Participants:
| Scene Title | Taking the Gray Out |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | On a trip over to Manhattan, Tuck gets a hair cut. And a dye jobe. |
| Date | April 18, 2009 |
Super Snips
Super Snips! One of those chain based hair places that usually hire the fresh out of cosmo school hair attendants just looking to make a quick buck, or the skilled hair-stylists who don't have any other choice. All black and some purple decor, black floors, bright lights (some gone out) and the signs advertising the prices for Haircuts, hair washes…the like, also the shaving and waxing and make-up application 'specialties' the chain is known for. Pictures of before and after magazine styled hair-styles, all the typical somewhat cheesy and predictable decor. At the front counter is a bubbly teenage looking part-timer wearing her black smock over her black t-shirt, advertising 'Super Snips' in cursive letters and her hair dyed/fryed a platinum that's never been natural as she chews gum and idly surfs Facebook or the verse equiv of the hippest social networking site on the front computer. It isn't really busy right now, typical mid-afternoon.
Gilbert Tucker doesn't often get to the mainland. Every time he does, he's shocked by how normal things are. Staten Island is a den of decay in comparison to some of the better kept areas of Manhattan.
He's dressed in his best 'walking out clothes,' which includes a dark pair of jeans, a silk screened shirt and a dark suit jacket, paired with a pair if black plastic-framed glasses. He'd look fairly mod were it not for the mop that passes as his hair. He doesn't trust Bill the Barber in the Rookery, as he suspects the grimy looking man doubles as an emergency surgeon like his historical predecessors.
It's actually an afterthought that Tuck even ventures into the Super Snips. He was planning to kill some time at a bookstore or a coffee shop - all shockingly normal pursuits if one doesn't consider that he's killing time before he meets with a criminal. He needs to up his ammo supplies and his contact likes to meet in person.
He actually passes by the door of the salon twice before venturing inward. He pokes his head in first, then follows with the rest of his body. "Um. Hi. Do you take walk-ins?" No, he didn't read that if it was posted somewhere.
The girl at the front desk looks Tuck over and pops her gum. "Mmhmm." She offers kinda non-attentatively. "Whatcha havin' done?" She pops that gum again before really looking at Tuck and hmmmming thoughtfully. "Oh gawd, everything hunh?" She's not the most polite little thing.
"Just a haircut there, Bleachy Lee. No reason to get snarky. Manners, manners." Tuck glances down at his watch, then back down along the line of chairs. "Is there someone free or not? Cause I saw another shop down the street…" he thumbs down the way.
"Oh like, nooooooo you didn't!" Bleachy Lee just pops her gum again and rolls her eyes before flipping open the appointment book. "Fiiiine, there's somebody open. Put your name down." She turns around and because the shop is huge (only not) she yells. "RAQUELLE! You got a OLD MAN who need a HAIRCUT!" She gestures towards the back of the shop vaguely. "Kelly'll see to ya." She pops that gum again then freezes as Raquelle comes from the back, he's wearing the Super Snips apron like toolbelt thing and a fitted Super Snips smock left open over a mesh shirt, hair done, make-up on, docs on his feet, black jeans looking very much the goth he comes across as being sometimes and there's a white stick protruding from between his lips. He snatches the lollypop from his mouth with a *pop*. "Sheila, I swear to GOD you keep screaming for me like I'm making you suffer the petite un morte or whatever and I will /mix/ your bleaching solution with nair and your little fake bobbied ass is gonna wake up BALD looking like an anorexic Britney Spears on crack…" He arches a slender eyebrow.
Tuck winces when Sheila belts out towards the back and calls him an old man. He is very tempted right then and there to just walk out, but that would be making a scene. And he doesn't trust this woman not to call the cops out of spite, out of some perceived slight.
And he has a few warrants out.
It is in fact Raquelle's response to Sheila that stops him from turning and walking right out. "She is a charmer," he deadpans and takes a minute to take in the guy with a girl's name who is supposedly going to cut his hair. Fascinating. "I do hope you only pay her in bleach." Then he steps forward to write his name. It just says 'Tuck' in all caps.
Raquelle's tongue swirls around his blow-pop as he gives Sheila a significant look with those eyeliner rimmed eyes and she just pouts and sorta hunches down some. "Her mother owns the damn place sugarmuffin, don't worry your little head about her lack of common sense or manners." Sometimes the fact he /was/ raised in the city where country music breeds slips out and he flashes a grin and gestures grandly towards the back after his eyes flick towards the appointment book. "Well now Mr Tuck, you bring your pretty little english fairy named behind this-a-way and I'll see to taming those locks of yours." Wink and he's disposing of his lollypop on his way to his station.
Tuck makes a huffing sound. Difficult to say why. Coulda been 'pretty,' coulda been 'fairy,' coulda been 'behind.' Also could be the eyeliner. Any one of those is likely to have provoked the reaction he gives. "Well, that does explain the lack of work ethic."
He follows Raquelle as requestion. There's a brief pause as his face screws up. "Were you thinking about Puck?" Seemingly apropos of nothing. He's a little thrown.
Raquelle smirks as he pauses to slip a compact from an apron pocket as he checks his eyeliner then snaps it closed, gesturing towards his chair and tapping a glossy black nail against the back of the chair as he waits. "Tuck, Puck, Fu-…same general principle." A wry twist of his lips. "Besides, I believe that was a movie, Tuck Everlasting or something." He shakes out his sparkly purple cape and quirks an eyebrow. "So what am I doin' for you today?"
"I don't watch a lot of movies," at least not ones without car chases in them. Tuck sort of says this against his chest and he flicks Raquelle a twitch of a smile. He shrugs off the suit jacket and sinks into the chair. "We-eell. I'm no style guru. I'd just prefer not to look like I stuck my head in a blender." At least his glasses are sort of mod.
Raquelle hmms and smooths a finger against Tuck's cheek when he sits down before wrapping that cape around the man and fastening with a soft tsking. "Okay then sugarluv, let me see what I can do with this." He pats his cheek and gives his hair a bit of a tug. "Come on, let me get you all washed up first, then I'll give you a trim." He heads towards the washing station. He's all business right now.
"This is uh, actually the first time I've ever been to a place that's not..not just a barber, y'know?" The corner of Tuck's mouth tugs upwards into a grin. He glances around the salon. This might be a chain place, but it's still a little bit like Mars for the thug from Staten. He flicks the cape about awkwardly, then follows Raquelle back.
Raquelle makes sure Tuck is situated in the chair and leaning him back slowly and tilting his head back. "Awww, why's that honey? Nobody to say 'you're shedding on my pillow, go to the salon?'" He selects the shampoos and conditioners carefully and starts the water but he also pulls out a straight edge razor as he talks, voice soothing and gentle and he works on relaxing the man first. "Mmhm. Relax for me, relax for me…" He repeats softly, voice keeping that gentle edge.
For some reason that Tuck can't quite put his finger on, Raquelle talking softly is having the opposite effect of relaxing him. "My hair is just a low priority til the day I wake up and realize that it looks like a fright wig's been glued to my head." He closes his eyes, but under the cape, his hands are wound tightly together. His face gives the impression of relaxation. "Looks aren't exactly a critical factor in my line of work."
Raquelle sighs and takes a moment to close his own eyes for a few moments and then he just starts talking. "Do you know what happened this morning? My daughter's tarantula got out /again/ oh my goodness I swear she does it on purpose." He is rubbing something on Tuck's cheeks for some reason, creamy and professional like as he probably is shaving the man but you can barely feel the blade he works so quickly. "And you're lucky looks aren't important in your line of work but you've got such lovely features dumpling…" He compliments. "You should take some time for yourself."
"You have a kid?" Tuck can't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. But he realizes that's pretty impolite and also making assumptions. Because, well, look at him. "Tarantula, huh? Probably. Kids like to imagine that animals are better out of their cages. My son wouldn't keep his hamster locked up. Kept thinking it'd be like a dog and wouldn't wander too far." A beat and a grin. "We had a hamster in our walls for about two weeks before we actually managed to catch the damn thing again. Had a chunk of ear missing. I think that a rat or a mouse or something got to it." He's babbling, but a hairdresser is probably used to that.
He's babbling because he got a compliment, and that's not something he's used to getting. Also talk of kids. Always brings up some painful and good memories.
"Don't move sugarnuts, I'd hate to cut you." Raquelle murmurs softly before working on rinsing off Tuck's face and wiping off his blade and then quickly starting on washing his hair, fingers strong and massaging the scalp after a few moments. "I have two daughters, si." He flashes a grin that the man can't see but the pride and amusement is in his voice. "8 and 4 year old, my little angels. The oldest likes icky pets and my youngest loves her giant rat." He has to laugh softly at the story about the hamster. "Rats are pretty damn gangsta. - Close your eyes so I don't get nothing in them pretty peepers."
"Sugarnuts?" Tuck says that with a certain perplexed raise to his voice. He's been called lots of things in his day, but that's a new one. "Mine's sixteen," says the fence. He closes his eyes as instructed. His expression darkens. A sixteen year old who won't talk to him or even tell him where he sleeps at night. The hands he clenches beneath the apron tighten.
Raquelle laughs softly. "You don't like that? I'd think most guys would prefer to have sweet nuts. And I'm rather fond of sugary nuts." He doesn't clarify what he means there as he rinses that hair with the spray hose like hair washing device. "Boy or girl? Sixteen's an awkward age, you know, I drove my parents crazy at that age." Towel found as he works on tousling that hair dry, sitting the man up using his own head. "To the chair."
"Boy," says Tuck. "I…" a beat, "He…" ran away, "…lived with his mother for a few years. Only starting to get back into his life." Close enough to the truth.
He stands as instructed and moves to the chair. The whole pampering experience is pretty new to him. He sinks back into the dressing chair and frowns at his own reflection. He forces the expresion into something warmer and more neutral. "I give you permission to do what you want. I trust you won't do anything too crazy. Not that I have enough hair to go crazy with."
Raquelle tousles some more and removes the towel before spritzing the hair down with something and working a narrow comb through it. "You want a magazine or water or lollypop or something to suck on while I turn you into a sex god?" He asks, eyeing the man in the mirror as he combs and works the conditioner through the hair. "My oldest daughter's mother…left her with me when she was a baby and hasn't really showed interest in her for quite some time, the youngest's mother died…when everything went to shit in the city." He sighs softly. "So it is important to stay close." He starts examining the hair and the grey with a critical eye. "Mmhm, nothing too crazy." He raises his voice. "I'ma need some foils and a…" He shoots off some number of something. There is some silence. "Sheila…NOW." Shortly after that, a cart is rolled up by Bleachy Lee, who is pouting.
"Whoa, whoa…hey. You…do I really need hair dye?" That's not manly! Right? The other criminals will make fun of him if he comes home with highlights. Tuck eyes the cart and Miss Bleach, then glances back to the mirror and up at Raquelle. "That's…tough," he says of the conversation about kids. "I looked after Rocket by myself for about six years. S'not easy, even with one."
"Relax my sugary little nutbucket. I'm not going to dye anything crazy, going give you low-lights and cover up some of the grey bits." Raquelle informs the man before quietly starting to get to work, mixing things, setting out things, etc. Method to the madness. Sheila does leave with a pop of her gum as Kelly mmhms softly. "Rocket. That's an adorable name!" He compliments. "And at least you did your best, alot of fathers…wouldn't I've learned." He starts on the hair.
Tuck opens his mouth to protest, then closes it. Yeah, the other criminals are going to razz him next poker night. "His mother's Russian. I couldn't pronounce the name she wanted to give him, but it sounded a lot like Rocket. So we compromised."
His nostril twitches at the smell of the dye. All he wanted was a trim, and here he is with a shave and hair dye. Oh, Manhattan. Life is a lot more frivolous here than on Staten.
Raquelle chuckles softly. "Compromise is good. Billy Jean's mother is a lesbian, so the compromise was a bit awkward. But at least she got her gig in Vegas." He works quickly and efficiently, foiling and etc. "You live close by? I was going to ask if he babysat or something just because you know…it can be hard to find a good one."
"No, I…" Tuck starts to say more, but stops himself. No reputable people live in Staten Island, not anymore. "I'm not usually down this way. And Rocket's…not talking to me." He eyes the foiling as it progresses. "Feel like you're turning me into a baked potato," he murmurs.
Raquelle hesitates before continuing and when he has the foils he wants in he sighs softly. "You poor baby." Hands are wiped off before they move to massage Tuck's shoulders as he waits for the bit of dye to set like he wants. "Baked potato with sour cream and chives…nummy." He has to laugh softly, a rumbling happy sound. "As for your son…any particular reason he's on a speaking strike?"
That feels good. Tuck actually lets himself relax for all of five seconds before he starts to feel guilty for thinking it feels good.
His is a complicated world.
"I fucked up a few years ago. He hasn't forgiven me." He's not really sure why he's confiding in Raquelle. It might be because he's imagining he'll never see the hairdresser again after this. "Used to be in a bad way. It was hard on him. I made some mistakes." It's hard to look into his own face and admit that. Damn mirror.
Stronger fingers dig in as Raquelle listens intently to the story and he sighs softly. "Buy him something very very nice and write a letter, connect it to a contract about how while as a father you'll make mistakes, you'll never do what you did to make him not trust you and sign it." He suggests softly as he eventually takes Tuck back to rinse the dye out then back to the chair to begin the expert trip, lots of snips and razor work to make it fall in a style yet…still manage to look natural and fresh. He's good at his job at least. During work though he talks about everything from the weather to having good skin.