Grace had made her way back across camp to Mama's RV, overthinking Mark's words the way some girls overthink everything. If his intention had been to distract her entirely from thoughts of The Werewolf, the gypsy not-King had most assuredly managed it. Sending word through one of the little girls that she was back in business, the hair stylist stepped inside to re-man her post in the makeshift barbershop that looked suspiciously like Mama's kitchen with a chair in it.

Some time later, when the text from Mark came in, Grace was surprised at herself for being surprised. As timing would have it, she was almost finished with the teenage boy she was working on, making sure the line on the back of his neck was straight as she shaved off all those fine little baby hairs. Wiping her hands on a towel, she reached for the phone to text him back. "Actually I've got a break right now. Just finished up Jack and Billy isn't back yet. Looks like you get to skip the line afterall?"


Clothes was done. Then there was kinda pick up and jist kinda wiping some things down. With how it all had been, it kinda felt like that was necessary. Without Billie or Gwen in his RV the condition of things was decidedly bachelor-like, and it were time tah clean it up. Nah worries, though, it would slowly degrade back tah this in the next week.

He took a shower first, figuring it might help her when he sent the text. All right, den. There was a glance in the bathroom mirror at the messy faux hawk spill. Feck it, she was right. He was starting tah look like he was in need of somethin.

"I'll take it." Were the message back.

Stepping outside of the RV, the evening air set upon him in an unforgiving way. Having wet hair like that could do it. Once he stepped up tah the caravan she was in with Mama he gave it a few knocks before turning the handle, "Hello?"

Grace had cleaned up between "customers" the way she always did, sweeping up the loose hair, wiping down the counter and the seat, dropping her clipper blades and her combs and things in the bright blue antibacterial liquid that resembled nothing so much as formaldehyde-scented windex.

With a little extra time on her hands before Mark arrived, she found herself straightening her own hair, smudging her fingers over the delicate skin underneath her eyes to make sure what minimal makeup she wore hadn't smudged too much, smearing a sweet mint flavored lipbalm on her lips. Why? She couldn't have said. Maybe she just wanted to make sure she looked presentable, too.

"C'mon in," she said when the knock sounded, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. A playful grin found her lips, her tone light. "Had enough anticipation?"

It weren't much fer him, jist some clean clothes and a smile. Naht yet smelling like bonfire or smoke or jist whatever else. Just the detergent that was at the laundry mat and the kinda mint-based shampoo and conditioner he had.

"I were about tah bite mah nails o'er it." He said to her when she asked. There was a point with his nose tah what seemed verra much like the place he should take a seat, "Jist sit down nahw, yeah?"

It wasn't a lot for her either, it wasn't like she'd put on a full face of war paint and a miniskirt or anything. Just... less like a ragamuffin on her day off, is all. She smiled at his response and dropped a sharp chin in a nod. "Yep! Have a seat, I'll put this really stylish cape on you," she rolled one wrist with a flourish, indicating the black pile of what looked rather like a cross between vinyl and canvas heaped on the table, "...and we'll get ... all that fixed."

Once he was seated, she opened up the cape, shaking it once to loosen the folds and then twirling it out so that it caught the air, fanning out around him as she fastened it along his neck, the fabric rustling as it settled along his body. "Oh cool, you washed it," she comments, her fingers already in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp gently. "Pretty good condition, too, considering. Any particular cut you're after?"

Mark unzipped his jacket and put it up in tha first place which made sense. A coatrack, a hook, and empty seat. That kinda thing. Then he crossed over tah the seat and sank into it. "Ready fer my cape, now. If you got anything real superhero dat works." But he saw only dah black there. Nothing like superman inspired or nothing.

When she came in closer with the scissors and all his shoulders drew back. Maybe a bit like the blades made him uncomfortable. She naht ever cut his hair before. "Yah dun nah drinkin' tahdey, right?" There was the half smile dat were there, the only hint tah being nervous. She noticed his hair was wet and he nodded, "Thought even if you had tah redo it that atleast I weren't tah funky fer yah. I like kinda simple. Little bit longer on tha top den the sides. More uhh... uniform and less like a Mohawk I got when I was drunk."

That pretty giggle pealed from her lips at his super hero comment. "I've got a Batman one, actually, but I don't think it'll fit you..." She had some brightly colored plastic ones that she used for scared kids to make them feel better, actually! "Hang on a sec, hm?"

Her fingers disentangling from his hair, she skirts around him, not that it's hard to do given her tiny stature. Walking a short distance away, she pulls open one of the pantry cabinets, pulling out two additional capes that are significantly smaller. One is Batman, as promised, and the other is My Little Pony. Giving him a teasing grin, she wiggles the My Little Pony one at him. "Sure you wouldn't rather be a pony instead?" Giggling, she stuffs that one back in the cabinet, shaking out the Batman cape and laying it over the one he's already wearing. "There y'go. Feel better?"

And then she's back, weaving petite but able fingers back into his hair, gently combing it back from his face. She hadn't brought any scissors anywhere near him yet, but she would soon! "And no. No booze. I didn't even steal your beer earlier, though I thought about it..."

"Oh yeah? Probably because I'm larger din life... bigger than yer average customer." Well, that wasn't true at all. Mark was, at best, average height. Six feet tall, most of the gals looked up tah him and the men looked him in the eye. Unless they was Mason or Quinn, who seemed tah dawrf tha whole lot of everybody. He was pulling at the ends of his shirt tah straighten it when she pulled out tha two capes. His eyes widened and then he gave her the 'really?' look with a half smile. She picked it right.

It was like a glorified bib. Or like maybe he should be eatin' lobster or something. He wondered whut a customer would think, walkin' in and seein him with two capes. Was it that much hair?

"Yeah, I feel much better. Like I got some kinda defense against Edna Scissorhands er something." Then she did that thing. That thing everybody loved when they got a haircut. That soothing, goosebump-giving feeling of nails sliding through hair, in secret paths along the scalp. Only a hairstylist seemed tah know how tah do right. She almost got away with tha beer comment fer it, "Yah can try missy... I only lets them get stolen."

It was the brain off-switch for most people, it was true! And Grace was especially good at it. If you asked she'd tell you they spent a whole month on it in hair school. Grinning at the way his shoulders relax under her expert fingers, she lets her nails play over his scalp for longer than was strictly necessary to do her job, but she wouldn't tell if he didn't!

His comment brings that ready-made giggle up again, as she's wiping her combs and scissors dry on a towel she's got laid out on the counter. "Mm. Think so, eh? Good thing I didn't have to prove m'stealin' skills when I come along, huh? Y'might just find yourself with no beers at all!"

And then her focus was pretty much entirely on his head, her scissors working in an easy rhythm as she started cleaning up the bottom first, working her way gradually towards the top. Lightning fast and perfectly confident in her skill, it's easy for her to keep up conversation despite her intense concentration on her work. "So tell me about you, Mark. What's your favorite movie?"

Nah, she was more din likely doomed tah be asked fer it. Mark were a kinda touchy person. Some mighta said it were his language. The best way tah reassure him was with a pat tah the shoulder or a hug. When he wanted someone tah know he thought well of them he'd give them that affectionate pat tah the cheek with one hand, jist like his Da used tah do.

"Well, you was raised gypsy, yeah? Yah gotta have some kinda trade and yah gotta be better than gettin' caught."

There weren't much special about his head. Nah tattoos or scars or nothing. The chair was an odd place. He kept still as he heard what seemed like the decisive smacking of the scissor's lips when it went by his ear. It weren't always someone had him like she did. Interview chair.

"Mah favorite movie? Oh man... I like dat movie Pulp Fiction and Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas and din... you know, der's dat one about the Pirates." Mark liked movies with action and a few other weird things going on. He thought about movies like people used tah think about theatre-- he had tah feel there was a performance, that he was entertained and reeling after he saw it. Otherwise his short attention span kinda wandered off. "Whut about you?"

If asked, Grace would be happy to oblige, though he'd probably always have to sit down first. In a land where both the men and women seemed outrageously tall, the stylist's diminutive stature actually stood out. Come to think of it, if she got a chance to straighten out Quinn's hair for him, she might have to stand on a phone book or something.

"Mhm." She replied, to being raised gypsy. "My camp was a lot different n' this one, though. We were all about the boxin'. All boxing all the time, seemed like." Sure, there were scuffles here and there, but the Barlow camp didn't seem near as fixated on the sport as where she was raised. Far as Grace was concerned, that was a good thing. Defending what was yours was one thing, of course, but she was sick to death of needless violence.

"You mean Pirates of the Carribbean? Oh man, I love that one!" Her response was enthusiastic, a grin revealing her teeth as she moved along the left side of his head, ever so carefully working around that ear. "What about Jurassic Park?"

"Oi, dat's a good movie tah. I didn't see dah newest one but I always liked that scene where uhhh..." he was trying not to move too much or use his hands tah much when he spoke, "Like when dey see the sick dinosaur? I dunno. The scientist guy is jist so happy and yah think... yeah, fer someone who loves dat stuff it gotta be amazing tah see tha thing you never thought you would. Like, he made dinosaurs his passion thinkin' he would die never really seein' one or gettin' answers." Mark was rambling, he realized and then looked at the ground, "Sah...yeah... I liked deh movie."

He didn't mention much about the boxing. It was a hot topic. Naht the boxing, per se, but the gambling. Mark weren't sure how he felt about folks gambling on dos things. It all seemed tah escalate into a place dat got too much attention and whut naht.

Mark was rambling, and Grace thought it was really cute. A light smile played on her lips as she rounded to the other side, using her fingers to gauge lengths so that both sides stayed perfectly even. One of her favorite things about being a hair stylist was finding what topic caused just this kind of wordspill. You could learn a lot about a person based on what they liked to talk about, and more information inevitably made for better stories.

"I know just what you mean," a velvet hum of agreement since the little thing was right on top of his ear. "That look on his face like it's Christmas morning and the first time he got laid all at once, right?" Shaking her head, she can't quite shake the little smile from her lips. "You never doubt for a second that it's the best moment of his life so far."

Saving the top for last, Grace straightened her back, going up on bare toes that were painted a sparkly pale purple as she started measuring the length of the 'hawk, determining how much to take off before she actually cuts anything. "I haven't seen the new one yet, either, but I hear it's hilarious. ...'Bout this much feel right?" Measuring the distance between his scalp and where her other hand has a lock of hair scissored, she lowers the first one to show him how far apart her little fingers are. "I can go a little longer but I don't wanna go much shorter unless that's what y'got in mind."

Mark could gah on and on about those kinda things. She was lucky she hadn't asked about music or bands or nothing like that. He might have talked to her to the point she were uncomfortable if that happened. When she described it he grinned slow and broad, fighting the urge tah nod as she spoke about Christmas and gettin' laid.

She asked how much felt right. His eyes went tah the mirror to see her, standing behind him and looking familiar, though he weren't sure why. He lifted his hand, getting it tah escape out from his capes tah give her the thumbs up, "Looks about right tah meh. Dun keep it tah long, I dun remember tah get mah hair cut enough fer that."

"Ah, but now you have a hair stylist who lives thirty feet away," rejoining his comment with a teasing rebuke. "...'Fore y'know it we're going to have the most high maintenance, bad ass style ever." Grinning to show him she was just kidding, she sets to work with the scissors once more, cleaning up the last of the butchered haircut.

Moving to stand in front of him, she steps into the space between his knees. Not uncomfortably or threateningly so, mind you, it's just that her arms are only so long and he wants his hair cut shorter. Her weight on one leg, narrow hips are cocked to the side, one foot resting on top of the other. It's an unconscious posture, but her balance is perfect -- clearly she stands like this a lot, whether she knows it or not.

Her gaze intent, she measures and then snips, measures and then snips again, slowly now, and careful. This is the part that will determine the way his hair lays, and since it's her first time cutting his hair she wants to make sure that it's perfect. "So you're into action movies. What else.... video games? Music? Poker?"

"Oi, we gonna be the oddest band of folks. People will wonder why we so well kept like models and think somethin is wrong." He helped puff up his cape tah get the hair off of it before she circled around tah him.

Like a ballerina. That was it. That was what he saw in tha mirror. A little ballerina on her toes and now, leaning forward tah him. If he thought she was threatening or uncomfortable, it didn't show. Mark kinda watched her for a bit, like he didn't think she even really saw him and maybe that's why it weren't so threatening. She wasn't like staring him in the eye as she leaned in, which usually signaled a whole other kinda intent. She was fixated on his hair like a surgeon or something.

He realized he was sitting sah still, even holding his breath. The careful way of her posture and what naht had affected him and he only realized it in time tah take a breath after she spoke, "Music, mostly. I like deh bands and if I could I would go tah all der concerts. Like deh artic monkeys and the neighborhood and imagine dragons. All dem."

Grace was apparently the kind of girl who giggled, completely un-self-consciously and un-contrived. She was giggling again now, her laughter spilling readily, easily from her lips, and she waited to use the weapons of her trade again until it had passed. "Mhm. I'll have all a' you lookin' like somethin' out of West Side Story here in no time."

She didn't seem to notice the way he was watching her, or if she did she didn't find it paralyzing. When she stood right up on somebody like this, it was hard for them to look anywhere else, so maybe she was just used to it. Her chest rose and fell in an even loop, her breath shallow. "Yeah? Do a lot of bands come through here? What do you think of the 1975?"

On the move again, she circled around behind him, and Grace had put the scissors down! That meant her hands were in his hair again, playing with the way it laid, checking the part, and probably scritching his scalp for him some more. "Alright, almost done. Tuck your chin for me, okay? I'm gonna clean up the back of your neck and then you can escape."

"West Side Story?" Apparently he didn't know that one, but he took it tah be one that meant something good. Like maybe something a bit more polished or what naht. Fer a moment he thought she might lean too far forward and intah him. He instinctively reached out as if tah catch her side. But dah ballerina knew her steps and never even wavered enough fer him tah think it might happen.

"Naht heard much of tha band. Should I look em up?" Always liked doing that. Finding something new and picking through the songs, giving them that three minutes or less tah impress him or never be thought of again. She commanded him tah bow his head and he did so, sitting up a bit more when he realized he'd started tah slouch a bit more deeply in tha chair.

"It's a good thing," she said with a smile, almost as though she'd read his thoughts regarding the musical. Moving away from him again, she stopped to lift the clipper blades out of their chemical bath, quickly patting them dry on the towel and then fitting them back into the instrument. Setting the guard where she wanted it, she switched the mechanical blade on, letting him get used to the sound of it before she brought it near his skin. "This might tickle a bit, but it won't take long, alright?"

Stretching the fingers of her other hand across the back of his neck to guide the line she wanted, she set to work finishing the clean up. "They're some of my favorites," she says after a moment, referring to the band she'd mentioned earlier. "Maybe because they're from back home, I don't know. I'm also into the older stuff, like Weezer."

"Is it?" He chuckled at her when she said that, though he always felt like he weren't clued intah that thing that others kinda knew and spoke of. His head still bowed he waited for the clippers tah touch down. It were like having a piece of metal press against his skin over and over as she cleaned up the line of hair at the back of his neck.

"S'naht so bad. Naht dat ticklish. Mostly it's dah hair itself that makes me feel like ai got a few strands from a cobweb or somethin' on my face." Might naht have thought twice about keeping his head bowed like that if he hadn't jist been asked tah do it. Sort of like mandatory prayer or something. She mentioned Weezer and he chuckled, "Like dah sweater song and all dat? Yeah, I can see it."

There was that pretty giggle again, sounding high and clear as she worked. "Mhm. It's a musical about these two street gangs in New York. And they're supposed to be all scary and dangerous, but it's Broadway. So ... they're way too well dressed and they all have great hair and... yeah. They're the most fashionable gangs ever, like you said." See? She wouldn't leave him out or make him feel uneducated if she could help it.

As promised, it was short work, and not long after she'd started she was done again. "Okay, don't move." An order issued as she set the clippers aside, reaching for a makeup brush that was also on the counter. It was one of those big bristly ones, and she used to it catch up all the little hairs along his neck, attempting to prevent that very cobwebby feeling he was describing. "Yeah! That one. 'Say it Ain't So' is one of my favorite songs ever. I would give almost anything to see them in concert, but I don't think they tour anymore."

Pulling the capes off of him one at a time, she shakes the hair out on the floor before rolling them up and ditching them on the counter. Her hands coming down along his shoulders, she gently brushes whatever hairs might have slipped through off of him, assuming there were any at all. "Alright," she says at last, tipping her chin towards the mirror. "What d'ya think?"

"Yah laugh a lot. Does tha mean yer nervous or dah you jist always do it?" Once he knew a girl that laughed at everything. Bad jokes. Good jokes. If yah just told her hi. Someone said it was cause she flirted, but then he realized it weren't jist fer tha boys tha she did it. Was also fer girls and teachers and turtles. She didn't know whut tah say or something, so she laughed first and then spoke. Was Grace like that?

"Well, we naht no new york gangs sah... I guess in tha city they was probably lookin' right." She told him tah be still, so he were. There was a thin smile on his lips, like he weren't sure if she was about tah do a magic trick or something. He shut his eyes when the bristly thing was whisked and then felt the weight of tha two capes come offa him. Were kinda like he just got taken outta a body bag or something. Like a weight was lifted, though they wasn't very heavy.

"Whut dah I think?" He stood up slowly from the chair tah get closer tah the mirror against the wall. His hands raked through it, he gave it a left and right look and then dropped back intah the chair, "I think I need a proper shave tah match tha hair. I'm doin' you an injustice." He scratched at the five o'clock and then smiled at her. They usually didn't pay each other, per se, but when a service was rendered one were owed. Was always good tah have Mark in the owing, "You'll let meh know if you need anythin', right?" He was looking at her in the mirror's reflection tah make eye contact.

"Nervous?" Surprise in catlike eyes, she shakes her head. "No, not really. I mean..." amending her statement a moment later, one shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I guess I'm a little nervous 'cause I never cut your hair before, but girls'll like it even if you don't, so you'll end up thanking me for it one way or another."

Lips lifting in a grin, Grace shook her head, raking one hand through her own sterling silver locks. "Nah... I just laugh when I think things are funny, is all. Or when I think something's really ****in' cute and don't want to embarrass you by sayin' so." Her grin spread then, brows rising and then falling again in quick succession as she watched his face in the mirror.

Pleased that he was pleased with it, his mention of needed a shave has her potentially putting him further in debt. "F'course. But about that shave. Y'ever had a real one, like in a barber shop?"

Interview with the Werewolf
...In the middle of the night.
(because that's totally normal, right?)

02.11.2016 - 3:30 A.M.

Quinn shoved that ballcap on, pressed a kiss to his sleeping lover and got up and dressed. He needed his hair cut, and he didn't sleep, so middle of the night haircuts were totally normal right? Sure. He walked around and found the right camper. Climbing the stairs, he knocked on the door after he listened to see if anyone was up. If no one was up, they wouldn't hear the light rapping of fingers.

Though long since changed into her jammies, Grace was still awake, listening to music and checking some form of social media on her phone. Tumblr, instagram, something like that. She almost missed the faint sound of a knock at the door, so light that it easily could have been her music, but she slid off the couch to check it out anyway. Pulling the door open, the pint sized stylist found herself face to face, well (more like face to solarplexus) with ...the werewolf.

Green eyes going a little round in the moonlight, she takes a step back. "...Whoa, that was unexpected. Hi?"

"Hey I um, I kinda need a haircut and I was wondering if you had time?" Was Quinn awkward around strangers? Sure, when that's what the situation merited. He was an actor, he swayed to the situation and he looked up at her. Seemingly, this man was massive, but about as imposing as a tall tree. Unless it fell over he probably wouldn't be any harm right?

Riiiiiight. Definitely harmless. But Grace was stepping back anyway, letting him inside with a little grin. "Sure. I sorta needed to talk to you anyway. C'mon in?" The chair was still set up in the kitchen - she'd been doing hair cuts for most of the caravan today, it seemed.

"The answer is yes." He said before she asked her question. Apparently he had been used to people asking if he was a wolf. Pulling off the ballcap, he jammed it into the pouch in the front of his hoodie. "Yes I am gay, yes I am a werewolf." Apparently people asked him about sugar in the tank too. Regularly.

This brought a giggle from her lips as she closed the door behind him. "...I know, but thank you? I don't know exactly what the second one means and the first was pretty obvious." Gesturing the chair, the pixie stylist skirts around him, pulling the implements of her trade out of a cabinet along with a fresh towel and a cape. Her back is turned to him while she sets up, having sterilized everything before she'd put it away.

"The most important 'yes', though, is the one you didn't mention. 'Yes', you are family." Her grin resurfacing, she looks back over her shoulder at him, stick straight sterling locks obscuring half her face. "Which is what I need to talk to you about."

"Oh, wait, most people don't find it too obvious that I am gay." He thought and shrugged his shoulder pulling off his sweatshirt, revealing only a white ribbed tanktop. "As for being a werewolf, typically it means if you see a massive white wolf coming to or from camp, please don't shoot it, that's me. I don't stay here when there is any chance I could be a trouble. Full moons, solstice, the equinox, you know, moon calendar stuff. When that stuffs going on, I take off for a bit." Well wasn't he mister honest. She was family. And when she said it, he beamed and slid into the chair. "Oh yeah? What are we talking about?"

"...It's obvious because I live like forty feet from you and Levi, Quinn, not because of anything in particular about you." The campground wasn't all that big, yeah? Even for somebody who didn't spend a lot of time with the primary group of them, she still had eyes. And ears. Smiling a little at his apparent stream of consciousness, she nods, pulling her clippers from another draw and leaning over the counter top to plug them in.

"Anything to do with the moon, white wolf, got it." Flashing him a quick smile, she turns to check out his hair and realizes suddenly that, even with him sitting down, she's got a perfect view of his ....shoulders. "Erm, this won't work. Hang on a second."

Dancing around him again, bare feet carry her back towards the main common area, where she stoops to pull a couple of really thick books out from under the couch. More or less daring him to laugh, Grace returns with them, stacking them on the floor of the kitchen before stepping up onto the stack.

"Right. Anything in particular y'want done, or just.... fix it?" That smile resurfaces then, catlike green eyes seeking his in the mirror opposite. Expert fingers weave themselves into choppy hair, nails gliding lightly over his as she assesses it.

"Ohhh, Should I be buying you headphones in a way of apology then?" He looked at her in the mirror and then she was going to find...Books. He chewed his bottom lip and didn't laugh, but oh man he wanted to. He was thinking then, about how many people he and Levi kept up on a regular basis. Snapping out of it when she spoke he looked back to her in the mirror.

"Um, fixing it, may be impossible right? So maybe we just make it better than...You know...this." Finger motioning a finger around the top of his head because he knew just how terrible it was. He didn't mind though the point was for them all to have horrible haircuts. "Also, as my stylist," yup, that was the title, "your first job is to never tell me if there are greys, because I cannot handle that kinda ego hit." Nodding firmly and watching her with a smirk.

Grace was still playing with his hair, tugging lightly on it here, pulling it over her fingers there, scritching his scalp in between. Because everybody in the world loved that part of getting their hair done best, right? Lifting her gaze at last, she gives him a squinty-eyed look, eventually erupting into a peal of giggles like Christmas bells.

"I didn't mean...Oh god." Stepping down off her platform, Grace is still giggling as she heads for the fridge. "And on that note. I need a beer. Want one?" Grabbing one for him anyway, she pauses to pop the top on both bottles, leaving bottle caps and the opener on the counter to collect later. Passing one over his shoulder to him when she returns, she studies him curiously in the mirror. "Do wolves go grey?"

Quicksilver eyes stared at her in the mirror before finally he broke down and laughed. "Well no, but I wasn't always a wolf, and I think I may have some residual ones from the time before the change." Nodding somberly and reaching up and taking the bottle. He liked haircuts here already, scritching and beer. He would never be going anywhere else that was for sure.

"You mentioned family questions? I think, you know all of my living family. Those that are here, and the purple-haired girl who used to stay with us. Saila. That's the long and short of it." He brought he bottle to his lips. Mister thinking he has all the answers. But no, he didn't know the true nature of her questions.

"She's your family?" There had been a lot of speculation about Saila among the gypsies, the strange girl with the brilliant hair who had appeared among them and disappeared again just as quickly. The stylist stepped down then, reaching into the cabinets under the sink for an empty spray bottle. "Is she a wolf too?" No, these weren't her real questions, but since he was volunteering so much information, the girl couldn't resist the asking.

Unscrewing the spray bottle cap, little hands moved nearly of their own volition to turn on the faucet, fill the bottle with water, screw the nozzle back into place, turn the water off. "I'm going to spray your hair down with water so it's easier to cut, okay? All of this has been sterilized already," she says, gesturing her scissors and clipper blades with a flourish of one hand, as though to reassure him. "I never put my things away dirty."

"She is a part of my pack. And my sister." He didn't say she was a wolf, but he didn't say she wasn't a wolf. At her showing him all the clean instruments he thought a moment. Worst that could happen to him was lice, oh man that would suck, can we say flea dip. He was pensive and thinking it over when he nodded. "Yeah its fine, and it's cats who hate water." A smirk played its way over his lips before he lifted to sip from his beer again.

The girl seemed to accept this answer. Taking one more sip of her beer, she sets it aside on the counter, stepping back up onto her makeshift platform. Using one hand to shield his forehead, she uses the spray bottle to make those ragged black waves damp enough to manipulate.

"...I just didn't want you to think I was trying to get rid of you or something," Grace says, distinctly feline-esque green eyes lifting to his in the mirror once more. "So...Have y'talked to Mark tonight, by chance?"

"No, I assumed he was out looking for..." He was speaking to a woman, one he didn't know well so he carefully corrected himself. "Company." A nod and he looked to her in the mirror. Wondering if as a wolf, a spray to the face would send him running. He seemed okay enough with things to know that he would probably just try to eat the spray bottle. A part of him seemed happy with the idea. Lucky no tail though, or else it would be wagging. "Why? Was he looking for me?"

"Mm. So it falls to me t'tell you then." She hoped Mark would understand. It wasn't really her place to be the one to break the news --not so newly arrived herself -- but on the other hand, who had ever expected the man in question to waltz in her door in the middle of the night demanding a haircut? Setting the bottle aside, she lifted a comb next, pulling it gently through his hair.

"You're being initiated," she says with a little smile. "You're one of us already, but, what with everything going on', he wants to have an actual ceremony. Thinks it'll be good for morale and unity and... all that." Her smile turns sly. Deft fingers reach for her scissors, and from that point on her words are punctuated by the rhythmic metallic swish of moving blades. "We have a couple things planned for you."

Because that's not at all ominous, is it?