Title: The Hairdresser
Author: Ritaann
Rating: G
Summary: More than just a haircut…
Spoilers: none.
Classification: MSR
Feedback: any comments, questions- of any kind- to be send to: er_aussie@hotmail.com
Distribution: Please ask first. Gossamer- okay.
Disclaimer: Characters used from the television programme: The X files do not belong to me. I do not intend to harm or misuse these characters and no profit is being made. However, the hairdresser is *my* creation, and if for some weird and wacky reason you want to borrow her, permission from me, the author, is needed.
Now go ahead and enjoy yourselves! (and don't forget to tell me what you think!)
~*~*~*~
The Hairdresser.
Some may say its just an occupation. A Job that will keep your hands busy, your mind from wandering and at the same time, earn enough money to sustain a reasonable lifestyle. For me however, hairdressing is much more complicated. I take pride in each style I create and also in the fact that my customers are rarely unsatisfied. Each and every client is important and their life story filed away at the back of my mind for future reference. For me, hair is a profession- a career to be made out of.
As I look around the salon, -my- salon that took me three years of hard work to obtain. I am pleased to see that my employees, each carefully chosen because of their love of hair are hard at work, chatting softly to clients in various stages of hair styling. The floor is covered with a light dusting of hair, in all different colours though the most prominent being browns and blacks. The walls are filled with mirrors mainly placed in positions that will help the customer admire their new hair and also to make the room look larger that it actually is. Pictures of movie stars, their hair done up in wonderful creations that shimmer and yell out to the world 'I'm special so look at me!' are plastered over all the walls, barely an inch or two of space left in between each.
I browse through the appointment book, pleased for once to not have any clients and to be able to relax, waiting for someone to walk off the street when they feel a pressing need for a trim or perhaps an entire makeover.
Its funny, how sometimes (and this I do stress, as not everybody is the same) you can judge a person's character and what they are doing in their life by their hair type or style. Those with big hair, fuzzy, frizzy hard to control on even mild days may have big, open personalities filled with words, laughter and lots of hugs. Then there are some with thin strands of silky, never tangled hard to get into a pony-tail kind of hair. Many with this type are Asian, or of Asian decent and have smooth, and strive for a simple, uncomplicated life filled with a coolness that is uniquely their's. Some with long hair like to hold on to the past, reminiscing even in the hairdresser's padded chair about events past. Many with short hair want to shave the past and look forward to the future. Perhaps its that simple snip of sharp scissors can make one feel as though they are leaving something unwanted behind, chopping away anything that will tie them to yesterday. Then there are those whom which are and lead totally different lives in comparison to the hair on their heads. Hard to come by but hey, it happens. It may sound like stereotyping, but that's human nature, right? Anyway, in this business, the business of hair I am rarely wrong.
A woman with what appears to have naturaly red hair walks in. Her hair's natural colour is highlighted though not overly so. Just enough that only those looking carefully with either a practised eye or previous knowledge can tell. A tall man follows behind, his hair is in need of a trim soon and I take note of his handsome features. A large nose dominates over most of his face and this particular feature could either make or break a person, yet it seems to go well with his pouty lips and hazel eyes. I would have seriously flirted with him the moment he had stepped in through the door, its little jangle alerting me of his arrival if it was not for the two-ish toddler which he held casually in his leather clad arms. Damn. Why is it always the good ones that get taken? The woman, whom I presume to be his wife walks in towards the couch in the waiting room that is there for customers whose hair is waiting for a new look, a stack of fashion magazines handy for some who are not sure of what they want and, in the sense of business to entice and bring up imaginations of what their hair may look like beside it in a neat pile with a few strewn over the rounded coffee table. Before she has a chance to reach the sofa, turns to face her son and husband. I take a step forward, eager to learn about my next client and perhaps a tad nosey.
"Mulder…" the name is said, picked up but then thrown away with a pause. The line of questioning seems to have changed, "Are you sure you and Will-"
"We'll be fine, I've been alone with the baby before, remember?" he reminds her gently.
"How short do you think I should get it cut?" she whispers thoughtfully, her fingers brushing against the silky, red strands almost wistfully.
"Even if you shaved your head bald, you'll still be beautiful."
"Mulder…" she shakes her head playfully, her fingers reaching to touch the thick, brown locks of her son. "I haven't had my hair this long in ages… I just want to make sure I'm making the right decision."
"Hair grows," he chided her gently; "You said it would be easier to manage with Will's brother or sister on the way."
The woman nodded, kissed him softly on the cheek before turning to kiss her son who shook his head bashfully waving his arms in the air for more, "Ill come back soon, okay? Get your hair washed or something- you deserve it." She nodded once again, this time turning towards where I stood several meters away.
Walking forward I put a bright smile on my face and welcomed this new customer.
"Hi! My name's Linda. You here for a cut?"
"Yes," the reply comes almost too soft to hear, "Yes I am."
I guess she wasn't going to have that shampoo her husband had suggested.
By now the handsome man and his son has left the salon and taken a right onto Belmont Street. I wonder where he is off to…
"Okay!" I start off enthusiastically handing her a blue pen and pointing at the next open page in the customer book. "Please sign in the guest book and we'll get started."
I watch as she neatly printed her name, address and phone number in the spaces provided and with another smile I take back the pen and lead her to an unused chair. "Now Dana," I say gently touching the strands of red hair, my fingers quivering in excitement at the added softness I feel, "do you have an idea on what you want to do with your hair?"
Dana waits a minuet, and hesitantly speaks in what I would call a confident voice, "No, but I'm defiantly not looking for a total makeover."
"Well that's a start," I say with a smile.
"What would you suggest?"
I think for a moment before mapping out what I think would look good with her features. Dana nods and agrees with what I've said. It isn't a drastic change but I think it will work well and I can see from the expression on her face that she thinks so too.
I drape a protective sheet over the rest of her body and tying it at the back of her neck I ask, "So, how did you hear about us?" Water is sprayed gently onto the red strands as I lean back for a second to concentrate and replan what I am about to do.
"My mother told me about this place."
"Oh! You must be Maggie's daughter and that cute little boy your husband was carrying must have been William! She's told me all about you," I almost can't believe that I hadn't recognised her, and a quick glance in the mirror and a memory check shows how out of it I was when I first met her. Guess she looked different back then to the way her mother had described her.
"I see." Her reply is short and to the point. I wonder why she's being so secretive, but then again I think I remember Maggie mentioning law inforcement as her proffession of choice.
I continue to cut in silence, using my special scissors to make sure each snip (or perhaps more like rizz) is perfect in both length and width.
As the strands fall, the design takes place and a new face seems to emerge. Dana looks younger, though not by much and has look about her that I guess not one, espescially not me could describe. It's not long before Im done and after agreeing to a blowdry I can tell she, just as I am, is pleased with my creation.
"Well," I say with trepedation, "What do you think?"
"I like it."
And it is with these words that I glowed. Dana seems to be a hard woman to please but by the end of the cut I feel as though Ive done my duty. She stands and it is at that moment that her husband comes back, their son asleep in his pram, a toy elefant obviously well loved clutched in this arms even in sleep.
"Ready to leave already?" He asks and she answers with a nod.
With a smile at the boy I take the proffered cash and wave a little as, with a tiny smile Dana and her family leave.
"Looks good," I hear her husband say, "Just wait a while for the next cut, I mean, that is, if you want to…"
~*~*~*~
With thanks to a *great* friend of mine, Bianca… you know who you are ;)
Author: Ritaann
Rating: G
Summary: More than just a haircut…
Spoilers: none.
Classification: MSR
Feedback: any comments, questions- of any kind- to be send to: er_aussie@hotmail.com
Distribution: Please ask first. Gossamer- okay.
Disclaimer: Characters used from the television programme: The X files do not belong to me. I do not intend to harm or misuse these characters and no profit is being made. However, the hairdresser is *my* creation, and if for some weird and wacky reason you want to borrow her, permission from me, the author, is needed.
Now go ahead and enjoy yourselves! (and don't forget to tell me what you think!)
~*~*~*~
The Hairdresser.
Some may say its just an occupation. A Job that will keep your hands busy, your mind from wandering and at the same time, earn enough money to sustain a reasonable lifestyle. For me however, hairdressing is much more complicated. I take pride in each style I create and also in the fact that my customers are rarely unsatisfied. Each and every client is important and their life story filed away at the back of my mind for future reference. For me, hair is a profession- a career to be made out of.
As I look around the salon, -my- salon that took me three years of hard work to obtain. I am pleased to see that my employees, each carefully chosen because of their love of hair are hard at work, chatting softly to clients in various stages of hair styling. The floor is covered with a light dusting of hair, in all different colours though the most prominent being browns and blacks. The walls are filled with mirrors mainly placed in positions that will help the customer admire their new hair and also to make the room look larger that it actually is. Pictures of movie stars, their hair done up in wonderful creations that shimmer and yell out to the world 'I'm special so look at me!' are plastered over all the walls, barely an inch or two of space left in between each.
I browse through the appointment book, pleased for once to not have any clients and to be able to relax, waiting for someone to walk off the street when they feel a pressing need for a trim or perhaps an entire makeover.
Its funny, how sometimes (and this I do stress, as not everybody is the same) you can judge a person's character and what they are doing in their life by their hair type or style. Those with big hair, fuzzy, frizzy hard to control on even mild days may have big, open personalities filled with words, laughter and lots of hugs. Then there are some with thin strands of silky, never tangled hard to get into a pony-tail kind of hair. Many with this type are Asian, or of Asian decent and have smooth, and strive for a simple, uncomplicated life filled with a coolness that is uniquely their's. Some with long hair like to hold on to the past, reminiscing even in the hairdresser's padded chair about events past. Many with short hair want to shave the past and look forward to the future. Perhaps its that simple snip of sharp scissors can make one feel as though they are leaving something unwanted behind, chopping away anything that will tie them to yesterday. Then there are those whom which are and lead totally different lives in comparison to the hair on their heads. Hard to come by but hey, it happens. It may sound like stereotyping, but that's human nature, right? Anyway, in this business, the business of hair I am rarely wrong.
A woman with what appears to have naturaly red hair walks in. Her hair's natural colour is highlighted though not overly so. Just enough that only those looking carefully with either a practised eye or previous knowledge can tell. A tall man follows behind, his hair is in need of a trim soon and I take note of his handsome features. A large nose dominates over most of his face and this particular feature could either make or break a person, yet it seems to go well with his pouty lips and hazel eyes. I would have seriously flirted with him the moment he had stepped in through the door, its little jangle alerting me of his arrival if it was not for the two-ish toddler which he held casually in his leather clad arms. Damn. Why is it always the good ones that get taken? The woman, whom I presume to be his wife walks in towards the couch in the waiting room that is there for customers whose hair is waiting for a new look, a stack of fashion magazines handy for some who are not sure of what they want and, in the sense of business to entice and bring up imaginations of what their hair may look like beside it in a neat pile with a few strewn over the rounded coffee table. Before she has a chance to reach the sofa, turns to face her son and husband. I take a step forward, eager to learn about my next client and perhaps a tad nosey.
"Mulder…" the name is said, picked up but then thrown away with a pause. The line of questioning seems to have changed, "Are you sure you and Will-"
"We'll be fine, I've been alone with the baby before, remember?" he reminds her gently.
"How short do you think I should get it cut?" she whispers thoughtfully, her fingers brushing against the silky, red strands almost wistfully.
"Even if you shaved your head bald, you'll still be beautiful."
"Mulder…" she shakes her head playfully, her fingers reaching to touch the thick, brown locks of her son. "I haven't had my hair this long in ages… I just want to make sure I'm making the right decision."
"Hair grows," he chided her gently; "You said it would be easier to manage with Will's brother or sister on the way."
The woman nodded, kissed him softly on the cheek before turning to kiss her son who shook his head bashfully waving his arms in the air for more, "Ill come back soon, okay? Get your hair washed or something- you deserve it." She nodded once again, this time turning towards where I stood several meters away.
Walking forward I put a bright smile on my face and welcomed this new customer.
"Hi! My name's Linda. You here for a cut?"
"Yes," the reply comes almost too soft to hear, "Yes I am."
I guess she wasn't going to have that shampoo her husband had suggested.
By now the handsome man and his son has left the salon and taken a right onto Belmont Street. I wonder where he is off to…
"Okay!" I start off enthusiastically handing her a blue pen and pointing at the next open page in the customer book. "Please sign in the guest book and we'll get started."
I watch as she neatly printed her name, address and phone number in the spaces provided and with another smile I take back the pen and lead her to an unused chair. "Now Dana," I say gently touching the strands of red hair, my fingers quivering in excitement at the added softness I feel, "do you have an idea on what you want to do with your hair?"
Dana waits a minuet, and hesitantly speaks in what I would call a confident voice, "No, but I'm defiantly not looking for a total makeover."
"Well that's a start," I say with a smile.
"What would you suggest?"
I think for a moment before mapping out what I think would look good with her features. Dana nods and agrees with what I've said. It isn't a drastic change but I think it will work well and I can see from the expression on her face that she thinks so too.
I drape a protective sheet over the rest of her body and tying it at the back of her neck I ask, "So, how did you hear about us?" Water is sprayed gently onto the red strands as I lean back for a second to concentrate and replan what I am about to do.
"My mother told me about this place."
"Oh! You must be Maggie's daughter and that cute little boy your husband was carrying must have been William! She's told me all about you," I almost can't believe that I hadn't recognised her, and a quick glance in the mirror and a memory check shows how out of it I was when I first met her. Guess she looked different back then to the way her mother had described her.
"I see." Her reply is short and to the point. I wonder why she's being so secretive, but then again I think I remember Maggie mentioning law inforcement as her proffession of choice.
I continue to cut in silence, using my special scissors to make sure each snip (or perhaps more like rizz) is perfect in both length and width.
As the strands fall, the design takes place and a new face seems to emerge. Dana looks younger, though not by much and has look about her that I guess not one, espescially not me could describe. It's not long before Im done and after agreeing to a blowdry I can tell she, just as I am, is pleased with my creation.
"Well," I say with trepedation, "What do you think?"
"I like it."
And it is with these words that I glowed. Dana seems to be a hard woman to please but by the end of the cut I feel as though Ive done my duty. She stands and it is at that moment that her husband comes back, their son asleep in his pram, a toy elefant obviously well loved clutched in this arms even in sleep.
"Ready to leave already?" He asks and she answers with a nod.
With a smile at the boy I take the proffered cash and wave a little as, with a tiny smile Dana and her family leave.
"Looks good," I hear her husband say, "Just wait a while for the next cut, I mean, that is, if you want to…"
~*~*~*~
With thanks to a *great* friend of mine, Bianca… you know who you are ;)