Hook + modern grooming practices
Thanks to dramawiie for suggesting modern eyeliner/Sephora, and to euphoric-melancholyy for suggesting a modern razor!
Hook forced himself to turn away as Bae approached Emma. It didn't matter that he was right about Emma, that she wouldn't let her former lover back into her heart very easily. He still should have expected that Bae wouldn't back down so easily from what was, in retrospect, a rather obvious challenge. He'd hoped that Bae would have gone another route, insisting that he didn't need Hook to back off to win Swan's heart, as opposed to jumping at the opportunity to move in while Hook stayed back.
But he was a man of honor once again. He couldn't go back on that promise he'd made to himself; it didn't matter that he'd made such a promise in Bae's memory, when he was mistakenly presumed deceased. What mattered was that Swan was starting to see him as a good man, not just a pirate, and he couldn't allow himself to slip back into the darkness out of anger and wounded pride.
Besides, it was inevitable that Bae would disappoint Swan. And while there was no guarantee that she would come running into his waiting arms when it happened, there was an undeniable connection between them. He'd felt it on that beanstalk, on his ship, in the jungles of Neverland, when she'd kissed him—
He needed a distraction.
"Hey, pirate!" It was a dwarf, specifically the most ill-tempered one.
"Aye?"
"Snow says you helped."
He found himself unable to prevent himself from rolling his eyes. It should have been obvious to anyone in Storybrooke, including the most simple-minded of residents, that he had assisted in Henry's rescue, since it was his ship that had ferried them all to that cursed island in the first place and back. Clearly, though, he was still a pirate, and therefore not to be trusted without the princess vouching for him.
But he had no desire to worsen his relations with anyone in this town by pointing out their stupidity. Instead, he simply replied, "I did."
And with that, another dwarf clapped him on the back, and within moments, he found himself doing just as Bae had jested: throwing back a few beers with the dwarves.
He tried to hide his relief as best he could at discovering that the men seemed to have taken it upon themselves to act as a welcoming committee. He wasn't the only person who had arrived from the Enchanted Forest separately from the curse; many of the Lost Boys were also in need of assistance, as was the mermaid who had ferried Pandora's Box across realms. And the dwarves seemed keen on explaining some of the basics of living in the Land Without Magic.
And so he listened attentively as they explained where he could obtain this realm's currency, and which businesses in Storybrooke still accepted doubloons. As they mentioned that there were vacancies here at Granny's if he preferred to stay somewhere with indoor plumbing. As they discussed work that needed doing down at the docks.
He recalled something Swan had mentioned to him, back when he'd been incapacitated in—
—"What was that place called?" he asked, taking advantage of the dwarves' helpfulness. "Where I was taken after I was struck by that machinery?"
"Hah-ah-ah! Choo!" The dwarf couldn't hold back his sneeze. "Sorry. Hospital. Why?"
"Thanks, mate. No reason, just occurred to me I didn't know it." He let the conversation resume—
—when he'd been incapacitated in the hospital. It had been one of the few times he'd seen Swan carefree, unburdened by her responsibilities. She'd confided in him that using a shower to bathe after spending time in the Enchanted Forest had been a wonderful feeling. Or something like that; his memories were a bit hazy from the drugs he'd been given at the time. Perhaps he would give that a try.
He thanked the men for their kindness and hospitality before approaching the Widow Lucas. Her reputation in the Enchanted Forest was one he was familiar with, such was her ferocity and pride. He'd never personally encountered her until now, though given his own reputation as a scoundrel, it had probably been for the best. Even now, she was eyeing him with suspicion.
"Can I help you?" she asked dourly. Granted, he was interrupting her while she was in conversation with the prince.
"Pardon my interruption, but I was wondering if you might have any accommodations available." The prince's eyebrows shot up, and so he felt the need to explain further. "I've heard many a positive thing about showers, and no such thing exists on my ship."
"I'll go grab you a key," the proprietor replied. "That'll be six doubloons, by the way."
"Of course." Bloody exploitation, it was, but he knew not to argue. As she walked away, he fished through his coat for the necessary coins.
"You're staying?" The prince was staring at him.
The answer wasn't so simple. It certainly wasn't a given that he would stay, especially when he had a ship capable of traversing realms. But he was no fool; telling the father of the woman he fancied that he was planning on staying for her would likely result in another punch to the face.
"I'm not thinking that far ahead at this point," he replied instead. He anxiously ran his hand over his face. "I simply thought it might be nice to rest for a bit, and perhaps finally sample the amenities."
"I see," David replied, his face impassive. He furrowed his brows a bit, and for a moment, Hook wondered if perhaps the prince would call him out on his reason for staying. "Beard's getting long."
Well, that was certainly an odd comment. Fortunately, the Widow Lucas returned with a key. "Room five," she said curtly, holding out her other hand for his payment. As he made the exchange, she pointed out the hallway for him to take.
"I suppose that's my cue," he said.
The prince continued to stare for a moment before finally nodding. "Well, have a good night, Hook."
"Aye, you as well, mate." He watched as the prince rejoined his wife, who seemed to be watching Swan with concern. The Savior herself was sitting in a booth, being spoken to by a few denizens of Storybrooke he didn't recognize, but she was very clearly distracted by her own thoughts. Was she still worried about Henry? Was she frustrated over Baelfire's persistence? Was she, he wondered hopefully, thinking about him?
Well, he'd get nowhere with her tonight, no matter what she was thinking about. He said he'd give Bae a fair shot, and he would. He gripped the key and headed for the hallway, following the Widow Lucas' directions.
Room five was a cozy little room at the end of the hallway, with a small double bed covered with a quilt. There was also a chest of drawers with a mirror atop it, as well as a small bedside table. Upon that sat a lamp, or at least what passed for a lamp in this realm. Thankfully, the dwarves had already explained to him how it would function, through use of a "light switch." And he had to admit, the illumination it provided was bright and even, much better than any oil lamp or candle he'd used.
He undressed quickly before heading into the small adjoining room—the bathroom, the dwarves had said. It was similar to the one he'd encountered in the hospital, though instead of a small stall, the shower appeared to have a tub at its base. Perhaps he could bathe instead? Here were the fixtures for hot and cold water, as he'd remembered; he spent some time fiddling with each knob until the temperature met his needs.
After several long minutes trying to determine how to stopper the tub, he gave up and pushed on the lever that indicated a switch between a bath and a shower. Instantly, water began shooting out of a bulb towards the top of the stall, spraying him in the face. He sputtered; this was what Swan had been going misty-eyed over? This was terrible, and water was getting everywhere.
Oh, there was a curtain; that might help. He pulled it shut, preventing the water from spilling all over the bathroom floor. That was better.
He moved underneath the spray, directing it to various parts of him. As the dwarves had indicated, there were small bottles of scented liquids that sat on an outcropping. As he'd been instructed, he rubbed liquid from the bottle that read "shampoo" into his hair, and then he used the "body wash" to, as it were, wash his body. The scent was much more pleasant than the soap he'd used in the hospital; it actually smelled quite nice. Maybe this was why Swan smelled so lovely in the Land Without Magic.
Not that she'd smelled unpleasant back in the Enchanted Forest, or during their time in Neverland. It was just a different scent here, when she didn't have several days of travel and battle on her.
When he was finished, he turned the water back off and stepped out carefully before grabbing a towel from the rack beside the stall. As he dried himself, he realized that he indeed felt clean, much cleaner than he ever did after bathing. And there was no need to dispose of dirty bath water; the water from the shower had escaped down a drain, leaving the stall a little wet, but otherwise in the same state he'd found it in.
Credit where credit was due, he supposed. Swan hadn't been lying about this particular pleasure.
As he lay down in the bed (what on earth was in this mattress if not magic? Bloody hell), he permitted his thoughts to drift towards Swan and remain there. At least here, in the privacy of this room, he needn't worry about hiding his emotions or expressions, about letting his eyes linger for too long, about anyone confronting him on the subject.
They were home. Well, they were home; he wasn't sure what home meant for him anymore. But they were safe, at least. And so much of that was due to Swan's fierceness and tenacity, her refusal to give up hope or admit defeat. She was a force to be reckoned with, but oh, how he wanted to let her sweep him away.
And she had, hadn't she? When she'd pressed her lips to his, claimed him as her loyal servant, lifted him up from the depths of darkness—
Were Liam here, Hook would be earning a slap to the back of his head, followed by a kind-hearted lecture on being overly dramatic. He grinned. "I think you would have liked her, brother," he whispered, before settling in and letting sleep take over.
There was an insistent knocking on his door the following morning. He'd awakened already, early riser that he was, and he was halfway through dressing himself when the visitor made themselves known. Or visitors—he opened the door to find Snow White and David. "Good morning, Highnesses," he said. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"David mentioned you were staying," Snow White said.
"Well, just that you weren't leaving immediately," the prince clarified.
"Either way, we also wanted to thank you for all your help," the princess continued. "You could have left us behind, but you didn't. You came back with the bean, you brought us to Neverland, you saved David, you helped us save Henry …" She took a deep breath as if to reset herself. "Anyway, the least we can do to thank you is to help you adjust to Storybrooke a bit."
He licked his lips nervously. "Aye, well, I'm glad I could help keep a family intact. No more thanks are necessary."
"Will you just take a look?" David asked impatiently, and Snow White held up a small bag, outfitted with ribbons.
Inside were two very strange objects. First, there was a box covered in illustrations and words. And the second was a black stick. He looked at the two royals in confusion.
Snow White spoke first, grabbing the stick. "We don't use kohl here," she said. But that made no sense—she herself was clearly wearing kohl on her upper lids. "Well, some people in other parts of the world do, but most people here use this stuff instead." She pulled and a small part of the stick came off in her hand, she held up what was left of the stick, and he could see a rounded bit of black cosmetic sticking out.
She replaced the piece she'd broken off (some sort of cover), and showed him the other end of the stick. "If you need more, you just twist this, and more will come out. Even if you use this every day, you probably won't need a new one for several months."
"Thank you, milady." She handed the stick to him, and he brought it closer to read the letters along the side. Eye Pencil, Waterproof, Black.
The prince grabbed the box and gestured for him to follow him to the bathroom, while Snow White waited behind. "This actually took some work to find," he said, as though Hook should be thanking him profusely. "You, uh, obviously shave some of your beard, but you need a trimmer for the rest of it, and it's hard to find a good combo."
"A what?" Very little of what David said made any sense.
"Here, hold on." The prince opened up the box and pulled out a ridiculous metallic contraption, which included a long, black rope that the man attached quite literally to the wall. "This is a beard trimmer and electric razor combination," he explained, a little more patiently. "I charged it up a bit before we came over this morning—uh, it runs on electricity but needs to be connected to a source to gain enough power to work without being connected."
"I'll probably need a repeat explanation for that at some point, mate, but go on."
David nodded. "Okay, so when you're not using it, just leave it plugged in like this. When you want to use it, you just remove it from the base." Sure enough, the prince picked up the instrument, leaving the base, still attached to the wall, behind. "To turn it on, you press this button here." And the machine buzzed into life.
"If you want to shave, you take off this plastic piece." The machine was still grinding away as the prince removed what appeared to be the top. Underneath, the machinery was gnashing and whirring. "And then you just—here, I'll just show you, even though I already shaved this morning."
And before Hook could stop him, the prince raised the contraption to his own neck. "Oy, careful, mate!" That thing could tear out his throat! After all the efforts made to save the man, it seemed irresponsible to let him off himself his first day back in Storybrooke.
"It's fine," the prince replied evenly, and he rubbed the strange device against his skin. "It's not a straight razor; it doesn't cut into your skin. Here, you try it." He handed the device over. "Do it over the sink," he instructed.
That was easy, at least, so that he could also stare into the mirror and watch what he was doing. But the man was asking him to put a shaving device to his neck. He was a survivor, but part of the reason why was that he didn't fall for such ridiculous ploys.
"I have a gun, Hook," the prince said firmly, clearly reading his mind. "If I wanted to kill you, there are easier ways."
"Fair enough." And he pressed the device gently to his neck, at a region where he preferred to have no beard. It felt strange, but not painful.
"You have to move it around a little," the prince instructed, and Hook did so. He watched in awe as the short, wiry stubble began to fall down into the sink below.
"Bloody hell."
"It's a beard trimmer, too, though," David reminded him. He took the device back and fitted the top on it again. Meanwhile, Hook stared at his reflection; there was now a spot on his neck that was freshly shaven, without the need for any sort of preparation, or even water. And holding the machinery to his skin had required none of the delicate touch necessary to avoid cutting oneself with a straight razor. "Hook?"
"Aye, apologies."
"See, this thing keeps the razor far enough away from your face that it doesn't shave your beard off completely. Give it a try. Just sort of …" he gestured, "run it down down your beard."
The world could think him vain, but somehow, the prospect of ruining his facial hair seemed even more alarming than that of inadvertently killing himself while shaving. But when the prince gestured again, he reasoned that perhaps the man knew what he was talking about, and of course, in the event of worst-case scenario, he was still devilishly handsome while clean-shaven. And the beard would grow back.
To his surprise, and delight, the device worked as promised—the beard left behind was much neater, without being too short. "Bloody hell. Again."
David smirked. "Figured you'd appreciate it. Anyway, we're going to grab breakfast. You should, too, when you're done. I recommend the pancakes."
"Aye. Thanks, mate." The prince nodded before leaving the bathroom and exiting the premises with his wife.
It was strange, receiving such a gift. Not that he was ungrateful to receive such thanks; after all, going to Neverland had meant giving up his revenge, and risking his life to stand against Pan. It was a tad embarrassing, to be sure; he never knew how to receive such compliments.
But what made it all the more strange was the tacit acknowledgement—or, more accurately, the assumption—that he was staying in Storybrooke.
He shook his head to clear it. He needed to finish dressing so he could seek out a meal and figure out what to do next.
Back in the bathroom, he removed the strange cap from the trimmer and finished shaving his neck. He'd been a little incorrect before in his observation that the device left skin entirely unharmed; he noticed that there was some redness and irritation, especially if he pressed too hard. But that shouldn't be difficult to adjust to next time, and perhaps one of the dwarves wouldn't mind giving him a few helpful tips.
The cap back on, he finished trimming his beard, a much easier process. Even centuries of experience hadn't left him with a beard so evenly trimmed; this was truly magical technology if he'd ever encountered it. He placed the trimmer back on its base and rinsed out the sink (he wasn't sure if this was the correct course of action, but then again, David had led him here deliberately for this task. And it was always good to be tidy).
He glanced at his devilishly handsome reflection and smirked; there was just one thing missing. He retrieved the eye pencil from the dresser, where he'd left it, and returned to the bathroom, where the mirror was slightly better lit.
He removed the cap and stared at the bit of cosmetic sticking out. Now what? Should he use it as he might use a writing utensil? Very well.
Oh!
The pencil ran over his lids so much more smoothly than he'd expected, and the line was much more even than it had ever been before. He'd hardly had to exert any pressure either. He stared at the pencil again—and it was waterproof?
Within seconds, his eyes were lined and appropriately smudged. He looked every bit the pirate he was. And all he had to do to put away the cosmetic was to replace the cap. Brilliant.
Leaving the trimmer and eye pencil behind in the bathroom, he returned to the bedroom and finished dressing; the prince and princess hadn't caught him unclothed, but he had a feeling that the Widow Lucas would send him right back upstairs if he tried to come downstairs without his boots on. And of course, his waistcoat and greatcoat were necessary for him to feel like himself.
He took a moment to appraise himself in the mirror and appreciate the full effect before heading downstairs. There he was, Captain Hook, one of the most feared and respected pirates, looking every inch the handsome scoundrel he was. He chuckled; Swan's parents had inadvertently made it even easier for him to be irresistible to their daughter.
The chuckle caught in his throat. Except he would need to be irresistible from afar. He'd promised to give Bae a chance.
Well, that didn't mean he had to drab himself down.
With a nod to himself, he exited his room and went in search of these pancakes Dave had mentioned.
