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<span class="mu-s">“How did I get here? Am I a sleepwalker on top of all this?”</span> you demanded, gesturing at yourself.
And for some reason, Mekara and Ben gave you a strange look.
<span class="mu-r">“You mean you don’t remember…?”</span> Ben asked, in the way people did when they thought the other person was talking nonsense. <span class="mu-r">“Because from our perspective, you just swung right in, no questions asked, and started choking that monster out.”</span>
You stared at him. He stared right back. He didn’t wink, he didn’t flash a cheeky grin, and there wasn’t even a hint of amusement at the corners of his mask’s lenses. Ben wasn’t kidding around. He really didn’t know how you got here. That was more than a little concerning.
You wanted to worry about that. You <span class="mu-s">really</span> did. But somehow, that wasn’t your most pressing concern. Not when you had this gnarly set of claws to remind you of what you were. Of what you’d become.
You ran a hand through your bright white hair, making absolutely certain that you weren’t wearing a wig. But no…it felt all too real. And thanks to your training and “unique” upbringing, “dissociation” wasn’t something that you were particularly good at.
Instead, you buried your face in your hands, careful not to poke yourself in the eye, and moaned pitifully into your hands.
<span class="mu-s">“What am I gonna do? I can’t go to school like this! They already think I’m a delinquent, and dying my hair white isn’t gonna help my image!”</span> you cried, lifting a handful of hair and letting it fall back into place for emphasis.
<span class="mu-r">“I think it looks lovely//charming//exquisite.”</span> Mekara offered. <span class="mu-r">“And it perfectly matches the color of that fluffy little tail!”</span>
Your back stiffened, and you glanced back at the fluffy appendage poking out above your butt. As if on command, it wiggled and twitched.
You let out another pitiful moan.
<span class="mu-r">“It’s not that bad!”</span> Ben tried. <span class="mu-r">“Abe tells me that Squirrel Girl manages to hide her tail in her pants, which makes it look like she has a great ass, but no one actually thinks that she’s hiding a giant squirrel tail in her pants.”</span>
Your eyebrow twitched, ever so slightly. It was all you could do to restrain yourself from blurting out a string of obscenities.
<span class="mu-s">“WHO THE HELL IS ‘SQUIRREL GIRL’, AND WHY SHOULD I CARE!?”</span> was what you wanted to say.
But what you actually said was:
<span class="mu-s">“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure people would notice if I came to school carrying a wagon under my skirt!”</span>
<span class="mu-r">“You could tuck it under your shirt.”</span> Mekara unhelpfully suggested.
Instead of dignifying that with a response, you tucked your legs closer to your chest and wrapped your arms around them.
There was no way you were doing any of that. The fat jokes alone would shame you back into being a bunker-dwelling hermit.
<span class="mu-r">“I’m sure your grandma’s got some way of turning you back to normal.”</span> Ben put in. <span class="mu-r">“Is she around here somewhere?”</span>
(Cont.)
