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Chapter Text

Catra was fucking annoyed. Perhaps an understandable reaction to being lynched, though the noose around her neck wasn’t the cause of her annoyance, at least not directly anyway. She was more pissed about the fact that she was about to be hanged for something she didn’t do. Catra had been many things, a bank robber, train robber, arsonist, and even an extortionist; but the one thing she had never done was cattle rustling. I mean for God’s sake she had better things to do than shoplift cows, she had never wanted anything to do with cattle unless it was gracing her plate in the form of a juicy medium rare steak.

As she sat on her horse, her hands tied behind her back and her neck threaded through a noose slung from a nearby tree, she grumpily analysed how she had come to be in this situation. She had left the Fright Zone and her gang, the Horde, about a week ago, unable to stomach Weaver, Hordak, or his smug dickweed of a father any longer. Knowing that the Horde don’t take desertion lightly, she had rode hard for over a week to get as far away from her old comrades as possible. She hoped that a few hundred miles between her and her problems would be enough, though given how she’d left she doubted Hordak would give up easily. Was it wise stealing all of the take from their last robbery on her way out? Probably not. But she felt that she was owed a leaving bonus for the near twenty years of service she’d given to her old gang. She goddamn deserved a nest egg as far as she was concerned.

She was glad that as a precaution, she had buried one hundred and fifty thousand of the two hundred thousand dollars she’d help steal in a nondescript war cemetery two days ago, because if she’d lost all her hard earned cash to these idiots, she’d never have forgiven herself.

She’d been riding through this valley when she’d been jumped by these four imbeciles whilst heading towards the nearby town of Brightmoon for supplies. The leader, a reddish pink lizardfolk with a dumb looking face called Tung Lashore, had demanded she return his bovines under threat of death. When she had denied any knowledge of what the hell he was talking about, he had threatened her with a whip that just screamed ‘I used to enjoy the world better before the ‘labour laws’ changed,’ and declared he and his men would hang her unless she spilled the beans as to where their herd was.

Given that she hadn’t a fucking clue where this mans misplaced cattle was, Catra found little use in arguing with the moron, so instead she now found herself straining uncomfortably in a noose that she didn’t earn, about to be hanged for a crime she didn’t commit. Catra couldn’t believe that this was how she was going to die, not in some glorious shootout or dying peacefully in her sleep from consumption on a bed of money as she’d hoped. Nope, she was going out like a chump, being hanged by a bunch of morons who’d managed to somehow lose track of a two hundred strong herd of animals. Of all the ways to die in the West, this was probably amongst the most embarrassing.

“Any last word’s kitty!” Hissed Lashore, crossing his arms and giving her a glare that was probably meant to be intimidating, but instead somehow just made him look dumber.

“I keep telling you idiot’s I didn’t fucking steal your stupid cows!” She snapped, shifting awkwardly in the noose around her neck, her wrists chaffing uncomfortably against their rope bindings. “What the fuck would I be doing with two hundred cows? Also more to the point, where could I possibly have hid two hundred goddamn cows?”

“We know you took them! You have the face of a guilty woman!” Growled Lashore, sweeping his arms wide in a failed attempt at posturing. Admittedly, they’d got Catra there. She was most certainly guilty of something, just not what they were accusing her of. She wasn’t stupid enough to tell them that; though none of her warrants for her arrest were applicable in this state, she doubted that these fools wouldn’t be willing to drag her corpse across state lines to claim a reward. She was wanted dead or alive, but given how dangerous it was to transport a living prisoner anywhere, most bounty hunters preferred carrying corpses. The reward was usually the same amount either way.

Deciding that this conversation wasn’t likely to save her neck, Catra went silent for a moment. She did still have options, though none of them were good. She could continue to try and talk her way out of this, though she’d already been talking round in circles with Lashore for an hour and got nowhere, so she didn’t fancy that option. A better idea would be to inform Lashore about the money and offer him a cut of it in exchange for her life. However this had its own problems as there was nothing to stop Lashore from killing her the moment she revealed the location of her stash, not to mention it meant outing herself as a wanted felon.

Lashore was dumb, but probably not dumb enough to not realise he could walk away with both the stolen one hundred and fifty thousand dollars and Catra’s own sizable reward if he played his cards right. The only hope she had in that scenario was that she might manage to escape in the two day’s journey to the cemetery, though that was a big risk. She’d been disarmed of her two pearl handled pistols when Lashore and his band of goons had got the drop on her, she still had her claws and Magicat reflexes, but they could only do so much against four well-armed thugs with her hands tied behind her back.

“Nothing else to say Kitty Cat? Cat got your tongue?” Snickered Lashore, a real comedy genius apparently given how his men sycophantically laughed along with him. Catra growled in defiance, though that only served to cause them to laugh harder. “Well you’ve had your chance, time to die!”

Catra heard the new horse long before anybody else did, the sound masked by Lashore’s mens own steads and their slightly forced cackling. She strained her ears towards the sound, trying to get a bead upon what was coming. From her position in her saddle with the movement of her neck restricted by the noose, she couldn’t see the oncoming rider. But she could just about catch their scent drifting over that of Lashore and co, plus their horses. She realised she recognised the scent, around about the same moment that Lashore noticed the riders arrival over her shoulder, he and his men stiffening at the newcomer and letting their hands drift towards their weapons.

Catra was panicking now, she knew that scent but her mind was scrabbling to properly identify it and attach it to a face. If it was one of the Horde gang members, she was dead. They’d shoot her on sight and deal with Lashore later. By now an execute order would have been sent out to most members currently in civilisation, wherever a wire could be received. Such orders were not ignored.

“Stay back! We are executing a criminal here!” Growled Lashore, pulling his rifle from his saddle and ratcheting the lever to cock it.

“That’s funny, because I don’t think you’re supposed to execute criminals without a trial!” Came a new voice, a voice that cut Catra down to the bone and caused her blood to turn to ice. She desperately tried to turn in the saddle to get a look at the newcomer, but she could only get the slimmest glimpse of a white horse slowly trotting into view in the corner of her eye. “But I’m only a U.S Marshal, so what do I know?”

Adora!?

Catra hadn’t seen Adora in seven years, since when they were both in the Horde. This still wasn’t a good development however, they hadn’t parted well.

“Marshal?” Spluttered Lashore, suddenly unsure of his bluster.

“Deputy United States Marshal Adora Grey, out of the Brightmoon office. I serve under Judge Micah, who I know would be very upset that your aren’t giving this woman due process!” Continued Adora, touching the brim of her white stetson as she finally rode into Catra field of vison, her Marshals tin star glinting in the sunlight. She glanced at Catra through the corner of her eye, though she showed no sign of recognition towards the Magicat, her attention focussed on Lashore and his men.

Despite her rising panic, Catra’s first thought was that Adora looking agonisingly good. The years had apparently been kind to her and she was no longer the gangly blonde nineteen year old that Catra had left alone and bleeding in the desert all those years ago. In truth it was astounding that Adora was alive, let alone this confident image of authority and toughness that now sat on her horse to Catra’s right. She’d filled out, gained muscle and height along with her now more than a little blinding beauty. Not that she hadn’t been pretty before, but gone was the girl that Catra had thought gorgeous and completely out of her league all those years ago, instead there was a beautiful and strong looking woman in her place. A woman that displayed no recognition to Catra what so ever.

It made Catra’s heart clench more than she’d care to admit, to watch Adora ignore her like that. She’d often wondered if Adora had hated her in her final moments for what she’d done all those years ago, she knew she deserved it if she had. However that would have been preferable to her not recognising Catra at all, that hurt more than Catra had ever imagined. Almost as much as their parting of ways had in the first place.

“She stole our cattle!” Declared Lashore, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced by his own words.

“She’s accused of rustling?” Questioned Adora, giving another sideways glance at Catra, though this time with a raised eyebrow. She looked surprised. Perhaps she had recognised Catra… “Are you sure? Because I passed a herd scattered all over the next valley this morning. Maybe you lost them in last night’s storm?”

There had been a storm last night, an absolute corker that had included rain, thunder and lightning. It had been so bad that the tree Catra had been using for shelter had been blown over during the night. She’d been lucky she hadn’t been squashed like a bug when it fell. It wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest that these fools would have lost control of their animals during the night and instead of going through all the effort of rounding all the beasts up, just blame their loss on the first person they find the next day.

Lashore looked momentarily uncertain, a logical answer had been provided to contradict his illogical assumption. It took him a minute to wrap his head around his own answer. “You must be mistaken Marshal, this thief stole our herd during the storm and-.”

“What? Hid all two hundred of them in her saddle bags?” Interrupted Adora, giving the man an exasperated look. She needn’t have bothered, Catra had spent the last hour trying to convince Lashore using the same arguments, and he clearly didn’t want to listen. “I think your evidence for hanging this woman is too thin, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you wanted to lose you’re heard.”

Catra saw Lashore and his men stiffen at those words; Adora saw them stiffen, Catra’s horse Melog saw them stiffen, it was simply just that obvious.

Adora cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at the four cowboys, their game was clearly up. If Catra had been in her place, she would have done her best to play it off as if she hadn’t noticed Lashore’s slip up. She would have agreed with them that yes, Catra was indeed guilty of the crime they had accused them of and ridden off to live a long and happy life elsewhere.  But then again, Catra was sensible, she didn’t look at four to one odds and think I’ll try my luck. Adora however was apparently made of the purest form of idiot known to man, so she challenged them on it.

“I’m guessing the Cattle is insured?” Said Adora shrewdly, her hand now resting on the grip of her revolver, secured at her hip. “I’m also guessing that the insurance company doesn’t care enough to verify whatever story you guys come up with for losing your product?”

Reluctantly, Catra had to give it to Lashore, it was quite a clever scam. Set out with a valuable herd and drive it towards the middle of nowhere and then have it ‘stolen’ by some unscrupulous vagabonds they sold it to on the cheap and then blame the loss on some unsuspecting traveller who you hanged before they could share their side of the story. The insurance company wouldn’t approve of the lynching but it happened enough across the frontier that they didn’t void insurance claims outright if any of their cases involved one. When driving cattle across country it was inevitable that you lost some, either from disease, predators or accident. With an insurance claim you’d get a pay-out for the worth of the whole herd as it was recorded at the ranch they were bought from, getting paid for the dead animals regardless of them actually making the journey.

“Quite frankly Marshal, I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Drawled Lashore, shifting in his saddle and glaring at Adora venomously. “In fact, I’d recommend that you ride on out of here, before you make any more accusations.”

Catra watched, silently cursing, as she saw Lashore’s goons drift their hands towards their weapons. She was in a terrible position, unable to dodge or hide thanks to the noose around her neck and on a horse that would most likely bolt at the sound of gunfire, leaving her to swing in the wind by her neck. Adora was about to die and Catra was probably about to follow her.

“Get those hands away from those irons!” Demanded Adora, her body tense and her eyes narrowed.

“There’s four of us, Marshal, and only one of you!” Hissed Lashore, slowly raising his rifle to his shoulder.

“Don’t try it!” Retorted Adora firmly, though there was an edge of pleading in her voice. Lashore seemed to take it as weakness, letting out a rip of laughter and moving to take aim.

Despite how she had parted with Adora all those years ago, Catra had no wish to see her old friend die, so she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped that when the horse under her inevitably bolted, it would snap her neck rather than leave her to die slowly via strangulation.

Four shots rang out, followed by a couple of screams from both horse and man, followed by two dull thuds of what Catra guessed were corpses hitting the ground. As predicted Catra’s horse bolted, and she slid out of the saddle with little resistance and began swinging by her neck, the life being squeezed out of her by the throat. Unable to stop her eyes bulging as her flow of oxygen ceased, Catra was unable to prevent her eyelids from flying open.

The sight that greeted her rapidly blurring vision was not what she had been expecting. Lashore was still in his saddle, though he had a sizable hole in his chest which he was looking down at with wide eyed disbelief. Two of his thugs were already on the dirt, unmoving and clearly stone cold dead their horses bolting away in fright. The final goon was also still in his saddle, but he was frozen in place trying to form words uselessly as a trickle of blood ran down his forehead from the angry red hole that sat at its centre, his pistol still held limply in his hand.

If Catra hadn’t been swinging by her neck, her vision blurring as the lack of air began doing its work, she might have been impressed. If Adora wasn’t full of holes herself, she just beat four men in a gunfight without them managing a shot in return, which meant that she was now faster than Catra on the draw.  This however was far from the forefront of her mind as she continued to struggle as she swung listlessly from the tree, her legs flailing, uselessly trying to find purchase on the ground that was far too far below her to be of use. If Adora was alive, she better hurry the fuck up and cut her down soon.

Finally, once her vision had started to go black around the edges, another shot rang out and the rope around Catra’s neck went slack, causing her to fall painfully onto the ground almost face first, unable to break her fall thanks to her bound hands. Wheezing in pain, Catra rolled over onto her back and glared daggers at the miraculously unharmed Adora still sat astride her obnoxiously white horse, smoking gun in hand.

“Oof, sorry! I thought cat’s always landed on their feet!” Winced Adora, dismounting her horse and finally rushing to her side to loosen the noose that was still tight around her neck. If Catra had still had any air left in her lungs she would have growled angrily at her old friend, instead she could only continue to glare at her ex best friend as she hacked and coughed as she regained her breath.

“You try (cough)- landing on your fucking (cough)- feet with your hands tied!” She spluttered out, in between gasping breaths.

“Oh yeah, oops, I forgot about that!” Replied Adora sheepishly, hurriedly dismounting and helping Catra to her feet.

After Catra was stood back up and had recovered enough of her senses to comprehend what had just happened she was slack jawed at Adora’s achievement. She’d just gunned down four assholes without receiving so much as a scratch in return. Last time Catra had seen her, Adora had been competent with a pistol but was hardly a gunslinger. Back in the old days duelling had always been Catra’s thing, whereas Adora had been the muscle. ‘When did Adora of all people get so good?’

“Err, Adora? Could you untie me? I’m kinda sick of not being able to use my hands!” She asked belligerently, turning and wriggling her bound wrists in the blonde’s direction.

“You’re joking right?” Asked Adora, her eyebrows raised in amusement.

“What? You were right, these fuck heads were trying to hang me for no reason at all! I hadn’t done nothing!”

“Firstly, that’s a double negative so you just admitted to not doing ‘nothing’!” Retorted Adora. ‘Oh good, she’s still a massive dork!’ “Secondly, last time we met Catra, you shot me!”

‘Oh she does remember me! Well, that’s sort of a relief I guess?’

“Oh, err- you remember that?”

“It was hard to forget Catra!” Snapped Adora, gesturing wildly around them with her pistol and sending Catra a hostile glare. “Surprisingly, it hurt!”

“Well… this is awkward.”

“Awkward? Awkward?” Hissed Adora incredulously, holstering her pistol and angrily pulling open her shirt. For a moment Catra was deeply confused as to what was happening until Adora revealed a small circular scar just to the right of the centre of her chest. Part of Catra winced heavily at the reminder of how they had parted, a part that had to fight bitterly to the surface of her thought’s with the other more childish part of her that could only think ‘heh, boobs!’ In her defence, Adora had really filled out since Catra had last seen her. “I had to stuff my wounds with dirt and crawl ten miles to safety after what you did to me, Catra!”

“That sounds like a you problem,” retorted Catra reflexively, internally wincing at how heartless she sounded. For the longest time she’d thought Adora’s blood had been on her hands, the result of a foolish decision made with shoddy information provided by Shadow Weaver, Hordak’s manipulative witch doctor lieutenant. When she finally realised her mistake, Catra had mourned Adora; crying herself to sleep more times than she could count. Finding her old best…, friend never seemed the right word, alive and well was giving Catra heart palpitations and filling her with relief all at the same time.

“Hmph, you haven’t changed a bit,” sneered Adora, buttoning up her shirt, much to Catra’s disappointment. “What’s the Horde planning this time?”

“The Horde?” Asked Catra dumbly, her mind still lamenting the loss of Adora’s enticingly pale chest.

“You know, the enormous gang of murderers, thieves, and rapists that we were forcefully indoctrinated into from an early age?” Responded Adora sarcastically, giving Catra a disbelieving look. “Ring any bells?”

“Yes, Adora, I remember.” Sighed Catra, realising her abandoning the Horde was going to be a difficult sell. “I am not aware of any Horde operations in the area.”

“Bullshit, Catra,” retorted Adora immediately, pulling her pistol and beginning to reload it; ejecting the spent casings and loading five rounds, leaving the final chamber empty for safety. “You’re one of their best guns, old friend. If you are here, then something is in the works. What is it? You hitting the railroad again? The stage? Jesus- the bank??”

“None of the above, Adora. I- I’ve left the horde.”

Adora’s laugh was entirely devoid of humour, the hard look that followed felt like a bullet through the heart to Catra, even after all this time. With a start, the Magicat realised this was what Adora had probably felt like when Catra had left her in the dirt all those years ago. “Good one, Catra. When I asked you to come with me seven years ago, you responded with gunfire; so don’t expect me to swallow that pile of bull with my eyes open!”

“It’s the truth.”

“Catra, you wouldn’t know the truth if it danced in front of you naked wearing Rogelio’s fucking sombrero!” Snapped Adora, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Tell me about the Horde operations in the area and I will recommend to Judge Micah that you should be imprisoned and not hanged.”

“He got out you know.”

“Who?”

“Rogelio.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope, it’s not. He’s a preacher now, gone to live in Doge City with Kyle and Lonnie, gonna start a soup kitchen or something!”

“How’d you know that? Hordak sending you to put a bullet in their backs?” Snarled Adora, jabbing a finger into Catra’s chest and glowering down at her as she holstered her now loaded pistol; an action made all the more menacing by Lashore and his last goon’s lifeless bodies finally falling from their saddles and crashing to the dirt in unison.

“I helped them get out, I gave them a portion of the take of my last job and sent them in the other direction whilst I took the rest to draw the Horde away from their escape!” Babbled Catra, not liking this mistrustful and threatening side of Adora one bit. She’d seen it before, often directed at other Horde members who’d tried to muscle them over at one time or another over their years together in the Horde, but that’d been directed at others, and often in Catra’s defence. Being on the receiving end now shot to the top of the list of Catra’s least favourite things, usurping a Shadow Weaver lashing for top spot. “If you don’t believe me, then go to the war cemetery two valleys over! I buried a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in an unmarked grave next to one named for Arch Stanton!”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Catra?!” Exclaimed Adora, focussing on the wrong element of her story as far as Catra was concerned. “Who the hell did you rob? The Federal Reserve?!”

“I didn’t rob anybody, it was Grizzalor’s job. He hit an Army pay chest headed to Fort Seaworthy and then I robbed him.”

“The Horde attacked the Army?!” Gasped Adora, looking horrified. “Are they insane?”

“You’ve been gone a while, Adora. The Horde’s doubled in size now and Prime… well, you know how he is. He doesn’t like federals on a good day.”

“He still all ‘the South will riiiise again,’ huh?”

“Yeah, and in all honesty, the Horde’s getting big enough he might soon be able to make that a reality,” shrugged Catra, averting her eyes from Adora’s piercing gaze. The Horde had never been a good outfit to run with. But she and Adora had never really had a choice; it was either run with the gang or starve. Eventually Adora found a way out, but Catra had been so turned about and twisted by the Horde’s cultish manipulation that she didn’t know which way was up. It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Catra to come to her senses after shooting Adora, finally realising that running with an outfit whose main goal was to reinstate a separatist state that kept millions in chains for profit wasn’t something that she could in good conscience support. “It’s partly why I took the money. Hordak ordered that the pay chest be stolen so that he could pay for Prime’s new ‘reb army’ with the Federal’s money. I think he liked the idea of government money funding his new confederacy. Poetic justice, I think he called it.”

Adora didn’t look convinced, though Catra could see the faint flickers of hope fluttering in the blondes eyes. The Marshal clearly wanted to believe her, which meant that Catra’s chances of convincing her were slim. Adora never did what she wanted, too much of a self-sacrificing idiot to spare even a thought to her own wants and desires. If Adora wanted to believe Catra, then she’ll force herself to do the exact opposite because she likely felt she didn’t deserve what she wanted to be true. Catra saw the exact moment Adora snuffed out her own candle of hope, the light behind her eyes vanishing and swiftly replaced with steel.

“You almost had me there, Catra!” Chuckled Adora mirthlessly, grabbing Catra roughly by the shoulder and frog marching her over to the tree. After checking her bindings were still tight and Magicat proof, she forced Catra to sit and then walked back over to her horse. “Leave the horde- hah! There was a time when I dreamed of hearing those words from you, but then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised about what happened. Reality is often so very disappointing.”

“Look, Adora… I- I’m sorry alright?” Rushed out a panicked Catra, struggling against her bindings in her desperation. ‘Adora wasn’t going to leave me again, was she?’

Catra’s apology actually caused Adora to stop in her tracks, spinning on her spurred heels to regard the Magicat with a confused expression. Which in all fairness, was an understandable reaction. Catra never apologised, even to Adora. She might find ways to make up for whatever transgression she might have committed, such as buying Adora chocolate or brewing some of her special coffee for her as a peace offering. But those three words had never graced Catra’s lips without severe threat of violent punishment.

“I’m sorry, what?” Exclaimed Adora, her confusion rapidly morphing into anger. Marching back over to Catra’s now shrinking form, Adora crouched down and forced the Magicat’s chin up with her revolvers barrel so she could look her former friend dead in the eyes. “You’re sorry!? You nearly killed me, Catra! An inch to the right and I would’ve been worm food, a pile of nameless sun bleached bones scattered across the dessert with no headstone cus you didn’t even bother to fucking bury me! You shot me, ran, and left me for the vultures… and all you can say is- is that you’re sorry!?”

Catra didn’t know what to do. Adora was now in her face and looking real mad. She’d only ever seen Adora this angry once, and even then it had been directed at someone else. It had been during a bank robbery that Catra had planned, when Adora had discovered one of their fellow Horde members had decided to abandon their post running security whilst Catra and Adora cracked the vault in favour of trying to force their way inside the skirts of a terrified bank employee. Adora, understandably, had flipped the fuck out and shot the guy dead on the spot, not tolerant of such barbarism in the slightest. Today those same blue eyes looked similarly wild as the barrel of Adora’s gun pressed hard into Catra’s stomach, the blonde Marshal’s finger ready on the hammer.

For the briefest of seconds Catra thought she was going to die again, this time by Adora’s hand instead of a noose. Lord knows she deserved it, to finally receive the bullet that Adora had never sent back at her in return seven years ago, too shocked to even draw when the Magicat had turned and fired. Catra had few regrets in life, despite the lawless existence she had lived. The first was that she had only clawed Weaver when leaving the Horde. The wound had likely not been fatal and it really would’ve only taken a second for her to pull her pistols and finish the job. But at the time Catra had been too shocked to do it, too surprised by the fact she’d even dared finally lash out at the woman who’d made her life hell for over twenty years. The second was that she’d only taken one of Octavia’s eyes, because she had been a dumb face ten years ago and the intervening decade had only made her dumber. The third and final regret was… well, one that until about six minutes ago she’d thought she would never get another opportunity to do.

‘Hell, if I’m dying I may as well tick one off the list!’ Catra thought idly, before surging forward and crashing her mouth against Adora’s.

Chapter Text

‘ What, the actual fuck!?’

It took Adora’s brain a few seconds to catch up to what was happening, as her body instinctually tried to do two things at once. The finger on the hammer of her revolver yanked back the spurred firing pin with a click in response to Catra’s sudden movement, whilst her other hand shot up and eagerly threaded into the Magicat’s short mane of hair as Adora mindlessly deepened the kiss.

When Catra’s mouth easily opened to let her in Adora’s mind took a back seat as their tongues began dancing, the sudden deluge of years of repressed desire spilling forth and drowning out the frantic voice of reason that was screaming at her to back away and out of danger. This was a moment that Adora had spent so many nights dreaming of, and then just as many trying to forget. The only woman she had ever loved was now fighting her tongue for dominance, squirming desperately underneath her, unable to reach out touch Adora like she probably wanted thanks to her bound wrists, as Adora had at some point climbed into the Magicat’s lap, desperate to close the distance between them further.

Catra had kissed her?

Catra was kissing her!?

Adora didn’t understand it, the order of events seeming incongruous. But then again, when did love ever make sense, or follow rhyme or reason. Catra had shot her, nearly killed her, but she still craved this contact, needed it like a traveller lost in a vast dessert searching for a glass of water. Instead she had found a river, roaring and dangerous, threatening to sweep her away in its strong current. But Adora wanted to be dragged under, to leap in and never surface again so that she could drink from its cool depths until she was full.

However, there was a hole in her chest making itself known. It still ached and itched like a wound not properly heeled, perhaps sensing the presence of the one who made it. A twinge of pain followed by a flash of a face, half clouded in gun smoke, blue and gold eyes staring straight through her. It had been a while since Adora had actively thought of that moment. In her dreams, her nightmares really, it was a common feature that always jolted her from her slumber with a scream. But in those, Catra’s face had always been twisted with anger and hatred, eyes determined and hard. Perhaps her memory of that moment had become warped over time, because in that brief flash Catra hadn’t looked at her with malice, she’d looked… scared.

Regardless, the twinge of pain from her old bullet wound was enough for Adora to regain her senses, and she tore her mouth away from Catra’s and fell jerkily out of the Magicat’s lap into the dirt. She quickly scrambled back, trying to put her iron and as much distance as possible between her and the apparently magnetic Magicat’s lips.

“What the fuck, Catra!” Exclaimed Adora, breathing hard as she tried to force herself not to think about the kiss and how much she wished she was still doing it.

Catra, for her part, looked surprisingly dazed, though a faint smirk still pulled up the right corner of her mouth to reveal a razor sharp fang. “Not quite, Princess. Though you definitely got to second base I think, got a little handsy there!” She snickered, her tail weaving smugly behind her, her previous nervousness apparently having evaporated.

Adora scowled at the use of Catra’s old nickname for her as she picked herself up off the ground. It smacked of a familiarity they no longer had, even if she now knew what Catra tasted like. “I’m not in the mood for games, Miss Meow-Meow!” Bit back Adora, revelling slightly at the way Catra’s chuckling suddenly cut off abruptly at her the mention of her last names. Clearly this had been some sort of… intimidation tactic, designed to knock her off balance and put her off her game. Yeah… that was the best explanation. Any other reason she could think of felt dangerous. “You are gonna stow your bullshit whilst we ride into Brightmoon, make my life easy or else I’ll happily let Micah hang you!”

“Oh how gracious of you, Adora! Save me from one noose so that you can personally rope another around my neck?” Sneered Catra, as she lounged lazily against the tree looking pleased with herself. “Will I get another tree or will I have a nice scaffold with a fancy trapdoor to break my neck?”

Immediately realising that arguing with the Magicat wasn’t getting her anywhere, and that continuing the conversation likely meant addressing the torrent of emotions battling inside her chest, Adora huffed and turned back to Swift Wind, walking over to her horse and pulling out her lasso. Turning back towards Catra, Adora was surprised to see the feline go white under her fur. It took a solid second for Adora to understand the panic suddenly sweeping across the Magicat’s face, following her eye line to the rope in her hands.

“Oh, err- this is to retrieve your horse!” Rushed out Adora, appalled that the Magicat seemed to think her petty enough to string her up in response to a few harsh words. “I-I assumed you didn’t want to ride these nasty nags?” She said, gesturing to the now scattered horses of the posse who’d tried to hang Catra.

Coughing to cover her discomfort at being called out, Catra scowled up at Adora before jerking her head towards Lashore and his men’s bodies. “Well in that case Princess, can you get the rest of my stuff? Fuckers took my hat and my shootin irons ‘as compensation’,” she sneered derisively, spitting towards the corpses.

Sighing heavily, Adora glanced over to the corpses she’d created and began making her way over to them, not looking forward to rooting around dead people stuff. “Who took what?” She asked, because it had been a minute since she’d last seen Catra. She’d changed a lot since Adora had last laid eyes on her, the Magicat having grown into adulthood rather well. She was still the lean and lethal looking predator she had been back when Adora had known her, however her muscles were now more defined and it looked like at some point she’d started eating properly, no longer as gaunt as she once had been. Overall Catra looked agonizingly good, rocking a black snakeskin boots and dark wool poncho combo that shouldn’t work for the Magicat as well as it did. And her annoying cockiness that had always somehow managed to make Adora’s knees weak seemed to have only gotten worse.

“Lashore- the dumb one who was in charge- took my guns, and idiot number three in the blue vest has my hat. Doesn’t even have my fuckin ears, so no idea why he took it!” Grumbled the Magicat, sulking slightly, probably because she’d allowed these fools to get the jump on her. The Catra Adora knew- had known would’ve been fucking livid about being one upped by cattle trash.

Adora found her hat first, easily identifiable by the two earholes cut through the brim for the Magicat’s ears to poke through. An unsurprisingly black telescope hat, with a wide flat brim, and a patterned band circling the crown that likely symbolised the Magicat’s Mexican origins. The band looked knew, probably because it was, as Weaver wouldn’t have stood for anything so ‘un-American’ within the ranks of the Horde.

The guns Adora found next, her breath catching at the sight of them hanging from Catra’s familiar silver studded black leather gun belt that was currently buckled around the lizardfolks corpse. Catra’s two pearl handled pistols sat unused in their holsters, Lashore never having lived long enough to even draw them.

Adora winced as she gazed down at the body beneath her, wondering if Catra had even remembered that these were the pistols that she had almost killed her with. She probably had, given that Catra tended to put more meaning to such objects than Adora. To the Marshal her Peacemaker was a tool, a thing to be well maintained and cared for out of necessity, but never cherished. Catra on the other hand had always prised her two pistols, being easily the most expensive things she owned. Twin pearl handled Colt Navy revolvers, with a dark blued nickle finish, decorated with silver inlay; the guns of a consummate duellist who wanted all who saw them to know of their trade. She’d saved up her measly horde pay-outs for years to be able to afford these things, viewing them as a sign that she was truly starting to move up in the ranks when she could afford them.

Not really understanding why she was taking them, Catra wasn’t exactly going to need them after all, Adora tucked the two colts safely away in her saddle bags before wandering back over to Catra and returning her hat. After that it didn’t take long for her to corral the Magicat’s horse, saddle Catra up and securely tying her to its pommel, before beginning to head back towards Brightmoon, leading the second horse behind her. It wasn’t a long journey; if they didn’t dawdle they should be back in town before nightfall and if she was lucky she’d be able to catch Spinny or Netossa in town and tell them what happened to their cattle.

It might have even been a pleasant ride home. But predictably, Catra didn’t come quietly.

“You named your horse Swiftwind?!”

“Couldn’t you find a bigger hat to cover your barn door of a forehead?”

“You still hiding that stupid hair poof under that thing?”

“Who taught you how to use your tongue, Princess?”

“Do you still snore like a broken steam engine?”

Quite frankly, by the time they had exited the valley, Adora really wanted to pull her rifle from her saddle and shoot her ex-best friend.

“Oh my God, will you shut the fuck up, Catra!” Exclaimed Adora eventually, unable to bear another hour of the incessant yammering after the bandit asked what felt like her two hundredth question. Muttering quietly under her breath, “jeez, I don’t remember you being this annoying!”

“It was an innocent question Adora,” smirked Catra, a devilish grin on her face.

“You asked me if my bustier matched my drawers!”

“Well, do they? Because the red really piqued my curiosity, Princess!” Snickered Catra, clearly enjoying flustering her captor, who was indeed wearing a red bustier thanks to all her plain ones being in the wash. They’d been a gift from her friend Glimmer that she rarely wore, not believing there was much point in having something so garish that no one would ever see.

For a split second Adora considered telling the Magicat she wasn’t wearing any drawers, just to see what her reaction would be. However the Marshal realised that might probably be dangerously close to flirting, and she’d already gotten far too caught up with the Magicats magnetic charm once today already. “That’s really none of your business, Catra,” she snapped, sweeping the new valley around them with her eyes, catching a tell-tale plume of dust rising to the west of them.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours, Princess!” Purred the Magicat cheekily, batting her eyelashes suggestively.

Ignoring her prisoner, Adora reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a pair of binoculars, using them to get a better read on whoever was headed towards them. “Huh… remind me again who you robbed?”

“I didn’t rob anybody,” answered Catra automatically, apparently having already forgotten her earlier confession.

“So the hundred and fifty thousand dollars you buried in that cemetery just appeared out of thin air?”

“No, ‘I’ didn’t steal that, Grizzalor did, remember?” Huffed Catra, rolling her eyes. “I simply liberated it to be put towards a better cause.”

“Oh, my apologies for offending your noble intentions.” Snorted Adora, not bothering to look at the Magicat’s likely insufferable expression. “Who did Grizzalor steal it from?”

“He robbed an Army supply train carrying a pay chest headed to Fort Seaworthy, why?”

“Remind me which regiment operates of Fort Seaworthy?”

“Err, Seventh Cavalry?”

“Hmm, that probably explains why they all look so pissed…” Responded Adora dryly, focussing her binoculars on the guidon flag being carried by one of the lead horseman, the Seventh’s insignia clear as day.

“Wait- what?” Sputtered Catra, suddenly looking very apprehensive.

“Yup, that’s the seventh cavalry alright, though only a company of them I think. The rest must be out searching back east for their money,” mused Adora, stowing her binoculars and shifting in her saddle to get comfortable.

“A-Adora, I love you and I always have!” Blurted Catra suddenly, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Adora. “Don’t hand me over to them. I didn’t even steal their money!”

“You’ll really say anything to save your neck, huh,” snorted Adora, settling back into her saddle and making no move to urge her horse forward, keeping her eyes fixed on the approaching soldiers, content to just sit and wait. Though content was perhaps the wrong word. Catra really was fucking with her heart strings today, every one of them thrumming after hearing those three words leave the Magicat’s mouth, the ones she’d always wanted to hear her friend say. To hear them said so disingenuously twisted her gut something awful.

“Please, Adora!”

That got the Marshal to turn in her saddle to regard the criminal behind her, doing her best to not react to the somewhat stricken expression on Catra’s face. “Wow, ‘sorry’ and ‘please’ all in the same day, Catra! You must really be desperate.”

“I’m not lying, Adora. I-I don’t just say stuff like that unless I mean them.” Winced the Magicat, shifting uncomfortably in her horse’s saddle, her bindings likely pinching her fur unpleasantly.

“Maybe the old Catra wouldn’t have, but I don’t know you. Especially considering the fact that last time I saw you I got a bullet through my h- chest! So excuse me if I don’t believe a single goddamn thing that comes out of your mouth Cat.” Retorted Adora harshly, forcing herself not to react to the flash of pain that danced across Catra’s face at her words. “Besides, if we run now it’ll look suspicious and unlike you, I’m not a wanted felon with a ten thousand dollar bounty. I have nothing to hide.”

Mentally slapping herself, Adora spun back to face forward in her saddle, hoping that the Magicat didn’t notice her slip up. Adora had no business knowing what Catra’s bounty was, especially considering all the warrants for her arrest were from two states over, way out of her current jurisdiction. Knowing the Magicat’s dollar value was tantamount to admitting she’d kept tabs on her.

Fortunately Catra seemed to be too nervous to notice her slip, making no further comment as the Cavalry rounded the next hill and made a beeline towards them. As they made their final approach, Adora suddenly twisted back around and locked eyes with the Magicat. “Keep your mouth shut, ok?” She hissed, unsure why she was even telling her old friend. “Let me do the talking!”

To her relief the startled Magicat slowly nodded, her panicked eyes flickering between Adora’s and the oncoming soldiers. Catra had a… disregard for authority that bordered on suicidal. Assuming she hadn’t grown out of her rebellious phase of course; which Adora felt to be unlikely. Give her a figure of authority and she would usually challenge them, loudly and with gusto. Unfortunately, Adora had had a few run-ins with the Seventh Cavalry over the years, given that they were the local garrison in this territory. They were mean, brutal, and quite frankly a bunch of assholes who were more concerned with hassling the local native population than actually defending any of the settlements they were tasked with protecting from those they provoked.

Doing her best to look unruffled, Adora raised a hand in greeting as the lead horsewoman reined her horse in and signalled for her company to halt. Adora immediately recognised the leader, the purple skinned woman being a regular visitor to her office in Brightmoon’s courthouse. Captain Huntara wasn’t necessarily a bad person, being a little less… enthusiastic about clearing the natives off of their land than some of her peers, but that was hardly a high bar as far as the Seventh were concerned. She also was somewhat enamoured with the Marshal, insisting on dropping by whenever she was in town. Advances that Adora generally didn’t encourage, but tolerated because she was too polite to turn the Army officer down.

“Marshal Grey! Ain’t you a pleasant surprise!” Called Huntara, giving Adora a wide smile before removing her hat to wipe the sweat from her brow and beat some of the dust from her blue uniform.

“Captain,” greeted Adora stiffly, well aware that Catra was watching her like a hawk from her position over Adora’s shoulder. “What brings you this far west? I thought the Indian’s were making trouble further north?”  Adora had no idea if that was true, but she always did her small part to try and draw some of the heat away from the local natives that lived in the vicinity of Brightmoon. She and the townsfolk had cordial relations with them these days, and were happy to coexist with them as much as possible. The Army however took their orders from Washington, where ‘Indian’s’ were markers on a map rather than people, to be forcefully corralled into smaller and smaller reservations; they didn’t know how to just let things be.

“Haven’t you heard? Someone raided our pay chest off a train headed to Fort Seaworthy!” Scowled Huntara, replacing her hat and trotting her horse up alongside Swiftwind, side-eying Catra as she approached.

Adora let out a low whistle that she hoped sounded like genuine surprise. “Straight off an Army supply train? Surely that was well guarded?”

“It was.” Replied Huntara sadly, her eyes clouding slightly. “Sixty soldiers, all massacred down to the last man and woman.”

“Dear Lord,” gasped Adora, resisting the urge to glance back at Catra to gauge her reaction. If that was true, Catra hadn’t been lying about how large the Horde had gotten. Taking on a full company of army soldiers and winning would make them practically a militia rather than some jumped up gang of cowpokes.

“Yeah, I hadn’t seen anything like that since… well, since The War,” muttered Huntara, looking haunted. “I mean, the train looked like it’d been hit by artillery for God’s sake. Seemed most of them died before they even got to their weapons! Who would even do something like that?”

Pausing for a second to decide how much to tell the Captain, not wanting to expose both Catra and her previous affiliation to the Horde (she’d left a long time ago, but she still didn’t think it wise to advertise that fact). “I heard of one outfit making moves like that, or at least making noise about wanting to?” She started slowly, choosing her words carefully.

“Any leads would be helpful at this point, blondie. We’ve been chasing our tails for weeks.”

“They called themselves the Horde? Their leadership were former Reb’s if memory serves correctly.”

“Hmm, that can’t be right…” replied Huntara, frowning and shaking her head quickly. “The only Horde I know of is a private militia up north that’s being paid by the governor to assist us with clearing the Sioux onto the new reservation.”

Adora fought hard to keep her expression neutral at that titbit of information. Who in their right mind would’ve used government funds to pay for an organisation that was clearly anti-union? “Governor Hope is paying for a private militia?!” Exclaimed Adora, unable to hide her incredulity. Fortunately her disbelief in this instance was warranted. Governor Light Hope was legendarily stingy with the public purse strings, always wanting to “bring balance” to the territory’s accounts. The idea of her springing for a whole militia was laughable.

“Hmm? Oh, no not Hope. Governor Prime, back in Nevada.”

It took everything Adora had not to react to that, internally screaming ‘what the fuck!’ on a loop for a solid four seconds behind her carefully blank expression. Catra on the other hand broke out into a full blown coughing fit, the news apparently being a revelation to her also. Who in their right mind had thought that former Confederate Colonel Magnus Prime was a sensible pick for governor of a U.S state!?

“Who’s the kitty?” Asked Huntara, casting an eye at the feline tied to her saddle behind Adora who’d now attracted her attention.

“This is- Gladys Moonfoot,” lied Adora, wincing internally at her poor name choice.

“Uhuh, and what did ‘Gladys’ do to earn herself the honour of being hunted down by ‘She-Ra’?” Snorted Huntara, turning her attention back to the Marshal who grimaced.

“Wait- you’re She-Ra!?” Exclaimed Catra loudly, who was apparently unable to follow an instruction for once in her damn life. Adora shot a warning glare at the Magicat, but once opened her jaw just kept on flapping. “The fastest gun west of civilisation?”

Adora really didn’t like the nickname the newspapers had decided to slap her with, as it smacked of a vanity that she didn’t have. Unlike some lawmen, she didn’t feel the need to sensationalise herself or her exploits. For instance, fame is what really killed Wild Bill Hickok in the end, as eventually his infamy as a gunslinger got so great that every fool on the frontier with an iron was gunning for him, wanting to test their mettle against his draw. It had only been a matter of time before someone decided to not face him fair and put a bullet in the back of his skull.

“That’s right, Kitty! You’ve been captured by a genuine frontier celebrity, so don’t fuck around or else she’ll drop you faster than a rattlesnake!”

“She’s arrested under suspicion of horse theft,” Interjected Adora grumpily, hoping to head off this particular line of enquiry, hating talk about herself, good or otherwise. She was faster than most with a pistol, but that was hardly a cause for celebration. People glorified killing folk far too much in Adora’s opinion; life wasn’t nearly as cheap as some seemed to think it was, the price always weighed heavy on her shoulders.

“Hah, that’s all they got you dealing with these days Marshal? What a waste of your talents! Those ‘fast hands’ of yours would be much better utilised in the service of the United States government instead of chasing horse thieves stealing cheap nags!” Husked Huntara, her eyes sweeping up and down Adora far more intently than could be considered polite, the Captain’s poorly concealed double-entendre about as subtle as a steam locomotive crashing through a china shop.

Adora suppressed another grimace, hoping her distaste didn’t show on her face. She didn’t want to offend the Captain, as she wasn’t that bad a person per say. But Huntara couldn’t spot a hint even if it punched her in the bosom, and had been pursuing Adora for quite a while now despite any real reciprocation on the Marshals part. It had gotten a little old a while ago now. “I already work for the government, Captain. I’m a U.S. Marshal remember?”

“Naw, you know what I mean blondie! Join us boys and girls in blue and continue the civilisation of these territories. You’d look good in uniform, if I don’t say so myself!” Cheered Huntara, in what Adora guessed was supposed to be a flirtatious tone.

Behind her, Adora heard a stifled snort emanating from her prisoner. Catra knew damn well that if Adora had ever come close to donning a uniform it would’ve been grey, back before she’d finally seen through all of the Hordes bullshit, not that she’d ever truly believed it. It always caused Adora to wince whenever she thought about her days in their old outfit, the things she believed and said back then. Nowadays the idea of joining any army was unthinkable. She’d much rather help people, and bring bad folks to justice. She very much doubted she could do that in a cavalry regiment.

“Unfortunately Captain, I think I’ll pass,” smiled Adora, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “Now, my apologies, but I am hoping to make Brightmoon before sundown so I must be going, Captain.”

“Ah, of course. I won’t keep you any longer, Marshal,” grinned Huntara, seemingly expecting this answer. However her smile suddenly dropped, replaced with a more uncertain expression before she leaned in and lowered her voice so that only Adora could hear. “If it pleases you, Adora, I was wondering if- if you would like if I visited you next time I’m in Brightmoon? It won’t be for a while, we are heading north in search of our stolen pay chest, but next time I’m in town?”

Adora blinked in surprise at the Captain’s words, the big cavalry commander looking the most uncertain she’d ever seen her. Huntara had never been subtle about her attraction towards Adora, the Captain more often than not openly leered at her whenever they met. However this was the closest she’d ever come to actually propositioning her.

Adora knew that she really should say no. She wasn’t attracted to Huntara and she disliked her occupation even more. However, despite her profession, Adora hated confrontation in her personal life. And she really hated the idea of disappointing a friend so… would it really be that bad to entertain the Captain for one- Why is Catra growling?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, She-Ra! Either take me to Brightmoon or shoot me now because I am bored out of my mind waitin here!” Grumbled the Magicat loudly, scowling at the back of her horses head.

Huntara grimaced at the interruption, turning to glare at the prisoner, her hand resting on her pistol. “That can easily be arranged, Kitty!” She spat, narrowing her eyes at Catra menacingly.

“Please don’t shoot my prisoner, Captain,” sighed Adora, inwardly relieved that the officer had been distracted. “You’d be surprised how much paperwork is involved with bringing in a corpse for a bounty.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t, Blondie,” muttered the Captain, her eyes hard. This was most of the reason Adora could never see herself with Huntara. Given the opportunity her rules, the supposed codes of honour or chivalry she learned back at West Point, flew out the window whenever it was convenient. It always made her wonder how many of the supposed ‘battles’ the army fought against the Indians were actually justified.

Glancing back at Catra, Adora was unsurprised to find the Magicat staring at Huntara with her trademark smirk/bitch-face. Was the felon actively trying to provoke a slightly unhinged army captain whilst she was unarmed and tied to her saddle? Yes. Was this completely in character for the woman she’d known all those years ago? Also yes.

Adora narrowed her eyes at Catra, wondering why the feline thought it was a good idea to poke this particular bear. She didn’t think that Adora would back her up did she? If she did she’d have to be insane. Adora was good but she wasn’t suicidal. She only had five rounds in her pistol, plus a further ten in the rifle holstered in her saddle, so she’d run out of bullets long before Huntara ran out of men. Not that she’d ever even consider drawing on the army. That would be foolish. Even for Catra.

“Jesus, either shoot me or don’t, I don’t have all day!” Huffed Catra, rolling her eyes and blowing out a bored sigh.

Huntara snorted, unimpressed, before popping the flap on her holster and moving to draw her revolver. Quickly making a decision, Adora’s hand snapped out and gripped the Captain’s wrist, staying her hand. This was swiftly followed by the sound of a dozen ominous clicks sounding out from behind Huntara, as all of the front rank of her company drew and cocked their rifles, levelling them at Adora.

Ignoring the weapons aimed at her, though without any more sudden movements, Adora gave Huntara a flat look. “Captain, I’d really rather you didn’t. I’m not even a hundred percent sure this is my guy and I’d rather not hand Judge Micah the wrong corpse! If she’s the one I’m looking for then she’ll hang anyway, and if not, having a smart mouth isn’t a crime.”

“Micah aint a hanging judge though, he don’t like using the rope. We could take her to Fort Seaworthy, where I’m sure the colonel will try her fair!”

“We have a witness is in Brightmoon,” lied Adora quickly, her mind moving a mile a minute to try and figure a way to diffuse the situation. “They can identify the thief and will know if C-Gladys is guilty.”

After a tense moment, Huntara’s eyes softened and her hand left her pistol, allowing Adora to release the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “I don’t know how you deal with all that lip, Marshal,” she grumbled, irritably waving at her soldiers to stand at easy and lower their weapons. “Sorry about them, they are a little jumpy these days, what with their pay being robbed from under their noses.”

“Don’t worry about it, Captain. I understand things are a little tense at the moment,” shrugged Adora, trying to appear nonchalant, letting go of Huntara’s wrist and slowly leaning back into her saddle. “And also, you haven’t been dealing with her bullshit for the last forty miles. I’d gag her if I didn’t know she could bite through it. What I wouldn’t give for a way to shut her up!”

“I could think of a one way, princess!” Whispered Catra lowly, so that only Adora would hear. Honestly, Adora had no idea why she was helping her.

Desperately praying that Huntara would attribute her blush to the heat, Adora sighed and patted her thighs awkwardly, shifting in her saddle restlessly. “Well, I think I best be going, Captain!” She exclaimed suddenly, hoping she didn’t sound too forced. “A hot meal and my bed are calling to me!”

“I- of course, I won’t keep you any longer,” nodded Huntara awkwardly, likely figuring that her soldiers drawing on the Marshal had probably killed her chances, in the short term at least. “We could escort you into town if you’d like?” She asked hopefully, gesturing in the direction of Brightmoon.

“Err- no thankyou Captain, I’ve got it from here,” replied Adora stiffly, ignoring both Catra’s poorly stifled snicker and the winces of the soldiers behind Huntara, everyone clearly understanding the dismissal for what it was. “Good-day,” she said finally, tipping her hat to the Captain and kicking Swiftwind into a trot, nodding to the other soldiers as she passed leading Catra’s horse behind her.

“Jesus, Catra!” She hissed once they were out of earshot of the company, glancing angrily back at the Magicat who had the gall to look smug. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Oh don’t give me that Princess!” Smirked Catra, her tail weaving playfully behind her. “You didn’t want to accept that idiot inviting herself over for ‘tea and biscuits’. You were just too polite to turn her down, like a goober! I saved you from a wasted evening with a woman you clearly weren’t interested in. She wasn’t even your type, Adora!”

“So you risked getting your head blown off by the Army because you were what? Defending my honour?!” Retorted Adora, wondering how the hell the Magicat knew what her type was after all these years.

“Someone had to! You clearly would’ve suffered through what I’m assuming was gonna be extremely sub-par sex and then get married because you were too polite to say no!” Shot back Catra, now fully laughing at the Marshal. “Straight people have more than enough loveless marriages to go around without your stupid ass getting involved, Princess!”

“I- I wouldn’t have slept with her!” Exclaimed Adora indignantly, momentarily forgetting not to take the bait from her former best friend. “I’m no ‘loose woman’, Catra!”

“Ooh, you still spouting that bullshit Shadow taught you about ‘womanliness’? Please tell me you’ve gotten laid since I last saw you, or is your vagina gonna creak like a rusty saloon door when I get down there?”

“Wha- you are not getting anywhere near my- my- personals, Catra!” Spluttered Adora, her mouth going mysteriously dry all of a sudden, her face heating up something fierce as it did so.

“Oh please, Adora. We both know that it’s only a matter of time now after this morning!” Grinned Catra, looking entirely too confident about that fact, and giving Adora an intense look that could only be described as predatory.

“You are currently tied to your saddle and on your way to jail, Catra. I don’t think there’s gonna be much opportunity for what your vivid imagination is conjuring up.”

“You mean these old things?” Simpered Catra, motioning towards her bindings and lowering her voice seductively. “Well, luckily for you, I’m into this shit! So why don’t you stop denying what you want for once and come over here and show me what a big strong Marshal you really are!” She said, accentuating the end of her sentence with a highly suggestive series of hip rolls into her saddle that did not cause Adora’s heart to begin galloping in her chest.

After a brief second of being very jealous of Catra’s horse, Adora forcibly snapped her gaze back forward and did her best to ignore the sudden string of absolutely filthy words now spilling out of the Magicat’s mouth. After a long exhale that was a mostly futile to calm herself, she kicked Swiftwind into a faster trot and did her best to resist the urge to scream.

It was going to be a long ride back to Brightmoon.