A guitar was screeching somewhere far off, drums booming over the chatter of the crowd. It was dark, and the smell of sweat and alcohol was filling the bar.

I feel so unsure, as I take your hand, and lead you to the dance floor . . .

Catra knew how to stay low in a crowd. Her breezy outfit threw her groove off, but she had a task to concentrate on and keep herself occupied. Between her fingers she rubbed a black piece of satin - the one thing they had left behind, that still carried that luscious smell of theirs. It took her a while to remember how, but her mind and sense of smell were still as sharp as she remembered. Time to hunt.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend, and waste a chance that I've been given . . .

She remembered the last time she was out looking for them in a crowd. They were very good at playing their games, but at least now she had the advantage that they didn't know she was looking for them.

Some rando, thrashing around to the beat, slammed onto her, almost spilling his drink on her. He threw a couple slurs her way, but she ignored him and kept moving. Too rough. Too clumsy. At least they still had glamour when they ruined an outfit.

Time can never mend . . . the careless whispers of a good friend . . .

Despite trying to concentrate, her surroundings still got to her. Hard not to, with such loud music. All these people, thrashing around and shouting in drunken bliss - they were having fun. She had never had fun like that. Last time she got drunk, she got into a fistfight. She didn't even remember what about. Adora had to use her She-Ra to drag her out of the bar.

Out of ideas, she pocketed the fabric and followed her gut. It led her to the bar. It was slightly awkward, having to face people in her current outfit, but it was somewhat reassuring that she actually covered up more than some others around her. She hopped onto a bar stool, and flagged the waiter down.

He was a slim tiger morph, tail carefully balancing behind him as he nodded in acknowledgement and finished serving out the cocktail he had been working on. Could be, she thought. He looked pretty enough, and was dexterous, a punk silver chain and a shiny black ID card hanging off his hip, almost inviting people to snatch after it. On the other hand, it was quite a role. A random visitor was easy, but playing a bartender required them to do actual work, and that would have taken more preparation than it was worth.

"Kitty, sorry if I'm not who you wanted. You do look like you need a drink, though. What you want?"

'Kitty, sorry'? Yeah, definitely not them. Made it the more embarrassing that he knew what she was thinking. "Something bitter," she answered over the quieting music. Just like her mood. The bartender nodded and started assembling another cocktail as another set of guitar riffs picked up.

She felt something tingle along her arm, too careful to be accidental. "So, what's a feral tigress like you doing here, darling? Looking for fun?" Catra glanced at the woman next to her, dressed in a teal tube top and a miniskirt barely long enough to be called so.

So stay away from me, the beast is ugly, I feel the rage and I just can't hold it . . .

"Looking for someone," she hissed back. Definitely not them. Way too obvious. The girl leaned in further, trying to seduce her with a pair of breasts.

". . . mmm, maybe I'm the one you're looking for?"

Catra raised an eyebrow. It was cheesy enough to make sense. "I don't know. Why the bar?"

She grinned. "Oh, I'll take you anywhere, baby," she slurred out, taking Catra's hand and pulling it to her chest. Catra yanked it back, baring her sharp canines. Apparently, miss flirter got the hint, as she scoffed, got up and left, mentioning something about Catra that she didn't quite hear over the music. Another half-drunk patron with a somewhat officious look to him took her place, and started oogling Catra, a half-whispered 'darling' under his breath. A flash came to Catra, the memory of a blinding white net, pushing against it, blowing hard, spinning, spinning around . . .

Hiding under the bed, in my body in my head, why won't somebody come and save from this, make it end . . .

"Whiskey sour, on the rocks. This guy bothering you?" Catra shot the drunk a glare, but he was too preoccupied with a scratch on the table to have any attention left for her.

"I'll manage. Thanks." The bartender finger-gunned at her and went off to make another drink. Busy night here. He seemed like a nice guy, though. If he wasn't who she was looking for, she might actually like to get to know him.

Apparently, a scratch can't captivate a drunk's attention for long, as he was now leaning towards her, licking his lips with a sound Catra could hear even over the upbeat melody in the back. Slowly, she was starting to regret her choice of clothes.

"Sooo, emm, darling. Having a good time?"

Get yo hands off my hips, or I'll punch you in the lips, don't be staring at my- hey!

She came up with at least three different witty comebacks before she realized it just wasn't worth it. Taking her glass, she left the bar and went back into the crowd. It wasn't as calm, but at least it distracted her. Most people there were too busy to go hitting on her.

Where were they, where were they . . . a shapeshifter in a crowded bar. Finding a needle in a haystack was easier - you just needed a big magnet. Catra glanced around, getting on her beantips to look over the heads of the jumping crowd. A magnet. What was their magnet?

There were private rooms to one side, raised above the dancefloor. You could get creative when up close with people, but it was too low-risk for them. Bar maybe? They would have noticed her and done something, no point going back.

The dressing rooms. A memory came to her, unbidden. Garish corridors, deep under the surface. Water all around her, powerful. It felt wrong, disgusting, it itched all over - it wasn't her skin. It was pulled onto her, into her, and she couldn't even scream.

It was a crowded bar. And it was loud. Nobody could hear a whiskey glass shatter in that crowd. A figure buckling over in a fetal position usually just meant more puke to clean afterwards.

No you can't buy me a drink, let me tell you what I think, you could really use a mint, take a hint, take a hint . . .