Making the Cut
Itâd 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 didnât 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 wouldnât 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, âYouâre doing that wrong.â













