This is Boull. Here, the Celtic nations are always in a primitive state of development. Meanwhile, the Great Powers grow, breed, and build new technology all around them.

Ah, the shores of the Kaingang Empire... They're a bit cooler than the ones farther north. They're no strangers to violent wintertime storms. But at least most of these are a mercy, in contrast to the tropical storms that happen farther north.

Offshore, patrol boats make way. They fly the colors of the Kaingang Empire from their taffrails.

In case you can't tell, the Kaingang Empire is one of Boull's Great Powers. They're not as mean to the Celts as some of the other Great Powers... Alas, that's probably because the Kaingangs aren't as used to Celts as the Yakuts, Cree, Chippewa, and New Zealanders already are.

Below deck, one of the patrol boats has got Namorita Prentiss in their brig. She sits in a power-dampening cell, in the Atlantean wing of the brig, awaiting judgment. This makes her uneasy, of course. As an atlantean, she depends on water more than any land-loving Kaingang can be expected to understand...

And to make matters worse, her blonde hair is overgrown, and itching. She keeps scratching it...and wishing she didn't have to.

At last, a cute master-at-arms arrives, and lets her out. She flips him the bird, and starts to leave.

"Uh, ma'am?"

She freezes in her tracks. She dreads his next words. She's going to be recaptured, by orders of a new Kaingang emperor who hates Atlanteans. She can sense it...

"You should probably get your hair styled...or cut," he says. "I don't mean to judge, but... I've seen Zulu women do their hair better than yours is done."

Namorita should retaliate against a bold statement like that. Alas, she doesn't. As much as she hates to admit it, the master-at-arms is right. Her hair is way too itchy.

Ray Stevens, she's going to hate this...

Up north, past the tropics, Ft. Sumter quarters a great mutant warrior. Lots of gunpowder is kept here these days. It's almost as if the Cree-Chippewa Civil War never ended...

All throughout the sky, a great ball of fire flies. Often times, it screams like Jerry Lee Lewis while doing so. Alas, as you might've guessed, it's NOT Jerry Lee Lewis. He's just a simple musician who plays his little piano, and sings his little songs.

Physically, though, Lewis and this mutant have a lot in common. Lewis...just isn't a mutant himself.

Off the island that Ft. Sumter is on, there are wharfs. Warships sometimes moor here. The mutant who lives here has got a few warships of his own. They're gunships, to be more specific. It's surprising that more of his warships don't sink, with all of those gunnery shells that're loaded into the weapons bays...

From offshore, a dolphin breaches. It lands on a wharf, and flops around.

Alas, it's not a dolphin. It's Namorita. She's come all the way from the outskirts of the Kaingang Empire...all because she's worried for her hair.

But then, when you're a woman, that makes more sense. Women HATE bad-hair-days, from what I've been told...

She follows the signs down a spiral ladder to a dungeon below the fort. It's about as cold as a dungeon down here. Namorita's nipples stand up on end...as do a few of her non-head hairs...

She sits in the barber chair, and waits. The chair is cold to the touch.

This chamber looks just about qualified to contain an explosion. God, Namorita sure hopes that the barber doesn't cause an explosion, while cutting her hair...

Mining tools hang on the walls. These confuse Namorita. She half-hopes the barber doesn't use any of these as hair-cutting tools...

There are also license plates hanging on some of the walls. They're all Kentuckyan. They all say "Unbridled Spirit." Namorita smiles; she likes this barber. At least he didn't get the Kentucky license plates that say "In God We Trust..."

There are also liquor cabinets...which quarter at least twenty-three varieties of Kentucky bourbon. And for that, Namorita imagines that Jessica Jones is one of Mr. Guthrie's favorite customers. But then, he probably needs power-dampening chains to keep her restrained, while he cuts her hair.

Namorita scoffs. For all she knows, Mr. Guthrie uses the bourbon as hair tonic... Not that Namorita minds; unlike some girls, she understands a man's toxic relationship with Gen. Beam and Col. Daniels...

Outside, three flags fly. One's the Irish flag; the second's the Cornish one; and the third is the Manx one. Yes-indeedy scrotum-squeezy, this barber is a proud Celt.

Down a runway that juts out into the sea, the great ball of fire descends. He flies up a bit, douses his own flames, and lands on his feet. Meet Sam Guthrie. He's a mutant who can generate thermo-chemical energy. He's also superhumanly durable, and can fly. And that's why they call him the Cannonball.

Alas, he's not the Wabash Cannonball... Although yes, Indiana was close enough to the place where he was born and raised.

Generating thermo-chemical energy from his hands, he smiles, as he descends into the ladder-well, where his latest barber customer awaits her torture-by-barber-tools. Alas, he douses his hands when he sees her.

He still wears his flight suit...which is standard-issue for certain airborne mutants of X-Force. Before Namorita, he removes these. Underneath, he wears a shirt that says, in big bold letters, I HATE ATLANTEANS WITH A HEALING FACTOR.

If Namorita wasn't nervous before, she sure as hell is now.

Behind Mr. Guthrie, the hatch closes itself. She's locked in with the Barber on Fire. It's just too bad that Namorita's hardly the Girl on Fire. If she was, that would make this a fair fight...if they have to fight...

So, Mr. Guthrie towers over her, rubs his hands over his hair, and puts his hands on his hip. "So," he asks her, "what's it going to be?"

Namorita tries not to panic. She knows she has no need. She's got nothing to be ashamed of. She's just a simple little Atlantean chick. She heals her little wounds, heals Atlantis's little wounds, and protects her little homefolk. Plus, she's been a Defender...which is more than what can be said about little Mr. Guthrie.

Unable to tell the truth, she improvises a lie. "I'm a maritime pilot," she says. "My warplane's an AC-130 Spooky...with maritime enhancements. I fly all over the ocean...and blast the bejesus out of oceanic trespassers with my side-gunnery. I do acrobatics, whenever I feel a buzz. It's easy to feel a buzz in my line of work. Otherwise, do you have any idea how long it takes to cross an entire ocean...while only allowing yourself five minutes of autopilot at a time, just to keep yourself from falling asleep with the autopilot on?"

Mr. Gutherie smiles, and starts caressing each of her hairs with his thumbs and index fingers. With them, he generates thermo-chemical energy. He mines her entire hair with nano-mines...

Nano-explosions later, and Namorita's an Atlantean pixie. With that said, she's never wished more that those vestigial little wings on her ankles still worked...