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Entry tags:

catra,
saturday

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[Saturday is sitting up in an infirmary cot, swaddled in bandages - including her throat. The tablet is hovering in front of her, near her head, and her heavily bandaged hands are obscured in her lap. She's focusing fiercely on whatever she's got there, and appears to be typing.

In a moment, the distorted voice of Alexa reads out what she's trying to say. The speakers on the table are just good enough to hear it, though it sounds reverb-y and echoed.]

Hey. Just wanted to join the sickposting club. It's really fucking boring here -

[The robotic way Alexa breaks 'fucking' into two distinct syllables briefly cracks her up]

- and I can't talk or even use my hands that much. Also Alexa keeps correcting my grammar. Doctor says I am gonna heal up though, one hundred percent. So, what did I miss? And does anyone wanna come keep me company?

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"I mean aside from nearly getting my skull cracked like an egg I guess I'm okay," Catra says. A lot has happened and she's trying to work out what needs saying. Or how to say it.

"Adora and I made up I think." She pauses, then a smile creeps over her face.

"Uh, related to that I have a girlfriend I guess?" It still feels unreal. Giddy. Just thinking about it makes her feel a little like she's floating.

Saturday's face brightens, like she's just stepped into a sunbeam.

THAT IS GOOD TO HEAR. Her typing is painfully slow, and Alexa doesn't read until she's finished. Typetypetype. ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET BACK?

She hasn't spoken with Catra for a while, not since this murder shit started and her life got given over to patrols and guard duty.

The joy that that brings to Saturday's face catches Catra off-guard. Awkwardly she runs a hand over her hair, seeming unsure of the next step.

"Yeah. I guess. I'll still be on Horde Prime's ship. She'll be on Etheria. We'll figure it out then." She shrugs. That seems like such a distant thing that tackling it is... Weird.

"We haven't talked about that yet."

IF YOU ARE STILL BEHIND ENEMY LINE YOU ARE AN ASSET NOW. Typetypetypetype. Typetype. Type. Saturday is developing a little crease right between her eyebrows from the focus it takes to move each finger smoothly.

EVERYONE APPRECIATES IT WHEN YOU BRING GIFTS TO THE PARTY. I WOULD NOT WORRY ABOUT RECEPTION LONG TERM IF YOU KEEP FOCUSED ON WHAT IS IN FRONT OF YOU.

Catra definitely knows Saturday well enough to see the irritation gathering in her face - aimed at the tablet, not Catra. There's a spate of furious typing, after which Saturday winces.

I ABSOLUTELY WISH TO CHRIST *beep**beep**beeeeeeeeeep* THIS *beep* THING WOULD JUST TYPE EXACTLY WHAT I *beep* SAY WITHOUT THIS *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep* WEIRD OLD ROBOT VOICE AND *beeeeeeeeeeep* *beep* *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep* CENSOR BOT.

Catra watches as Saturday struggles with the device. The advice she's giving is probably good but having ti dispensed in the the tinny electronic voice of the comm device and watching Saturday's irritation is just kinda funny. Catra stifles a giggle as the the whole thing starts to degenerate into typing alternating with beeping.

"This is too funny. Oh no. Saturday--" She snorts, her laugh starting to turn a little squeaky as it always does.

"The stupid censor bot just constantly beeping."

I *beeeeep* HATE THIS PLACE, HONESTLY. WORST STREET DOC IN REDTOWN WOULD STILL HAVE AT LEAST MANAGE TO FIX MY *beep-beeeeeeeeeeeep* WINDPIPE OR GIVEN ME A DECENT TEMP IMPLANT SO I DID NOT HAVE TO HALF-*beep* IT.

SERIOUSLY THEY HAVE *beep-be-beep-beeeeeeep* REGROWTH VATS BUT THEY CAN'T HACK TOGETHER SOME KIND OF BASIC *beep* NEURAL INTERFACE?

"Right, they can literally just make anything they want out of Stuff so they just... don't. They're fucking assholes." Catra says, though her laughter hasn't subsided yet. Sorry, Saturday. It's too funny.

I AM GLAD SOMEONE IS AMUSED BECAUSE I AM *beep* NOT.

Saturday is outright sulking now, mouth arranged in a pout. Maybe putting it on a bit, so that no one actually worries.

"Mostly, uh..." Catra looks away for a moment, then drops her gaze down to the floor by her chair. Ugh. Words and emotions are stupid.

"Mostly I'm glad you're alive, okay?" It's not like she likes you or anything.

HEY ME TOO. Saturday's laugh catches in her mangled throat, turns into a hard cough. I AM SORRY I DID NOT COME VISIT WHEN YOU WERE STUCK IN HERE. GOT CAUGHT UP. KIND OF SHITTY OF ME, I KNOW. THANKS FOR COMING BY.

And she'd seen a lot of people who mattered to her lying in beds and morgues, lately - since before she came here. It wasn't that she hadn't tried. It was just that not making herself had been easier, and she could be a remarkable coward under stress.

"It's fine." Catra says the words quickly, before she can really stop herself or think about it.

"It's not like I'm that important," she adds, her gaze sliding off of Saturday and towards the bed where she had spent most of her convalescence.

"Figured I should come see you, though. I'm out of the infirmary but I'm not supposed to do anything strenuous for a little while yet, still. Apparently they put some metal in my head to help make sure my skull stays together." She reaches up and pats the side of her head where the bandage still rests.

NO YOU ARE A FRIEND AND IMPORTANT. I AM A CHICKEN *beep* AND DID NOT WANT TO SEE ANOTHER FRIEND ALL FUCKED UP IN BED. MY BAD. WHEN DOES THE METAL COME OUT? THEY STILL DO GOOD WORK WITH DOC EM GONE?

What if we changed the subject? Changing subjects sounds great. No feelings, only bitching about Jorgmund.

HEY NOW IT IS JUST A STATEMENT OF FACT TO SAY YOU ARE HARD HEADED.

"I... Don't know if it's coming out. Or when. Even with She-Ra, they said I was in bad shape." Catra looks glum for a moment, staring down at the infirmary floor between her feet for a moment. She snorts as the electronic voice relays Saturday's latest witticism.

"Oh, shut up. Don't be an asshole about my head."

Saturday sticks out her tongue.

WELL SINCE YOU WERE ALWAYS HARD HEADED ADORA WILL NOT NOTICE THE DIFFERENCE IF IT NEVER DOES. AND NOW YOU GET TO GET PATTED DOWN INSTEAD OF CHECKED IN THE METAL DETECTOR EVERY TIME YOU GO SOMEWHERE FANCY. EASIER TO HIDE THINGS.

She has to stop, then, wincing, and flexes her hands a little. Too much, too fast.

"I don't usually have to hide anything," Catra points out with a wry smile. As Saturday pauses to flex her hands, Catra leans forward and gives her a little pat on the shoulder. It's an awkward gesture, but she's doing her best.

"...Don't overdo it."

Her next bit of typing is painfully slow.

WENT TOO FAST THAT IS ALL.

Catra grimaces and looks away for a moment.

"...Any idea when your throat's gonna be healed up?"

Saturday shrugs. COUPLE OF WEEKS. JUST HOPING IF MY VOICE IS FUCKED UP IT IS IN A COOL WAY.

She wouldn't actually mind having a spooky voice, come to think of it - well, it'd be a problem for disguising herself, that's for sure. She already sticks out enough, with the arm and all.

"Ugh. This place is the worst." She leans forward, rests her arms on the edge of the hospital bed. She's quiet for a long moment, then her tail flicks and she smiles.

"...So, um. Adora and I are like, a thing now."

YES YOU SAID. Saturday grins again. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?

Oh, uh. I guess I did say that, huh?

[ Catra gives a sheepish smile. ]

Um. We kind of had another argument. In medical. And then we kissed?

WELL THAT IS ONE WAY. Saturday smiles as she says it, because it's not meant to sting. SO WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS THE RECKLESS ONE AND WHICH ONE GOT MAD ABOUT IT?

"Eh. I dunno. I yelled at her about like... how she thinks she has to put the whole stupid world on her shoulders. She never says what it is she actually wants, she just... goes alogn with whatever she thinks people need her to do." Catra looks glum, her gaze sliding away for a moment.

"...I hate that. She's going to let it kill her someday."

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