The Weaving Pirates

  It was the first time Panda had seen one of Sar’s transformations. She hadn’t meant to, for he had requested that she not bother him while it happened. “It's humiliating,” he claimed.

  So, this is why she crouched behind the beanbags, she didn’t want him to know. It had looked awful, but humiliating was understating it. His legs had started splitting and his back and spin started popping. His skin would harden and split and shed.

  She couldn’t help but keep thinking about it. How he had made no verbal cries while this was happening. He had just… put a hand over his mouth and gripped the chair. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Panda?” There was the delicate clicking of hardened spidery steps, “You sound distressed.” There was a huff to his tone, as if he was tired. He pulled one of the beanbags closer to him, draping himself across it. Legs tucked around the beanbag.

  She scrubbed at her eyes, checking for tears. “I’m fine. Just…” she flopped over, head resting on his beanbag, “ya’ know what. No lies. I saw your transformation thing.”

  “Oh,” he didn’t sound upset, just more tired. She thought he’d be upset, “well, I hope you weren’t horrible scarred. It’s not pleasant-”

  She smacked at him, “Not ‘pleasant?’ Oh PLEASE,” she laughed, she was confused by his statements. Making all of this sound like nothing, “You bones were breaking, your skin was torn and shredded. How did you stay quiet?!”  She was almost more hurt by the fact he never did answer the hows and whys of his motivations. It had been what, a year? How many times had he called her friend? More then she could count.

  And she still only knew that little bit of story he had shared. Did he not actually trust her with his emotions? She had trusted him with so much and-

  “Because I don’t want to worry you.”

  She almost hadn’t heard him. If their heads hadn’t been so close, she would have missed his answer. But even with hearing it…

  “You liar.”

  His tone lightened a bit, “You got me. I’m pretty much used to it, so it doesn’t bother me,” he waved a hand at her and poked her check, “But, I knew it would bother you. So I told you to not watch.”

  That sounded more truthful to her.

  “Sounds like you.”

  “So, you traumatized or..?”

  “Traumatized,” she batted at his hand, “for life. As my boss, you have to pay for therapy.”

  “Oof. Fair enough though.”