2616/How Many Violins

How Many Violins
Date of Scene:	15 June 2025
Location:	Plot Room 1
Synopsis:	Obsidian finally catches up with Catra. ...Or rather, Joker does. Catra's worst nightmare is at hand, with dead eyes and a yawning smile.
Cast of Characters:	Catra, 21

---

Catra has posed:
It's been a while since Catra last set foot in Obsidian Tower, for obvious reasons, even since she snuck in. It's been a lot less time since she encountered New Moon and got broken knees, but there are advantages to being on the side that has a number of healers. ...Well, if Catra can really call herself 'on their side', that is, but they seem to be okay with her hanging around at least most of the time anyway. Even if they have priorities that, to Catra, don't entirely make sense.

But her knees hurt and she's grumpy and Radiant Heart Academy is not a place that makes her happy -- there's way too many loud people with little to no self-awareness, and it's just so... bubbley, the place overflows with positivity to the point that it feels fake, and the feline honestly kind of hates it at least most of the time. She's reached the point where she really just needs to be somewhere familiar and comfortable. Obsidian Tower definitely isn't an option; so she's here, in the grungy area of town near the industrial quarters, where she can find one of those outdoor, back alley food kiosks.

She's left her motorcycle parked a ways off and walked the few blocks it'd take her to get here (disguised as Rachel Miller of course), step after painful step, but she's not going to let pain in her knees stop her getting what she wants.

"Chicken Yakisoba," she requests, looking over the chef with mismatched eyes before she and he mutually shrug at each other and she sits down. "Double chicken."

And after a short wait, she gets what she wants; she plugs her music back in as she eats, but contrary to usual she doesn't turn it up to obnoxious levels. Just in case.

Macaron (21) has posed:
She'd likely notice something was wrong when the chicken was put in front of her. She just... couldn't place it. The hand was wrong. And the cook... stood there. And then when she looked up... There was Joker. Dressed as the cook. Just smiiiiiiiling at her. And looking soooooo amused.

"He-llo there, kitty cat. You didn't think we haven't been keeping a close eye on you, did you?" he asked, a hand reaching out to lightly tap on her hand.

"I do hope you didn't think we're dumb enough to not notice what you've been up to with that little black card~ Or to pay attention to just how much of a debt you've been working up for us..." they said, the finger only touching the back of her hand for a moment. A single. Tiny. Touch.

... Yet, somehow? It felt like there was ooze on it. Like it lingered. All he was doing... was standing here. One touch. One tiny touch. One smile. Yet she could feel like there was oil on the back of her hand, slipping down, rubbing down her fur... rubbed into her fur... tainting it... permanently... Leaving it forever sullied.

Catra has posed:
Catra didn't look up at first. Sure, something felt off, but she'd been here often enough before that the chef usually knew what she was gonna order before she ordered it. You could say they'd gotten to know each other, except that really Catra had gotten to know him and he'd gotten to know Rachel Miller, who doesn't really exist.

Whatever. The chicken is good. That's really the only part of this Catra cares about, as she tucks in and consumes a few mouthfuls, but eventually she does just have to look up and

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Catra is standing. She doesn't remember getting to her feet but she knows she did it rapidly because her knees are screaming about it. The illusory disguise drops and blue flames dance over her form; her claws are out, with yellow fire heating them to glowing and making the flesh look a little bit charred around them. Then, her eyes dart to the partly eaten plate of food.

The flames die as quickly as they appeared. Catra turns to the side and retches, heaving several times as her stomach empties of everything she just ate.

Gasping, it registers on her: Joker is here. Joker touched her. Joker touched her AND SHE CAN STILL FEEL IT. She scratches at the back of her hand, looking down at it, looking back up at Joker, then down and back up as she scratches harder until her claws draw blood, and she finally gives up, backing away another step. What did you do?! blares inside her skull, as she swallows audibly. Don't act weak. ...Don't continue acting weak. Strength in the face of danger. Always.

"...Girl's gotta eat," she says, forcing her voice into something cooler. Calmer. "Besides after that thirteen day exercise you have been desperately underpaying me."

Macaron (21) has posed:
Joker just laughed and started juggling knives...

The knives from the kitchen. Behind him, the cooks looked confused, as they couldn't find their knives, they'd all seemed to disappear?

"Oh Catra, Catra, Catra. I work with Majorina. We found you when *you* didn't even know where you were. Do you *really* think if I wanted to find you, I couldn't?"

And then the knives went into the air... and landed on the table, all around her. Dug into it by her... not a one touching her.

"It's so much more fun to watch you squirm. Such a delicious source of despair, you are. Also... 'thireen day exercise'. Is that *really* the lie you want to play with me, Catra?" He asked.

And then he was behind her. One hand out...

"Don't. Move."

And there was a tone to his voice when he said that. A very. Very. Very. Very. Dangerous. Tone. As he very lightly scritched under her chin. "You are quite entertaining, kitty cat... but entertaintment only gets you so far. You have one week. After that..." That hand, very gently tapped her chin.

"Amusement won't be enough anymore~ So I'd decide, quickly, how you intend to pay off those debts before Obsidian comes a knocking. Otherwise well... It takes a lot of violins to pay off what you owe and word on the street is you've made quite a few friends now, haven't you?"

And then they pulled back, sitting on the counter besides them, swirling a cup of coffee which they poured some medicated cinnamon flavor extract into before taking a sip. "Ahhhh, that hits the spot... I do hope I've made my point clear?"

Catra has posed:
Completely.

Rigidly.

Still.

Catra can act touch all she likes, and it's not entirely an act -- when she brags about how good she is at fighting she's got the chops to back it up -- but this is different. She's already tried to kill Joker with a sword and he just laughed at her for the effort, and she seemed to be the only one putting in any effort at the time -- was he even killable? Even Shadow Weaver wasn't this scary. Not that she'd ever admit that out loud.

But with his finger under her chin, she almost does. Her throat moves as she swallows, and stands there, muscles locked up and unable to move even if she wanted to -- just like when Shadow Weaver used to immobilize her as a child, except it's just her muscles doing it on their own.

When Joker leaves her, her skin is still prickling, her tail is poofed up, her ears are flat against her head, and blood is trickling down the backs of her fingers and dripping on the ground. And that feeling... it's still there.

Still. There.

Catra backs off a step; and her knees complain with every movement, but the braces hold her up at least. She thinks about drawing Powersend, but it didn't help before an she doesn't want Joker to think of anything else to add to her tab, just in case he hasn't thought of it already.

"What did you do to me?" she demands, holding up her hand and dropping it back to her side, and failing to sound as tough as she wanted to.

Macaron (21) has posed:
It was then that Joker reached out and gripped her wrist and he YANKED her forward, leaning in and she could see into the black, hollow, empty voids that were his eyes. "I... did... nothing to you, Catra. And do you know why?" they asked, their voice low.

And then they began to laugh, before letting her go and leaning back, juggling salt shakers now. "That's one of the things I like about you, Catra. You understand your role. It's not to be happy. It's not to enjoy life. It's to be sad and miserable and despair. It's to make everything you can touch worse. It's a thing of beauty. Nobody can ruin your life quite as well as you can."

"However... You are just amusement, a game..." And then the salt shakes are tossed aside, to oversalt so many people's food and offend SO many people's food. "And the game is starting to interfere with our work. Prying into our business. So figure it out... kitty cat... before *I* have to do actual work~ After all..."

He held up a mask on a popsicle stick, of his face with a frowny face. "Any work and only some play makes joker a sad, sad boy. And nobody wants that, now do they?" Then? He clapped his hands before popping into a deck of cards which flew in all directions... before fading away....

Oh, hey, the knives were gone. Catra's appetite likely was, too.

Catra has posed:
What did Joker do to me because he did NOT do nothing!

That is the thought echoing inside Catra's skull as she runs. How did she get to this alleyway? She's not going the right way back to her motorcycle. She's taken a wrong turn somewhere. She doesn't remember starting to run, either, or which turn she took exactly; and she's mnaged to go somewhere unfamiliar.

Her legs are screaming with pain reaching all the way from her toes to the teeth at the back of her jaw.

Gasping she puts one hand against the wall beside her, struggling to get in a full breath. She hears footsteps and her sword is in hand as she whirls, bringing the blade up to point at... nobody.

There's nobody there.

Did she imagine it? Or is Joker still playing tricks on her? Catra keeps the blade in hand as she scans the alleyway she's in, slowly bringing her breathing under control. That's it. Never show weakness. Never give in. Never apologize. Don't let anyone see you hurting.

Just bottle it up and refuse to acknowledge it.

The feline banishes the blade, and after several attempts, restores her illusion. She plops down, giving her best and most unintentional impression of a homeless person for a good four, maybe five minutes, waiting for her legs to return to something approaching normal. Once she's there, she gets up again, and keeps walking down the alleyway. If she can get back to a street -- any street -- she'll know where she is, and she can get out of here.