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Razielwalked calmly along a small path through wide flowering hills. His bare feet sank into the soft dirt beneath him. The sun bathed him in a glowing warmth as he strode along, eyes closed and face tilted into the light. He smiled as he basked in the summer warmth of Aeris.
He was a young man, around eighteen years of age. He had very short light brown hair and eyes so dark they looked black. He was skinny but toned, and wore a simple short sleeved shirt and pants. Hanging around his neck on a blue chain was a polished silver halo with the words “Etna Virontous Sreit” engraved around the edge.
Aeris was a small coastal country, it remained neutral during the War of the Heralds. But Raziel knew it was not entirely neutral.
Southwell Larsa, a famed counter-assassin, hid herself deep within the heart of Aeris. Her lair dug its roots into Aeris's capital, the "Flooded City", Sevik. She controlled the small guild of super assassins, the legendary Tomb Screamers. Raziel had only one goal in mind, to eliminate the Tomb Screamers. Specifically Southwell herself.
But currently, he was being followed. He was blessed with ethereal awareness, an ability that enabled him to use all five of his senses in a radius of about 30 feet around him.
He could see the old man walking behind him, he could hear his worn boots carefully walking on the path, and he could smell the strong cinnamon liquor on his breath mixed with half-cooked salted meat and stale bread.
But most importantly, he could taste the poison coating the throwing knife the old man carefully hid within his tattered cloak.
A/N: I don’t cut hair, but I get my hair cut so, well, please forgive any mistakes...
I was getting ready to close up shop. Last year I’d opened my own salon and it cost me no extra money to keep the place open by myself. I’d sent everyone home for the rest of the weekend hours ago since there were no other scheduled appointments and I stuck around. I was on my laptop and caught up on news before I did some writing. I like to think I’m a writer. A lot of people in this town think they are writers. I’m one of ‘em.
I don’t normally have walk-ins right from the street. It happened every once in a while. When it did, I liked to make them feel at home, hoping to convert them to a regular client.
I was getting ready to close up since it was past midnight, well past closing time. I’d gotten caught up with writing and was in a bit later than I’d expected. I was surprised when I heard my door open. I was even more surprised when I saw who it was. I’d enjoyed his work and, well, I consider him to be one of the most handsome men around. And I see a lot of handsome in LA.
“May I help you?”
“Are you still open?” Everyone else talked about his accent. For some reason I never heard one out of him, unless it was for a specific role. I didn’t hear one in the flesh, either.
I briefly hesitated. I’d been getting ready to close, but I could always do another haircut.
“I’ll pay extra. I really need it before tomorrow night and I don’t think I’ll be able to get someone tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow’s Sun- oh, gotcha. Yeah, I can take care of you. What do you want, a trim?”
“And my beard too, if you don’t mind.”
“Not a problem. Let’s trim your beard first, then wash. Work for you?”
“Sure, where do you want me?”
My mind raced at that one. Oh, but I wanted him in so many different places, and none of them were in my salon. I shoved those thoughts aside but not before blushing several shades of pink. I turned quickly to get a smock for him to put on and hoped he didn’t notice.
“Do you normally trim your beard yourself, or have your stylist do it?”
“What makes you think I have a stylist?”
I turned to look at him, quirking an eyebrow and tilting my head to the side. It was my silent ‘really?’ look. It worked.
“So I take it you know who I am?”
“I live in LA. And I’m a stylist. So yeah. More importantly, though, you, sir, are a client. That’s who you are. Now, do you normally trim your beard, or does your stylist?”
“I take care of the day to day, she does the overall, you know, the shaping, monthly maintenance kinda stuff.”
“Would you prefer to take care of it yourself? I’d be happy to lend you my trimmer.”
“No, I’d like for you to do it.”
“Well, your stylist might have a difficult time with someone else doing your hair, and beard. Buuuut, if you need this for tomorrow, I’ll be happy to do it. I do, however ask one favor, in return.”
“What’s that?”
“You need to tell her that you came to me.” I was not about to piss off his regular stylist. Not good form.
I heard a rather deep chuckle. Made me all tingly. I needed to be careful with this one.
“No, your cute little chuckle won’t do. I need verbal confirmation, dude.”
“Yes, I will tell her. I’m the one who initiated. Are you satisfied?”
“Hmmm, well, I don’t normally satisfy quite so easily, but in your case I’ll make an exception. So, what setting do you normally use? With your trimmer?” Time for flirting was over.
“Um, 10, I think.”
“Is that where you want it?”
“Yeah. I start a new film in a couple of weeks and I don’t know how shaggy the director wants me.”
“Are you sure you want a trim, then?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I need to look presentable for tomorrow.”
Now it was my turn to chuckle.
“Hon, you look presentable any time, and in anything, or, frankly, nothing.” I winked at him. I mean, seriously, in this town, who hasn’t seen Shame? That got big eyes and a chuckle. “Just my opinion.”
“You’re pretty free with your opinion.” He narrowed his eyes at me but I could tell he was playing.
“Yes, yes I am. My place, my opinions.” Back to work mode. “So, just tidy it up. That I can do.” I grabbed a comb and my clippers. I first set to work on his neck and worked my way back along each side of his face. It appeared he kept his edges rounded, so I did the same. Once done with that part, I combed out his beard, ensuring there were no tangles. I set the guard on the clippers and tidied everything up, starting at the sides and working my way to the middle. I periodically stopped along the way and brushed the tiny hairs off of his face and neck. I think it was the third, or maybe the fourth time I did that and I heard him moan as I wiped them off. I stopped and looked at him, and his eyes were closed. Well, you can imagine: since I’d stopped they popped open very quickly.
“I am so sorry about that.” He actually sounded embarrassed.
“No worries. That happens quite a bit.”
I got out my scissors and trimmed his moustache, wanting things to be even. It looked pretty much okay when I was done. I would’ve preferred to trim his beard a bit more, just a bit shorter (my preference), but there was no way I’d cause issues for his role. I turned him around and grabbed a mirror.
“So, work for you?”
He rubbed his hand over his face and I heard the lovely sound his whiskers made as they scratched at his hand. He made a sound of approval and nodded at me.
I did have one observation for him.
“It’s a little dry, not surprising given the season, so I’d like to wash it and then oil it, if that’s okay? I don’t know if you’ve got the time, but-”
“No, I do, I do. Please. I’d like that. But, how-” he was looking around, trying to figure out how we’d pull this off.
“I’ll double up on the smock, we’ll have a towel, and you, Sir, are going to be standing.”
I proceeded to wash his beard. One thing I do for men who allow that is to give their jaw a bit of a massage. It can hold a lot of tension and I find they simply like the feeling. Michael was no different. I think he would’ve fallen asleep if he could’ve. His eyes closed, he listed a bit.
“Mr. Fassbender, do me a favor? Please hold onto the basin. You look like you’re about to fall over and I won’t be able to catch you. I’m just not that strong.”
He ended up leaning over the basin. And he had a request for me.
“Could I trouble you, would you please continue? That just feels so good. Please?”
Who am I to say ‘no’ to a client, especially this guy. It would have been easiest for me to stand on the other side of the sink, but I had a hard time reaching the jaw muscles that he needed me to work on. I ended up next to him, one arm over the back of his head to reach the other side so I could get both of them at once. As I massaged his jaw, he again listed into me. I felt his groan and I couldn’t help but smile. It was very satisfying to hear a man so contented.
After I rinsed and towel-dried his beard, I had him sit in the chair and recline. I chose an oil for his beard, given how dry it was, and worked it in. I’m not sure, but I think he started purring.
I adjusted the temperature of the water and wet his hair. I’ve had people fall asleep in the chair when I wash their hair. The whole process typically takes at least 20 minutes, if done properly. I didn’t know if he had the time.
“Mr. Fassbender, do you have someplace you need to be?” My voice was very soft, but not a whisper.
He sounded completely relaxed.
“Not ‘til tomorrow when my driver picks me up. Why?”
“Good. Then just relax.”
“Hmm? Fu- sh- damn, woman.” I’d started massaging the shampoo into his hair and really, massaging his scalp. While I’d learned some techniques while training, I’d decided to learn how to give scalp massages and everyone who had one came back. People didn’t realize just how much tension was in the scalp which was why so many feel asleep while getting their hair washed at my salon. I insisted that everyone who worked for me learn the proper techniques and the stylists all saw their tips go up by at least 15% whenever they did it.
I really enjoyed this part of working with each client. To see their stress melt off their face was pretty incredible to witness. I was halfway through and moved to rinse the suds away when he grabbed for me, getting my leg.
“Please don’t stop!” He had a bit of a hard time forming the words.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Fassbender, there’s more to come.”
I took my time rinsing. The almost hot water took all the soap away and I was left with his gorgeous mess of hair.
Selecting a very light conditioner, I started the process again of massaging it into his hair and massaging his scalp. This time he did purr.
“I think I love you.”
I chuckled.
“Awww, that’s so sweet. But you know, it’s a fleeting kind of love.”
“No, no no. I’m pretty sure I love you.”
This time I laughed.
“You know, I’ve had proposals of marriage from this chair, from this very position, Mr. Fassbender. So a declaration of love is pretty mundane.” I couldn’t help the laughter in my voice. “Now, just relax and lose yourself in this. Go on. Close your eyes.”
He looked at me for a few moments before slowly closing his eyes. I continued with the massage, working the muscles in his scalp, from back to front and back again, and from side to side. I was so intent on my job, on making sure he was getting the best he could from me, that I’d missed that he still had his hand on my leg. That was, until it moved. I stilled so quickly that his eyes popped open.
“Please, love, don’t stop.”
“Mr. Fassbender, I-”
“What on earth is it going to take to get you to call me Michael?” His whiskey-smooth voice burned through me. I didn’t know how to answer him.
Then his hand moved again. Or, I should say, his thumb. It started tracing small circles on my inner thigh. My eyes closed while I tried to control my breathing. On the one hand, I was happy I’d worn jeans. It meant he didn’t have easy access to anything.
On the other hand, fuck! Why did I choose today of all days to wear jeans? I could be feeling his hand on my skin.
“You’re just seeing if you can get under my skin, aren’t you?” I tried to play coy.
“I’d prefer to get under your jeans.” Seriously, did he just say that?
Now it was my turn for my eyes to snap open. I had to clear my throat a few times before words would come out.
“You, Sir, are very funny.” I had to joke. I couldn’t take this seriously.
“I’m not laughing, love.” I couldn’t move. My god but he had the most beautiful eyes. I tried to move. I was stuck. When he spoke, that’s what broke the spell.
“What’s your name?”
There was no way I was going to let him say my name while he still had his hand on me. Instead of answering, I rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, grabbed a couple of towels, and moved away, towards the chair. He had no choice but to let go of my leg.
I simply kept my mouth shut and motioned to the chair.
He got up and came over, not sitting down right away. He stood in front of me and it was only when I looked up at him, met his incredible eyes with mine, that he spoke.
“Please, forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. Fassbender.”
“How can I get you to call me Michael?”
I looked away. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t say his name. His hand came up and brought me back to him. His hand was warm, his touch soft. This wasn’t fair. I’d been alone for over a year and then he touched me. I wanted him to keep touching me, but I couldn’t let that happen.
“Please, sit.”
I know he’s a great actor, but he couldn’t hide his disappointment from me. He finally sat and I towel dried his hair and combed it out.
“So, what do you want?” The moment the words left my lips I realized I’d left myself open.
“You know what I want.” Why couldn’t I tear my eyes away from his? If he got up out of that chair I wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing as he pleased. “But as for a haircut, I’m looking for a little more than just a trim. My hair’s a bit too long and scruffy for the role, but I also don’t want it too short. Do you think you can manage?”
“Of course.” Ahhh, false bravado. I went to work, paying close attention to what I was doing. Every so often I would look in the mirror and see him studying me, intently. I didn’t take too much off. Again, I didn’t want to piss off either his stylist or the folks on his next job. But I did get rid of a bit of the extra length that wouldn’t be needed, no matter what they did with his hair. I was done pretty quickly, put something in it to keep it under control, and got him dry. It only took a few minutes. When done, I grabbed the handheld mirror and turned him around.
“My recommendation for tomorrow? Keep it simple. Comb it back. It won’t look too good trying to do anything else, not at this length. Besides, it’s a classic look, on the off chance you might, well, you know. I don’t want to jinx you or anything”
“Trust me, I know I’m not winning.”
“Well, maybe or maybe not, but you can always top the best dressed lists.”
He got up and we walked over to the register.
“I’m going to want to come back when I’m in town next. Probably about two months from now.”
“Why don’t you just go see your stylist before you fly in?”
“I’ll be in the middle of a shoot and I won’t be coming from home so I won’t see her. I’ll need things to be tidied up. And I want you to do it.”
“Okay, what day is best?”
“I don’t yet know when I’m flying in. Can I call you when I get to town? Schedule then?”
“Sure, although, it just hit me, it’s that week, isn’t it. We might be pretty booked that week. Here’s my card. Just call to make the appointment.”
“When I call for my appointment, I’d prefer to call you directly.”
“My number’s on there.”
He finally looked at the card. It was my personal one, not the one for the salon.
“Melanie, nice to meet you.”
“Please, I go by Mel.”
“Mel, it’s still nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Fassbender. And I have a question for you.”
“Mel, what will it take for you to say my name?” He sounded desperate. Good. That was how I was feeling.
“No promises, but maybe, just maybe next time you’re here. Now my question. You’ve gotta have a stylist at home. Why come to me?”
His trademark grin took a while to show up on his face. I couldn’t help but smile in return.
“I’ll tell you that next time.” Turnabout’s fair play, I guess.
“Okay then.”
He opened his wallet and took out way too much cash and handed it to me. I held my hand up when he offered it to me.
“I’m not that expensive.”
“Love, you’re completely worth it. I’ll see you later.”
And he exited my little salon. I was sure I wouldn’t hear from him.
