Solving Problems With Punches @shrimperialduplicate - Tumblr Blog

Making the Cut

It’d been years since Meenah had her hair long - when she was small the long tresses falling down her back beautifully, almost touching the floor - and while she didn’t miss having her hair get caught in everything and being impossible to manage, she did get real goddamned tired of having to constantly maintain her short hair. As it was, her hair currently had short side swept bangs, long side fringes that framed her face, and enough hair that was just long enough to give her a shaggy pixie cut. This haircut she loved, and she only loved it more when she added blazing pink gene mods to the tips of her fringes. This look was her, this was Meenah, and yet, her hair grew so fucking fast that it took a lot of effort to maintain it. A task of which she had neglected up until that fucking moment.

It was driving her mad, her hair was starting to grow out and look more like a messy bob and it was agitating her to the core feeling her hair tickle her neck constantly. She hated how her bangs were limiting her vision now, and as she had it she could feel her fringes tickle under her chin in a way that wasn’t even ticklish but more uncomfortable and grating. While she usually tried to cut her hair in her own dorm, her roommate was currently hanging out with a bunch of blond boys that looked like they could be part of the Squirrel Squad with the dumbass glasses they wore, so the Peixes was forced to roam the campus searching for a place to set up and do the deed. Now, some might ask why she didn’t just go to a salon, but the Peixes clone was very well versed in cutting her own hair - her being her own stylist for the entirety of her life - and personally felt threatened when most other people brought scissors near her head and neck. Especially strangers.

So there she was, roaming around campus with her clam shell purse and matching backpack while she looked around and scoured fo- Oh. the art lab. Right. Those edgy art students surely wouldn’t mind if the Crocker heiress used their art lab to cut her hair. And hair styling was a form of art, so what could they really complain about? Walking into the art building and trudging down the hall to the arts lab, Meenah opened the door and looked into the empty room before mentally high-fifing herself and trudging in, suddenly very excited about soon being able to get the hair off of her neck and out of her eyes as she went and grabbed a painting smock off of the row of them hooked to the wall, dumping her backpack and purse on a table so she could fish out her salon tools. Pulling out the large toolbox and opening it up, Meenah tied on her hairdressing apron and filled it with the necessary hand tools, omitting her electric razor for if she needed it at the end for tidying as she kicked up a stool, shoving it hard against a sink as she went to hang her head over the porcelain basin. Raising her scissors to her hair, Meenah utilized the abundance of mirrors in the room to see what she was doing, too focused to notice the other person in the room until they snapped the scissors from her hand before she could even make a cut, her head whipping towards them with a start as they stated to her rather frankly, “You’re doing that wrong.”

#shrimperialduplicate #CI #ci open post

A Solid Trade-Off

Things that Meenah outright hated fit into a very long list, yes, but one thing she hated the most was morning. Especially early mornings. She loathed the chirping of birds outside her window when she was tired as hell, and hated how people expected her to be chipper when she wasn’t fond of mornings. This morning was no different, but for some reason her roommates had left without much noise at all and that left Meenah to keep sleeping. She didn’t have classes that day and work started for her in the late afternoon, which meant lucky her, she got to sleep to her heart’s content for once. Or that is, she would have, if it weren’t for someone knocking on her fucking door.

Grumbling and tossing her sheets off in an unceremonious way, the Peixes clone continued her long and drawn out grumbling as she shuffled around her room, trying to find clothes and sifting through a laundry basket that wasn’t even hers until she grabbed a tired old crop top with ‘Daddy’ printed on it - She really wasn’t sure which of her roommates owned that abomination - and a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms with big pink stars on them that narrowly didn’t cover Meenah’s briefs. Usually she would’ve had her own pile of stuff to sift through, but as it happened her roommates were - or, at least, Rose was - the kinds of people that liked to save on detergent by throwing everyone’s darks and lights together in organized piles to get cleaned. So unless Meenah actually kept tabs on what clothes were hers and who was folding laundry that day, she either had to smack Cronus while he folded her panties or just assume they weren’t hers. Which really didn’t cut it a lot of the time, considering her and her roommates were all greatly varied sizes of people.

So there she was, looking tired hair a mess of curl and disarray in pants that might be hers and a shirt that definitely wasn’t as the Peixes slammed the door to her room and stalked through the communal area of her dormitory, eyes vibrant pink and blazing her unimpressed mood while she reached for the door. Pulling open the door and looking around the space and meeting the gaze of someone who only seemed a fraction taller than the Peixes amazon. Huh. This tall person was new. And really, she only knew that because Meenah kept tabs on all the non-anklebiter sized people on campus and she sure as shit in the sun didn’t have any recollection of the pointy looking shitlord standing in front of her like it was his holy-fucking right to be there. Or maybe that last part was exaggerated due to Meenah’s mood. That was also an option. Giving the kid a good once over and scrunching up her nose in distaste, the Peixes raised a tired eyebrow at him and let her voice slur heavily, drawling out gruffly, “Hook, waterever ya tryna pin th’blame on me fo’ I ain’t done it. An’ if ya tryna buy test answers offa me, I ain’t got shop open unkrill noon. Sea ya, fucko.” She snapped sharply before going to close her door. Or at least, the door would’ve closed if the person she was dismissing hadn’t jammed his foot there so she couldn’t just ignore him. Fucking marvellous start to a dreary morning.