There is rumoured to be a clandestine society whose meetings are shrouded in mystery, where the most admired members of legends gather to bemoan the ineptitude of their colleagues, and confer with one another about matters most mysterious. In fact, in a building nearby, one of those meetings was... going down, so to speak.
Five people sat around a table in Thranduil's Beauty Parlor and Hair Salon. They were varied in appearance, indeed, they possessed almost no common factors. In fact, if one were to view them all in a lineup, it would be almost impossible to pick out the members of this organization, as the only trait they share is their hair, so perfect as to be thought to be inhuman (and in the case of some members, this assumption would prove to be correct).
At this moment, however, all five people were seated in salon chairs mourning their colleagues' lack of proper attention to the important things, i.e. the appalling state of their locks.
"- and if Gimli gets chicken in his beard one more time... well, I won't be able to stop myself from doing something drastic," Legolas adamantly insisted.
Lucius nodded sympathetically. "It's painful to see people completely neglect their own hair like that. Potter is bad enough, but I don't think that Granger girl even knows what a brush is. I understand that no one can be as naturally perfect as we are, but honestly, how hard is it to get a hold of some Sleekeaszy's?,"
Everyone winced in sympathy and understanding. Gwaine shuddered, thinking of how often people forewent caring for their tresses in Camelot, instead letting them grow filthy and windswept, or even cutting them off.
A scowl crossed River Song's face. "I completely agree with you, Lucius. Yesterday, the Doctor was doing an experiment," she emphasized the offending word, mouth twisting into a grimace as if it had personally offended her, "and it blew up in his face, making his hairline receed a good three inches!"
The expressions of the group at this point were comical, twisted in differing combinations of shock, horror, disgust, and morbid curiosity. The scientist of the group, who had insofar remained silent, decided to offer his opinion.
"That's unfortunate. I've had experiments blow up in my face before, but my hair always remained untouched."
The others looked upon the scientist in respectful admiration, with perhaps a touch of fearful awe thrown in for good measure. Their hair was beautiful and amazing, but Carlos' was perfect.
"Well," Carlos amended sheepishly, "There was one time I got it cut, but it grew back in about a day, and the barber was eventually found wandering the sand wastes, insane, shouting at the sky to forgive him for what he had done."
His statement was greeted with a terrified silence. They knew that Carlos' hair was impossibly perfect, but the simple act of cutting it drove a barber insane? Legolas sat in stunned disbelief and re-evaluated his original impression of the scientist. Suddenly, looking at Carlos' serene face framed by his stunning coif, Legolas had no trouble believing it.
Oblivious to the awe of his friends, Carlos looked at Gwaine, and inquired as to how the contraband magic hair products he smuggled into Camelot were faring. the group resumed their usual pattern of conversation, moving around from topic to topic. They discussed pros and cons of curls at length, touched briefly on the controversial subject of the proper use of dyes, and debated what types of hairbrushes provided an optimal use to lifetime ratio.
All too soon, it was time to return to their own lives. The group bid each other goodbye, and left the beauty parlor to go their separate ways. Lucius took one last look at the empty table before locking the door. It would remain that way until such time as the group decided to meet again. After all, no one else understood their situation quite like each other.