November 12, late morning
West Marketplace

There were a few reasons why Cut and Paste was the only place that Glenn had gone to get his haircut at in the 9 months or so he'd been in RhyDin, despite some of its eccentricities. First, it wasn't a barber shop. Glenn had only been to a barbershop once in his life, when he was a little kid. He became so panicked that the barber was going to find out he was an elf and cut off his ears with a straight razor or do something equally nasty to him that he'd thrown a temper tantrum in the barber's chair, refusing to stop until his parents took him away. From that moment on, he'd always had someone in his family cut his hair. His mother, usually, but his cousin Kathryn as well, when his mother was sick. It had resulted in some questionable hair styles, but Glenn was more worried about hiding who he was than looking fashionable. Second, it didn't cost too much, probably because it was a good distance away from the center of the Marketplace. Third, the workers there were friendly without prying into his affairs. They knew his first name, what he did for a living, and how he liked his hair parted (none at all). For Glenn, it was a pleasantly shallow relationship, and they did good work too, although he didn't usually go for some of the fancier styles they suggested (What the hell was a fake hawk, anyways?). Most importantly, though, they listened to his one adamant request: don't touch the ears. These reasons made up for the fact that the place had an almost completely alien aesthetic to him: whitewashed walls that were barely visible under the mountain of pictures of what Glenn assumed were famous musicians in some other world, as well as various glamour photographs of pierced and tattooed men and women wearing clothing in various stages of distress (jeans with large holes in the knees, torn t-shirts, ripped-up fishnet stockings). The people who worked there apparently took after this fashion; Glenn's usual stylist, Darla, had hair shorter than his, spiked it up, and always wore a studded choker. The fact that both of her arms were covered by intricately designed sleeve tattoos that incorporated roses, thorns, tribal patterns, and a dragon, among other things, fascinated Glenn. Only the sailors in Blackbridge would have had tattoos like that, and certainly none of the women.

He stopped by the shop later that morning, giving a friendly half-wave to Darla when he saw her. ?How's it going today??

?Real good, Glenn. How are ya doing?? Darla asked, with barely the faintest hint of a unfamiliar, drawling accent. She had dyed her hair bright red since the last time Glenn had been in, and was wearing a pair of heavily distressed jeans and a moth-ridden olive green t-shirt.

?I'm doing alright.?

?What can I do for ya today? Usual trim??

?No, actually. I think I'm gonna get it cut a little shorter. Out of my eyes.?

?Sounds good, Glenn. I'll be with ya in a minute?? He nodded, and sat down. Another thing he loved about this place was the reading material. Apparently, the owners had figured out a way to get magazines from their home world delivered here. There was a couple of months delay, and some of them were missing pages occasionally, but Glenn still enjoyed reading about this other world's music, entertainment, and fashion. He didn't always understand it, but he appreciated it, nonetheless. Finally, Darla called his name. He set down his magazine and took off his cloak, revealing a white long-sleeved shirt. Quick footsteps carried him to Darla's chair, where he sat. She threw a black plastic cloak over his front, buttoned it around his neck, and lifted the chair up a bit, before she started snipping away at his hair.

Glenn and Darla talked idly about his job, the zombie invasion, and other pieces of RhyDin news that weren't too personal for him. Light brown clumps of hair started to slowly form a pile on his chest and on the floor around the stool, as more and more of the back of his neck and his eyes became visible. Suddenly, while Darla was cutting the hair around Glenn's right ear, a loose strand of hair fell on his nose, tickling him. He sneezed, loudly. Distracted, Darla's scissors slipped, nicking the top of Glenn's ear. The edge of her wrist brushed against his ear as she tried to regain her balance. He reflexively reached up to grab his ear, eyes flashing dark green in surprise and pain. A thin trail of blood started to run down his earlobe and the top of his cheek. At first, she apologized, tossing the scissors aside. Then, she looked at him again and covered her mouth, shocked at what she saw.

?Y-yer eyes...Yer ears...? Darla stammered out. Although she had spent some time in RhyDin, and was familiar with some of the more esoteric races, she had yet to meet someone like Glenn, who apparently had two faces. Glamour was just a rumor to her, something that evil changelings or fey used in their dark deeds. She looked at Glenn, slightly panicked. His forest green eyes gazed right back at her, pleading. She relaxed a bit at that. Evil doers don't have eyes like that...elves do.

?Please...don't ask. Not yet. Just-just finish my hair cut, please.? Darla nodded, grabbing one of the blue towels used to dry hair after shampooing. She pressed the towel up to his ear, stopping the bleeding, before grabbing another pair of scissors and continuing.

Glenn and Darla finished the haircut in near silence, with only the familiar snick of scissors on hair keeping them company.