What If She Was Right (Catra)

What If She Was Right (Catra)
Date of Cutscene:	02 February 2024
Location:
Synopsis:	Catra patches herself up after her most recent fight with Adora. Trigger Warning: Blood, Emotional Trauma
Cast of Characters:	Catra

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Late at night in Tokyo, somewhere in the less affluent parts of the city, a corner convenience store under a flickering neon light has a visitor shoving her way through the door. Luckily, this place is just barely doing well enough to have an automated kiosk for this hour, which is good for the person who stumbles in, letting the door (with a broken spring) slam shut hard behind her. She looks like a pretty average American tourist who thinks it's cool to walk around with a hoodie hiding their face and ragged jeans, aside from the fact that she's oozing blood from multiple wounds, and there are deep bruises all over her neck.

She throws a handful of uncounted Yen notes at the unmanned counter as she walks past it, heading straight for the pharmaceuticals. She tears the lid straight off the first bottle of painkillers she lays hands on, shaking a trio of the pills into a trembling hand and dry-swallowing them all in one gulp. The pills drop to the floor, and she walks through the section with the first aid, grabbing a kit and heading to the bathroom, slamming it shut and locking it behind her.

Only now does Catra drop the illusion that conceals her in this place. Gone is the visage of Rachel Miller, the conjured personality Catra spends so much time hiding behind these days. Instead she stares at herself, tan skin and stripes and mismatched eyes and all, still wearing the headdress she always wore in the Horde. Still wearing the now meaningless Force Captain badge, not even worth scrap metal. Was it ever worth anything? She'd barely had it at all before Shadow Weaver betrayed her and got her exiled to the Crimson Wastes.

But she'd proven herself there, hadn't she? Captured Adora, got the Sword, brought it all back to Hordak. People should've recognized how capable she was then. But then didn't.

Catra takes her headdress off, and touches the side of her face where Adora'd kneed her. Of course it was all puffy, and her yellow eye wouldn't open any further than half closed. She'd need ice for that later, or the swelling would be there for days. No help for that now, have to deal with it back at Obsidian Tower. She growls at the mirror, and peels off her jacket and everything else she needs to lose to get at her wounds. Adora'd cut her up for real this time, both her arms bleeding heavily and the cut above her hairline made the non-puffy side of her face stained with crimson. That would be far too difficult to stitch up on her own, so she folds a piece of gauze over itself and tapes it over the wound.

The squeaky taps turn, and cold water that refuses to warm up swirles around the sink and down the drain. She looks at it, grinding her teeth; but she was covered in blood and there was only one way to do anything about it. She clenches her jaw and dippes her hands in, setting about the task of washing herself off as best she can. She stares at herself balefully in the mirror as she works, eventually patting herself dry with wadded up paper towels that she dumped in the garbage can (and on the floor around it).

First aid care on yourself was part of every Horde soldier's training. Can't fight the rebels if you're wounded, after all, and a dead soldier is a waste of resources. Stitches, then, done clumsily with one hand on first one arm, then the other. At least nobody else has come into the convenience store. She works at it carefully, the corners of her lips twitching every time she pushes the needle through her skin and draws the thread tight to pull a wound closed. Eventually the bleeding slows; she washes herself again, and takes the time to wind bandages around each of her arms, before carefully donning her jacket and headdress, and inspecting herself in the mirror once more.

It's hardly the worst mess she's ever been in. No, that's a lie; this is definitely a contender. Adora cut her up properly this time, if she hadn't been so defensive once things turned violent she might've lost an arm, or worse. She leaves the water running, closing her eyes as she grips both sides of the sink and leans forwards, letting the events play out in her mind for a second time. Lets the things Adora said to her ring through her thoughts once again.

"I'm tired of you taking the cowardly way out of this."

"Deep down you're a coward."

"You pulled that lever because you wanted to die."

"You can't beat me, Catra. Every single time you did? I was going easy on you."

Catra peels her lips and screams, loud enough to make her throat ragged. She balls her hands up into fists, and one of them strikes the mirror, smashing it and her reflection into shards that clatter to the floor around her, as her claws come out and she thrashes wildly at the walls and the door. Her fists come down hard on the sink, breaking it in two and splashing water all over her; the doorknob gets rattled about before she kicks the door right out of the doorframe to escape, rushing out of the bathroom and planting her hands on her knees as she breathes heavily. Is there a camera in here, watching?

Who cares.

The tantrum only escalates, and the feline wipes the tears from her eyes as she destroys the nearest set of shelves, ripping them apart and flinging the merchandise all over the floor; the slushy machine gets knocked over and smashed, the drink freezer door is torn from its hinges, and she finally draws her sword and Powersend erupts to life, the curved blade thrumming with purple energy feeding off her emotions. She chokes on her own breath as she sobs, holding herself up with her free hand on the countertop before she sucks in a breath and screams, high in pitch and volume; the energy gathered up by her sword detonates, blasting outwards from around her and blowing out all the windows in the shop.

Catra pants loudly, collapsing to her knees and holding her face. Her wounds throb angrily, and for a moment she just sits, gasping for breath and waiting for pain and emotions to subsides. The anger ebbs away, leaving just the hurt that she's been trying so desperately to avoid.

"What if she was right," she whispers, clenching her eyes tightly shut.

She can't stay here. Slowly, the feline pulls herself back up to her feet; Powersend's blade is banished, though it takes a couple of tries to make it go away, and she tucks the handle back into her jacket pocket, before she restores her illusion and Rachel Miller exits through the door and stumbles away into the night.