killian arnaud

“Should I even ask what’s all over your hands?” Aidan was laughing as he asked the question, only half serious. “Any redder and it might look a little suspicious.”

“I think that legally, you’re better off not knowing,” Killian vaguely responded. “Just think of it as ketchup, alright?”

Anna realised then she’d probably said too much and she took her head, slipping her purse back over her shoulder after paying for his drink. “I get bitch and pathological liar a lot,” she commented, trying to laugh it off.

Killian nodded politely to the bartender as they placed the beer down on the counter in front of them, and he wrapped his hand around it to pull it closer to him. “Well, are you a bitch?” He casually asked her with a quirked eyebrow. “I’m not a fan of the word myself, though I suppose it can get a job done.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Ronnie put both her hands up, eyes widening as she peered over at the man. “Harry Potter isn’t real?” A look of mock horror crossed her face before she broke out into a wide smile. “Honestly, I feel like unicorn murder would be more offensive to the eight million teenagers and young adults who dressed up as them for Halloween this year. And the year before. And probably the year before that.”

Killian paused at her mock horror, a small grimace on his face. “I feel like I’ve just ruined Santa.” As she continued, Killian nodded slightly. “I’ve never understood Americans’ fascination with Halloween. We never celebrated in my town-- no one handed out candy. Unicorns aren’t even scary. Why would someone want to dress up as a silly unicorn for Halloween?”

Her nose scrunched as Milena took a step back, eyeing the other’s hands with a look that was equal parts confusion and disgust. “How do you not notice your hands look like you just spent the day soaking them in red jello?”

Another time Killian might have waggled his fingers at her, and while he may still have been tempted to, at seeing her expression he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Because I actually do wear gloves, uh-- quite often. But then you go about your day and shit happens.”

                    Blue eyes glanced down to briefly examine his hands, stained with an array of colors, “Are you a painter?” Ben inquired, parting his lips–– jumping to his next thought, “I took a painting class in college once. Ended up having to beg for a C after what I turned in.”

Killian shook his head slightly as he said, “No, I work with hair colour. Painting isn’t really my thing-- I would probably do about as well as you did in that painting class. Why’d you take the class if you weren’t at least decent at it?”

Veronica hands lifted in mock surrender, taking a step back. “Look, murder is murder. Even mythical creatures,” she explained, attempting to keep a serious expression but finding herself unable and let out a quiet chuckle. “Also I’m pretty sure I saw once in Harry Potter movie people who murder unicorns are like… evil or something.”

"One, Harry Potter is a work of fiction, it’s fine to kill real unicorns,” Killian bullshitted with a shrug, his hands finding their way into his pockets. “And two-- I think you have to drink their blood to be evil? And as you can see, my lips aren’t stained. So I’m at least a medium person.”

                       His words made her laugh, head shaking a little. “I’m curious now, how many people went bald during your experiments?” She questioned, “ I just draw and if I’m lucky and have some colors I’ll throw them in. It’s a little hobby of mine, I’ll draw whatever catches my eye.”

Killian chuckled quietly. “I promise, none. At least, no one went bald as far as I know, other than the ones who asked me to make them that way. I did do some ugly things to a lot of mannequins, however.” Nodding lightly, he replied, “Little hobbies are good.” He paused, and then said jokingly, “But colour makes everything better.”

“I probably have, to some degree, unconsciously.” she retorted with a soft grin, her mind clear as her head turned toward the man beside her. “If it sounds sophisticated enough for you to think I rehearsed before, then I must be doing something right.” She noted proudly, “… was that a french accent I noticed?”

“You must be a writer,” he wildly guessed. She seemed talented enough at weaving words for it. “If not, you should look into it.” At her accusation, he nodded and said, “Guilty as charged.” Then, in French he asked her, “Do you speak French?”

“You got me there, it was extremely unpleasant. I don’t know why they gotta keep trying to make new drinks every year. You have a recipe for success, just roll with it!” Ollie agreed, nodding along with far too much vigor. “But eggnog, my man, is a treasure. Maybe you just aren’t drinking the right stuff.”

“I think that’s just how capitalism works,” Killian said with a shrug. “Gotta make that Christmas money.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he responded, “I drink a lot of stuff. I think I’ve tried eggnog at least three times now.”

“Full disclosure, I am a police officer, so if you’re about to confess to murder or something, I’m required by law to arrest you and take you down to the police station,” Veronica’s gaze shifted towards the man’s hands, eyes narrowing in a playful manner.

Killian snorted and splayed his hands out for her to see, showing the array of colours staining his fingertips and forearms. “Are you going to arrest me on suspicion of murdering a unicorn?”

                        “A hair colourist?” Kenna asked surprised, head tilting on the side as he spoke. “That’s nice. I guess you are talented enough to do that. I’m sure I would end up bald if I tried to mix and apply stuff on my hair.” 

“It helps if you practice on a few other people’s heads before your own,” he replied with a small, wry grin. “Let them go bald first.” He shrugged. “It’s just like painting, but on hair. What do you paint?”

                     “Thanks.” She exclaimed, not really used to getting compliments about her hair but there was always a first time for everything. “Do that. Try to wash your hands with warm water after, apply some hand cream after. It should work. Oh, why? Do you paint as well?” 

“Thanks for the advice,” Killian said with a hint of a smile. “No, I’m not a painter. I’m not quite that creative. I’m a hair colourist, so sticking my fingers in dye is kind of my daily.”

                      “I don’t really dye my hair.” Kenna responded with a shrug, “But I do paint and I tend to get a little messy. It works, as long as you don’t mind rubbing your hands for a while.”

“I get it. You already have nice hair, I probably wouldn’t do anything to it either.” Killian tucked his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’ll try jelly tonight then. I’m sure my hands will be terrible again by tomorrow, but c’est la vie.”

                       “Well obviously, I don’t mean you chop your hands off..” Her voice trailed off before cracking a smile. “You can just use some petroleum jelly. Problem solved.” 

“Petroleum jelly?” Killian repeated, quirking an eyebrow. “I have used that before colouring before, but I’ve never considered to use it afterwards. Has that worked for you before?”

                        “I would make sure to take rid of any evidence if I were you.” Kenna responded while checking out his hands. “The last thing you want is a crazy lady threatening to sue you for running her not so expensive coat. You just never know with people.” 

Killian groaned at the mention of crazy ladies. “I would believe it,” he said sourly. “Dye is hard to get rid of, though. Like-- on purpose. Should I just chop my hands off?”

There was a second’s hesitation, before Holly realized he was joking, and her laugh mirrored that. “No, I haven’t,” she admitted for once, though most often she took the route of lying through her teeth that she’d seen this or that film to sound more worldly. But somehow she felt he’d see through that. “What’s it about?”  

Killian paused before he answered, trying to configure a sentence before he spoke; he had never been great at movie summaries. “It’s about a retired married couple after the wife’s health begins to decline,” he explained, punctuating it with a shrug. “It sounds sad, and it is. But it’s very beautiful, too. What’s your favourite movie?”