"YOOOOUUUUUCHHHHH! Argh, dam'it!" he violently cursed as he pulled the iron along his rebelious strand. He let out a lout exhale through his clenched teeth to soothe the pain as he ran his finger through it. It abided silky, smooth and most importantly straight.
Helm's white brows knitted upon eyeing his reflection in the mirror. Next to a few straight strands he fought for hours to bring them in place, the shock of thick white curls stood up more insurgent than ever. His fringe was coiled into freshet of forleocks and his left side sideburn dangled boldy against his cheek, twirled into a ringlet! The right sided one he had just managed to straighten.
He sighed, took the conditioner from his desk, unwielded it's cap and poured a consitent amount of pink, streawberry flavoured liquid in his palm. Helm wrinkeld his nose as he sniffed the aroma, but it was the only thing that could keep his hair in place after every wash.
Great. Just great. What will your people think when you're gonna smell of strawberries?
Then, he proceeded to apply it over the mass of curls, sprouced tousedly into an Afro-style tire. He winced as his fingers tangled in the messy strands, which loosened a little once they came in contact with the conditioner.
Helm rolled his eyes as he took the iron again and carefully placed a thin ringlet between it's ceramic plates, then pulling it along it's length, untill it remained straight. This was his weekly ritual and God knew how much it grated on his nerves, especially that he couldn't have anybody else helping him. Stealing your half-brother appearance did had it's knocks.
"Damn, damn, damn! Why did I have to be curly-pate?"
He had sometimes cosidered shaving his hair, but being bald would affect considerably his image, as well his successes with woman! Cutting it's hair shorter would make it almost impossible to straighten as that was the only reason he let it grow to shoulder-length. And yes, the Count was well aware of the rumors that circulated througout the Castle vis-à-vis his hairdo.
After finishing with the back strands, he procedeed to straighten his fringe, carefully keeping the hot iron at a safe distance from his skin. One scar on the cheek was enough. The last thing he need were burnmarks on his forehead.
Another hour passed until Helm's curls were reduced to his customary disheveled , but relatively straight white tresses. Except the sideburns. He saved them for the end because those shorter strands were the hardest to straighten, without burning himself. He gently gathered all the haires in a strand and carefully drew the iron through it.
Hmph, just a little more on the tip!
Helm enclosed the plates around it once again, to properly straighten it, but this time he pulled to strong.
"OUUUUUCHHHH!" He yelled again and flung the iron away as the hot plate touched his cheek.
"Awww damn!" Helm cursed as he quickly applied a pack of ice on his sore cheek. He always kept the ice within reach, just in case. Fortunately, this time he hadn't got a nasty mark, his skin only became a little purple. Helm shook his head and ran the comb again to give himself a more settled appeareance, and fixed his haido with half of tube of hair spray.
He sighed again, content with the new look of his hair, than rose up, and pulverized half of bottle of Cologne over himself, hoping that it will neutralise the smell of strawberries.
With that taken care, he went off the door, other things pondering over his mind. He still had a world to conquer.