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Somehow, Catra thought, her adoptive mother leaving Catra her home and florist’s shop had become the least strange thing to have happened to her over the last month.
And that was saying quite a bit. This wasn’t some twee flower shop selling begonias to beachcombing tourists and village simpletons down in Haverigg. No, this was up in unnatural, gloomy Undermere. And these shelves were stocked with plants that could be used as poisons or medicines, in ancient rituals or just to ward off bad luck. Between Weaver’s handwritten notes and her own research (and some moral support from Melog, the big lump), she’d managed to identify most of them. Which was good, because her clients had some strange requests.
The bell over the door rang. Ah, there was strangeness number one. “Hey, Adora,” she greeted her old friend - automatically, nervously now, not the sassy flirting when they were kids. The Draer nodded, her eyes an unnatural blue beacon in the dim light. Catra’s eyes flicked down to the sword at Adora’s belt. “You ready?”
“To hunt my prey? A Draer is always ready.” Her fist clenched around the sword’s hilt.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” Catra murmured, leaning over the counter to practically whisper in Adora’s ear.
The bell rang again. Strangeness number two. “Glitter,” Catra greeted the town psychic. (She couldn’t have been that good a psychic, Catra thought. Or maybe just everyone wanted to hatefuck her, and so she just tuned those thoughts out.)
“Catra,” Glimmer sighed back, too stressed even to argue. “You have the ritual ready?”
Ah. Yes. The ritual. Courtesy of strangeness number three, Perfuma, member of a strange sisterhood that lived in the woods. She’d produced a riddle that turned out to be a ritual. Or at least an ingredient list. And because they were all plants, of course that meant it fell to her, the plant expert, to perform the ritual.
And why, oh why, did Catra have to perform a creepy plant ritual while the second and third dumbest sapphics in Undermere kept watch for her? (She made no mistake about who the dumbest was. Spoiler alert: the bitch actually performing said ritual.) Oh right. Strangeness number four. The cult of oddly similar-looking nutcases trying to control some eldritch horror they called the First. The First had already killed the leader of Perfuma’s sisterhood, maybe more they weren’t even aware of; it was only a matter of time before it took another life. And so it fell to her to grind and mix a bunch of magic plants to try and banish the thing.
This was definitely going to get them all killed, Catra realized, and gave Melog another scritch behind the ears for luck as she stepped out from behind the counter. Her carrying case of specimens was already by the door, just waiting to be picked up before taking her next steps into destiny.
Screw it, she thought. Destiny can wait a minute. “Two quick things before we go,” she announced abruptly, then got up on clawed toes to kiss Adora, then spun and gave Glimmer the same treatment. “We’re sorting that sexual tension out properly when we get home,” she added, and looked between the other two, first for confirmation, then expectantly.
Glimmer blushed and looked up at Adora. “Oh!” the Draer gasped. “Um. Yes. Please?” Adora bent, and shared a kiss with Glimmer, far tenderer than Catra would have guessed from her martial bearing. It was, Catra noted, unfairly hot to watch.
“Okay,” Catra decided. “Now we’re ready.”