No Worries, No Dye


daphne_icon.gif raquelle_icon.gif

Scene Title No Worries, No Dye
Synopsis Overreacting, Daphne considers a new look for her own safety. Raquelle offers advice and friendship instead.
Date July 25, 2010

Cambria Salon

Normal day at the Salon! This means people sitting in chairs getting hair dyed, cut, primped, and other such things as the hairdressers chatter like little birds, laughing and giggling and saying naughty things from time to time as they tease their clients and the clients are brought cups of water or juice or little packages of crackers by the hired help who sweep up hair and fold towels.

Raquelle's station is in the back, it is private and attached to his office as all his usual clients are more than aware of but he sits at the front desk, flipping through a fashion magazine and sprawled out comfortable in his seat. He's got a purple streak in his emo-fringe and he wears a dark black and purple plaid shirt over a fitted black -shirt, suspenders attached to his pants but left to hang loose, plenty of accessories and black docs with purple laces, he just flips through his magazine.

The front door opens and in steps the petite, pixyish speedster. Her dark eyes alight on Raquelle at the front desk — did he finally fire the bratty receptionist? — and her slightly worried looking expression is immediately replaced by a bright grin. "Sparkles!" she exclaims, moving to the desk swiftly, though not super-humanly swiftly. "How are you, sweetheart? I told you I'd come to see you sometime."

Daphne leans on the desk, peering up at him. She is dressed in a red tank top and gray cargo pants, feet in red and white Nikes. Her hair, as usually, looks like she just ran through a wind tunnel, and some of the other patrons glance at her. Not the usual sort of work Raquelle does, of course! "Oh, no, I'm being judged," she stage whispers. "Am I going to ruin your reputation just by being here?"

Raquelle looks up quickly when the door opens and his magazine is quickly lowered as his dark lined eyes widen a fraction. "…Well if it isn't the human dandelion!" He laughs as he leans forward. "I was wondering when you'd come and see me, I'd wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of your hair and the socket with which it had an illicit affair…" He purrs with a wink, looking the woman over thoughtfully.

"Oh honey, my reputation? They know I didn't do that to your head." He rolls his eyes and hops to his feet, coming from around the desk and opening up his arms. "But first, I get my hug and then I ask why are you heeere? Not that I mind."

The tiny speedster snorts and moves to hug him — there aren't a lot of people she hugs these days, just Corbin, really, but there's something so warm about Raquelle, she is happy to oblige. Her arms wrap tight around him as she presses her face against his chest and squeezes. She may be an independent thing, but once in a while, strong arms around her are just what she needs.

"I was, um, thinking of going darker," Daphne says, though her mouth screws to one side in a thoughtful pursing, her brows knitting together in a scowl. "You're the only person I'd trust to do it and not make me look like … I donno, Anais Nin or some shit."

Raquelle squeezes the little woman tightly, rubbing her back gently with a hand and unless she moves her head she's getting a smooch on the top of her head before his arms loosen around her. "Darker? You mean like tanning? You want to look like an anorexic oompa loompa?" He tsks and shakes his head. "Oh honey, no no you have such a lovely complexion."

…of course he's teasing a bit as he reaches up to rub some of Daphne's hair between his fingers, studying her scalp thoughtfully.

For having been so very processed, it's thick and mostly healthy, as healthy as faux-platinum can be at any rate. Obviously she's careful to just touch up the roots and not keep bleaching out the entire head of hair as it doesn't have the over-frazzled look of many bleach blondes. "Haha, very funny. Do you even have tanning booths in here? That's so very not PC, Sparkles," she says with a grin, stepping back to look up at him. There is some worry in her eyes, despite the quips.

"No, I was thinking of dying the blonde. Here's a secret: It's not natural." She smirks at him as she stage whispers that last bit, getting some chuckles from the patrons who eavesdrop.

"Mmhmm, I could tell that honey." Raquelle tousles the woman's hair before sighing softly. "You don't need to dye it darling and no, I don't do the tanning thing but I could buy a can of spray paint to use if somebody begged me." He drawls and points towards his office. "C'mon lets go talk about this…you make an adorable little blonde, why on earth would you want to go /darker/, the weird hair thing totally wouldn't work the same way."

His office? She tilts her head at him but lets him lead her there anyway. "Well, I could always cut the dreadlocks off too, you know, and be … normal." Obviously, she doesn't want to, the way her nose wrinkles just at the mere sound of the word normal. If anyone would understand that, it's probably Raquelle.

"I think you'd make a lovely brunette," intones a woman getting her hair cut as Daphne walks by, and that clinches it. She isn't about to take the advice of Ms. Busybody. Once in the office, Daphne waits for Raquelle to shut the door. "I met a cop type guy. He knows what I can do, and he's the only person who could catch me at my own speed," she blurts out, her voice low, the words tumbling out of her mouth at breakneck speed.

Raquelle passes by people, extra sway of his hips when he passes certain people, laughing and blowing a kiss to somebody else and he holds the door open for Daphne, eyeing the woman who comments and then snorting as he waits. "No cutting off the dreadlocks…unless you want me to shave your head."

He shuts the door after Daphne and starts to open his mouth to offer the woman a drink and then his mouth shuts rather quickly. He really doesn't comment, gesturing towards his purple and black stylists chair before heading for a the mini-fridge and ahhing softly. "You're special ain't you?"

"Of course I am. Just not as special as I thought," Daphne says, flopping into the seat he indicates. "I mean, I guess it was dumb to think I'd be the only speedster, but apparently there are tons of us. This woman saw me and thought I was some guy named Edgar, so I told her I'd keep an eye out. Not a week later, some guy goes blurring by so I think, 'Hey, that has to be Edgar! What are the odds of it being someone else?'" Daphne shakes her head and snorts. "Apparently I have a really really bad grasp of probability. Don't take me to Vegas, Sparkles."

She heaves a sigh. "So yeah, I ask this guy if he's Edgar, but no, it turns out it's a cop I saw the other day. Well, cop turned fed turned FRONTLINE. So now this pig knows that I'm a speedster, and he can actually theoretically possibly maybe keep up with me." She rests her head on the back of the chair, reaching up to hit herself on the forehead. "I'm not usually this stupid, Raquelle. I'm getting … complacent… or something."

Raquelle's lashes flutter as he carefully selects a couple of beers, Japanese and they are in thin tall silver cans as he brings them over/pops them open and offers one to Daphne before tugging his office chair closer and slumping into it as he takes a sip from his own drink with a quirk of a slender eyebrow. He listens though, sipping his beer and just watching the woman.

"Nah, it isn't stupid. You live your life, you can't help if other people live their lives too. So don't say that sweet stuff." He sighs softly. "He make any threats or anything that would make you think you're in real danger right now?"

Daphne frowns and thinks back. "No-o," she says slowly. "I kept walking backwards and he kept moving forwards, so I felt a little… nervous. And when I glanced back he had his phone out. But he could have followed me, and he didn't." She takes the can and sips from it, chuckling a little. "I guess maybe I'm overreacting. FRONTLINE isn't all about rounding up the non-Registered, is it? I mean, they're more for emergencies and stuff. I'm hardly dangerous." Unless she runs into someone. She exhales, and her cheeks color a touch. "I love running, but I'm so sick of running sometimes, you know?"

Raquelle points to the beer with a pinky before he licks his lips. "I have no idea what Frontline is all about to be honest sweetie but I know…" He trails off. "You shouldn't have to label yourself for the convenience of the government and shiznit like that so I wouldn't worry about it." He stares at nothing in particular as he sips his drink. "Mm, sometimes honey you just need to stop running. Sit down, chill out, lay down…roll around, do something different. If you keep running eventually you're going to hit something."

Nodding, Daphne takes another sip of the beer. "I stop. Sometimes. And no, I shouldn't have to, but the law says we do. Hell, even normal people have to be labeled now, right? It's unavoidable. Unless you can outrun the bastards, which I've always been able to do. So this guy, this Felix guy, he can do what I can do. He's the first bastard I guess that I felt I needed to be scared of, with a face and a name and he's fast like me… I guess I feel like a rat out of my cage just realizing that there's a cat that might actually be able to catch me. Felix the cat." She snorts at the moniker. "Oh, well. I guess he would have chased if he actually cared, right?"

Raquelle hmms softly as he tilts his head to the side and takes another sip of his beer. "Well I don't bother running, I date a cop, I'll ask them what they know then…okay? Don't worry, you need anything I am here after all." He winks and then rolls his shoulders, sighing softly. "Well, you're Speedy Gonzales, beep beep." He grins. "There you go! He wasn't distracted enough to go after you."

"You date a cop?" Daphne's brows disappear into the shock of white blonde hair. "Oh, that guy! Yeah, he was kinda… coppy, huh." She frowns a little. "No, no, don't tell more cops what I can do… God. I should just… shut up and not say anything. Not that I don't trust you…" Of course she doesn't. She trusted him for the past five minutes, and now she finds out he's dating a cop. Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath, followed by a hard swallow of the beer.

"So how are you? Business good? Everyone probably had horrible roots and came flocking to you when the sun finally came out, huh? Everything's good on your end?" Subject change!

Raquelle just stares at Daphne. "I wouldn't /tell/ him what you can do." He drawls, chuckling softly as he takes a sip of his beer. "He doesn't care much about shit like that." He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows against his knees as he sips from his beer before he thumbs the side of his nose, lashes fluttering. "How am I-oh I'm good, alive, well, business runnin' well, I'm still gorgeous and amazing in the sack so I can't complain."

"You are still gorgeous," Daphne concedes. "I'll have to rely on hearsay for the sack, unless you and I both get rid of the boys and you let me find out for myself." There's a sassy wink, though she's only kidding. Maybe. She reaches out with her bottle to clink its neck against Raquelle's. "Here's to being gorgeous and amazing in the sack. Not that I'd know on the former, but got no complaints on the latter." Her mood is visibly lifted, the worry around her eyes now gone.

Raquelle toasts and clinks his beer against the woman's as he smiles slowly and he shrugs a shoulder. "I'm sorry, I do like 'em tiny and feisty but he comes with handcuffs so…he wins." He blows an air kiss before taking a deep breath and he starts to get to his feet. "Mmhm, there we go, stay real positive like that." He laughs softly. "Alright, finish your beer and I'll give you a wash and touch up, just no more worries okay?"

Taking another long drink of the beer, Daphne snorts at the handcuffs comment and nods. "As well he should," she affirms. "No worries, and no hair dye. Thanks for listening, Sparkles. You're the best. Your cop is one lucky guy." She'll stop running for at least a short while today, to let him wash the troubles right out of her hair — if only it were that easy. But at least, in his hands, she won't worry for a short amount of time.

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