Force Captain has the intruder in her custody," Hordak growled, "if that is what concerns you, Shadow Weaver." Hordak's mind swam with the need for rest. "But he is of little concern to us at this time. The war. We resume without interruption."
"What are your commands, Lord Hordak?" Shadow Weaver sounded almost too relieved by that.
"Feints along the mainline," he said, "let the Rebels believe we have some grand strategy to enact before the winter sets in. There will be swift, summary punishment if they even suspect the Fright Zone suffered any kind of interruption. Impress upon all officers that, until further notice, the incident last night was nothing to be concerned about and any discussion of it will be met with harsh reprimand."
"There will be talk nonetheless, sire, the infirmaries are groaning under the weight of injuries in nearly every wing," Shadow Weaver moved closer, and Hordak saw that her hair hung like black eels from her head and her movements were stiff under her robe. Further weakness. "The Troops are afraid. Better to have the threat confirmed and answered. This intruder, if I understand correctly, he was only a child-"
"Your concern," he growled, snorting as phlegm clogged his throat, this needed to end soon, "should not be the intruder."
"He came through the portal didn't he?" Shadow Weaver breathed, memories of a day long ago surfacing. "From somewhere else...and now he's in Catra's care." Closer now, he could see that her eyes very rarely strayed from the sword. He could've flown into a rage if he had the strength. Shadow Weaver's obsession with every magical occurrence had done this to him.
"Force Captain Catra was ordered to take the child from my sight. She obeyed. She was there when I requested her presence. She was the first to respond to the summons, in fact." Hordak paid attention to the twitch in her left eye and pushed the needle in deeper. "She is not the reason I called you here. I endeavor to make that perfectly clear to you, Shadow Weaver."
"As you say," Shadow Weaver's voice was low and dangerous, "my lord, It shall be as you wish."
"Do you believe this groveling of yours fools me, Shadow Weaver? My *wish* is for you to perform the duties I assign you. This is not Mystacoar. Magic serves the purpose that all things serve. War. Our war. The single most important war in Etheria's history! The boy goes nowhere for now. Neither shall the sword. The Horde will not grind to a halt because you have eyes on a new protege, or wish to punish an old one."
"Of course, my lord, but I must insist on warning you that Catra isn't someone you can trust with this," Shadow Weaver said at once, furious and horrified, "I know her, sire, she will do something self-serving! She likely already has, she will damage an opportunity we have to-"
"She will do as she was taught by her mentor," Hordak said, "Remember, it was you that brought her to me after the other turned traitor."
"Adora," Shadow Weaver's voice was harsh with emphasis, "is being misled. I brought Catra to you for punishment-"
"And did I fail to do as you wished?" Hordak sat back in his chair, comfortable at last. Shadow Weaver's head ducked rapidly. "I am not here to cherish your loyalty or devour your flattery or humbly accept your apology. You have done great things for this army, Shadow Weaver, I do not forget that. You broke free of Etherian softness and fear to become something more than you were. To see the light in the darkness of this dim planet." He waited and smiled when she did not speak. "But you came to me and offered yourself up to the Horde. And in the Horde all things serve a purpose. If I determined that you were better employed minding the dullest corner of our Archives...you would do so."
"Yes…my lord," Shadow Weaver said the words as if they nauseated her, "as you say. Always."
"Yes," Hordak said, "because you came to me." Hordak scratched the Imp under its chin, smiling as it churred.
"I will be in seclusion until further notice. No interruptions of any kind will be tolerated. The Fright Zone will look to you to be my voice." Hordak's fingers drummed on the armrest in an off-beat. "Are you fit for that purpose, Shadow Weaver?"
"It will be done, my lord." Shadow Weaver bowed as she left, the door whining open again at signal from Hordak's wrist communicator. He looked at the spy when they were alone in the room.
"Adora," the spy chirped in Shadow Weaver's voice, "is being misled." Hordak ran a finger on the hilt of the sword, humming in thought, then shoving the questions aside. He had more important work to do. A great deal to repair and replace. He was not Shadow Weaver, his curiosity led with only enough leash to serve a purpose. .
And yet, as he rose, bracing himself on the sword, he could not deny a part his mind wondered at the possibilities.
Catra finished adjusting her mask and emerged from her wash-room fully dressed for the day. What was left of it anyway. She'd risen, miserable and desperate for more sleep, well after 1200 hours. Which was not unusual for her, to be fair, except where pain and injury came into play. And they were playing like a pair of five-year olds let out to recess early.
"Adam," she whispered, still sounding out the name. She leaned down to the sleeping ball of blanket on the cot. "C'mon, booger, get up." She touched his shoulder and flinched as the ball rolled off the cot in reflex. Blue-eyes peeked out between the fabric and the edge of the cot, hard and suspicious. Then they brightened like a pair of flares going off. The blanket slipped off him, unveiling honey-blonde hair and a tiny, vibrating body.
Catra was taken aback. She played calm and cool most days, indifferent to emotions and reactions, but what she saw caught her off-guard. The brief wariness was gone and…it had been a very long time someone had looked so happy to see her.
"Ca-tra!" He thumped himself on the chest. "Adam!" He giggled happily. "Adam."
"Yeah, yeah" Catra said, "I didn't forget, you goof." She pointed at him. "Adam." Pure joy sparked off in his irises. He jumped at her, arms and legs wrapping around shoulders and waist, to press his face affectionately into her neck.
"Ca-tra,"he sang. Catra frowned and wiggled until he slid down to hug her ankles. When he looked up at her she shook her head firmly.
"No," she said. She drew a circle around herself. "No, Adam." She mimed pushing him back. "Personal space. Don't do that." Adam scooted backwards, gazing longingly at her but she was pleased to find him receptive. "I've got a bubble. See? A bubble."
"Hmmm?" Adam tilted his head, crossing his legs under himself. Catra rolled her eyes.
"Later. For now." She rested a hand on her stomach. "How ya feeling?" She mimed grimacing, holding her belly. "Your guts still pointy?"
"Oh," Adam said. He shook his head, grinning wide and pointing at her. "Catra."
"Stop it," Catra whined, "I can see you…hugging me with your eyes. Don't make such a big deal out of it. Pay me back with taking over Etheria." She mimed eating. "Up for some food?" He looked at her sheepishly and shook his head. But when his belly growled like a wolverine cub Catra snickered.
"Sure, you're not," she said, "c'mon, I'm hungry too." She smiled and waved him forward. What, exactly, that meant to him she wasn't certain but he looked at her in pure, awed disbelief. He mimed eating with a curious quirk of his eyebrows. "Yeeeeees. C'mon, it's not a flanking maneuver, kid." The boy offered no comment, his face was breaking into a smile of pure, humble adoration. He stood rapidly, paused as he made a little circle, and thought hard for a minute.
He gave Catra one of his increasingly familiar goofy grins, and mimed hugging as tight as he could. Catra's face heated up in embarrassment.
"Could you please not do that?" She grumbled. "I have street cred I'm trying to keep." She opened the door to her quarters and waited in the hallway. Adam paused in the doorway, glancing both directions nervously. His chest started to pulse rapidly under his shirt, his pupils growing, and his shallow breaths becoming louder in her ears. He stepped backwards, hair flying as he shook his head.
"Everything has to be difficult," Catra grumbled, "Adam, don't be a wuss. No one is going to bother you if you're with me." Adam started gesturing strangely, like he was pulling something around his head. "What? I don't have time for a guessing game, Adam, I'm starving. Let's go already."
Adam snatched the blanket off the floor and wound it around himself like a hood and tunic. Catra cupped her face and groaned.
"No," she said, "No tunic."
"Ah?" The boy said. He looked perturbed and then raced into the washroom.
"Am I being punished for something?" Catra sighed. The boy ran back out, bare feet slapping on the floor, to thrust an empty, grimy lavender soap bottle into Catra's face. She took it back and flicked it into a corner of the hallway. "Thanks. What was that about?"
The boy pointed at the bottle, mimed his tunic, and then pointed at Catra.
"No give-backsies," Catra said, shaking her head, "that thing is disgusting." Adam shook his head and his little face twisted up.
"Adam," he said, pointing at himself.
"Too bad," Catra said, "it's gross and you don't need it anymore. Besides, it would make you stand out which, trust me, you do not want around here." The boy scratched at his hair, thinking furiously and swung both hands in a wide arc. "The sword?" His eyes lit up and Catra realized that, somewhere deep down, he must know a few words. She frowned and mimed pulling up a hood. "Might as well ask for the tunic again, you'd get that back first." He mimed at her. "No! Not really! Forget it. No."
"No?!" Adam squeaked indignantly. He flipped the 'hood' of his blanket back up, patting himself on the chest. "Adam!"
"Well not anymore they aren't!" Catra yelled. She winced and looked around the hallway rapidly. "OK, booger," she said at a harsh whisper, "last chance to come get food with me. Otherwise, you gotta stay in that room until I come back. Going once? Twice?" Adam turned around, blanket trailing as he stomped away, and curled up into a ball on the floor. "Ok, fine, brat! You're welcome, by the way, for the food I'm getting for you."
She shut the door, made sure it was locked and stalked away down the hall.
"Doesn't know how good he's got it."
The South-Eastern mess-hall was bustling when she arrived. The lunch rush had ended but there was rarely ever a time when the place was empty. Patrols flocked here to catch a break outside the eye of uptight superiors. The roar of conversation was especially loud today and the topic of all discussions was easy to guess.
"Bam! The lights cut off again and the engineer throws the breaks on. Yeadon flew the whole monorail car, shoulder-first into a plexiglass window. She's sitting in the Infirmary holding room, loopy on painkillers." A long-table of Horde infantry whistled and chimed in as the speaker finished.
"Still on call," a hollow-eyed medic said to one of her comrades, "some of those guys from the square…the things they were screaming about…I'm not sleeping anytime soon, believe me. But if I hear that pager go off one more time I'll go into a fit."
"Everybody keeps razzing me," a human youth complained to a tall, horned woman with Sergeant's bars, "they're saying I was sleeping on the job. My radio cut out. Everybody's did!"
"Sounds like you got no reason to be ashamed then," the woman sighed back, "come on, little bro, I've got exactly two minutes to eat my lunch. You should be back on the wall before someone sees you down here."
"But that's…hey…that's…sis, look that's her!" Catra's ears swiveled but she gave no other sign of acknowledgement.
"Shut your mouth," the Sergeant growled, "right now. Get out here before you get in real trouble."
Slowly, she could hear the conversation dying off at each stainless steel table she passed. A grin curled slowly onto her face as new, whispered words, reached her.
"So…it was her? She saved Hordak's life?"
"Just a kid."
"Hey, I saw those guys laid out in the square. And the sword mark in the concrete, man. Something went down, and she was the last one standing."
"Catra. That's the name. Yeah. Force Captain Catra."
She turned her head towards the last speaker, testing the waters with a lazy glance. The two soldiers, men in their thirties with huge Horde symbols tattooed on their foreheads, tensed and then scrambled to their feet to salute.
"At ease," she purred. She strutted the rest of the way to the special room off at the back of the mess-hall. It gave her a special feeling of victory to pass beneath the 'Officers Only' sign this afternoon. She grabbed a tray in each hand with nary a protest from the attending mess-personnel, and had them each piled upon with a grayish casserole of some kind. Complete with three crackers in a plastic sheaf per serving. A veritable cornucopia by Horde standards.
The cafeteria was still quiet and observant as she re-emerged. Now though, a tension had entered the room and centered itself around a looming figure blocking her way out. He was enormous, perhaps two inches taller than Scorpia, and much broader of shoulder. Blue-skinned, bald-headed, and hugely featured save for the beady eyes that appeared comically small in his huge head. What stood out most of all, and at last clued her in to his identity, was his huge lantern jaw, shifting with a toothy, mile-tall grin.
"Somebody's hungry," he said in a voice deep as a forgotten dungeon, "unless that's lunch for two?" The warden's symbol, Horde wings on either side of an ornate key, bulged on his shirt as his muscles flexed with each movement. Kronis, Warden of the Fright Zone, though known far more often by his nickname.
"Trap-Jaw," Catra said, "there a reason you're bothering me?"
"Forgive me, Lord Catra," the big man stepped aside, "know you've got important work to do. Yeah, best friends with Lord Hordak now, the way I hear it." Catra slipped past, head held high, She restrained a grimace as a massive hand landed 'amicably' on her bad shoulder. "In fact…need me to carry that for you? We should all be bending over backwards for you, Force Captain, seeing you saved us and all. Food's for the little freak, isn't it?"
"That's not really your business, Warden, is it?"
"Actually," Trap-Jaw chuckled like an earthquake, "it really is. See. I think you need some tips on how to keep a prisoner. Normally, I don't give," he raised his voice so everyone could hear, "an enemy who injured a hundred of our guys, special food from the officer's mess." Catra cast her eyes around the hall, finding no-one willing to meet her gaze. "You spoon-feed him too? Wipe his little lips for him?"
"You're the one here who's gonna need spoon-feeding," Catra growled, "if you don't get your hand off me." The huge hand let go, the Warden circled her, throwing her into his long shadow.
"So you think you can do my job?" Kronis's grin seemed less friendly, and it had already been hostile. "I know you've got some big play in mind, I've heard about your little demonstration in Horde Square. But if half the stuff I've heard is true…that thing should be nowhere else but a cell. I'm in charge of prisoners for a good reason. No jarhead, whatever her rank, is gonna start making people doubt that."
Catra smiled and then giggled. Trap-Jaw's brow wrinkled.
"Aww, big guy, is that what this is about? Did someone say something mean to you? Or are you worried because all the other kids got to play last night and you weren't invited?" Catra grinned. "Funny. You know, Force Captain Mosquitor flew in allll the way from Sand Valley. Dragstor from the outskirts. Old man Admiral Leech even got a whole garison up from the harbor… Oh, actually…he must've passed right by the Prison, huh? Funny. You still didn't show." She felt the eyes around them sliding back towards Trap-Jaw.
"There was a power outage," Trap-Jaw said, suddenly looking flustered, "I was in the prison doing my job. Keeping a riot from breaking out." Catra could've curled up in his frustration like it was a warm ray of light. The feeling of this attention, this fear. She grinned. Power. The sumptuous first tastes of it.
"Better hurry back," Catra grinned, "make sure there's not one happening now." She flicked her tail. "I'll hold down the rest of the Fright Zone for you, Warden." She called over her shoulder. "And as for your question about the kid? The one who turned into a giant with skin hard as concrete? No. I don't spoon-feed him... He eats out of my hand."
She made it two hallways away before bursting into a fit of excited giggles.
"Oh," she sighed, leaning against a wall, "Oh man, I wonder if there's a recording of that on the security cams I could find somewhere."
"Oh, Catra, there you are!" Catra actually found herself smiling at Scorpia, so good was her mood. "Lunch-time, huh? How's-"
"Here," she passed one of the tray's into Scorpia's pincers. Scorpia's eyes bugged as she struggled to hold it, whispering desperate 'no-no-no's as the plate on it slid around precariously. She finally managed to grasp it and smiled fondly.
"Thanks, Catra, but I just had some food with my ma so-"
"It's not for you. It's for Adam," Catra snapped. She didn't see how Scorpia deflated at that.
"Yeah, that's not surprising," Scorpia perked up, "Adam? Who's that?" She blinked and gasped. "Wait! He has a name now? He told it to you?"
"No, I can read minds," Catra said, groaning when Scorpia's mouth dropped open, "yes, he told me, dummy! Scorpia, I swear you do this as an act sometimes."
"So where's he from? Why'd he come here?" Scorpia fell into step, half-focused on keep the tray stable in her claws. Catra thought about how hard it had been to get a name out of him.
"Still working on that," Catra said, then paused as she walked, hearing Scorpia scoot to a halt and grapple with her tray, "he's…having trouble understanding. I don't know what his deal is but it's gonna take him a while to answer questions like that." Yea. Time we don't have…
"Can I meet him?" Scorpia asked. "I mean, y'know, without a threat to our lives distracting us this time?"
"Hmmf," Catra frowned, "maybe if he's not being all moody."
"Awww," Scorpia said, "is he upset?" Catra shot her a glare.
"Seriously? It's just that quick with you, huh? He bit me, Scorpia, and threw water in my face when I was trying to help him! And today, he threw a whole temper tantrum just because I couldn't get him his sword, and I wouldn't let him have his gross little tunic back! He needs to learn the way things work here. ASAP." Catra growled. "That tunic. Should've trashed it on my way to the mess-hall."
"Trashed it?" Scorpia stopped suddenly. "Like, just get rid of it?" she asked. Catra huffed.
"No. Frame it and hang it up on my wall. Of course I mean get rid of it! He doesn't need it anymore. He has real clothes now, plus that thing's disgusting." She paused as she realized Scorpia wasn't following her. "What, Scorpia? What do you have to say about this?"
"Maybe…" Scorpia trailed off, "just a suggestion. Maybe we don't go down that road?"
"Why not?"
"Well, I'm just guessing here, but maybe it's important to him! And it's not like he can get his sword back. Then he'd turn into the big guy and then just… whoo! Just run at the nearest living thing and kill it. Heheh. That's a big no-go. But the tunic is just clothes, right? He might need it."
"I got him clothes," Catra grumbled, "what's so special about some stupid tunic?"
"No no. Need it to feel safe. You had a blankie when you were little, right?" Catra flinched.
"'Blankie'?" Catra stuck her tongue after saying the word. "What are you talking about?" Scorpia smiled warmly.
"When you were a little…aw, you were a little kitten I bet! Weren't you…sorry," she stopped at the look she was getting, "When you'd have nightmares or something, what'd you do?"
Snuggle with Adora until the bad thoughts went away.
"Pffft. Unlike some of us, I was actually tough back then," Catra scoffed, "I was fine. I never had nightmares." Especially not about getting dragged underwater by a monster, or Shadow Weaver coming to get me, or Adora disappearing. Shut up, brain! "Blankie, are you kidding? Sounds more like 'wuss-badge' or something."
"I'm just saying," Scorpia went on patiently, "that Adam might need that to feel like he's safe. In control. It's just something kids do, and if you take that from him… well, what's the harm in him keeping it?" Catra snarled at the suggestion, suddenly angry. A blankie. Boo-hoo-hoo. So the kid didn't get what he wanted, big deal. That was life in the Fright Zone.
"No way. It's gross. It'll make him sick. It goes in the trash."
"Y-You could clean it!" Scorpia offered.
"I could also jump backwards down a flight of stairs, Scorpia. Quit-"
"I'll clean it!" Scorpia beamed. "That'll be my contribution to the Operation Boy From-"
"Stop," Catra said, "fine. You clean it. You better do a good job. If it's still gross when you bring it back, you throw it away." She frowned at the way Scorpia seemed eager to take the challenge. "You're such a sap. C'mon. I want to eat." Scorpia unconsciously saluted.
"Can doooooooo not let go, Scorpia!" Scorpia yelped, racing to re-balance the tray. Catra shook her head and made for her quarters, mulling over the concept Scorpia offered. Even if Scorpia cleaned the thing, she had little intention to actually return it. It'd be counter productive in the long run.
'Blankie'. Stupid. Weak. What's he got to be afraid of right now? Hordak isn't calling for his head yet, and I'm watching his back. Everyone knows better than to mess with me. Who's gonna bother him?
Adam growled right back at his stomach, feeling petulant and miserable. He'd been bad again. Catra was being nice to him. Catra was going to bring more food after he ate all of hers the night before. He fiddled with his long, blonde hair, recalling how Catra helped him clean it all.
Why couldn't he just be good? But… it was his tunic! He'd always had it since the Other One saved his cub from the Purple Panthor. He could still remember it. The sight of the huge, muscular feline dragging down the cub's mama, roaring triumphantly to the wasteland sky. The cub limping away towards the castle moat, yowling and favoring an injured paw that wouldn't heal right.
The Other One had been reluctant, but Adam had begged him to help, had used the sword without being told, and the Other One saved the cub. And when Adam came back he'd made a tunic for him.
I knew you'd need it. And I was glad to give you a friend. Adam gasped and looked up. You must escape this room. The sword...the...sword...
"Catra," Adam said. You mustn't trust her. Ever…. She means... to use you.
"No!" Adam snapped. Catra was the nicest person ever. Your cheek. It still hurts, doesn't it? Adam rubbed at the spot, a bruise was forming there and it was tender. You are no t… s a f e… "Ah?" Adam squinted, trying to hear the Other One's words. But he was trailing away, vanishing again like he had before. He growled, huddled into the blanket, hating how unlike his tunic it was. He missed playing with the teeth-tie on it, it helped him calm down. Catra had to give it back. She was too nice not to. And his sword.
She didn't think he'd use it to hurt her, could she? He'd never let the Other One hurt her. Maybe if he was good enough, she'd see that? His stomach growled. He hoped she came back soon. He was so hungry. As if his thoughts summoned her, he heard the door-noise chirp and the strange metal panel swoosh upwards.
"Ca-tra!" He stood up and popped his head out of the blanket. He grinned and tried to look as grateful as he felt.
Numb fear bloomed outwards from between his shoulder-blades, making the small hairs on his neck stand up. The creature in the doorway was not his new friend.
"And here you are," a dark, feminine voice whispered, "the little boy who's made such a big mess of things." Eyes. He noticed the eyes first of it all. Pale and white like a dead-person's. But not so blessedly lifeless. She couldn't be a ghost, could she? Dead things did not talk.
Except…for one. The skull. Yes. She was exactly like the skull. Something…wrong about her. Something that crept into his mind and made him want to squeeze into a crack in the walls and hold his breath. The mask was next. An angry, furious red in the shape of a gaping mouth, with a maroon jewel swirling with dark shadows. Long pointed ears, knifing out from tresses of midnight-black hair.
"Um," Adam said, curling his fingers tighter into the blanket. He glanced into the hallway, hoping against all odds that Catra would emerge behind the stranger. But as the figure…glided…forward into the room the door closed behind it. The room was suddenly much smaller than it was before, Adam thought.
The woman stopped a few inches before him, looking down, her hidden face turned towards his.
"You are even less than what I expected," she said, low and husky, "I can see it. In your vacant little eyes I find absolutely no intelligence." Suddenly she sounded bright and happy. "You don't even know what I'm saying. do you, little monkey? If I swore to drag you from this room by your lice-ridden hair… oh, but I said it just so…" she carded her fingers through Adam's hair and he slowly relaxed, smiling hopefully at her, "…yes, I can see her plan now clearly. A little pet for her to play with. Aren't you, you pathetic little creature?" She laughed quietly, cooing. "You have no clue, do you? What you've stolen from me. You'll just go right on smiling that empty-headed smile because someone is being kind to you."
Adam smiled at the nice lady, feeling foolish for being so afraid. Her fingers scratched gently at his scalp, soothing and patient. Was everyone in this place so friendly? He grinned at her.
"Now," she cooed, "aren't you just a precious thing? Precious things should be careful. You don't know me, little one, you don't know what I'm capable of."
Adam blinked, mesmerised by the twinkling jewel on the lady's mask and as he looked he saw the shadows in it take shape. He saw red eyes with black pupils glare at him with all the hatred they could muster. He felt the tug in his stomach that told him magic was nearby, right before fear made it go numb.
The Other One thundered in his mind.
GET AWAY FROM HER! GET AWAY!
"Oh, yes," she said, "you're beginning to understand now, aren't you? You've done something very bad." Her fingers left his hair and steepled in front of her chest, tapping together rhythmically. "Unruly little child. What am I going to do with you?"
Adam threw himself away from her.
"There you are," she said, "I'd heard you were a fighter." Adam hissed and snapped his teeth. "Oh, my. How very scary." She did something. The room dimmed and shadows began appearing along the wall. Red-eyed and hungry. "You are being quite rude. And I do not tolerate rudeness."
Adam's whimper choked in his throat. The fight left him at once and fell to the ground and hugged his knees, hiding his face. The darkness. She'd summoned the darkness that had attacked him last night.
No, the Other One said, she is...the... s
Then Adam realized he was alone with the lady of shadows.
Shadow Weaver's nose wrinkled in disgust. This was the great beast that had nearly destroyed the Fright Zone? She dismissed her shadow servants with a flick of her wrist but the boy continued to cry.
"Tears will not help you," she said, "or spare you any punishment."
The boy sobbed. Shadow Weaver strode across the room, snatched the edge of his too-large shirt and wrenched him to his feet. He shut his eyes and shook his head rapidly.
"Look at me," she said. The boy did so, squinting through tear-filled, terror-shrunken eyes. "You have done a bad thing. You have taken something from me, child, and I can simply not allow that to pass unanswered. I will endeavor to teach you many lessons in your time here, whatever little of it remains. I am always a teacher at heart."
She cupped his face in her free hand, forcing him not to turn away. She dug a thumb into his cheek, scraping away a line of tears. Dark Dream howled for blood inside the jewel on her mask. The boy kicked his foot out, rustling the side of her robes to no effect.
"I see you will be a difficult pupil," Shadow Weaver's nail pressed in a little harder. "Ah, but I have never given up on a student and you have my full attention now."
"Catra!" The boy lurched to the side, Shadow Weaver held tight to his shirt, pulling him back with an angry rasp of air.
"Even if she was here you...you...what is this? What are these clothes you are wearing?" She saw an angular symbol peeking over his shoulder as the material bunched up under her grip. She spun him in place, fingers biting into his shoulders as she rage filled her throat with a steam-like hiss.
The symbol on the back of the shirt was unmistakable. The design was her own gift to Adora. An echo of the Force Captain's badge she was destined to wear. Catra. Catra had done this.
"You," Shadow Weaver said through her teeth, "you filthy little animal!" She spun him back to face her, screaming into his face. "How dare you! What is she going to wear when she comes home? Those are not yours, do you understand me! Ruined. Covered in your filthy reeking stench…your…no, that smell. She wouldn't dare go that far." Shadow Weaver's nose twitched at the smell of lavender. Stolen. Looted. Everything she'd ever done, every gift she'd given and all the time she'd spent caring for her Adora. It meant absolutely nothing.
Catra had stolen her future. Now she's stealing the bits of her legacy that still remained.
The bubble of fury that filled her suddenly burst, compounded by the effort of the last three days. The boy thudded to the ground when her hands released him and he scurried under Catra's bed with a yelp of terror.
Shadow Weaver's breathing became erratic, moisture ran down the inside of her mask, her vision blurred, and she opened her mouth around an emotion so strong that it ripped her voice.
"A…A-dora…a…ah," the name shrank to the single, gasping syllable of a miserable sob. The smell of lavender conjured up memories that only deepened her sorrow.
"But Catra said it smells so weird!" Adora was thirteen, safely within Shadow Weaver's chambers. She had shot up to half the exiled witch's height and promised to grow even taller.
Her Adora never disappointed her.
"Catra is a little animal who licks herself clean, Adora, I would not put much stock in her tastes."
"The other soap didn't smell."
"It didn't have a 'scent', Adora. Saying 'smell' like that sounds so very dull-witted."
"Catra says it like that," Adora frowned. Shadow Weaver sighed.
"Precisely my point. Must you associate with her so often? She appears to be a poor influence on your grammar and a rather judgmental little thing."
"She is not!" Shadow Weaver smiled under her mask. In Mystacoar, so many of her colleagues found teenagers tiresome, but Shadow Weaver believed they were far more interesting students. So full of fire and certainty as they became young adults, and yet still so easy to mold. Her Adora, naturally, was opinionated, loyal, and more than brave enough to argue.
"Adora, a real friend would tell you -as I should rightly know- that it is a lovely scent. Even if she feels otherwise, she might compliment you anyway. That's what friends do. Lift each other up." Adora crossed her arms.
"Catra is my friend," she said, "and friends don't lie to each other either!"
"A compliment is not a lie, Adora, it is a courtesy. Friends pay each other courtesy. Did you feel good about yourself when Catra said your hair 'smelled'?" Shadow Weaver shook her head as Adora's face fell.
"No...I felt...smelly," Adora admitted, "...it did hurt my feelings."
"And did Catra apologize when she saw it hurt your feelings?" Shadow Weaver waited for the obvious answer.
"No. I didn't tell her. Cuz-"
" 'Because'," Shadow Weaver corrected gently.
"-because she'd just make fun of me for being a baby."
"Does that sound like something a friend would do, Adora? Make you feel so small? Or does a friend tell you how nice you look? How lovely your hair is now that it's being given proper care?"
"Maybe," Adora said, "maybe Catra feels left out? Maybe if I gave her some of the-"
"Never," Shadow Weaver snapped, then quickly pivoted back to a gentler tone, "that is my gift to you, Adora, not to her." She glared at herself in the Black Garnet and whispered. "Now if I could simply gift you a better friend."
"What?"
" 'What was that you said, Shadow Weaver?' Really, Adora, I despair at the way you're adopting such…truncated ways of speaking. Your voice is so resonant and powerful! A commander's voice. Don't squander it on 'what' like an illiterate spearman." Adora scowled. Shadow Weaver watched her with pride in the reflection of the Black Garnet.
"I don't want the soap!" Adora declared.
"Hair-and-body wash." Shadow Weaver corrected as she passed her hand across the rippling surface of the runestone.
"Whatever!" Ah, there it was. The rallying cry of the adolescent.
"Adora, if you don't wish to use it, I will not force you," Shadow Weaver turned and floated toward her, "I wanted to give you a present for the marks you received in the Future Force Captains exam last week. I fear that I've neglected to properly praise you. You are so talented as it is, that I've perhaps learned to take your excellence for granted." The witch's hands, which had taken a dozen lives, gently fixed her loose hair. "Are we trying something new with our hair?"
"I'm not putting it back in a pony-tail," Adora said adamantly, "I like it this way."
"Untamed?"
"Mhmm."
"Uncontrolled?"
"Yes."
"Like Catra told you to?"
"Exactly…" her little look of surprise made Shadow Weaver stifle a laugh. "So…what if it is? I'm not allowed?" There was a real question there, not just rhetorical teenaged fire. Her Adora would never disobey her, really.
"You are special, Adora," Shadow Weaver sighed, "and may do with your hair what you please. Use my gift or do not use it. That freedom is what you deserve, because you are special." She rose, folded her hands behind her back, and turned away. She heaved a heavy, exaggerated sigh. "But I was hoping you might like the…scent…of it."
"I do!" There she was. Her Adora. "I do! Catra's just…jealous…I guess. She doesn't get to decide what I do with my hair or what soap-er, hair-and-body wash I use!"
"No, Adora, she doesn't." Shadow Weaver grinned under her mask. A pair of arms circled her, much higher than they used to. A little twinge of sadness touched Shadow Weaver's dark heart with an old, long absent ache. Adora was growing up so fast.
"And-and I don't like having my hair this way. Catra told me to do it cuz...beacuse she said my pony-tail looks stupid. But without it all my hair keeps getting in my face! I can't see when I fight!"
"How very practical, Adora. As always. Would you like me to re-tie it for you?"
"Yes, thank you, Shadow Weaver." The witch's hand stroked her hair gently, gathering it up from her face with a careful hand.
"You're very welcome, Adora."
"You were supposed to be home by now," Shadow Weaver whispered to herself, looking around the Force Captain quarters, "this would have been your room. All the things I did to secure it for you! I did so much for you...more than anything I wanted you to be great. And...now, oh, Adora…
A small hand touched her shoulder. She turned and beheld the pitying eyes of a strange child. A child who, for the slightest instant, looked so much like her Adora when she was small.
"No!" She stumbled back as if scalded, voice erupting into a snarl. "No, you will not take another thing of hers! Do you hear me? Nothing else! Get away! Away!" The boy quickly obeyed and vanished back under the bed. Adora's bed by rights.
She was too weak to handle this now and that knowledge consumed her with fury. Shadow Weaver passed her hand over the key panel and nearly walked directly into Catra and Scorpia.
"What are you doing here!?" Shadow Weaver and Catra blurted at each other.
"What? This is my room!" Catra shouted.
"No, it isn't! You didn't earn this and you never will!" Shadow Weaver snarled.
"Seriously, you came all the way here just to do this? I didn't suddenly forget that you hate me."
"Glib. Oh, always so glib. Always so disrespectful and petty and small! But this is a low thing to do, even for you. Even for you, Catra!" Shadow Weaver regained some small aspect of self-control. If she'd had her powers right then, she'd have ripped the whole wing of the Fright Zone asunder.
"I'm sure," Catra growled through her fangs, "now, maybe tell me what it is that's 'too low for me' and why you're in my room!" Her voice cracked harshly.
"You stole Adora's clothing and property to use it on that little urchin!"
"Urchin?" Scorpia said. "What's an urchin?" Dead white eyes and gold-blue eyes nearly blasted her away with their intensity. If she'd had the presence of mind, Scorpia might've joined the boy in hiding under the bed. "Actually, I can wait on that. Take your time. Heh." The tray in her claws rattled as she stood there, trying to blend in with the metal walls.
"Adam needed clothes," Catra said, "he needed to be cleaned up. It was the middle of the night, what was I supposed to do!? I had to do something!"
Adam. Shadow Weaver's unraveling thoughts split further around the name. Even his name is mocking hers.
"You did this on purpose," Shadow Weaver jabbed her finger at Catra, speaking in a grated whisper from all the shouting, "you did this because you're jealous of her!"
"Better jealous than crazy. That alignment of yours knock something loose?"
"Those items were my gifts to Adora. Not to a little troglodyte you want to keep as a pet!" Catra's hackles stood straight up.
"He's not a…whatever you just said…he's just a little boy," Catra's eyes grew intense. "Even *you* can't fault me for helping a kid!" She suddenly laughed darkly. "Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you could!"
"Those belonged to Adora!"
"Adora is gone!" Catra shrieked. "And she isn't coming back! Ever!" Shadow Weaver's hand snapped out and slapped her across the face. Catra went silent, so suddenly humiliated she couldn't speak.
Catra's tray clattered to the ground, and the hem of Shadow Weaver's robes trailed through the gray mush as she forced Catra, by her shoulders, against the far wall of the corridor.
"You," Shadow Weaver hissed, "know nothing. About Adora. About anything. A stupid, witless child. Always screaming for attention! Always whining for something she hasn't earned! And always, always jealous of Adora! I will bring her back, Catra, mark my words." Catra glared at her, but Shadow Weaver saw the fear hidden beneath and reveled in it.
"But my one joy, in this veil of tears, Catra, is that while Adora is lost to me…"
The crazed witch leaned past her face and hissed directly into her left ear, making Catra's blood run ice-cold.
"…at least she's nowhere near you, anymore."
Catra's mouth quivered around her teeth and she squinted into Shadow Weaver's face.
"You will come to the Black Garnet Chamber first thing tomorrow. Do not defy me." Shadow Weaver's voice, still low and dangerous, had regained its normal authority.
Shadow Weaver released her and vanished into the long, dark shade of the corridor a moment later.
She didn't care. She didn't care what Shadow Weaver thought. Something had happened and that woman had lost what little sense she had left. Catra was the talk of the Horde and soon she'd be as good as Shadow Weaver. Soon she'd have Shadow Weaver's job.
She didn't care what the witch had said.
"Catra, are you… wait-" Scorpia asked, her voice cracking.
Catra shook her head and waved her away as she stormed into her room. She slid a hand over the door and barely heard it slam shut. Her hunger wasn't even registering anymore. She didn't feel like eating ever again. Scorpia, Catra's stomach twisted with nausea, Scorpia saw all of that.
It didn't matter. She did not care what the witch had said.
"I'm fine," she said, wiping away a stray tear, "I don't care! I'm fine!"
She gripped the sheets on her bed tightly and tried to understand the secret of Scorpia's 'safety blanket'. It didn't help at all. Which made sense, of course, but it didn't matter what Shadow Weaver said..
Because she did not care. She nearly yelped when something peeked over the edge of her bed.
"Ca-tra?" a small, barely used voice asked her. Adam used his big expressive eyes to ask the rest of the question. What's wrong?
He saw it all too. It wasn't fair. She was finally getting some respect and Shadow Weaver had to ruin it for her, like always, because she'd committed the crime of not being precious, perfect Adora.
Her prickling eyes narrowed and her trembling lips pulled back over her fangs. A growl rose in her chest to rumble throughout the room. Adam sank down with a little gasp but he wouldn't take his eyes off hers. His blue eyes, hidden in blonde hair. He really did look too much like Adora.
He was worried. Worried for her. Worried like Adora was whenever Shadow Weaver yelled at her in the past. Come to hold her hand and tell her it was ok. To make empty promises.
"I don't," Catra said, "need your pity."
He couldn't understand and he tried to hold her hand. She tucked it under her chest and leaned forward with a sneer.
"What do you know? Hmm? What's going on inside that tiny brain of yours!? Anything!?"
Adam's head tilted a little, watching her closely.
"You want something now? You want food? Your stupid smelly tunic? Your sword?" Her ears flattened back and her tail whipped the air in agitation. She wanted him to say yes.
Adam's eyes brightened at the word sword.
Do it. Throw another tantrum, brat, see what happens!
He reached out, Catra tensed, and he froze suddenly. He mimed the image of a bubble around Catra, then took a few steps away.
"No," he said, nodding solemnly. Catra's face fell and she came back to herself. She pondered what, exactly, she'd planned to do if Adam had started causing trouble. Her eyes glanced at his bruised cheek on reflex.
Her hand twitched and she recalled the cracking sound when she slapped him the night before. It was such an ugly noise. Different from every scratch or punch she'd ever thrown. She rubbed at an identical spot on her own face. The sting had already vanished but the weight of Shadow Weaver's hand remained there.
"Weak," she said, a few tears breaking past her iron will, "petty, and small. Boy, you and her both had me pegged, huh?" A sob slipped past her lips.
"Ah!" Adam looked at her helplessly, trying to puzzle out what was happening. She saw him glance back at the door. His lips twisted into a frown and then peeled back over his blunt human teeth, a scratchy little growl built in his throat, directed at the door and, she guessed, the woman who'd left through it. Catra watched him race around the room in fascination.
He dragged his cot over to the door, struggling to press it longways against the metal square. Then he snatched his blanket off the floor, wrapped himself up in it and sat cross-legged behind the cot, hooded head fixed on the doorway. He looked like the world's tiniest monk meditating.
Catra blinked and, before she could stop herself, snorted a laugh. The boy turned, head leaning far back to see under the edge of his 'hood'. Catra, smudging away some stray tears with her palm, started to break out into an exhausted laugh.
"What are you doing, you little goofball?" She sat up and looked down at him. "Standing watch?" Adam turned and growled at the door like a guard puppy. Catra slid from the bed and scooted over to sit next to him, snickering at the cot 'barricade'.
"Ca-tra," Adam said. She looked over and saw him make the 'bubble' gesture around her again. She decided he could do no worse harm and nodded. He grinned, popped up off the ground and began smoothing his palm on the gray tufts of fur on her head. She grimaced and went to shoo him away but hesitated.
"Here," she said, voice rough from crying, "just...hold my hand if you wanna help." She felt ridiculous. But he seemed to be bursting with joy at the feeling of her hand around his. His thumb tried to run along her palm soothingly and Catra giggled against her will as it tickled one of her lifelines. Adam grinned and did it again.
"Hey," she said firmly, shaking her head, "no. None of that. No tickling the Force Captain, booger." Adam shook his head but there was an impish twinkle in his eye she didn't trust. He listened, for now, and just held her hand. Smiling at her.
"You're just dead-set on being nice to me, huh kid?" she asked while wiping dried tears from her face.
"Ca-tra," Adam said, as if it was his own version of 'yes.' She sighed,
"Well, why? We're not friends, Adam, not really. Look, I can help you learn how to survive, and you can return the favor, ok? Get that big guy to be mean and scary when I say so. Pulverize the people I want pulverized. Get it?"
He cocked his head, trying to figure her out. Catra squeezed his hand once.
"Adam," she whined, "please, you gotta understand. This place… it's not a good place. Ok? If they let you stay, things aren't gonna get easier… not anytime soon. You gotta be tough. That's how you get anywhere." She still didn't let go of his hand. It reminded her of when she was smaller than he was. Long before she needed to form a survival guide for every single day of her life.
"Back in the day," she said to him wistfully, "Adora would just hold my hand like this sometimes. Or I'd hold hers. It was nice. We didn't know how to blame each other for stuff yet or shrug stupid things off. We just...sat and didn't say anything. Until the bad thoughts went away."
Shadow Weaver's words would come back later, Catra was too experienced in her cruelty to think otherwise. They always came back, in the dark, when she was least expecting them. But in the moment, the tiny creature next to her was an anchor to the real world where there was still something to do.
"She's wrong about me," Catra said, face turning fierce again, "and I'm gonna prove it. Just you watch."
"Ca-tra!" He said it almost like a cheer. In his eyes was an earnestness that seemed enhanced, rather than diminished, by the huge gap between her understanding and his own.
He was just a little kid trying, for some reason, to make her feel better. And, surprise-suprise, he had. Somehow.
"A-dam." She squeezed his hand and held it until the bad thoughts went away.
"I guess," she huffed, feeling she was admitting a fault, "I really did use to have a 'blankie'." Adam smiled down at their linked hands like it was the answer to every problem in the world. "But mine… mine got up and left one day." She let go gently and raised her hand up to his face.
"Look at your hair," Catra said with a raspy laugh, "it looks so goofy now." His hair was thrown around his face from all the running he'd done. Catra gathered it with her fingers, carefully, and tucked it behind his ears. "And these big jug handles you got here too. Good gracious." She tickled his earlobes and grinned at how he giggled. She tickled harder. "Uh-oh. See how you like it, booger."
"Ha!" He pulled away. Catra smiled at the look on his face and picked at the blanket on his shoulders.
"Adam the Bedtime Warrior," she said, "look out everybody." She got up and walked into the washroom, fished out his tunic and tried not to gag at the smell of it. "Scorpia, you better work some of that ex-Princess magic on this thing." Adam jumped up eagerly, tossing the blanket aside. Catra shook her head at him and tried not to get mad at how he pouted. "No. Not yet."
She opened the door and heard Adam squeak in fright before sliding back under her bed. She thought wryly that he really was a quick learner. Scorpia stood on the far side of the 'barricade' looking frozen and nervous as she stared at Catra, a tray perfectly balanced in her paralyzed claws, though now a little bent and warped on the edges by her powerful grip.
"Are you…" she paused, "is...is the little guy, ok?" Catra took the plate one hand and curled the other into the rough tunic.
"Yeah," she said, "he's fine. Kids can be pretty tough sometimes." She slapped the tunic onto the tray. "This smells like a dead animal. Fix that."
"Delighted to," Scorpia let out a breath that seemed to shrink her in size, smiling, "I'll...get it back to you tomorrow." She leaned in slightly, calling to the bed. "It'll be real nice and clean when it comes back, little guy, you got the patented Scorpia promise on that!" She paused. "Nice to meet you, Adam." She gave Catra a small smile. "You...stay strong, Catra."
"Whatever. Bye." She shut the door and sat down on the cot at her feet. "Hey, Adam, come here and eat." The boy crawled out and mimed his tunic. She shook her head and the boy folded his arms with a pout. "Alright, grumpy, I know you're crazy about that thing, but keep it together. You're every dream will come true when Scorpia comes back tomorrow. Until then...if you're too broken up to have lunch...I guess I can eat this mystery food all by myself."
The boy came over slowly, trying to retain his dignity. Catra let him scoot next to her and laid the tray across both their laps. She handed him a spork, then stopped him from trying to stab the air with it. "Only a little." She scooped up a small sporkful. "Slowly." She exaggerated how long she chewed and swallowed the food. She divided off a small section of the food. "That's all. And you gotta eat it slowly." She made the 'expanding stomach' motion again and Adam nodded, though he didn't look happy.
"You'll get there, kid," she said, "you have to. Or else you'll drive me crazy." She made a loopy motion next to her ear and crossed her eyes, smiling when he laughed.