honestly, the previous two chapters are OVA kind of ish, was stuck for an idea for a really long time until now.
loving these two seriously.
Credits to Mashima Hiro for the characters
Chapter Seven
There was a misconception that floated around for centuries after the birth of Dragon Slayers which the Black Dragon of the Apocalypse found offensive, and yet amusing, for their rationality behind it. He was travelling in the neighbouring country of Bellum when a civilian blatantly told him. Acnologia praised his bold behaviour, but then again, his infamous endeavours had yet to spread this far. To say he decimated the poor Human was an understatement, in fact, Acnologia didn't even annihilate him. He placed a spell on the man, compelling the Human to obey his commands regardless of physical and mental conditions, in order to track down the origin of the rumour.
When they did, Acnologia found himself returning to his desolated hometown and met a priest there. Father Jorges. Before the Black Dragon turned into a Dragon Slayer, he used to stop by to pray with his family every Sunday and listen to Father Jorges's sermon. He remembered his younger years vividly. The way the afternoon sun would filter through the coloured windows, peppering the believers in a kaleidoscopic rainbow of colours giving each of them a halo, angelic glow. Now, the lights beamed through gaping holes of where the window panes would be.
"You!" Father Jorges had said menacingly while pointing an accusative finger.
Instead of murdering the priest right then and there along with the Human, Acnologia surprisedly found it within himself to sit down inside the confession booth and gave Father Jorges a chance. The story was long-winded, but the gist was —
"Come again?" Acnologia had said alarmingly.
Father Jorges nodded solemnly, his profile distorted by the decorated divider between them.
Too stun by the explanation, Acnologia left his hometown and the history behind him once more. He tossed the brain dead Human, a side effect from the spell he casted, into a mass grave consisted of a large hole in the ground for corpses. While Acnologia left Father Jorges to continue to suffer under an irresolvable disease from the one time incident with a Dragon Slayer, which was also the root of his rumour. Strangely enough, one day, the rumours faded and then cease all at once, as if it had cemented itself the status it needed before disappearing. Creating the damage it wanted and then bowed out the stage.
Hence in the present, the Black Dragon of the Apocalypse was staring heatedly at the Iron Dragon Slayer who sported a genuinely innocent look while crunching his bolts.
"You know, maybe trim the ends a little or something," Gajeel went on between mouthful, "Summer's right round the corner, don't you feel too itchy and hot with that much hair on you?"
"I believe I am an orphan," Acnologia said icily.
"I know, you told me, but that doesn't change the fact that you seriously need to get a haircut." The Iron Dragon Slayer then picked off a long strand of graphite-blue hair off the couch they were sitting on. "You're like cat, shedding like crazy."
"It's an extremely common occurrence of hair and skin shedding, and I have uphold my personal hygiene for over centuries with these long tresses of mine" — Acnologia stopped abruptly and arched a brow when he saw the Redfox keeled over laughing — "what is it you're finding so amusing?"
"Did you just" — he choked through his snack, hacked a cough and tried to continue — "did you just use the word tresses for hair?"
"Yes," Acnologia hissed, not entirely seeing the comical side of it. "Nevertheless, demanding such an outrageous request on the basis of the season is out of the question and evidently none of your business. I have been through the hottest climate in the most extreme conditions without a single complaint, what make you think your opinion is going to change a thing?"
"Your hairstyle is extremely archaic and impractical within in the generation we're living right now." Acnologia narrowed his eyes dangerously, prompting the Iron Dragon Slayer to quickly shuffle onto the adjacent armchair. "Before you rip my arm off, or burn my face, I'd like to kindly remind you that you were sent home twice in the past week at Yajima's because of it."
Fire burned in the pit of Acnologia's stomach at the memory. He had came in a little late for his shift due to some unfortunate incident, involving Humans blocking his pathway and their stubbornness to not let him pass through, when a couple of the diners had voiced their concerns about his locks getting in the way of cooking. Acnologia knew they were long and always, common sense really in his opinion, that health and safety came first and would tuck them away neatly under the chef's hat without a single strand out of place.
The second time it happened, Acnologia was off-duty and conversing with Yajima about the end of the month schedule in preparation for a new menu, when an angry consumer came barging up to the desk demanding a refund. Apparently he found a strand of hair in his food, which upon closer inspecting neither belonged to the Black Dragon's or the sous-chef's, placing Yajima in a difficult position. The old man went with the former demand, refunded the customer's money and had to apologetically ask Acnologia to return home under the diner's request.
"Here," a magazine plopped onto Acnologia's lap, "one of the hair salon is doing a promotion until the end of the month and handed these out on the street. I've booked mine in for tomorrow."
Tentative fingers lifted up the cover, forest-green eyes scanned the first page before flicking them to his partner.
"Don't give me that look, it's bound to happen sooner or later." Gajeel shrugged and then tilted the bowl into his mouth to get the metal shredding. "Plus, if they do a crappy job, all you have to do is burn their place down like you normally do when you throw a tantrum."
The Iron Dragon Slayer legged it out of the living room before Acnologia could scorch his entire face, only to stop himself at the realisation of his words. Acnologia grunted in annoyance and picked up the magazine he dropped onto the floor. Dragon Slayers' were the opposite of dirty, and prided themselves in their meticulous and vigorous upkeep of cleanliness from their homes to their personal lives. The fact that Humans would even dare question it was a blow to their pride, and even more so when another Dragon Slayer implied it.
He ran a hand through them, feeling the soft, silken strands slipped through his fingers effortlessly and fell in feather-like heap past his shoulders. They were unkempt, but not tangled. A routine was maintained and and divided between daily, weekly and monthly basis which explained a shelf in his bathroom dedicated to haircare products, while the other section was skin. Any imperfections Acnologia found, he would immediately take care of it. Unabashed by his borderline obsessive personal hygiene behaviour, he even shared tips to other Dragon Slayers on how to deal with certain hair problems ranging from fire damage to using the wrong type of shampoo.
The thought of anyone else besides himself touching his beloved tresses sent a cold shiver down the Black Dragon's spine.
But, what the Iron Dragon Slayer said was true. It would be a matter of time before Yajima would be pressured into doing the inevitable if it became too much. Acnologia stared at the magazine, aptly titled 'Hair Life', for a moment longer before taking in a deep breath to stabilise his tormented mind and flipped to the first page.
xxx
The hair salon appeared mildly crowded and through the large shop window, Acnologia spotted the Iron Dragon Slayer. The expression on his partner's face pulled a smile on the Black Dragon. The Redfox who had boldly criticised and announced how his graphite-blue locks needed a good snipping, was clutching the armrests of the chair, digging his nails into the fabric and on the verge of splintering the entire thing under his palm. His face maintained his jovial look reserved for strangers, but Acnologia noticed the taunt neck muscles from the force of his grips.
Looked like it wasn't just him that was obsessed with his hair being touched by a complete stranger.
The bell above tingled, alerting Acnologia's presence and was quickly given a number for the queue — seven. He narrowed his eyes at the woman who squeaked under his intimidating gaze. A second later, he was ushered to the next available seat while she apologised to the customer waiting in line. Protests immediately died down the moment they realised who it was.
"Afternoon, Mr Acnologia, how could I be of service to you today?" Kenny asked as brightly as he possibly could underneath the piercing forest-greens drilling at him from the mirror. The smile felt strained and he cursed his luck for losing a game of rock-paper-scissor in the break room.
"A haircut would be appropriate."
"Of course, is there anything you have in mind?"
"The…latest trend for short hair."
Kenny blinked as at least a hundred haircuts came to mind.
"How short, would you like it, Mr Acnologia?"
"Not a," Acnologia searched his mind for the word, "buzzcut."
"Acno, you gotta give the hairdresser more details to work with," Gajeel piped up from two chairs next to him, "didn't you read the magazine I showed you yesterday?"
"Do not question my ability to read, Redfox, we both know that my capability far extends yours at least four centuries ahead —"
Gajeel tuned him out and turned to the hairdresser.
"Just give him a faded, slicked back."
"A faded what?" Acnologia interrupted and looked between the two. "What are you fading exactly and slicking anything back of my hair sounds extremely disconcerting."
"You know, for a guy who boasts about their reading capabilities, you're literally four centuries too late on this one."
The atmosphere in the salon descended at least thirty degrees and plunged into a deafening silence. Anyone that didn't personal know the Dragon Slayers of Crocus, would have assumed the look the Black Dragon giving the Iron Dragon Slayer meant instant death and a torturous one. A concerned civilian looked nervously at the Redfox who was smiling a little too enthusiastically at the Black Dragon of the Apocalypse. They didn't want to die this way, let alone if they were a Mage and could at least defend themselves, they were civilians with no Magic they could tap into to save their skin at the very last minute.
"Trust me on this one," Gajeel said in a soft tone after a pregnant silence and turned to face forward.
Acnologia flicked an observatory glance at the hands gripping, still, on the armrests. He scoffed and gestured for the hairdresser to continue. Soon afterwards, and gradually, the place returned to its lively atmosphere although turned down a few notches. The sound of snipping amplified by his hypersensitive senses, Acnologia listened to it carefully, paranoid of the possibilities and denying himself to concentrate of the process from the reflection of the mirror. At one point, he held a downward glance for so long that his hairdresser thought he had fell asleep.
"There, done, Mr Acnologia," Kenny said after nearly an hour sorting through the thick, long locks. His arms were aching, and then tapped on his shoulder gently. "I hope you like."
Forest-greens looked at his own reflection and then frowned. He turned his head side to side and ran a finger through the extremely short sides, then a hand on the tresses combed backwards on to the top of his head. Gone was the sensation of feeling the waterfall silkiness that lasted for a good a minute or two depending on the direction he took. It was over too soon and —
"Stop it, Acno, you're ruining it," Gajeel chided, standing behind him with a new haircut of his own. "You look good, ridiculously good."
"I do not mow your side of the lawn."
"That's an odd way to say it, but I'll pretend that it means what I think it means."
The Iron Dragon Slayer paid for their haircuts, ready to leave when the smell of fire instantly caused him to whip around, nose directed at the source. Pushed into a small pile where Acnologia was sitting previously, was a small ring of flames scorching the graphite-blue and ivory-black hairs with the Black Dragon standing off to one side keeping watch, as if supervising his little campfire for any potential accidents. The Redfox stared in disbelief, mouth agape and darting looks between the fire, Acnologia and the staff of the salon.
"What in the name of Salvatore are you doing?!" Gajeel roared, reaching out a foot to stamp it out.
Acnologia thrust out a hand to grab his calf.
"No one here is going to sell these off on Etsy or E-bay, with such an extremely high risk of a Mage possessing the capability to concoct spells that will harm us."
The Iron Dragon Slayer was floored.
"WHAT?"
"Come" — Acnologia turned away as soon as the strands had disintegrated and disappeared completely — "we have overcome our stay and this spectacle will be enough to appease these Humans for the next couple of days."
To say that Dragon Slayers were unhygienic and disease-riddled creatures was an insult to their pride as well as their entire existence, and the Black Dragon of the Apocalypse would not have it any other way than to prove them wrong if it meant taking extreme, and unconventional methods.
"You're un-fucking-believable," Gajeel breathed and shook his head.
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