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Chapter Text

The Fledgling slipped into the prison cell like a shadow. The heavy steel door didn’t budge, but so long as there was a single crack, she could slip in. None can hide from us , her sire had explained during her training. 

Her mission was simple. In the center of the room, bound to a silver ring planted in the floor, was an enemy of the Horde: a renegade werewolf. She and the rest of her pack had led a raid on one of their covens. Before they were repelled, they managed to free dozens of blood banks. It hadn’t been this particular Wolf’s first raid either. The stubborn mutt had been a thorn in their side for as long as the Fledgling could remember, attacking their holding facilities with a single-minded fury. Only the highest ranking member of the Horde had not gone hungry because of her. Everyone else had been forced to go on many risky hunts in the wilds or suffer many hollow-eyed, starving nights.

Needless to say, when they did manage to capture her, the Horde had a special punishment in mind: locking her up in the same feeding chambers she had emptied. It was part interrogation, part poetic justice, but so far none of the vampires sent to feed from her had succeeded. Somehow, the beast was immune to their influence, and even though the moon was waxing and the silver chains around her ankles weakened her, she was still dangerous to anyone foolish enough to get close.

So of course, her sire had decreed that she would be the next to try. It was to be her next trial, the third of the seven she needed to earn her place in the Horde . . . to earn her name. The Fledgling could not remember much from before she was turned a few years ago, but she knew that she had done something to really get on her bad side. At moments like this, she suspected that her sire had only turned her to make the torments more interesting.

But this time, the Fledging had her own agenda. “Listen up, mutt,” she said. The wolf raised her head. Despite the very low, low light of the cell, the vampire could still get a good look at their prisoner. They had taken her boots, leaving her barefoot— all the harder to escape from their cells—, but she was still wearing clothes from the Before-Times, the era before the Vampire Horde had begun its rule: a beat up pair of jeans and a red varsity jacket. Flecks of rusty, dried blood gave the impression of freckles. Her dirty blonde hair was bound in a messy ponytail. But her blue eyes shone like beacons, and she returned a defiant glare. “I have something you want,” the Fledgling continued. “And you have something I need. I propose a trade.”

“What could you possibly have that I want, monster!” She growled. “The chance to become an immortal parasite? No thanks.” The wolf couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but, as the many failures before her had discovered, she could smell and hear her. The Fledgling kept her distance. 

“I realized something,” she explained. “You were barely awake when we dragged you in here, but you still looked into every cell. You were desperate.” The Fledging smiled. “All those raids weren’t just about hurting us were they? You were looking for someone.”

The way her eyes bulged confirmed her theory. “If you hurt her…” she growled. “I swear! Whatever you do to her, I’ll—“

“Relax, mutt.” The Fledging threw up her hands. “I don’t want to hurt your precious mortal buddy. I’m offering you their freedom. Yours too.” 

That got her attention. “You expect me to believe that?” She demanded. “I know how closely you parasites guard your— your prey! You can’t be that hungry.”

“First of all,” the Fledging answered. “My sire hasn’t allowed me to feed in a week, so I am hungry. More hungry than it physically possible for you to be.” She stalked closer. “And second,” she continued. “I don’t intend to be the one who takes the blame. No. I’m gonna be the hero who uncovered a plot to overthrow Lord Prime. Your escapes will be just the distraction I need. Your freedom, your girl, and a little chaos in the Order. And all it will cost you is some blood. Now, are you in?”

The wolf screwed her eyes shut for a minute, then she nodded reluctantly. “I guess I have no choice,” she admitted. The Fledgling’s grin grew. “But if you cross me, you’ll see just how much of a beast I can be.”

“Deal, partner.” She reached into her robes and withdrew an ice pack, tossing it to the wolf. “Put that on the inside of your elbow. It’s the best place to draw blood from. You’ll need to drink more water than they give you if you want to recover. I can smuggle it in. I’ve also got some ration bars for after: brown ones taste like sludge, but they replace the iron you lose. Grey ones help with the sugars. And just push me off if you start seeing stars. Like I said, I’m hungry and might not have the best control, but I need you alive.” The wolf opened her mouth to ask how she knew this much about blood donor comfort, but the Fledging spoke before she could. “By the way, what’s the name of this person so special she’s worth waging a one woman war against your vampire overlords for, fuzzball?”

“My name is Adora,” she said. “And . . . back when the world ended, the vampires captured someone. . . someone really close to me. Her name is Catra.”

Deep down, some part of the Fledging recognized that name. . . and she recognized the wolf too, but she didn’t know why.

Chapter Text

“Hey Adora.” The blonde buccaneer whipped around on the rain-soaked deck. That voice, that purred, breathy challenge, more specifically the woman it belonged to, cut through the raging thunder of the storm, the crash of cannon shot, and crushed timbers of the battle around them. A flash of lightning illuminated her frame for a split second, but she would have recognized that voice anywhere. 

Every time they met, Adora only had eyes and ears for Captain Catra.

“The Queen Angella’s Revenge is in no condition to keep sailing,” she said. Even though she shouted over the wind, her voice was like a purr. “And your crew is in no condition to keep fighting. Just give me the map, and I’ll be on my way.”

“What? So you can sell it to the Horde?” She pointed her saber at the Magicat pirate. “I can’t let Admiral Hordak get his hands on the map. It’s too important!”

“More important than your crew?” As she spoke, a bolt of lightning struck the mast. The sickening crack was louder than the thunder that followed. The ship heaved to the side, sending both crews flopping across the deck. If they didn’t get out of this shoal in the next few minutes, it would break apart. 

“This storm will sink us both, Catra!” She shouted. “We have to work together.”

Catra just smirked, but there was something dark behind it. Ever since she had fled the Horde, Catra had taken her desertion personally. No matter how many times she tried to explain her reasons, the captain never relented in her pursuit of the rebel pirates. For the last year, the two had been in a battle of wills more dangerous and destructive than the one currently raging between their ships.  “I’m not leaving unless you give me that map,” she declared. 

“It’s not a map!” Adora yelled desperately. Catra looked shocked. “The Lost Ship of She-Ra is below a constellation called Serenia in the Northern Ocean.” The ship rocked again, and this time she lost her footing, tumbling towards her old friend. She barely managed to grab onto a railing. Adora offered Catra her hand. “Now, please. Help us!”

The Captain’s eyes grew wide. Before she could react, another bolt of lightning struck the mast, this time cracking it in two. With a groan, it came careening towards them. Without hesitation, Catra dropped her sword, grabbed Adora by the shoulder, pulled her out of harm’s way. 

Then, when a stray cannon shot slammed into the siding below, they tumbled into the roiling seas together. The water was freezing. The shock almost knocked Adora out cold. A sudden wave separated them, and the current threatened to take them both away from each other. . . again. With what little strength she had left, the pirate swam towards her old friend, desperately reaching out to grab her hand.

That’s when that damn mystery piece of treasure, that stupid, gold bracelet that had been stuck on Adora’s arm since they were kids, exploded with light.

Chapter Text

Adora knew they were coming for her today. After a year in this prison, she knew. The rebel pilot still did her usual rituals. Fifty push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. Stretches. Then, when she was done with the physical, she sat in the middle of her cell, and recited her oath.

“I swear by the stars that light my path,” she whispered.”Where there is darkness, I will bring light. Where we have caused pain, I will bring comfort. Where we have brought doubt, I shall restore faith. I shall seek to understand before I am understood, to forgive before I am forgiven, and to bring honor to Greyskull in all I do.”

The chip on the back of her neck buzzed. A reminder. She stood up, placed her arms on the wall next to her cot, and waited. Ever since she had been sent to this ship with the rest of the lab rats, as she had heard some prisoners call the magic users Horde Prime experimented on, she had learned that resisting the Horde was a matter of patience. She obeyed every order they gave her up until the moment they started their tests. Then, she did everything in her power to keep the magic they forced into her system from flowing through her. 

Little did they know, the Horde had managed to capture the only First One who couldn’t do magic to save her life. Adora smirked at the thought. It took all the strength she had, but she had kept the clones frustrated for a year now. There was a good reason she had volunteered to stay behind that day when the Horde had their fleet cornered. She bought the rest of the Rebel First Ones time to escape through a wormhole, where the Horde dared not follow. It had cost Adora her freedom, but for once, the general had looked proud of his disappointing ward. 

Two pairs of boots pounded against the metal corridors. “This is a waste of time, brother, one Horde clone said. “Any information she has is worthless to us now. Her magic could not be so valuable as to excuse the investment we have already made.” That one had been muttering such things for a few months now. She had nicknamed him Doc, and his partner Cringe.

“Big Brother wants us to understand the First Ones’ powers,” Cringe said, nervously. “I know you mean not to undermine his wisdom, brother.”

“Of course, of course.” The force field keeping her within the cell died at their touch. “Prisoner FO-1988,” Doc said. “Come with us.”

She nodded. Adora had learned the hard way what the chip in her neck could do. Everything from paralyzing muscle spasms to burning electric shocks. It couldn’t eliminate her free will or puppet her like she had heard Prime do to his clones. She wasn’t connected to the Hive Mind, but the damn thing had spread into her nervous system. The only time she was free of it was when the experiments were running. With all the energy they were forcing through her, the chip burst if they didn’t remove the operative receiver. The rest of the system stayed intact though. 

So, she cooperated, keeping her strength up and her eyes peeled for the chance she knew was coming- the chance to escape. She had no way of knowing it then, but Pilot Adora of Squadron Greyskull would get that chance today: when the clones forgot to replace her chip, when she fled the lab, when she spotted a beaten up First Ones vessel impounded in the docking bay.

"Select Location, Administrator." The Navigation AI said. Twin torpedoes blasted her engines. 

"Anywhere!" Adora shouted, swerving to avoid more damage. The ship was handling like a shopping cart in the Wild Hub Market Stations. "Anywhere is better than here. Full Portal Control Delegated!"

Once she gave permission, the color of the display system changed. “I have been waiting for you a long time, Adora," the new voice said. "At long last, it is time to fulfill your destiny.”

Before she could wonder what was happening, the ship blinked out of the warzone, and Adora found herself hurtling towards the surface of an unknown planet . . . one with no star and many moons.

Chapter Text

Bow sagged back in his bed and covered his face with his hands. “That was a disaster!” He moaned.

A hissing sound filled the room as the genie left the lamp. “Yeah,” she admitted. “You really blew it back there. In front of her dad, and her creepy advisor, and her really cute lady-in-waiting.” He groaned louder. 

“Well, Adora,” he said, “I don’t know how to talk to a princess. How was Princess Glimmer easier to impress back when I was just Street Performer/Part-Time Thief Bow and not Prince Beauregard of Crimsonia?”

“You impressed her because you were being yourself, Bow. You’re a catch! Once you let Glimmer see the real you, you’ll be golden, and I’ll be free.” That was the deal. After who knows how many years alternating between serving countless masters and being trapped in a tiny lamp, the latest master of the lamp had offered to free her with his final wish. All she had to do was set him up with the girl of his dreams. 

“You just need a little help getting a foot in the door,” she reassured him. The genie sat down beside Bow and poofed a scroll into existence. “Fortunately for you, I have had many masters, some of whom were experts in the field of romancing!” Adora pronounced that last word like she had never heard it spoken. It didn’t exactly reassure Bow that she had good advice.

“The Ars Amortia by Ovid,” she said, flourishing the scroll. Her white and gold uniform glittered in the moonlight. She appeared in less ostentatious clothing in front of others, posing as merely a chief servant rather than an all-powerful, wish-granting genie. “Now, that was an interesting master. Ovid wished for an excellent wit, but then he used to write a manual for teenagers on how to hook up around all the shiny new monuments the biggest prude in the history of the Roman Empire built (quite hypocritical when you consider what his uncle Julius Caesar was like, but I digress). It was enough to get Emperor Augustus to exile him (and whine about how terrible absolute power was in every myth he ever wrote), so the advice must be good.”

Bow took the scroll. “If you wish to seduce a high-class matron,” he read, squinting. “First, one must seduce her handmaiden.” He looked at her skeptically. “That’s terrible advice! Won’t that just make everything worse?”

“Hey, Ovid’s the expert. Not me! I was a sorceress’ apprentice, then she turned me into a genie. That’s it. I have zero experience with seducing pretty girls.” The genie shrugged. “I mean, it doesn’t say who has to seduce the handmaiden . . .” She trailed off. Then, she snapped her fingers. “I think I might have a plan. Swift Wind!” The magic carpet jumped to attention. “Dust yourself off! Tonight, we’re gonna be Master Bow’s wingmen . . . or, err wing-woman and wing-carpet!”

Catra was having a weird night. Ever since Prince Show-Off and his distractingly attractive musical director showed up, Glimmer had been in a bad mood. Somehow, it was a worse one than her usual “My Father insists on marrying me off instead of letting me rule on my own” funk. Which had led to her asking about it and her boss informing her of what happened the last time she snuck out of the palace. Catra tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault Grand Vizer Prime decided to execute the guy she hung out with, but she couldn’t stop blaming herself.

So, suffice to say, when the prince’s servant knocked on her door, in all her distracting blonde glory, she was less than pleased. “What does the prince want now?”

“Oh, Umm. Bow—reguard didn’t send me . . .” The woman toyed with the edges of her red silk vest. 

“Then why are you here?” Catra demanded.

“Well, um “ she stuttered. “First, you look nice. Really nice. Gorgeous. And you’re really smart and funny. Those jokes you told. Hilarious! Even though you were making fun of my boss, who’s really more of a personal friend, and is really a great guy if the princess got to know him—err, anyway I was wondering if you wanted to go with me out, or go out with me. I have some food in the garden we could eat . . . Together. If you— oh, ok you’re closing the door, that’s—“ she kept rambling after Catra softly closed the door on her. She looked back to the princess and smirked.

Glimmer rolled her eyes. “Go ahead,” she conceded with a smirk of her own.

“—and I’ve been told I’m not the best at reading people and I haven’t been on a date in forever— in ever actually—never—, but if you would give me a chance—“ Catra put a finger to her lips to silence her.

“A picnic in the gardens sounds nice,” Catra said. “It’s really quiet this time of night.”

“Quiet,” Adora yelled “Yes! Quiet. I am Shah Quiet to my close friends. I love to just appreciate the sound of silence in the evening!”

As they disappeared down the hall, Glimmer couldn’t help but laugh. She had been too busy telling Prince Beuregard exactly what she thought about men who showed up with splashy parades and declared themselves to be the prince she’s been waiting for to notice his servant making goo-goo eyes at Catra. The tiger at her side purred. She scratched his ears. “You did a good job scaring him off, Melog.”

“I don’t mean to criticise your tiger’s effectiveness,” a familiar voice interjected. “But it will take more than the chance of getting eaten alive to discourage me.”

Melog growled. Glimmer raised her eyes to find Prince Jackass himself standing on her balcony. “How did you get up here?” She demanded.

“Oh,” he answered. “I have friends.” A rainbow pattered rug flew up from behind him. “Princess Glimmer, meet Swift Wind. He’s a flying carpet.”

Glimmer still looked unimpressed. “What are you doing here?” She asked again. “More party tricks to show off?”

The prince blushed. “I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he continued. Glimmer almost gasped. “I was rude and presumptive. I was hoping I could make it up to you.”

The princess blinked rapidly. “I get a lot of jerkass suitors,” she admitted. “But they don’t usually apologize for being jerks. What did you have in mind while our servants are . . . preoccupied in the gardens?”

The prince smiled gratefully and leapt on to Swift Wind. He offered her his hand. “Do you trust me?” For a moment, in the moonlight, Glimmer could have sworn she saw someone familiar past the silk robes and turban. Someone who had asked her the same question a few days earlier.

Maybe that’s why she took the prince’s hand.

Chapter Text

The entire Princess Alliance was gathered in the War Room. Not for a battle plan, or even a reconstruction plan, but for an investigation. An idle remark from the evening before had left the group spiraling. Finally, after hours of debate, they summoned the culprits. The Alliance would know the truth.

“Have you guys been here all night?” Catra asked when walked into the room. The Magicat immediately plopped into Adora’s lap. In spite of herself, the First One was immediately flustered.

“I knew we shouldn’t have said anything,” Glimmer said, teleporting in right behind Bow. 

“Well, Sparkles,” Catra countered. “I’m not the one who broke the code of silence last night, was I? No, it was some royal who couldn’t hold her rosè. All this hysteria is your fault.”

“We aren’t hysterical. We just . . .” Spinerella trailed off. “We just have questions.”

“Logistical questions,” Netossa added, pulling out a notebook. A couple of whiteboards had been brought into the room as well. 

“It’s just . . . when? How?” Adora asked, gesturing to her girlfriend. “The why part is pretty obvious.”

“Oh yeah,” Bow agreed, gesturing to his fiancé in turn. “Obvious. And we’re not upset or anything, we weren’t together at the time, but . . . “

“But we can’t figure out the details,” Mermista finished. “We’ve been brainstorming all night and. . . . when the hell did you guys hook up!”

Catra rolled her eyes. “How did you do so well in the war if you’re this easy to distract?”

“That is my question also,” a familiar voice came out of the communicator in the center of the table.

Catra’s hair stood on end. “You called Hordak?”

“They needed to verify your schedule during the last six months of the war,” he explained. “Technically, they requested Entrapta, but she is preoccupied with the portal retrieval project.”

“Why are you still on the call?” Glimmer demanded.

“At this point, I’m simply collecting data,” he said. “I believe this is what Entrapta would call a social experiment.”

“You can go,” Scorpia said. “I’ll send Entrapta a transcript later.” Perfuma put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh right. If everybody here consents.”

“We went through every possible time first,” Mermista shouted walking over to the whiteboards. “Every time in the last two years you two could have hooked up, and every time, you were accounted for. Even assuming some champion speeds, it doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s true,” Adora admitted. “We have pretty much every day of the war mapped out. We’ve interviewed everyone who could possibly have noticed you two getting together!”

“Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio all say hi by the way,” Scorpia interjected.

“So unless you two got together mid-fight,” Adora continued with a blush. “Which is a possibility we have considered, We have no idea when this happened!”

Catra sighed. She put a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek. “Will you be able to sleep if you don’t get the full story?” Adora shook her head. “Arrows, same question.” Bow put his head in his hands and groaned. Glimmer gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Sparkles, you want to take the lead on this one, seeing as it’s your fault all our friends have lost their minds?”

“Sure thing, Horde Scum,” the Queen responded. “So, there we were on Horde Prime’s ship. We’d been there a week at that point and the routine was pretty standard. He ‘invited’ us to dinner, made vague threats on our lives, same old same old. Only thing that stuck out was a surprisingly good lobster bisque.”

“Then,” Catra continued. “I escorted Sparkles back to her cell. We got into a fight. I said, ‘I hate you.’ She said ‘Right back at ya, Horde Scum.’”

“And then . . . yadda, yadda, yadda, and we agreed to never speak of it again.” Glimmer finished.

The Princess Alliance was not satisfied. “That’s it!” Mermista gripped.

“You can’t just ‘yadda yadda’ over the best part!” Bow shouted. 

“No,” Catra said with an eye roll, “She mentioned the bisque.”

Chapter Text

It had been a weird morning in Brightmoon. When the first Other Adora showed up, clad in Horde armor and waving a stun prod around, the Best Friends Squad thought it was just some kind of magical trick. Then, another Adora showed up to help them fight her off, this one shocked not only to see a version of herself in a Horde uniform, but dumbfounded that Glimmer was aiding the Rebels instead of the Horde. And then another Adora showed up. And another. And another.

Once the one with the armor, Force Captain Adora as she insisted on being called, stopped her grumbling and agreed to temporary truce, they started getting organized. It went surprisingly well. For once, they all realized, everyone in the room thought like them. 

“Ok,” the Adora whose universe they had all been flung into said, stepping away from the charts they had arranged. “So, out of the twelve of us, we’ve got five universes where we’re She-Ra, three where Catra is She-Ra, two where the Sword may or may not exist, one where ‘She-Ra’ is a title held by the ‘softball captain’, which is a weird rank but I’m not judging.”

“And one with the mighty Sea-Ra,” the Adora who dressed like Sea Hawk finished, offering some birdseed to the rainbow parrot on her shoulder. “Who pursued the Horde fleet with a merciless fury . . .”

“Swift Wind!” The parrot squawked. “Swift Wind!”

“It’s ok, buddy,” she said soothingly. “Sea-Ra can’t get you here, and nobody said Swift Wind.”

“For the record,” Force Captain Adora said. “I am judging Softball Captain, and all the traitor versions of myself who left the Horde.” She turned to the chart. “Additionally, in three universes I’m running the Horde, in two Catra is running it (even though I bet she’s never heard of Force Captain orientation), in five we’re on opposing sides of our respective conflicts without major leadership roles, and in two we’re both fighting for the Rebellion.” 

She threw up her hands. “Which makes no sense, but then again nothing has since she found that stupid sword!”

“We call the Rebellion the Royalist Resistance,” the Adora in modified Magicat robes clarified. She was the one who kept eyeing Glimmer like she was about to blast them all with dark magic. “By the way,” she whispered loudly. “Does anyone else feel really weird just hanging out in the Bright Zone?”

“Brightmoon,” Bow corrected, still processing the events of that morning. 

“Not gonna lie, Techmaster,” Force Captain Adora said. “I am absolutely changing this place’s name to that once I conquer it in my universe.”

“That’s what Catra and I did when we conquered this place,” Horde Lord Adora added. “What? We had to have something to give up in the peace talks.”

“Peace talks!?” The Force Captain shouted. “You dare make peace with Princesses!?”

“Yes, actually. I, Adora, co-Lord of the Horde, do dare to make peace, Force Captain ,” she shot back, poking the badge on the other’s chest. “Don’t forget I outrank you.”

“You’re not my Horde Lord!” She countered.

Ignoring those remarks, Bow looked at the mass of notes and drawings stuck onto a wall of cork boards. “You can tell all that by looking at this thing?” He asked.

“Obviously,” all the Adoras said at once. “You can tell by the string.”

“It’s too early for this,” Glimmer groaned as she teleported out of the room. “I’ll call Entrapta to see if reality is collapsing.”

“And I’ll call Perfuma to see if it’s possible we’re all experiencing a collective hallucination,” Bow added as he slipped out of the room. “We’ve been going to a lot of drum circles recently.”

“Yep,” the Adora in the jeans and “Bright Moon U” hoodie agreed. “That all makes sense. Total collapse of reality! Glimmer is a magic, teleporting Queen. Alternate universes colliding! Ha ha. Obviously.” She started hyperventilating and muttering under her breath. “I’m a Sports Health major; I work at a coffee shop; I play softball; I am not prepared for this . . .”

“I know what you mean,” the Adora in the red and black flannel whispered back. “Some of these versions of us are pretty wacky. Turning into a giant magical lady? Commanding an alien army? Sailing with pirates? Crazy!”

Modern Adora laughed along with her. “So,” she asked. “Are you a lumberjack in your universe?”

“Nope,” Flannel Adora answered. “Werewolf.” She took in her blank stare. “Hey,” she called. “Is anyone else a werewolf?” A chorus of groans erupted in the room. “I’ll add it to my chart. It’s fine.”

“It’s a whole new row!” Horde Lord Adora shouted, extending the chart. “Should it just be Werewolf Adora? Or should it apnea a broader ‘With Supernatural Elements.’?”

“Go with the second one,” the werewolf suggested. “I don’t know for certain if there are other supernaturals, but Glimmer’s aunt does have a lot of crystals . . . I’m not saying she’s a witch, but . . .”

Modern Adora rubbed her eyes. “‘Skip the third espresso shot, Adora,’ Bow said.’You drink too much caffeine,’ Glimmer said. ‘You're not going to need it! Finals are over! Save it for the hangover after Catra’s party tonight.’” She groaned. “Does coffee even exist in this crazy world!”

Glimmer teleported back in, holding another very bewildered Adora by the shoulder with one hand and a pot of black coffee. The new Adora, wearing a torn Horde uniform and carrying a duffel bag, sprinted away to the corner while Glimmer handed Modern Adora the coffee pot. 

“Coffee does exist here,” she said. “Drink as much as you need. I found this one in the woods. Entrapta doesn’t know what’s going on, but she can find where the new ones are teleporting in.” She teleported away again.

“Oh,” she added as she teleported back in. “There’s another cluster of ‘divergents’ in the Fright Zone. Bow’s calling Scorpia to see what that’s about.” Then, she disappeared again.

“What? Who? How?” The newcomer sputtered. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion as she looked around the room. She turned to the charts and paused. “Put me down for ‘Horde Leadership’ ‘Recent Desertion’ ‘Catra-Is-She-Ra’ and . . .” she sighed, “Werewolf.”

“Welcome to the party,” said the other werewolf. “We’ve got coffee!”

Chapter Text

“So you had a bad day?” Adora said. “Good for you.” She shoved the bartender into the back shelf, shattering a dozen bottles of something strong-smelling. “I’ve had a bad life.” Seeing the situation was about to escalate, Scorpia reached toward her shoulder, but she was already pacing through the rotted-out skeleton that someone in the Crimson Waste had turned into a bar.

“You see,” she continued. “Whenever I do the right thing, things don’t go right for me. I win a battle, my reward is fighting a war. I make an alliance, I get more enemies. I help people get stronger, and once they don’t need me to protect them—“ She cut herself off like a prisoner about to confess.

A few enterprising buddies of the bartender decided it was the perfect moment to jump the upstart. If they thought Crimson Waste scum were tougher than Horde scum, the two quickly disabused them of that notion. 

The two that went after Scorpia were the lucky ones. Sure, the Scorpioni’s claws cracked the reptilian’s wrists, and when slammed him against his friend, every patron felt the sound of their heads cracking together. But between the venom and head trauma, they wouldn’t be feeling the pain until they woke up.

The antlered lady who charged Adora wasn’t so lucky. She would brag about the punch she got in below Adora’s ribs for years to come. But that punch was all she would get. The Force Captain stumbled a few steps to lure her in. When the deer woman tried to press the advantage, Adora returned the favor with a swift kick in the gut. As she lurched back, the Horde soldier grabbed her antlers and swung her into the nearest table. The reclaimed wood snapped in half along with most of her ribs, a few vertebrae, and her left antler.

Adora strode over to the prone thug. “The difference between you and me, is that when things get bad, I don’t make it everyone else’s problem.” She leaned in closer. “I don’t run away. I don’t abandon my responsibilities. I don’t become the problem.” . I fix problems!”

The Force Captain turned to the rest of the bar. “Now,” she said. “Do I need to fix any of you? Or can my fellow officer and I have a drink?” 

A few of the gang members were visibly shaking. More were staring at the floor or their drinks. In the corner of her eye, Adora saw one kid start to stand up and be quickly stopped by their neighbor. They were wearing the same jackets— crude uniforms for the same gang. She was familiar enough with that tableau to let it slide.

With the situation quelled, she leaned into the bar. “Alright, Barkeep!” She growled. “My compatriot and I will have one alcohol. Each.”

The gruff enforcer behind the counter looked more confused than terrified for a moment. “One alcohol?” He repeated. “I umm—“

Adora grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him over the bar. “Did. I. Stutter.” She demanded.

“No, ma’am!” Barkeep squeaked. “Two ‘One Alcohols’ coming right up.” As he scrambled away, the rest of the bar’s denizens went back to their own conversations. Though considerably more muted then they were before the Force Captains had shown up.

“So, boss.” Scorpia whispered as she took the bar stool next to her. “I think there are multiple kinds of alcohol, and that’s where the confusion came from.” 

Adora nodded. “So each of those bottles is a different kind?” She scanned the room of thugs she had just finished intimidating. There were at least half a dozen different combinations of glasses and liquids. “And everyone here has a varietal of alcohol?” She frowned. “That seems inefficient.”

“I think that’s how these places work, yes.” She confirmed, still keeping her voice low. “I acquired intel on the subject at Princess Prom.” Adora flinched at the memory of that mission. “You know, just as part of my cover, of course. Not recreationally.”

“Of course,” she muttered. That hadn’t been what Adora was thinking of. The utter fiasco that happened after, from Shadow Weaver stealing the credit to the Alliance stealing their hostages back. And Adora throwing that damn dagger to Catra and telling her to take her friends and go. After going through all that trouble to bring her back to the Fright Zone, realizing that it was so much easier to do what she had to do without Catra around to worry about. 

At least it was supposed to be.

Shadow Weaver had called Adora a monster not long after that. The last stretch of months had shown her just how true that was. Ever since she had become Hordak’s second in command, she couldn’t walk down a hallway or grab a ration bar at the mess hall without feeling the weight of dozens of eyes staring daggers at her back. Fearful silence or bottled contempt were about the only two reactions she could expect from most of the Fright Zone these days.

Scorpia was one of the few exceptions. She understood that Adora had no problem with dissent or corrections when they happened discretely. To her, there was a clear difference between consulting among equals in private and undermining her authority in public. A united front among offices when presenting a plan to Hordak was as important to her position as holding a united front on the battlefield. 

Adora was the master of the pre-meeting meeting.

Adora didn’t think it was a complicated system. As long as you explained that a plan which relied on a battalion going marching without sleep for two hundred hours was deeply stupid and probably the product of her own sleep deprivation and if she didn’t get her head back on straight you would make sure she got her shuteye in the infirmary for the next month . . . Well, then she would thank you for bringing this issue to her, modify the plan, and give you credit when it succeeded. 

That was how Lonnie made Force Captain.

Of course, depending on just how sleep-deprived she was, it might also help to avoid sneaking up on her, speaking in a loud voice, or making any sudden unexpected movements.

Which, admittedly, was also the advice her junior cadet class got on how to approach a dangerous wild animal, but maybe it would be better if that was her reputation, at least among anyone reluctant to take her orders.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Captain Scorpia,” she whispered back. “I’m delegating the next phase of this operation to you.” She considered some of the lingo she’d overheard the other patrons use. “After we drink whatever I just commandeered, you should ‘order the next round.’ I’ll pick out some other targets to glare at to assert dominance while you do.”

“Then you go for some fresh air outside and I take the chance to ask if anyone’s seen any First Ones tech. And if they don’t feel like sharing with me, then they can ask my scary friend when she comes back?” Scoripa suggested. “Classic Good Captain/Bad Captain routine. Good thinking, boss.”

“I’m not—“

The shaking barkeep returned with their drinks before she could correct her. A “One Alcohol” apparently included at least a dozen different types. The pair of chipped shot glasses had at least three distinct layers of liquids, a weird muddled cloudiness, and a couple of odd streaks of something thin and green around the rim. It had a heavy wormwood scent.

Adora took a sip. The menace the Force Captain had managed to build was only saved by the fact that she had extensive experience with being slapped in the face and not flinching. When the shock of the initial hit wore off, the burn crashed through her throat like ragged lightning. 

They should call this thing the Shadow Weaver.

Spurred by that thought, and the need to make the drink less intoxicating without appearing to wimp out, she remembered some of what she learned in Junior Cadet Battle Chemistry. She pulled out the multi tool from her belt, flicked it to the mini-blowtorch lighter, and lit the top of the glass. 

She took another sip when the brilliant green flames died down. It still burned but like charred spice instead of battery acid. Sweat beaded out on her forehead. It wasn’t the best drink for the desert, but she could finish this without melting off her tongue. 

Adora couldn’t come up with a scientific explanation beyond “fire made it good,” which she offered to Scorpia along with the lighter.

It certainly made the right impression on the bar crowd. She walked around the Crimson Waste like she owned the place. She threw tough guys through tables. She drank fire.

She saw plenty of fear, but she saw something else too. It was the way she’d seen villagers in recon footage look at Catra. Respect. 

Maybe her speech on duty and personal responsibility had won some of them over. Or maybe the people she and Scorpia knocked around just weren’t popular. Whatever the reason, some combination of the drink and those looks made her crack a smile. 

“Did you leave anything else from Princess Prom out of your debrief, Captain?” Adora asked. “Between gaining considerable knowledge of alcohol and planting those charges, sounds like you have some more stories.”

Scorpia looked nervously. “Nope,” she said unconvincingly. “Just distracted the targets, planted the charges, and got one random piece of intel that just came up now.”

Adora rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. Catra was right about one thing. I really need to lighten up. “Relax. I’m pretty sure Hordak demoted me,” she said. “Even if he probably didn’t file the proper forms, but I can’t get anyone to do that. So, nothing you say will used against you at evaluations.”

Scropia smiled. “In that case, you know that Rebel we captured with the weird arrows?” She asked.

“The guy who can’t seem to keep a whole shirt on?” Adora responded.

“Yeah, him!” Scorpia confirmed excitedly. “Well, he was escorted by this really cute and sorta terrifying princess from Plumeria— the tall lady who can make all the vines. It turned out that the teleporting princess and him have had this whole childhood best friends will they/won’t they thing going on for like a decade.” 

She took another sip. “Lots of gossip about what was going on between those three. Did vines lady steal teleporting girl’s man? Did she miss her shot with him? Did he even know there was a love triangle?” She laughed. “Honestly, so many people were watching them that it made it really easy to plant all those explosives. You should ask Kyle for details when we get back home. He had a long talk with the archer while he was in custody.”

Adora thought about this. “Not that they’re organized or ethical, but I think Princesses are kinda like officers for the Rebels,” she suggested. “So maybe you can’t date your direct superior but you can date the Princess in charge of another division, er kingdom.” Not that Adora would ever admit to scanning a lot of Horde conduct manuals to find out how to follow the rules while still maybe considering getting involved with one person in particular when she made Force Captain too and didn’t do something stupid like find a magic dagger and suddenly betray her. 

“Oh so it was a full on Keestal—Margrave situation!” She exclaimed. “I don’t know if your cadet squad heard of this, but it was all anyone could talk about in Quadrant Four a few years back. I was a senior cadet under Margrave, so I had a front row seat.”

Adora kept listening attentively to the gossip as Scorpia talked. Pausing only for the occasional question or glare to assert dominance over another barfly. Their drinks were still strong enough that they could take their time nursing them. 

Adora still couldn’t figure Scorpia out. She didn’t want her to follow her out to this damn desert. The last thing she needed was another person to worry about paying for her mistakes. But, she couldn’t order her to stay behind since they were technically the same rank again. Though Adora wasn’t sure she was ever officially Scorpia’s superior officer. For all the clout it granted, “Hordak’s Second in Command” wasn’t really a formal position.

The fact that the Horde didn’t formally have more officer grades than Cadet and Force Captain was near the top of the list of improvements she had been planning to make before this fiasco. 

But what really confused her was why Scorpia had come out here in the first place. She wasn’t her responsibility. It wasn’t her fault that she let Shadow Weaver escape. The best guess Adora could come up with was that Scorpia had faith that she’d find a way to turn this mission into a success and siding with her now would do more good in the long term— for the war and for her own career in the Horde. Entrapta probably had a similar thought when she talked Hordak into sending her here instead of Beast Island.

Deep down, Adora was afraid to ask. She could already here Scoripa saying “That’s just what friends do!” She wasn’t sure she could handle that.

After they finished their round, they stuck to their plan. Adora swaggered out of the bar while Scorpia started the Good Officer half of the investigation. The day moons were nearing the horizon, making an orange sky to match the ocean of golden sands that stretched out for miles before her. She leaned against the outside wall and let herself enjoy the view. Adora would always have a soft spot for the sunsets in the Fright Zone, where the smog and haze diffused so much light that the day moons turned red, but she had enjoyed the chances in the field to see what they look like in different corners of Etheria.

I wonder what they look like from Brightmoon.

She kicked some sand at the thought, but didn’t look away from the horizon. That thought had ruined a lot of good sunsets over the last year. She wasn’t going to let it ruin this one if she could help it. 

I’ve created a monster. Those should have been the last words Shadow Weaver ever said to her. If she had been strong enough to let them be, then she wouldn’t be out in the Crimson Wastes making the best out of a suicide mission.

After taking her place, she’d done her best to be the monster Shadow Weaver had taught her to be. That’s what Catra thought anyway, but she didn’t get the whole picture. Driven, ruthless, efficient. Her mentor had drilled those into her. But Shadow Weaver had wanted her to be an obedient, thoughtless pawn who would beat up whoever she pointed her at.

But she wasn’t loyal to the witch. She had been loyal to Catra. And after she left, the Horde was all she had left to be loyal to. The only thing she had left to protect.

On the night of Princess Prom, she had seen great statues in front of the palace of Snows. Terrible, proud beasts carved from the ice. Things out of a nightmare that a hero was supposed to slay. She had wondered why they had been in such a place of honor, but then she realized that they weren’t just decorations. They were meant to be guardians. Monsters that stood at the threshold, shielding the people within. Always apart from them, but still keeping them safe.

If she had to be a monster, then that’s the kind of monster she’d be.

“No, no, no!” She overheard the bar patron’s voice from inside the building muffled. “There’s, uh, no need to interrupt your scary friend’s fresh air break. My buddy and I like having all our bones and know where to find a huge score of First Ones loot.” 

Success! Adora pumped her fist into the air. She quickly scanned her surroundings to make sure no one had seen her lose her cool.

But she still smiled. If she played her cards right, this mission could be a weird footnote in the history of the Horde’s victory. If the junk they found was useful, it might even be productive. 

For now, she just needed to keep acting like she had a clue of how to pull that off. It had worked so far. 

Soon enough, she’d be back at her post. She’d be the monster the Horde needed again. But that evening, she could turn back into the bar and see what Scorpia had ordered for the second round.