catra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fangsbared) wrote2019-06-01 02:03 am
fangsbared) wrote2019-06-01 02:03 am
(no subject)
She knows she's in for it when she misses that one blow during training -- a single misstep, half a second's delay, yielding a critical error that nearly costs her the whole match. She ends up third on the scoreboard, beneath Adora (always beneath Adora), and now bested by Lonnie, too.
The way Shadow Weaver looks at her, stare sharp behind her mask as darkness whips in agitated coils around her, Catra knows they'll be having words.
"Catra," she calls out to her as the cadets are about to disperse for the evening, "you stay back. We'll be having words about your performance."
Like clockwork. It's so predictable that she can only roll her eyes. But Shadow Weaver doesn't take well to that, either. "Do you understand, cadet?"
Catra squares her shoulders and lowers her head, dredging the charred bits of her remaining obedience from deep within her gut. "I understand, Shadow Weaver."
Her fellow trainees exchange looks in awkward silence, where she thinks they'd be sniggering, were they not too scared to. Then they're gone, out the door and down the hall.
Adora is last to leave. Catra catches her gaze on her way out, the usual blend of pity and guilt swirling in those pale blue eyes. Something about it always drives Catra a little crazy inside. She can tell Adora's thinking, oh, this is my fault, I could've helped prevent this.
As if.
By the time Catra's let go, the halls are deserted. Dinnertime's already over. Her cheek and shoulder are sore. She heads into the showers alone, gets ready for bed alone. The lights in the sleeping hall are out, and it's quiet, save for the occasional rustling of blankets and Kyle mumbling stupidly in his sleep.
Catra pads over to Adora's bed, the same as she does every night. But rather than settle at her usual spot in the corner, she lifts the blanket to climb in, crawling up the mattress until she can curl against Adora's back. Forehead pressed into her nape, seeking her warmth in the dark.
It's something she does, sometimes, on nights like this. Nothing big. They never really mention it.
The way Shadow Weaver looks at her, stare sharp behind her mask as darkness whips in agitated coils around her, Catra knows they'll be having words.
"Catra," she calls out to her as the cadets are about to disperse for the evening, "you stay back. We'll be having words about your performance."
Like clockwork. It's so predictable that she can only roll her eyes. But Shadow Weaver doesn't take well to that, either. "Do you understand, cadet?"
Catra squares her shoulders and lowers her head, dredging the charred bits of her remaining obedience from deep within her gut. "I understand, Shadow Weaver."
Her fellow trainees exchange looks in awkward silence, where she thinks they'd be sniggering, were they not too scared to. Then they're gone, out the door and down the hall.
Adora is last to leave. Catra catches her gaze on her way out, the usual blend of pity and guilt swirling in those pale blue eyes. Something about it always drives Catra a little crazy inside. She can tell Adora's thinking, oh, this is my fault, I could've helped prevent this.
As if.
By the time Catra's let go, the halls are deserted. Dinnertime's already over. Her cheek and shoulder are sore. She heads into the showers alone, gets ready for bed alone. The lights in the sleeping hall are out, and it's quiet, save for the occasional rustling of blankets and Kyle mumbling stupidly in his sleep.
Catra pads over to Adora's bed, the same as she does every night. But rather than settle at her usual spot in the corner, she lifts the blanket to climb in, crawling up the mattress until she can curl against Adora's back. Forehead pressed into her nape, seeking her warmth in the dark.
It's something she does, sometimes, on nights like this. Nothing big. They never really mention it.