Saturday isn't quite as puzzled as she puts on - she knows what Adora is doing, she knows why, and she can just about feel Scylla pointing and laughing at her, somewhere across the metaplanes.
"I didn't see anyone sayin' that? Just not to be so hard on yourself. You ain't the only person here carryin' the world on their shoulders," she points out. "Don't mean that as a criticism, it's just true. Like, back home, everyone I love is preparing for a final battle that we either win or us and the whole world dies a long, slow, ugly death. It makes me fucking crazy that I'm not there. That I'm a fucking prisoner on a useless deathtrap in a dying world when everyone I'm responsible for is in danger - "
She cuts herself off. Not about you, dumbass.
" - point is, from what Catra's told me, you're the only person on your level back in Etheria, am I wrong? So maybe there, it is all on you, 'cause no one else can meet the threat. But if you ask around, a lot of people here are dealin' with or have dealt with world-ending shit, with being the only person or one 'a the only people who can deal with it. I think sayin' they don't understand is kinda overstating it. Might be," and here she gambles, "some of it is them understandin' too well, you know? What it's like to have something precious in your hand and drop it, even if someone else had to pry it from you first. You always think you coulda just held on a little tighter."
The ever-present grief and guilt surge forward, eager to remind her they're there, and that she deserves them nipping at her heels. She tilts her head forward, hiding her eyes behind her bangs, so Adora won't see. This isn't about her feelings, no matter what old wounds it jabs.
no subject
"I didn't see anyone sayin' that? Just not to be so hard on yourself. You ain't the only person here carryin' the world on their shoulders," she points out. "Don't mean that as a criticism, it's just true. Like, back home, everyone I love is preparing for a final battle that we either win or us and the whole world dies a long, slow, ugly death. It makes me fucking crazy that I'm not there. That I'm a fucking prisoner on a useless deathtrap in a dying world when everyone I'm responsible for is in danger - "
She cuts herself off. Not about you, dumbass.
" - point is, from what Catra's told me, you're the only person on your level back in Etheria, am I wrong? So maybe there, it is all on you, 'cause no one else can meet the threat. But if you ask around, a lot of people here are dealin' with or have dealt with world-ending shit, with being the only person or one 'a the only people who can deal with it. I think sayin' they don't understand is kinda overstating it. Might be," and here she gambles, "some of it is them understandin' too well, you know? What it's like to have something precious in your hand and drop it, even if someone else had to pry it from you first. You always think you coulda just held on a little tighter."
The ever-present grief and guilt surge forward, eager to remind her they're there, and that she deserves them nipping at her heels. She tilts her head forward, hiding her eyes behind her bangs, so Adora won't see. This isn't about her feelings, no matter what old wounds it jabs.