Say hi to Jeremey, the red eared slider who has a date with a caimen girl. He needs his claws done because he's been neglecting them!
Jeremey tapped his claws against his shirt covered shell out of nervousness. He couldn’t believe he’d planned a first date without being sure he’d found a proper turtle claw salon! His nails were dull and he was worried he might be close to having them crack or break off since he hadn’t spent time making sure to keep up on natural filing. Sure they were long and attractive, but it wouldn’t be good if they snapped off in the middle of the date.
He did however find a salon that accepted walk-ins. He decided it was better to take the chance and get someone to touch up his nails the right way, rather than try and undo all the neglect at home.
It was a small place, nestled between a Starbugs and a Chinese take-out. It had faux plants in the window, and advertised itself as a premier nail spa. Jeremey entered, the door causing an electronic ‘ding’ to ring out in the small space. It was filled to the brim with chatter, several of the nail techs talking amongst themselves, or to their clients, seeming to run at least two conversations at once. He tapped his nails against his shell again. All the techs were women, and all those getting their nails attended to were also women.
At a turtle claw salon, or a claw salon in general would at least have one or two more masculine people at any time. He felt out of place, the bright lights showing off the soft pinks and yellows, the chatter, all of it reminded him this was not a place where he belonged.
“How can I help you?” A voice called from the back of the store as an alligator snapping turtle moved down the center of the store to the front.
Relief settled into Jeremey’s mind. Another turtle would at least understand what he was needing. Maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. “I’ve been kinda neglectful of my claw maintenance,” he told her. “I need some help,” he splayed his claws out, careful not to wiggle them so she didn’t think he was flirting with her. That would be awkward. “I have a date tonight.”
“Ouff, honey these need work,” she grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to an open station, pressing a button to fill the bowl with warm water. “Now why don’t you tell me about this date of yours.”
“Is she a nice girl with a large shell?” she chuckled as she began to scrub Jeremy’s claws, removing the dead worn bits, buffing them to the darkier more healthy color hiding underneath.
“Well, she doesn’t really have a shell,” Jeremey told the older turtle. “She’s a caiman. We met while at a Warhammerhead 40k tournament at the local game store. She whooped my ass, but really liked the paint job on my hound shark faction. She wanted to have dinner somewhere and get some painting pointers.”
“Oh, someone likes his girls big and scaly do they,” she guaffed, wiping down each claw with a soft towel, letting her get a better look at the poor cracked and worn talons. “Hmm, I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she muttered as she grabbed a bottle of oil and began rubbing it into the claws, helping to moisturize and bring shine back to the claws.
“W-well maybe. I mean she’s really attractive,” He choked back, watching as her claws rubbed the oil into his claws in small deliberate circles. “And she’s really smart. I didn’t expect her acrobatic katshark specialist army to route me as well as it did.”
“Is this some type of video game?” the matronly alligator snapper asked slowly working her way over the claws. Her own claws never stopped moving, rubbing in the healing oil and helping to fill in the cracks and snags.
“Not a video game. A tabletop war game. You buy the miniatures, the game pieces and paint them. Then you play the game with them,” he explained. “Each piece has its own rules and what they do. I just didn’t expect her army, which is made out of light weight models with gimmicks, would work so synergistically well against mine!”
“But she liked how you painted your pieces?” She put the oiled towel away, pulling out a very fine file and going carefully over areas that were damaged to further smooth the area. She’d re-apply the oil as she went making sure to lock in the moisture from the water in front of them.
“Oh yeah, she was really stoked that I’d done some really cool non-metallic metal, basically making the piece look like it was made of metal without using metallic paint. And the shading. Her army was cool too-she made her army bluegrey-orange-white calico! The amount of control you need on the brush to get those spots to not look like splotches is really difficult!”
“I see,” she stared off into the distance before asking, “Would you mind if I went a bit wild with the lacquer on your nails? I think I have a fun idea for your date!”
“Uhh, really just the clear lacquer is fine. It’s not like she knows turtle culture and I don’t want her to think I’m gay or something,” Jeremey pressed.
“Listen here!” She barked roughly grabbing his foot and pulling it towards her, “If she can’t handle a turtle with painted claws then turtles are too good for her. It's important to show them off, and may encourage you to spend extra time caring for them. “
She grabbed a white bottle of lacquer, and began brushing it on, the gray polish coating and sinking into the cracks and the rest of the claw, helping to protect and draw more attention. “You will feel better for it too, don’t let other ideas make you feel less of a person for honoring your heritage.”
Jeremey went silent, knowing better than to argue with an older matron about claw lacquer. He remembered his mother painting his claws red when he was a young hatchling, saying it brought out the red around his ears. Or when his mom and dad went on date nights, they’d both spend time lacquering each other’s claws in complementary colors.
He watched silently as she applied the gray lacquer to every other claw, making it obvious that she was planning to build some type of two tone effect. “How did you paint your pieces?” she asked as she picked over her colors.
“Oh, my army is painted in a dark blue gray with white accents. Really hard to get right, he let slip out.
“I see, then we’ll start with a dark blue lacquer,” she grabbed the bottle and began to tint the other claws. Once they were coated she switched back to the grey ones, coating them with a thin coat of bright white, thoroughly changing the color of the claws. She coated the blue ones with a thin coat of grey before switching to a much thinner brush, and that was where the artistry began.
Orange and blue-gray spots nestled together on the white claws, and white tips and edges further tied the look together on the blue-gray claws. A clear coat was applied at the end before she turned on a blue light and held it over his claws. “Just sit there a few minutes while I get your bill tallied,” she left him to grab an ancient calculator with paper printing out of it, typing each number with one claw at a time.
Ten minutes went by and Jeremey couldn’t help but admire his claws. They were shiny, bright, the cracks were well hidden and they gave a lovely clack-clack sound whenever he tapped them. He was surprised that the snapper only charged him for a fill and buff, but when he tried to ask she simply said, “Go land that gator-girl!” she all but shoved him out the door, with an excited cackle.
