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In the Fright Zone, there’s always a constant thrum of machinery. Quiet but recognizable to most people, but especially to Catra. She was surrounded by all these thumps and wheezes and creaks, ragtag, mish-mashed machines pumping out God knows what. She laid awake at night, the spastic rhythms creating dead noise in her ears. She got used to the noise on some level. On a few nights even, it helped her fall asleep. On others, the noise was insufferable.
The machinery on the Horde Prime ship was different than the Fright Zone. It wasn’t hobbled together. Everything had a purpose, everything functioned correctly, a complete puzzle in its place and nothing out of it. The machinery in the Fright Zone created music, things thudding out of sync with one another, different wheezes and whistles that sounded horrible. She didn’t know she could miss the horrific noise so much. The noises on Horde Prime were all together, all at once- a rhythmic tapping that reminded Catra of a heartbeat. It was louder than her own heartbeat in her ears, as if Horde Prime was in her, removing whatever made her a person and replaced her with machine. Maybe she wanted it that way. In another way, it just felt like it was driving her crazy. Crazier, she’ll admit.
She could see it affecting Glimmer, too. They share a room, a spacious one, not decorated by anything but two flat beds and a large window looking out into the expanse that’s space. At least they have the stars, though they never talk about them. They don’t really talk about anything.
There are moments where it feels like they should, but they don’t. It’s hard to say anything, there’s just so much thinking. If they were to say something, what would they say? ‘I’m sorry?’ No, neither of them particularly were. If they were to talk, about anything really, maybe it would drown out the heartbeat of the ship, but they don’t.
Glimmer can’t sleep. The noise is deafening. She doesn’t hear it as well as Catra does, but she hears it well enough, and either way, she’s not used to it. Bright Moon isn’t a beating orchestra of machine. It’s people, soul, and when she laid awake at night, she didn’t hear machine. She could hear people in the castle, in the hallways outside, talking, or moving. Laughing sometimes, if someone’s telling a joke, or a story. Crickets outside. Water, maybe.
But no machine.
She tries to sleep on the ship, but she can’t. The heartbeat machine enters her brain through her ears and it rattles her awake. Catra is on the bed on the other side of the room, silent, thinking. Glimmer wishes she could think during times like these. Catra is so quiet at night that Glimmer can’t even hear her breathing, something to break up the machine, something that brings her back to reality. She should say something. That’ll push the heartbeat away. A noise to drown out the other noise, but when Glimmer opens her mouth to speak words into the dark room, nothing comes out. She closes her mouth again. Catra doesn’t move. Maybe she didn’t notice Glimmer try to speak.
Glimmer hopes she didn’t.