He had made it.
Against all odds, against the dragging need for sleep, the pull of his desire to run the hell away from the stupid salon, and the dark clouds that now crowded the sky, portending rain, he had made it.
He stood in front of the intimidating, gold rimmed, glass double-doors that lead into the fourth circle of hell—Yohji's salon.
Aya swallowed bravely. He would do it—for Torrie. And Jack. And because he was really starting to think that punishing Ken would be a very good thing.
As Aya was building up the courage to enter the building, a middle aged woman with makeup at least an inch thick swooped past him on her way out. As she opened the door, a wave of smell hit him—perming solution, perfume, the smell of nail polish remover, and of nasty, heavily scented hair products.
He almost lost his nerve right there.
"Do it for Torrie," he muttered to himself, and then he pushed the door open.
The smell was utterly horrendous inside, without any promise of clean air to put a damper on it. He grasped at the coat rack by the door for support.
"Must… be… strong…" he said through clenched teeth. He pulled himself back up, and managed to make it to the counter. He was getting a headache already.
"Well, hello, sweety!" the woman at the counter chirped. She was also middle-aged, only with hair dyed blonde and cut stylishly short about her face. And, since no one could smell anything much over the perm solution, she had apparently felt the need to use half a bottle of Chanel on herself that morning. She also had about an inch of cleavage showing over the top of her shirt, and she looked like she had spent just a little too much time at the tanning booth in her younger days.
"Is there something I can help you with?" the woman asked, leaning forward, and revealing even more cleavage. "Did you have an appointment?"
"Uhh…" Her perfume was slowly melting his mind, he was being hypnotized by the disgustingly wattled flesh of her bosom.
"Yes?" she asked again.
"Uhh…"
The woman sighed patiently.
"You're here to pick something up for your girlfriend, aren't you?"
His head snapped up.
"NO! …It's a favor! For a friend of a friend! That's all! That's it! There's nothing going on, I swear!"
The woman looked slowly to her left, and then her right, as if the said friend might be hiding somewhere in the vicinity.
"Right," she finally said, nodding. "Just tell me what it is, and I'll point you in the right direction."
"Conditioner," he said firmly, finally glad to know that he had a handle on at least one thing.
The woman looked unimpressed.
"What kind?" she asked, raising one perfectly-plucked eyebrow.
Well, shit.
"Uhh…" he said again. "It makes your hair really shiny. I know that much."
She nodded slowly, clearly he needed to tell her more.
"I don't know!" he said in exasperation. "I don't need your help. I would know it if I saw the bottle. Where do you keep the conditioner around here?"
She pursed her lips.
"Right this way, sir."
She lead him through the area where people were getting their hair done, and to the back—to a wall that he had previously not noticed:
A wall covered entirely, from top to bottom, with bottles of hair products.
"Oh… God…" he mumbled, awed.
"Well!" the woman said sweetly, clapping her hands. "Do you happen to see it any where, or do you think you might need my help, after all?"
He sighed in defeat.
"Fine. Where should I start?"
"What hair type does this 'friend of a friend' have?"
"…Blonde."
"No, hon, I mean, is her hair dry—"
"His."
"All right, then. Is his hair dry? Fine? Oily? Permed? Color treated? Frizzy?"
"Frizzy! It's frizzy!"
"All right, then. That narrows it down some," she beamed, taking several steps to the left. "Here's the section for 'frizz control.' Now, is his hair frizzy due to sun exposure? Due to coloring? Due to frequent swimming? Due to bad diet? Due to excessive use of the word 'inevitably?'"
"…What? I don't know!"
She sighed. Again.
"Is he a regular client here?"
"…I think so."
She rolled her eyes—implying that he obviously should have brought this up sooner.
"Can you give me his name?"
"Kudou Yohji."
Her eyes went wide.
"Oh… God…" she breathed. "Do you know what you could have done just now, young man?" she snapped. "You could have undone in one instant what I've worked on for years to achieve!" She stalked a few feet to the right, shoving Aya roughly out of the way in the process. "His hair is not frizzy. It's wavy and dry. I wouldn't expect everyone to know the difference, but it's really very important!" She pulled a bottle off of the shelf and handed it to Aya. "Here. This is what Yohji needs. Hmmph!" she said, flipping her own hair. "How can you be so casual about something so important?"
"I'm… sorry…" Aya said, rather insincerely.
"You know, as long as you're here, you could get your own hair taken care of, since it's obvious that it hasn't been done in a long time. Who did you have do the colouring, anyway? Your little brother?"
"This is my natural color!"
"Mmm-hmm," she said, nodding skeptically. "And I'm the Queen of Spain. Since you're a 'friend of a friend' of Yohji's, I'll even give you a consultation half-price."
"A consultation?"
"Yes!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him forcibly to a chair. He struggled, but she was a lot stronger than she looked.
"Hey! I don't want you to do my hair. I like my hair just fine, okay?" he protested.
"Yeah, uh-huh. Ear-tails are so three years ago."
"What! Excuse me, I'd like to pay for the conditioner and leave, please," he said, standing up.
"Trust me," she said, pushing him back into the chair. "You need this."
He started to stand again, but she pushed him back once more.
"Stop being difficult. I have ways of making you comply with my wishes!" she growled, and then reached over and pressed a button on the chair. Suddenly, metal bands flipped out over his wrists and feet, effectively trapping him in his place.
"What are you doing?" he said as calmly as possible, trying not to let the panic he now felt show through. He had faced things more dangerous than this in the past, after all!
"Don't worry," she said, smiling, and pulling out a bottle of what appeared to be perfume. It was labeled "KATRINA'S PERFUME OF SEMI-ETERNAL SLUMBER," which frightened Aya more than a little. "Oh, this is old, by the way," the woman continued, looking at the bottle. "It's not semi-eternal anymore, it's closer to 'just long enough to give you a good hair-cut!'" She broke into hysterical laughter, pulling a surgical mask over her face. She sprayed the bottle very near his nose.
"Don't worry," she said again, as he felt himself begin to nod off. "This won't hurt a bit…"
Notes: Ehh. I don't have any notes this time. I just hope you're all enjoying reading this! ^_^ If you want to, drop me a line: sans_dio@yahoo.com
Thanks for reading!