Adora

Given she'd stumbled through a portal with only the clothes on her back, it would've been impossible for Adora not to have more to take back home with her, but even so, it wasn't that much more stuff, so packing wasn't really taking her all that long.

Which meant she was now pondering the painting Miles had done for her.

She was pretty sure She-Ra was strong enough to carry it, so it was more a question of if anyone would notice if she happened to take a wall with her.

[Open!]

Brushing off the dust that until very recently had been a warehouse wall until she'd... improvised a new exit, Adora shook out her hand, flexing it. It didn't hurt, not really, and even if it had been injured changing into She-Ra tended to heal stuff like that, but still, that had been one of the more unpleasant ways to spend a morning.

Caught up in her thoughts, she didn't realise how deep she'd walked into the woods until she heard an all too familiar voice crooning her name.

Adora

Her head snapped up. No, that was impossible. Shadow Weaver was...she'd watched her...but there she was. A tall, slender figure, robed and masked, wreathed in shadows that clung to her as she glided forwards

Adora

Adora tried to back away. Tried to change into She-Ra, or to at least tap into that well of bone-deep anger that had fuelled her last actual conversation with Shadow Weaver, but like trying to catch hold of mist, and all she could do was stare as Shadow Weaver drew near. Frozen like prey before a predator as a hand, cold, wet, clammy reached out to brush her cheek.

Something about the wrongness of that touch, the difference in the discomfort broke through the paralysis, and she shoved with all her might at the grasping, clinging hands pulling at her. Not!Shadow Weaver's wrists crumbling away under the pressure of her fingers as she melted in on herself.

Panting, hands streaked with clay, Adora scrambled backwards, eyes fixed on the puddle of muck in front of her, waiting for it to attack again.

[Open, sure.]

Adora had been curled up comfortably in bed, fast asleep, when something large and heavy landed on her stomach.

Leaping out of bed, she brandished the nearest item to hand at the Horde-issue duffel with Shadow Weaver (mommy issues) stencilled on it. A moment later Catra (worries for) and Catra (worries about) joined it.

She barely had time for more than a "What the...?" before she was buried under a veritable rain of duffles, including but not limited to imposter syndrome (She-Ra), selfish child, only a weapon, and hair envy.

Sadly, the pile was actually smaller than it would've been if this had happened not even a year ago.

[Open.]

Adora had been stealing a moment to call Catra and catch up, mainly about the terrible betrayal of candy that attempted to kill and devour you, when she felt oddly twitchy all over. It was kind of entirely unlike how changing into She-Ra felt, but all of a sudden figuring this out was much less important than trying to catch and gnaw on her own tail.

She attempted to pounce on the offending appendage, a misplaced paw cutting off Catra mid-reaction.

[Establishly.]

Considering that Adora had believed she wasn't even getting visitors, this weekend had pretty much been the best she could've wished for, right down to Catra derailing the tour she'd tried to give the three of them with a chase across the rooftops.

Of course, right now Catra was also derailing her attempts to pack, which was pleasant but also deeply unhelpful.

"You have to move at some point."