Hello friends,
This one has been a long time coming.
That damn clock was so loud.
Or maybe it was that the damn room was too quiet.
Catra sat in a wooden chair that occupied the corner opposite the heavy door on the other side of the room. It was waiting room, an exceptionally boring one at that. It had this hideous baby vomit yellow wallpaper, and this equally hideous forest green carpeting. It was adorned with wooden furniture, dark oak looking things with matching forest green padding. Two chairs, and a couch, or was it a futon. Maybe a loveseat? Catra sneered at it in disgust.
She hated it. She hated being here. She hated doing this. But she did love Adora.
Love.
The things you do for love.
It had been just short of four weeks since the previous All Princess Ball, since Catra's… incident. She refused to call it what it was. She refused to even call it an episode. Episodes imply something will repeat. After she had sat there with Adora for what felt like ages, and she had collected herself enough to leave, they had made their way back to Adora's chamber in the Brightmoon Palace. Catra had spent the night there. Catra spent most nights there.
Adora had been watchful since then, observing. Catra was fine however. Perfectly fine. The Prom Incident had been an uncharacteristic moment of weakness. Guilt? Anguish? Catra didn't even know where those had come from. Sure she had regrets. She regretted not following Adora first thing, she regretted a lot of the things she did in the Horde. Okay, most things. Okay, fine, she regretted pretty much the whole thing. But there wasn't guilt. Not like that. Feeling guilt means that she had things to be guilty of. She did not. The General Amnesty had seen to that. But still…
There had been one time. Catra had no memory of it. It was about a week and a half ago. Catra had been asleep, deeply asleep. Catra was a light sleeper, didn't take much to rouse her, a consequence of being raised in the Academy, you didn't dare fall too deeply, otherwise it could be construed as weakness. And weakness was beaten out of you. And Catra had enough beatings to deal already.
Adora informed Catra of the event after. Adora had shaken Catra awake, actually taken her by both shoulders and jostled her back and forth, and it still took some time for Catra to come out of it. Catra had reacted negatively to the shaking, old habits kicking in amidst her near delirious state, and she had scratched Adora on the arm. Nothing like when they had fought in the war, but enough to make Adora recoil. Catra came to shortly after, and was distraught over what she had done. Adora was, as usual, very forgiving, saying she got it. Catra had been on the receiving end of the few nighttime kicks and punches, Adora still fought in her sleep, so she knew Adora did understand. Catra had asked what Adora was even doing waking her up like that.
"You were crying. Sobbing, actually. Look," Adora gestured to Catra's usual spot on the bed, and there was a large wet stain where her head usually rested. Catra had reached up to her face and felt, yeah, wet tear streaks covered her cheeks. Had she been dreaming? What of? She racked her brain, but to no avail, there was no memory. She did feel a lingering sadness though.
"Were you dreaming?" Adora asked.
Catra felt the walls within her starting to rise. She fought them, tried to stay open with Adora, and she let out a rather pitiful, "I guess," accompanied by a shrug.
There was a pause. An uncomfortable pause. Catra sat back down on the bed. "I don't know. I don't remember. I guess I was, but I don't know what I could be crying about," she looked up at Adora, "I don't cry."
"I know. But whatever it is we have been trying," Adora continued, "I don't think it's working. There's-"
Adora stopped and fumbled for words.
"There is someone I would like you to talk to."
And so it was that Catra was here. In this horrid little office, on the outskirts of Brightmoon, going to talk to some kind of shrink that Adora had come across. Catra was not in a good mood. She didn't need this, she was coping fine. She had a bad dream, that is it. And she had one, count them, one, incident. She was a child soldier, of course she had issues, but she had Adora, and she was making friends. She was fine. She didn't need to see a damn-
The door to the office opened and a figure stepped out. At first Catra had assumed it to be a Horde clone, it was tall, and gaunt, with green eyes and close-cropped hair, but it's shoulders were to thin, and after a second she saw the visible pupils, slits like hers, and it had white fur, not the pale skin of a clone.
A Magicat. Catra blinked in surprise, she had never seen another one, not even in the Horde. The man looked at her, he had a dorky sweater vest on, covering a white button up, and corduroy pants. He smiled when he saw her, "Catra?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah that's me," Catra said coming out of her brief shock.
"Good, I was expecting you, please come in, come in," He gestured for her to follow him and held the door long enough for her to grasp it. The interior of the office was actually kind of quaint, homey even. It was spacious but not ostentatious. There were a couple of bookshelves, filled to the brim with texts, a wooden desk on one side, a couch, and a leatherback chair. Catra noted that there was a bar on one side, but no drinks she could see, just a faucet and sink. Catra assumed that a fully stocked bar in a therapist's office might have been a red flag.
The Magicat took a seat in the chair and gestured for Catra to sit on the couch. "Please," he said.
Catra took a seat and noted how soft the couch was, she nearly sank into it. After a bit of adjusting to find a good way of sitting, she looked at the man. He watched her with a thin smile. She was about to ask what he was smiling about when he spoke up.
"This must be quite shocking to you."
Catra looked at him skeptically, "What do you mean?"
He gestured to himself, "It's ok. I get it. It has been a long time since I've seen another Magicat too."
Oh. That. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. I, uh, I've never actually met someone like me before."
"I figured. Magicats are exceptionally rare these days. The war was not favorable to our people. I am assuming that is what you are here to talk about?"
"The war or Magicats?" Catra asked.
"Either, or," he responded simply.
"Not much to say about it. I don't know any other Magicats. I was raised in the Horde. I fought in the war. Now I'm here." Catra crossed her arms casually and sank back into the couch.
"Ah yes, many Horde soldiers were conscripts and war orphans in the latter years. It was a sad thing to see. I remember when most Horde soldiers were true believers, converts who chose to side with Hordak," he raised a finger to his chin, "I suppose after the Battle of High Run, and the Great Stalemate that followed, goodwill towards the Horde dried up. They had to maintain their numbers somehow. Do you know where you were found?"
Catra was unsettled by his analysis. He stated it so matter of fact, like it was a statistic rather then some horrid crime perpetrated on the people of Etheria.
"Uh no. No one ever talked about where they came from. It was… discouraged. And I don't remember. I was too small," Catra said, squirming slightly.
The therapist made a noise in the affirmative. Then his eyes widened slightly, "Oh, how forgetful of me, in the excitement of meeting another Magicat I never introduced myself. You can call me Riley."
"Riley?" Catra asked. This weirdo didn't seem like a Riley.
"It is something of nickname. My family immigrated to Plumeria from our home near the Kingdom of Snows in the early days of the war. I grew up there. My parents saw fit to name me after a flower that grew near our house in Plumeria. Aurellianus. Riley for short. It means, Golden." He gestured to himself. "Hard to believe but I was actually a healthy yellow once," he said with a chuckle.
Catra looked at him skeptically. He was almost pure white. But the more she looked at him the more she could see it, the scars under the fur, how some of it was splotchy with a slight tint in some places, and whiter in others.
"Wha- what happened?"
"What happened to us all? A war," he said with a slightly sad smile. "Not the first in Etheria's time, but hopefully the last."
Catra looked at him again, "You fought in the war?" He didn't look like much of a soldier.
"Oh, oh no," He rocked a bit back and forth and chuckled good naturedly, "I was a healer. A frontline healer. I was no soldier. I take Plumeria's philosophy very seriously. I try to cause no harm anywhere I go. But the stress and grief of seeing the worst Etheria had to offer dulled my coat. And none of us escaped the war or the invasion unscathed. That cost me what color I had left."
Catra collected herself a bit, "Isn't this supposed to be about me?"
"Would you trust me if you didn't know who I was?" he shot back.
Catra had to think about that. She didn't trust practically anyone; it was something she was working on. She supposed not. "No. I wouldn't."
"I thought not. So I figured our first session could just be getting to no each other. Now, tell me about you. You grew up in the Horde?"
"Yeah. Yeah. I was found or taken or whatever, I grew up there, in the Academy-"
"Academy?"
"Yeah, Force Cadet Academy. Not every soldier went through it, but those that are marked early for potential were placed there. Everyone had something there. We were pushed harder than the others," she thought how to phrase it diplomatically, "We were given mentors."
"Mentors? As in a commanding officer or like a parent?"
Catra thought, she thought hard. "It was… both? Some were better than others I hear. There was this Major that was apparently really good to his cadets," she said, grinning a bit, "That platoon said he would give them treats if they performed well."
"How was your mentor?"
Catra looked away. She did not like where this was going. Shadow Weaver was still an uncomfortable subject. She looked back at Riley, he just sat there, looking inquisitive. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"
"Not if you don't want to. We can move on for now."
For now.
That sounded ominous.
He spoke again, "Tell me about the other people in your platoon. Did you ever transfer or did they?"
"No. No. Once you were assigned that was it. You were stuck there. They would have gotten rid of me if they could have."
"I see. Who else was in your platoon?"
"There were more in the beginning. It was hard. We were just kids. Our mentor didn't take it easy on us. There are five of us left, I think."
"Who are they?"
"There was Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, and Adora. Then me."
"Ah. I see. And Adora would be-"
"She-Ra. Yeah. One and the same. We were close when we were little. We got to the Academy around the same time. Adora was a little bit before me. We looked out for one another."
"Like sisters?"
Catra thought again. How to explain her and Adora?
"We, we were raised together, but over time, it became something more. Or maybe it was always something more?" Catra shrugged, "Maybe we were both to dumb and stubborn to realize it."
"And the others? What were they like?"
"Rogelio, he was Lizard-folk. Real big. Real strong. Didn't talk much. Ever. But he looked out for everyone smaller then him. Lonnie was the leader when Adora wasn't there. She was also really strong, but she worked really hard at it. She wasn't the best fighter in the Platoon, but if she could land a hit you really felt it. And then there was Kyle. Kyle was pretty much useless. Weak, slow, kind of naïve."
"Really? Why was he singled out for the Academy then?"
Catra sighed. "Later on I got to see everyone's files, Kyle has, had, whatever, a really high proficiency in mechanics and systems. He could fix things."
"So not useless. I presume you all were a Force Platoon?"
Catra looked up, "Yeah, we were. How'd you guess?"
He grinned sheepishly, "Adora's story is in the tabloids, and has been for over a year. Rumors about the legendary She-Ra being former Force Captain. I interrupted, sorry. Please go on."
"Not much else. They do something these days. All together. Charity work or whatever. They defected before me. After Adora though."
Catra was keeping her cards a little close to the chest. He didn't know about her seemingly, or about the extent of her control on the Horde near the end, but not many people did. Catra was known former Horde, but her actual rank and her authority were two separate things.
"What did you do, during the war?" he asked.
There it was. She thought fast to try to evade the question.
"I lead the Force Platoon I was put in charge of. Adora was supposed to lead it, but after she left, it defaulted to me."
"You? Not Lonnie?"
"Me. Someone higher up decided that my qualifications were stronger." Not untrue. Hordak had personally given Catra her Force Captain badge.
"And during the war, after it started to warm back up, what did you do?"
"I did what was assigned to me. Recon missions, sabotage, combat, acquisitions."
"Ah I see. You saw active combat then?"
"I- yeah, I mean, I fought. Nothing too big-"
"I was here you know."
Catra was taken aback. "What?"
"Here. I was here. In the city. During the Battle for Brightmoon. I tended the wounded. I recognize you. Force Captain Catra, you lead a tank battalion through the Whispering Wood to capture the city. You were a constant threat towards She-Ra. You led the first battle of Sea Gate. You were a rather versatile asset to the Horde."
His voice was so odd. It was even, measured. He stated facts, with no condemnation or approval in the tone. It unnerved Catra.
"So please, Catra, stop bullshitting me, and tell me what it is that you did in the Horde."
"And if I don't want to?" Catra shot back, feeling that familiar anger creeping up from the depths.
He pointed towards the door she had entered from, "Door's right there."
"Fine," Catra stood to leave.
"But you'll still be hurting if you do, and you'll show how weak you really are."
Catra wheeled on him, "What was that?"
"Weak," he said, standing up himself, "You will remain weak. Trapped inside your own mind. Held captive by your own regrets. But if you trust me, if you work with me, we can walk through it."
"I am fine on my own," Catra spat.
"Are you?" He asked, unafraid, "People talk you know, I heard about the Prom. You had some kind of episode, decked some noble from Dryll, then ran off into the distance. That doesn't strike me as fine."
People knew?
Riley looked away from her, towards a clock, "That's time. Think on what we talked about. I do want to help Catra. But I can't if you lie to me. Reach out if you want to come back, but know this, if you lie again, and I find out, I will drop you as a patient. I don't have time to mess with someone who does not actually want my help."
He turned from her and walked to the desk. He sat behind it and began to write on some piece of paper.
Catra looked at him carefully and then to the door. She scowled and walked out of the door, slamming it behind her. She made her way down the hallway and down the stairs to the first floor landing and out into the streets. She breathed deeply and began the trek home to let Adora know about the crackpot she had sent her to.
Riley sat behind his desk for several seconds before standing and walking to the window in the office. The window overlooked the busy street below, he had chosen it because it allowed him to see when people were coming to the office. It allowed him control, and a measure of security.
He watched Catra go, walking angrily down the street, back in the direction of the Palace. He thought, and his well-trained strategic mind analyzed her. She would be back. He had insulted her pride; he had issued a challenge. He looked away and walked to the bar, he opened the lower cabinet and removed a bottle of Saleanian rum and poured himself a small glass of the clear liquid. He took it and breathed in its intoxicating smell, it reminded him of coconuts, of the jungles he had struggled in.
He went to the desk, and opened the second drawer on the right, removed a few miscellaneous items and then pulled on a small latch, revealing the hidden compartment. He removed a small oak brown case and placed it on the desk reverently. He opened the box and then took a long sip from the glass. He leaned back in his chair and simply stared at the box and its lone contents.
It was a metallic badge, green and yellow. The rank of Force Major engraved upon it. It was not Riley's. Aurellianus did not exist. He did not grow up on in Plumeria. He was Horde, one of the first to graduate the Academy. He was Force Major Apollyon, Scourge of Saleanius, Butcher of Blackrock, and the Monster of High Run.
He looked back to the window. Yes, Catra would come back. And he would help her overcome her demons. They were the same after all.
It was the least he could do for her.
Let the games begin.