aka catra is lying to herself and also all of us
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“Could I get your number?” they ask, as if they’re not still a completely faceless enigma that’s been making one-sided passes for two weeks now.
“So I’m supposed to exchange messages with someone who I wouldn’t even be able to pick out of a police lineup if this ends up being just a long con to get me to join a cult?”
To her shock, they place an elbow on the bar, lean over, and lower the hood.
“Does this increase my chances?” they ask with a goofy smile.
They're cute. Like 90s teen drama cute. Like Catra could see them singing fucking annoying pop songs outside her window cute. That’s not good. This person is absolutely trouble.
“Fuck,” Catra breathes out. It kinda feels like someone just kicked her right in the gut in a thrilling way. “You couldn’t have the decency to make this easier by being ugly?”
Catra finally meets the woman of her dreams/nightmares. A goofball blonde with big captain save-a-ho energy. She's easy going, gets Catra's jokes, and likes her band, even though it's pretty shitty and Catra's sabotaging them from the inside. It's just a shame that the girl is already competing on a reality show for 20 women's hearts.