' ᴛᴏ sᴇᴠᴇʀ.

      BLAIR BLACK IS not the ideal waiter, at least… not usually. he has the memory skills, the math down pat, and the charming personality people like to come back to, but at the same time, he’s very fickle – cat-like, even. today, that fickleness leans him leaning against the podium at the entrance as he waits for guests, flipping through a magazine. he hears the bell, but doesn’t bother lifting his gaze.   ❛  someone will be with you sh –  ❜   he starts, but blair stops himself when he allows his gaze to lift, focusing on the stranger. almost in the same second, he snaps his magazine shut, smiling all too eagerly.   ❛  wow! you’re edward scissorhands, aren’t you? it’s such an honor!! if you came here on mister jack’s request, he ordered a cake from us, but it’s not quite finished yet unfortunately…  ❜

          the quick change catches the hairdresser slightly off guard, though not as whiplash inducing as it would be if he didn’t work with JACK for a ‘living’, instead taking worried interest in the fact he’s known, by name, by someone he's never seen before. memory serves no help in recognizing the waiter, having never seen him before at the salon  (  &  he can remember nearly everyone that comes by even once, with how .... non human they tend to be. )  a quick glance to the name tag pinned to uniform gives no hints  &  thus, no hope, so for now he gives up on what he knows is useless.

          “ i’m here to pick up something? “   while his statement is vague at best, he doesn’t exactly know why he’s here himself!!  he’s never felt the need to go out to any restaurants in hell  ( really, he never gets used to saying normal things with hell next to it ),  until now when he was told to.  “ for salon de jack the ripper. an order, i guess? “

   “  ed it is! i’m glad you’re being so accommodating.  ”   ranpo grins cheekily, tilting his head in mock innocence. the other’s inquiry makes him give a contemplative hum, leaning back in his chair with a nod of agreement.   “  i suppose so… well, you’ve probably heard of me! i am famous after all – you’re in the presence of the one and only edogawa ranpo, the world’s greatest detective!  ”

admittedly, he didn’t quite care for a new haircut ( his hair is fine the way it is, as it has never bothered him ) yet gives a slight shrug, not exactly meeting the stylist’s eyes. he can tell he’s welcome here, but his anxiety says otherwise – he’s tense, apprehensive, scanning the room with his wide range of vision. something peculiar catches his eye – a mirror against one wall, the reflection splintered into a spiderweb of cracks. 

he’s careful not to look too long to glimpse his own reflection; he doesn’t want to see what he looked like when he died, much less the supposed ragged mess of his hair. instead, his gaze fixates on the salon employee once more, rounded pupils seeming to thin just slightly. 

“that’s nice of him to do,” it’s an idle comment, a hand subconsciously reaching up to brush back bangs, uneven strands hanging into his eyes. perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit of it cut, right? “i don’t really have a style preference…” it’s ragged and choppy, uneven all around; he had simply gotten used to it, though the length was getting a little too long for comfort. a small smile if offered, a little stiff at the corners – something about all of this weighs heavily over him, a foreboding sense of unease. “is that alright?”

          “ no preference--? “   he had been hoping for some idea, but in the end he supposes it doesn’t really matter if he had one or not. anything better than a mess of hair  ( or bangs that cover half your face, leaving your eyes a mystery as his was before )  will help the customer find a job that much faster, let him adjust to normal life.   a customer’s a customer, after all,  &&  he’s got bills to pay. ( there’s something fulfilling about helping others, as well ; a better, more meaningful HELP than killing criminals. ) 

          “ that’s fine, we can cut bit by bit until you like it, or think of something you’d like. “  a waving motion of his hand, directing him towards the chair  &&  wash basin.  “ we’ll have to wash it first, but it won’t take long. “   he feels the need to be gentle with him, more careful. not from fear of the monster  ( he assumes, seeing as only monsters are to fall to hell )  lashing out suddenly should he mess up, but the general way he acts - a scared cat, ed would compare him to. attentive, tense, scanning every detail, remembering paths  &&  escape routes.

he nodded his head in response  ,  clutching his sunny but coldsunflowers tightly   ;   the child denies that he is quite shy  though in his defense  ,  he doesn’t know how to talk to strangers  /   or was probably never thought to  .    ❛  um  …  yeah sure  .   i’ve met k. a.   ,   sorry if  … it brought up some memories  …      ❜   he softly and slowly muttered  ,  feeling numb  ;  there wasn’t a hint of emotion in his face  .  

    lavender hues watch the salon  ;   it’s kind of fancy but at the same time  ,  drab  ;   probably the owner didn’t have enough money to buy decorations or they’re just lazy  ?    ❛   i’m quite far from the salon  ,  actually  ;  i live in a basement  ;   my mentor remembered me and offered a part of his house though i have to contribute so that he can pay rent so i opened a flower shop by the corner  .   anyways  ,  i hate to be rude but your salon kind of looks  ….  dull  .      ❜

          memories?  of his passing  &&  awakening in hell, he assumes -- though in truth, it’s nothing that bothers him. his proof of living, before, was nothing lighthearted or something to hold onto ; executions were the only impact he made,  &&  the only thing that made him feel.  ( be it the ‘pleasure’ or the begging voices that echoed within his ears. )

          at the least, this one’s already situated in a place of living  &&  even a job, that’s less of a hassle for him to deal with. it makes the beautician wonder why she’s here then -- small talk isn’t something so common with strangers.

the salon’s door handle is cool to the touch, fingertips carefully opening the door to the sound of a bell ringing overhead, announcing his arrival to salon de jack the ripper on hell’s 4th street, exactly where he’d been informed it would be. swinging open beneath his touch, the newcomer is greeted to a room with boldly striped chairs and iron-grated windows. for a salon, it’s different from what he expected; golden-violet eyes briefly wander, fixating on someone who is presumably a worker there ( though he can sense the presence of someone else, an aura that leaves him feeling cold ). 

“hello,” the simple greeting sounds steady, yet anxiety eats away at his knotted stomach, present in the slight tremor of his hands as he pushes the door shut behind him. given the circumstance where he’s fallen down into hell, it’s no surprise, waking in the centre of the bustling nightmare market. no answers had been gained from the market’s owner, ‘k.a.’ – who, by the way, had decided to inform him his hair was terribly in need of a trim.

atsushi carefully swallows, trying to ignore the questions he wanted to ask; there’s far too many or too much to be answered by a hairdresser. “k.a. suggested i come here; is the salon open?” 

@tosever

          business was slow, though not the type of slow that ever warranted mass amounts of worry for the upcoming bills that would need to be paid  ( he’s ever diligent in getting enough funds to pay rent  &&  so on, willing to style even the oddest of hair choices -- to this day, the headless horseman, or rather his HORSE, are on top of the charts of odd. )   at the least, it gave him time to practice more  &&  more on the wig wearing dummy, positioned before the monster reflecting mirror he’s come to know more  &&  more.  ( as well as, of course, the ... other one ... ) 

          with the door opening, not only is he greeted by a steady greeting from the customer but a rather loud exclaim from the encounter mirror, eds head picks up as he turns. first observation ; stiff. no questions have time to form in his head as that name is quickly mentioned, giving him reason to believe this one is a newcomer to hell, explaining almost anything else that might come up.

        “ Is that so ? ” Odd, they looked to be fairly troubling to lift, yet he raised them like they weren’t any heavier than an average sized sword. If she had thought their size was strange, the fact they could be freely taken apart was even stranger. “ Might I ask what you do with those…scissors ? I highly doubt they’re used to open large envelopes. ”

please help, ed

&& tosever.

        “ Is there any particular reason you possess scissors of such an unreasonable size ? …Are they not heavy ? “

   “  sure you do. just not here, i’m assuming.  ”   the great detective quips casually in response, flipping a page in his book. he’s not actually reading, and hasn’t been from the moment he picked it up, but he’s a brilliant actor and it seems believable all the same. he looks up from the page he’s skimming over to smile at the man, folding one leg over the other with an exaggerated hum.   “  i just heard a certain other ability user about you, so i was curious and couldn’t help myself. you’re… hm, edward, isn’t it?  ”

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