As a taxi drove a dreadlocked Minstrel to a hair salon the Minstrel sat in uncomfortable silence. Kyle was confused. About a lot of things. For one: why he kept trying to push the envelope of fame. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew that if his Keeper was still alive somewhere, public attention would lead her right to him. He knew that his Fetch was a famous musician in his own right, and that people would begin to ask questions. Yet he had every intention of continuing to do so. Kyle got out of the taxi in front of a salon no bigger than the convenience stores at some small-time gas stations. He paid his fare and turned to face the shop, looking through the window panels. There were just three chairs, a desk and a middle aged woman with dark skin and thin braids tied up with a scarf. She had the look of a mother.
More confusion: why was he going through with this? This was also a bad idea. Cutting his hair shorter would make him look more like his famous Fetch. He had no idea how it would feel. He wasn't making enough money for the expense of regular haircuts - and shampoo. Mustering up his courage, he gently pushed open the door. It sang back at him with the jingling of a little bell. The woman gave him a friendly smile.
"Come on in darlin'. What ken I do for ya?" She spoke with a noticeable Caribbean accent as she looked him up and down. "Don't tell meh ya want to cut all dat off?" She said, gesturing with her finger and looking incredulous.
Kyle chuckled, though he was a ball of nerves. "I was hoping you would talk me out of it. Been growing this for a long time." He patted the top of his locks with his hand - though he felt leafy, viney growths and not the tangled dreadlocks that the woman could see.
The woman was almost more animated than Kyle was, with her hands on her hips, shaking her head but still carrying half a smile. "Why ya gettin yar hair cut if ya don't want ta do it?"
Kyle offered a comical shrug with his palms turned up. "Guess it's just time for somethin different."
The woman hurried her way over to the first chair, tapping the back of the seat. "Alright, come on ovar dear. I'll fix ya'up." Kyle obliged and eased his way onto the seat. He looked even more on edge than before. "How much we takin off, dear?"
"Leave about 5 inches. Maybe less." he turns back and smiles a winning smile, despite himself. "Please."
The woman picked up some scissors and went to work, snipping away at what she thought was a tangled mess of hair that fell to the ground with the rustling and soft slapping noises of heavy clumps of foliage. Kyle's thoughts wandered a little; in part because he wanted to go to a happy place. In a small part because he still didn't know why he was doing it. And in a large part because the sounds reminded him of every night he spent in his Mistress' courtyard - where the ornately trimmed plants came to life and crawled around. Every single night. Kyle let out a shudder.
"Be brave, darlin. It'll be over soon." Her words trailed off. There was a touch of something - sadness, maybe - in her voice. She patted his head, then made a quiet little sniffle. Kyle looked at her reflection in the large mirror. She was crying.
"Hey, I'm not that shaken up about it! You're takin good care of me." A look and feeling of concern pushed the other thoughts from his mind.
"I'm sorry. Ya just... ya remind meh of mah boy. He died last year in a car wreck." Her emotions seemed to leak out from her.
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