Post by orinocoflow on Nov 20, 2010 20:54:02 GMT -5
“Hey, Ryan, do you want to get a haircut? Getting a little shaggy over your ears there,” Paul called out into the bus where the Dark Destroyer was still figuring out where the floor was. It was only seven-thirty, and for the first time that tour, Ryan had slept in instead of going out for a run.
An answering groan came from inside. “Go away, Byrom,” or so it sounded like; apparently, staying up late to watch movies, one of which was Edward Scissorhands was not something you would do if you wanted to have the Dark Destroyer awake early the next morning. Smiling, Paul turned and walked back down the road they had just come towards a barber shop he had seen while driving to the new venue. They had a whole day before sound-check, and he was planning to spend part of those hours getting a much-needed haircut. Running his hand through the thick shock of hair on his head, he tried to smooth the curls around his ears back down, but then the locks on the rest of his head just stood straight up. The fact that Damien had had a ball the night before ruffling them up while Paul was asleep did not help at all; fortunately, he had woken up just before the teen was about to get his scissors out and give him a snip himself as payback for hacking into his Facebook account. Shaking his head with a silent laugh at the memory, he walked into the barber shop.
“How may I help you?”
Paul turned in surprise, having not seen the guy come up. And his eyes slowly widened as he saw the look in the barber’s own pair; why were they all gleaming with a dangerous light?
“Uh…I-I think I just…wrong building…” he stuttered, starting to walk backwards out of the place, but the man advanced quickly and steered him back towards the empty chair.
“Come here; let’s see…just a trim here…” he wrapped a sheet around the uncertain tenor and twirled the chair around so that he was faced away from the mirror, unable to see what the barber was doing.
I hate it when they do that, thought Paul to himself, remembering when his mother had done the same thing once when he was younger and did not want to have his hair cut. The result was exactly what he had not wanted, and since that day he had always insisted on seeing himself while getting a haircut, even, ESPECIALLY, if it was “just a trim.” Just as he was about to point that out, a sharp pain stung him in the back of the neck.
“OW! What the—” reaching up, he pressed a hand to the cut on the back of his neck. Swirling back in the chair to face the man, he opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind…but then he froze without uttering another sound. Not sparing a backward glance, he ripped the sheet off of himself, grabbed his jacket and a random towel, and sprinted out into the street, pressing the towel gingerly to the cut.
How do you get a cut on the neck while getting a haircut?! he wondered, his thoughts racing. Never again, he vowed, never again am I getting a haircut without seeing what he is doing to me.
THE END
An answering groan came from inside. “Go away, Byrom,” or so it sounded like; apparently, staying up late to watch movies, one of which was Edward Scissorhands was not something you would do if you wanted to have the Dark Destroyer awake early the next morning. Smiling, Paul turned and walked back down the road they had just come towards a barber shop he had seen while driving to the new venue. They had a whole day before sound-check, and he was planning to spend part of those hours getting a much-needed haircut. Running his hand through the thick shock of hair on his head, he tried to smooth the curls around his ears back down, but then the locks on the rest of his head just stood straight up. The fact that Damien had had a ball the night before ruffling them up while Paul was asleep did not help at all; fortunately, he had woken up just before the teen was about to get his scissors out and give him a snip himself as payback for hacking into his Facebook account. Shaking his head with a silent laugh at the memory, he walked into the barber shop.
“How may I help you?”
Paul turned in surprise, having not seen the guy come up. And his eyes slowly widened as he saw the look in the barber’s own pair; why were they all gleaming with a dangerous light?
“Uh…I-I think I just…wrong building…” he stuttered, starting to walk backwards out of the place, but the man advanced quickly and steered him back towards the empty chair.
“Come here; let’s see…just a trim here…” he wrapped a sheet around the uncertain tenor and twirled the chair around so that he was faced away from the mirror, unable to see what the barber was doing.
I hate it when they do that, thought Paul to himself, remembering when his mother had done the same thing once when he was younger and did not want to have his hair cut. The result was exactly what he had not wanted, and since that day he had always insisted on seeing himself while getting a haircut, even, ESPECIALLY, if it was “just a trim.” Just as he was about to point that out, a sharp pain stung him in the back of the neck.
“OW! What the—” reaching up, he pressed a hand to the cut on the back of his neck. Swirling back in the chair to face the man, he opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind…but then he froze without uttering another sound. Not sparing a backward glance, he ripped the sheet off of himself, grabbed his jacket and a random towel, and sprinted out into the street, pressing the towel gingerly to the cut.
How do you get a cut on the neck while getting a haircut?! he wondered, his thoughts racing. Never again, he vowed, never again am I getting a haircut without seeing what he is doing to me.
THE END