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18 July 2008 @ 07:00 am
Theatrical Muse: Week 239: Question 239  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 693


Hair(y). (Hairy situation? Bad hair day? Hair shirt? Hair of the dog that bit you? Go wild.)


As a gradually aging man in his something, something fifties, I look back at my hair and I remember how it once was, and how it is now. I am lucky, if you want to call it so, in that I have not yet started to lose my hair completely, and so while it has thinned, slightly, it still holds the shape and style reminiscent of how it has been in all these years past. It has turned a brown to a gradual grey tinged with brown, but nonetheless it is still my hair, mostly the way I remember it, if not entirely.

The young girl smiled as she attacked his hair carefully, artistically, with a set of scissors, and then closer at the base, with some clippers. The hair, brown, grey in colour fell in small clumps over the cape and at his feet. He watched it, fancifully wondering how it might fare as the stuffing of a pillow, but soon the errant thought was on its way out of his head and he focused on the slight brushes of the metal, and the girl’s fingers, against his scalp. He enjoyed it, for what is was, and was sorely tempted to ask the young woman out later, for a drink. It was not a major predilection of his, young girls, as it was with some men seeking power or greedy satisfaction through youth, but being that he could get away with it, the courting game, was still a thing he enjoyed greatly, at any length.

Describe my hair? Mostly grey now, with still a hint of brown streaked through. Not by means of dyeing though, no, of course not, never! That is just, how it is, and I find it pleasant. Brown hair is all very nice, but now mostly grey with brown hair, and my glasses, it makes some people tell me that I look distinguished. That fact alone, is an added bonus when I try to enchant or compliment some kinds of women or men, so the aging factor, the going grey factor, as it may be, is not an entirely bad thing. Not that I fear it, going grey, as it has something that never really held a fear factor for me, unlike some people that I am aware of. There is something pointless for myself, personally, to be afraid, to try and prevent, something that I can not avoid, and can accept, by way of passage, as a natural and unavoidable happening.

Marianne’s hands felt pleasant against his scalp, more pleasant than any haircut he ever had had, or ever would have, Sid was sure of it. She had never been a hairdresser and held no intention of being one, but occasionally when he needed a trim, when they had forgotten to take the walk to the hairdresser and sit down for one, she would get out an old pair of scissors and electric clippers that someone, somewhere in her family had given her once upon a time. Then, she would cut his hair, just as well as anyone else could, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. With just as much precision, he would sometimes do hers, although her hair was far more uniform and obedient than his ever was, or would be.

I suppose hair is a lifetime thing. A part of your person, your appearance, that you ought to be proud of, in order to look good, to look appealing or, orderly, proper, for some purpose or personal directive. I agree with this, and I treasure my hair, I do, because I like it for what it is. Glorified, colourful and enjoyable to touch plumage that helps to keep my hair warm, and which prevents my hat from rubbing against the skin of my head. It is also something which can cost an arm and a leg to get cut if you’re not careful, which is why I stick to the same hairdresser now, mostly. Trying out a new place every now and then, for the sake of adventure, for me, is not a terrible misgiving or cause of disloyalty to someone else, at all.
 
 
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