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Entry #25: Manhattan [or, "The Further Adventures of Loki Laufeyson"]

Clint was dubious from the very start, but he told Loki to "sit down in that chair over there" and handed him a magazine of various hair styles. Loki took it, flipped through it in about ten seconds, and then handed it back, obviously not interested.

The lady at the counter peered at them over the rim of her fashionable glasses and cleared her throat. "I'm guessing your appointment was for…" She pointed at Loki, sitting there with his long black hair hanging down past his shoulders.

Loki glared back in annoyance.

"Uh, yeah," Clint stepped in.

"Well, then, if Mister… uh… the name here is 'Barton', but which one of you—"

"I'm Barton. He's Big-Shot," Clint filled in dryly. "But it's Big-Shot who has an appointment."

The lady didn't bat an eye. "Mr. Big-Shot, if you would kindly step into the first room on the left?"

Loki slowly rose to his feet, looking rather defensive, so Clint quickly stood as well and steered him toward the door. "Of course."

When they got inside, Clint instructed Loki to sit down in the barber-chair, which he did with a look of extreme suspicion.

Several minutes later, a short, plump, middle-aged woman walked in with a cheerful, "Hello! How are you today?"

Then she pulled out a huge, purple plastic bib and tried to wrap it around Loki's neck. The immortal nearly had a conniption fit.

Clint calmly explained to the insulted demigod that the bib was perfectly harmless, and with a fierce and nerve-shattering glare, Loki finally complied.

By this time, the hairdresser was looking rather uneasy, but Clint assured her that Loki was a perfectly safe individual, if a little eccentric at times. "He doesn't live near here," he explained. "And he's a bit of a sociopath, I'm afraid."

Unfortunately, both of them soon discovered that Loki did not treasure the idea of anyone approaching his head with a set of shears. He watched the hairdresser warily out of the corner of his eye as she drew near with her scissors and spray bottle, and then—when she got within three feet of the chair—leaped to his feet and sprinted out the door, still sporting the purple leopard-print bib.

After offering the woman a hasty apology and quickly blurting out a random explanation (which had quite a lot to do with a tragic accident concerning a pair of pruning shears at the very tender and impressionable age of five) Clint darted out the door after him.

The lady at the desk did not bother to look up as they shot past, only reciting in a monotone voice, "Thank you for coming to Bellavia Salon. I hope you will make another appointment the next time you need a trim or a—"

But Clint didn't hear the rest, as he had already flown out the door and was hotly pursuing Loki across the parking lot. He vaguely wondered how many customers the lady had seen running pell-mell through the waiting room and decided that maybe leaving early had actually been in Loki's best interests.

"Loki! Loki, come back here this instant!"

Loki did not come back. By the time Clint caught up to him, Loki was sitting motionless in the passenger's seat of Clint's car, clutching a particularly festive balloon to his chest. And he was still wearing that ridiculous bib.

"Loki…" Clint scooted into the driver's seat and slammed the door, aiming a glare in the demigod's direction.

Loki didn't glare back. He just sat there as if in a daze, looking shocked, horrified, and mad. One eyelid twitched slightly, but that was the only move he made.

Clint began to feel some guilt for not telling him what would happen once they got to the Salon. "Look, I'm sorry, it was Nat's idea," he said, naturally trying to shove the blame on someone else.

When Loki still refused to look him in the eye, Clint sighed and turned the key in the ignition, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot. "And please, take that thing off," he pleaded, glancing at the purple bib.

Loki yanked it over his head and scrunched it up, stuffing it under the seat.

An uncomfortable ride home followed: neither of them said another word.

Clint turned up the radio; Loki turned it down.

Clint rolled down the window; Loki rolled it back up.

Clint switched on the air conditioning; Loki switched it off.

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~Alassiel