Work Text:
“Stop by my tent any time,” Perfuma had told Catra, over and over. “If I need privacy or some ‘me time,’ the outside canopy will be down. If you see it’s up, feel free to come in.”
“Right,” Catra had said every time she’d brought it up.
“I mean it,” Perfuma usually added.
To which Catra would nod.
But if she and Perfuma hadn’t previously discussed a time to hang out, to meet up for a run or meditate together for a while or whatever, Catra couldn’t bring herself to just… drop in.
The concept of personal space isn’t totally new to her. In the Horde, she’d had private quarters, but not until she made Force Captain as an adult. That lonely barrack was practically a cell, but at least the door locked from the inside. The memory is an interesting middle point between growing up communally as a cadet and coming to Bright Moon, where everyone has privacy and lives in each other’s space and mostly gets along about it.
Catra can drop in on Glimmer and Bow just fine. She’s definitely going to knock first, but she doesn’t need to make an appointment with them. And she gets to walk in on Adora whenever she damn well pleases (including, she’d demonstrated to Adora this morning, in the shower). It’s not that she doesn’t believe Perfuma’s invitations…
…but part of her doesn’t believe them. Despite everything and everyone around her, there’s still a loud, clear voice in Catra’s mind telling her it’s not real. Or that if it is real, she’s going to lose it. That if she hasn’t lost it, she just hasn’t lost it yet.
Their patience with you is ticking down like sand in an hourglass, says the voice, less and less, day by day, and when it runs out, all of this will be over for you.
She doesn’t hear it in Shadow Weaver’s voice, exactly—it’s not a literal voice she “hears” in the first place, it’s more like a constantly running, independent train of thought to one side of her mind—but Catra finds it convenient to conflate the “voice” with Shadow Weaver anyway. It’s the same spiteful bullshit she always liked to sling, and…
“Which is more likely?” Glimmer had asked her last night. They’d been lying in Adora and Catra’s bed, their collective sweat cooling in the breeze from the open window. Glimmer’s head was nestled on Catra’s shoulder as she played idly with the tuft of fur between Catra’s breasts, periodically shivering as Adora—who was spooned up behind her—gently stroked the edges of her little pink wings.
Catra had grunted, ready for the question.
“That you were born with all these… cruel, self-hating thoughts pre-programmed on a loop in your head? Or that Shadow Weaver put them there by treating you like shit for years?”
They’d had to take a break then so Catra could ugly-cry into both her girlfriends’ shoulders at once, and then she had to go blow her nose and splash water on her face, but when she got back from that a minute later… she had to admit Glimmer made a good point.
So, Catra decides, standing outside Perfuma’s tent, fuck that voice. Fuck Shadow Weaver. Perfuma is Catra’s friend, the canopy of her tent is up, the invitation is open, and Perfuma’s going to be happy to see her. Catra sets her jaw and walks in.
“Hey, Perfu—”
Her feline eyes adjust almost instantly to the light inside the tent. Flaps on the ceiling have been rolled back over transparent panels, so plenty of daylight is pouring in, and the very first thing Catra sees is Perfuma and Scorpia standing in the tent’s little living area, enthusiastically making out.
“—oh-my-gods-I’m-so-sorry-for-interrupting-I’m-gonna-go-away-see-you-later-okay-bye,” Catra finishes over her shoulder as she exits the tent.
The only microscopic sliver of mercy in this entire situation is that Shadow Weaver would never have thought to use this to manipulate Catra into isolating herself from other people. Didn’t see that one coming either, did you, you dead fucking asshole.
She’s only a few paces out of the tent when she hears them both calling after her. “Catra! Catra, hold on! Wait!”
Catra’s embarrassed, but she’s not so embarrassed she doesn’t realize the infinitely greater potential for embarrassment if Perfuma and/or Scorpia have to chase her across the palace grounds, loudly forgiving her for walking in on them kissing. She groans and digs her heels in, reluctantly turning back to the tent.
She re-enters with her hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she says, as soon as she can feel she’s cleared the flap.
Scorpia snorts. “We’re decent, Catra. Promise.”
Catra slowly lowers her hand. Perfuma and Scorpia are standing in front of her. They’re not making out anymore, but they are holding hands. They look a little flushed, but they seem happy and relaxed, not angry at Catra for barging in, so that’s a good sign. So was them asking her to come back. So was Scorpia’s little laugh just now. Catra had really missed hearing Scorpia laugh.
“Sorry,” she says again, cringing.
“It’s really okay,” Perfuma says. “It’s my bad for leaving the canopy up. We were just saying goodbye for a minute… or two…” She giggles. “And besides, you’ve seen us kissing before.”
Catra sputters a little. “I know that!” In fact, she has extremely clear memories of Perfuma and Scorpia’s very first kiss, whether she wants them or not. “I wasn’t scandalized. I was—come on, if I’d been… you know, kissing Adora, I wouldn’t want some weirdo crashing through the door either. I wanted to be… polite.”
“Awww,” says Perfuma. “That’s very sweet. We forgive you. No harm done.” Next to her, Scorpia nods firmly.
“You’re, uh, you’re saying goodbye?” Catra asks Scorpia.
“Yep,” she replies. “Just for a little while.”
Perfuma wraps both her arms around one of Scorpia’s and beams up at her proudly. “Scorpia’s going back to the Fright Zo—oh, excuse me,” she interrupts herself, but Catra’s pretty sure she did that on purpose for the drama. “The New Scorpion Kingdom for a few weeks.”
“Lots to do back home,” Scorpia agrees. “It’d be kind of a waste to get rid of everything from the Fright Zone and start from scratch. Nothing evil about a bunch of empty corridors and rusty old factory equipment. ’Course, we don’t need the war machine anymore, all that’s definitely getting dismantled, but… that’s just raw materials for all the new stuff we’re gonna build.”
Catra’s never seen Scorpia smile like this—full of pride in herself, hope for the future, confidence in the love of the woman at her side, protectiveness for the kingdom newly under her rule. It makes her look younger and older at the same time—Catra can’t really explain how both can be true, but it is.
It occurs to her, though, that she’s grateful she lived to see it.
Scorpia tells her about all the previously-AWOL Horde soldiers who’ve returned to help with the reconstruction, including Lonnie and her partners Kyle and Rogelio—Catra is briefly delighted to have won the bet she made with Adora like six years ago, but she doesn’t know where Adora’s going to get three grey ration bars to pay her with now.
Catra can also tell Scorpia is talking around the fact that Hordak and Entrapta are among those helping convert the Fright Zone to the New Scorpion Kingdom. She knows Scorpia’s even getting Frosta to help her write up an official amnesty law for the surviving clones, the ones Entrapta—and Hordak, and Wrong Hordak—have been trying to rehabilitate.
She appreciates the kind-hearted intent behind Scorpia’s self-censorship, but it doesn’t actually bother her. Next to everything else Catra’s been through, Hordak feels like a problem she used to have a long time ago—unpleasant, but firmly in the past. Like puberty. Gods, she wishes she could share that analogy with Hordak himself. She decides to save it for Adora later. Adora will laugh her ass off.
And she can’t deny he’s probably the perfect person to help tear down and rebuild the Fright Zone. If that’s what he actually wants to do with the rest of his life… Catra’s more than happy to stay out of his way and leave him to it.
As long as she never has to find out what the deal with him and Entrapta is.
It feels good to catch up with Scorpia, good to see her around Perfuma, good to hear about her big and big-hearted plans for the future.
“Anyway,” Scorpia says after they’ve chatted for a while, “I was saying goodbye, wasn’t I? Oh, I hope nobody’s been waiting on me.” She gives Perfuma one last lingering kiss and scoops Catra up in a quick hug. “See you soon!” she calls over her shoulder as she makes her exit.
Perfuma sighs happily as she watches Scorpia go. Then she sees the expression on Catra’s face. “What?” she asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I dunno. I really like the new Scorpia,” Catra says with a shrug.
Perfuma hums. “I really like the new Catra.”
Catra, who hadn’t been expecting the praise, goes tongue-tied for a minute. Perfuma smiles serenely.
It slowly occurs to Catra that she came to Perfuma’s tent for a reason.
“Hey, uh, you’re leaving soon too, aren’t you? Going back home to your kingdom.”
“In a few days, yes, for a little while. I’ve got a couple of weeks of business in Plumeria, then I’m visiting Scorpia for a week in her kingdom, then I’ll be back in Bright Moon. Also with Scorpia.” She smiles sweetly. “Did you want me to bring you something from home?”
Maybe her power isn’t plants at all, Catra thinks, maybe it’s just straight-up mind-reading. “Uh… yeah, actually. You—you mentioned the library there? The one in the universe-thingy.”
“The university library?”
“Yeah. Would they—do they have books on magical botany?”
She’s proud to have caught Perfuma a little off guard. The princess blinks for a moment. “I—yes, they have many, many—Catra, I’m so curious now! You want me to bring you library books about magical botany?”
“Or just like… information? About a couple of different plants. Weird plants. That we maybe don’t know what they are, and are maybe kinda afraid of, and are maybe, probably, at least a little bit dark magic… and, uh. How to kill them. Ideally.”
Perfuma puts it together. “Ohhh. This is about Shadow Weaver’s garden. You and King Micah.”
“Yeah,” Catra says. “We’re still… working on that. But she had a couple of real specimens in there, and Micah’s at a loss—which is a little scary because I thought he knew everything—and I guess they don’t know anything about them at Mystacor, either, so.” She shrugs a little and smiles hopefully. “I’m turning to my #1 plant expert.”
“Flatterer,” Perfuma winks. “I think I can find time for a little research while I’m home. Tell me about these plants.”
Catra tries to describe them, but it’s easier just to take Perfuma out to the garden and see for herself. One is an ugly, scaly vine the colour and consistency of burned flesh that seems to shift position when it’s not being watched. The other looks like some kind of ground-creeping ivy, its waxy leaves an urgently vivid orange and blue that set off danger alarms deep in Catra’s brain stem.
“Oh, I hate the vibes of these things,” Perfuma says, lip uncharacteristically curled, staying safely behind Catra despite standing several inches taller than the other woman.
“Don’t suppose you recognize them and can save yourself a trip.”
“Ewww, no.” Perfuma almost seems offended that Catra thinks she’d associate with such creepy plants. “I’m definitely going to have to look these up.” She looks around at the garden and the increasing number of bare-earth gaps between the strange and unpleasant vegetation. “I’ll make a couple of sketches and then we can—oh! What are you doing here?” It’s like she’s just spotted an old friend. She rushes over to a corner of the garden, where a jagged mass of dishwater-coloured spines looks sharp enough to tear through flesh like spun sugar.
“Catra!” Perfuma calls out. “This is a bleak thistle!” It sure is, thinks Catra, but Perfuma is already talking to the murderous-looking growth again. “You’re so far from home,” she coos. It sounds like she’s talking to a small animal.
“I, uh…”
“Will you save this one for me?” she asks. “I know it’s sharp and it looks pretty intimidating, but it doesn’t belong here. I know a… well, a conservatory, kind of, in the Crimson Waste that would be just perfect for it. Will you wait so I can help you and King Micah transplant it?”
Catra shrugs. They haven’t been working in any particular order, except for a few parasites that needed to be carefully removed before they could deal with the underlying host. This one can hang around for a few weeks. “Yeah, sure,” she says, “no problem. Bleak thistle, all yours.”
Perfuma actually hugs her. Over a thistle. Just when Catra thinks she has the princess figured out.
They head back to Perfuma’s tent after she sketches the too-colourful leaves and the perpetually decaying vine (and promises the thistle she’ll be back for it soon). “Are you busy right now?” Perfuma asks.
Catra shakes her head. “Nah. Glimmer’s doing court stuff with Micah, Bow was in his workshop with the door closed, and Adora’s swimming laps in the pool.” She sniffs disdainfully. “Won’t catch me in a room that’s just a giant hole full of water. Fuck that.”
Perfuma throws her head back and laughs her musical laugh. “Oh, you poor thing. You can come meditate with me in the sunshine, then.”
They go to the grassy spot behind Perfuma’s tent, out of the way of anyone walking by, and sit cross-legged in the grass for half an hour or so. Of those 30 minutes, Catra thinks she might have managed seven or eight non-consecutive seconds of a totally empty head—which is more than the five or six seconds she managed last week, so she’s definitely getting better at this.
She needs to find a different term than “empty head” before she tells Adora about it, though, or the teasing is going to be merciless.