A/N: This was just an exercise in an attempt to go and write something. :D Yay?
Disclaimer: KHR belongs to its rightful owner.
Day at the Salon
Squalo hates it when smug dipshits tell him he's feminine. He doesn't care when that those bastards talk trash about his hair. It just slides off of his thick skin like water down a rain coat.
It's when creepy ass-hats compliment his hair that makes him blush or stutter or yell. He complains sometimes, under his breath when no one is listening and especially after missions. His hair always gets in the way and it's too damn long to be practical. But even he has a hard time denying the death-by-hair-flip-thing he does with his hair is undeniable. Don't even try to deny it.
Squalo walked into the bustling hair salon that Lussuria insisted on dragging him into. His steps were slow and his head was down, not because he was afraid but because he seriously didn't want anyone to see his face. At least there were no bastards that tried to grope him, yet, because most of the people in the salon were women.
"I have an important appointment for my hair. You should come." Lussuria had said airily one day during dinner. "I get Boss to pay for my hair cut. I know you never cut your hair, but since you know what I know about hair care…"
Lussuria trailed off and, the next weekend (without Squalo's consent!), Squalo was being dragged across marble tiles and between swiveling leather chairs straight past the receptionist desk.
The woman just waved them past with a wink at Lussuria.
"That's Lacie. It's she such a sweetheart?" Lussuria asked without looking back at Squalo. He headed straight for a woman sitting in the back with a bottle of water in one hand and a book in the other.
"Beth! This is Squalo!" Lussuria called out to the woman.
Beth looked up from her book and Squalo noted that she looks very young. She was thin and short and her hair is cut short, making it look like some kind of beatle-black helmet. Someone could have used her bangs as a ruler too. She pushed her glasses up her nose, nodded to Lussuria. She then took a cursory glance at Squalo.
No one takes a cursory glance at Squalo! People should be cowering in fear or groveling on the ground at his feet, but this girl just looked at him like he was some kind of mannequin with hair!
"Lussuria, it's good to see you. And you must be Squalo. I've heard a lot about you. Your hair is very pretty." Her eyes looked a bit blank. Her voice was flat.
She gestured, and Squalo suddenly felt his feet dragging across marble tiles once again until he was plopped in the most undignified way into a swivel chair. He didn't even have time to curse at her or punch Lussuria.
Today was fucked up as is without some strange bitch touching his hair.
His hair was washed by an attendant as Lussuria chatted away with Beth in his own chair. A girl with violently blue hair was massaging his scalp. Beth had just finished applying some sort of miraculous-moisturizing-shit to his hair when Lussuria began to recount a story about his escapades in that one gay bar or another.
It was just as Lussuria was about to get to the nitty-gritty of his lovely adventure that a mobs worth of men walked in through the open door with guns-a-blazing.
Squalo was almost thankful to those stupid fuckheads.
Squalo didn't even know why hitmen are walking through salon doors shooting people up these days. They just didn't make assassins like they used to. And most of the people in the salon were women too. What kind of idiots shot up women who worked on hair?
Just as Squalo had that thought, the women surrounding him in the salon, women getting perms, hair cuts, or their hair cut, stood up in unison and began to shoot right back with weapons of their owns pulled from the mysterious places women pulled weapons.
Beth fell to her knees next to Squalo's unsightly purple swivel chair and pulled a Benelli Super Black Eagle from under his chair. She took aim quickly and began shooting quickly. Lacie at the receptionist desk, who had seemed too bubbly to be dangerous, screeched like a bird of prey as she descended into the mob with talons made up of large daggers.
Some of the customers had their guns out and were easily reloading clips that were being slid easily out of purses. Some of the other employees were throwing thin knives and scissors with a chilling kind of accuracy.
Mirrors smashed in elegant cascades of multi-faceted shards as the tiles under their very feet chipped and cracked under the pressure of incoming bullets. Equipment was damaged, women took bullets, and men fell to their knees. Chairs turned and turned from the impact of ricochet and bullets.
Squalo lay back in his chair and relaxed to watch the fight.
It was freakishly elegant.
So there is a reason behind why so many hitmen were trying to storm a salon afterall. Some dangerous ladies were here, Squalo noted lazily.
He wasn't too worried but he does swivel his own chair a bit. No need to be filled with bullet holes on his day off (getting his hair done). By the time the last bullet fell, Beth was already ordering some of the attendants to sweep up the bullets. Girls were walking around as if nothing had happened and stepping over especially large pieces of glass and the ones in high heels were careful about slipping on empty shells.
"Such pretty hair." The Beth murmured as she gestured for Squalo to go and get his hair washed in one of the least chipped sinks of the lot. Beth took out a clean towel and folded it so he had a safe place to lay his neck. Squalo sent a few choice curses at her. Beth just hummed in a flat way and remarked drily, "And such a dirty mouth."
The twenty or so men at the door are down but not dead.
A few girls went over and began to drag their bodies into the back of the salon, deliberately ignoring all the debris littering the ground.
"It's not every day we get to get our hair done and see a show! We got lucky! Another poor idiot decided he wanted to try taking down Bella Donna." Lussuria tittered.
His blue-haired attendant giggled.
"But we're just downright poisonous around here."
Squalo thought he was going to die or at least loose some life force by the time they left. Women were already coming in for their afternoon appointment with bright, cheerful laughs, picking up bullet-hole ridden to chatter about the latest scandal among the celebrities (or mafia families).
Beth sent them away blithely with that same blank look in her eyes. She was using a mop to clean up the blood at the entrance and waved at them when they left.
Squalo walked out of Bella Donna with the feeling like he had missed some sort of point.