voidtreckerexpress | Hair pins are a necessity

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Hair pins are a necessity

Who: Misa and Feanor
Where: Sleeper 3, Cabin C
When: D 16
What: The mighty hair shall unite them all? No, really, this is a post about hair and hairpins.
Warnings: Possibly Misa being inappropriate, but I doubt it.

Misa sighs, looking in the mirror, and then continues to comb her hair. It's a long process. for all she's not very tall, hip length hair is still a lot of hair, and she's far more used to having someone help her with it. She has a few, precious, hair pins that were still in her hair when she arrived. But they aren't enough for some of her more complicated styles, and that just won't do.

Beginning to twist her hair up into a complicated style, she breaks one of the hair pins. Now, that's happened to her many, many times before, but never where she can't just replace them.

"Not fair!" She says, slamming the comb down on the bench and picking up the pieces of the hair pin. "It's not fair!" She says, not realizing anyone can see her with her hair half up and half down.

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Trouble with long and unruly hair is no strange thing to Fëanor. Not his trouble most of the time. He prefers to keep his own hairstyle simple. A high ponytail if he's working or nothing at all if he's not. A circlet when he had one. Yet he's familiar with the problem. The elves tend to keep their hair long and he had seven sons.

He doesn't notice, at least not at first, as the door to the cabin open and he overhears Misa direct her angry declaration into the mirror, what is the reason for this ire. But he recognizes the tone perfectly.

"What is not fair, child?" he asks.

It must have something to do with the girl trying, and possibly failing, to achieve a certain hairstyle. Fëanor can only guess what was the original idea. Her mass of black hair looks quite uncooperative at this point.

Misa jerks her head up, and curls her hand around the hair pin, guiltily. She jumps to her feet. A blush stains her cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know anyone else was here."

She curtsies to the man, just like she'd been taught as a child. "My name is Misa, sir." She introduces herself, hair suddenly cascading down, the few pins she'd managed to get in, catching on the strands of hair.

Misa clutches the hair pin in her hand, and then sighs. "I just broke one of my hair pins, that's all." That, and she's used to having help with her hip length hair. Usually, Nina or Hurog come in to help her, and then she helps Nina with her hair or Hurog with decorating his lekku.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

Such a well-behaved child. That's rare.

Even if clearly they share the cabin Fëanor was too preoccupied before to notice. First with the plague, then the mission and after the mission... The most delicate way to describe his state after the last mission would be that he wasn't very present.

He bows in response.

"I am Fëanor. May the stars shine on the hour of our meeting," he says. "I should have introduced myself to you earlier." And because he's feeling extra generous he adds. "You have not disturbed me at all. Can I see it?"

She guiltily holds out the hairpin, like she'd purposefully broken it. She hadn't, it just had happened, but she's used to getting more easily. Somehow, she doesn't think that getting more will be easy on this train.

Misa looks at the floor, not looking at him. "It just snapped, when I went to put my hair up." She says softly, hoping he's not angry. Adults get angry about odd things sometimes, she's noticed.

Fëanor takes the hairpin from her. He smiles. Of course. It is what he suspected. The metal snapped from overuse on the bend. An obvious mistake on the part of its maker. To craft the whole piece from the same material completely disregarding that the forces would act differently on its different parts? How sloppy.
Nothing tragic. Nothing irreparable. Just easily preventable if only someone put a little thought and effort. He hates sloppy.

It takes a word from him, just a single Word, for the pieces to reassemble when heated.

"Here," he says returning it to Misa. "It's fixed, for now, but it would break again. Whoever made this one should learn their craft better."

He thinks for a moment. He has some spare material left from his last project. Not enough for anything bigger but hairpins? That's enough for at least a dozen. Or more. It depends on how ornamental he decides to make them.

"I can make you stronger ones if you'd like."

She stares at it, and how it's fixed, and how this person had done it without any help of any kind that she could see. She giddily accepts the hair pin back, and finishes putting up her hair.

The rolls and braids are something she'd learned very early on at the house, and while it does compliment her, it's also a style a bit too old for her.

Her eyes widen again and then she flings her arms around Feanor. "You would? Thank you thank you thank you!" She says, holding him as tight as her arms will allow.

She manages to completely surprise him with that outburst of gratitude. Even more with the sudden hug. So what she gets in response to all that affection is a slightly awkward pat on the head.

“It’s alright. I said I can make them so I will,” he says. She would need to let go of him first though. “I see that is a matter of great importance.”

He does understand what it’s like to deal with long hair. That proper hair accessories are no trivialities one can ignore.

She's a hugger. She's also very stunted in some ways, despite how she grew up. Sometimes, you just gotta hug someone, though. Like, when they agree to make you hair pins, so your hair isn't a pain.

She laughs, delightedly and lets go of him. "With my hair, I have to put it up." She explains, bounding on her toes. "The Mistress would be most cross if I just left it down." And she will not cross the Mistress. It always earns her a slap and she doesn't like that.

He raised seven very energetic sons. He knows that hugs are essential. She just surprised him. That's all there is to it.

"Hm, maybe you could keep it braided? At least, until you have a sufficient amount of hairpins to style it the way you want them."

He understands this Mistress person must be someone important to her. Maybe a family? It's not very polite to ask about an off comment like that. People on the train come from so many different cultures and have so many strange customs he's abandoned having any expectations long ago.

She cocks her head to the side. "Maybe. I usually leave the braiding to Nina. She's very good at it. I can braid other people's hair, but not my own, really."

She shrugs. "Besides, the Mistress finds braids 'common' and said she doesn't want us using them, except as accents."

Fëanor raises one hand to his heart. How dare? He'd made a better impression of shock and indignation if he wasn't smiling at the same time but hey, he's trying.

"Common?" He asks. "Then that Mistress of yours is missing a lot if she regards braids as common."

You do not speak of elvish hair and utter such a despicable word on the same breath. We are talking Firstborn of Aman here. Some of the more elaborate constructions could be described more aptly as architecture than a hairstyle. The most extravagant examples wouldn't be found among the Noldor but there were ladies even among them famous for their hair. And their braids. Though on second thought, not only the ladies.

She nods, but her mouth is twitching. "It's got to do with the hierarchy." She explains. "Braids are not seen in Mistresses and Courtesans. It's the lower classes that use them, because they don't have the money or facilities, to build their hairstyles properly." She's not trying to shock him, but that's what she's been taught.

And he should see some of the hairstyles on Coruscant. The men and women that come from there certainly know how to build hairstyles and it's up to the courtesans of the house to imitate it.

"Ah, a status symbol. I see," Fëanor replies smiling, his eyes alight with recognition. He spent a good part of his life on his Father's court to spot an obvious symbol of prestige when he sees one.

Money, facilities or free time to waste on frivolous activities such as constructing elaborate hairstyles. Only the nobles, or the royalty, have them. Fëanor looks at Misa for a longer while without a word, assessing what could be done in the current situation with the materials he has on hand. A jewelled comb? It could be a good choice since she likes to wear her hair high.

"Then you would need something more than just a couple of hairpins to properly make a statement."

She nods. "The whores and streetwalkers can't do it, just like they have to learn how to swim, because they don't have showers." At least that is what she'd been told, and she's never heard anything to dispute that.

The train's translation is a curious thing. It's one of this place's many secrets and Fëanor has of yet not discovered how does it work exactly. He gets some hints at times when someone tries to express concepts absent in one language.

Though the insults Misa uses - for those are insults; he's sure of it even if the words do not translate well, the tone of voice does - are not entirely absent. More like words that a long time ago fell out of use.

"What would then be required for the construction of such a proper hairstyle?"

They aren't insults so much as caste names, where she's from. There are levels of flesh peddlers, and she's on the top rung, thanks to the Mistress beating out a Trydarean.

"Well," she actually thinks about it for a moment. "Usually, we use combs, clips and hair pins to hold it in place, but there are a lot of tools that go into a hairstyle as well. Curlers, straighteners, blowdryers. All sorts of things."

Those sound like insults to him and they are both lucky Fëanor doesn't understand exactly what she is talking about. So he concentrates on the items she lists not on the horrific reality of the situation she was involved in.

"All those items can be fashioned even from the meagre resources as we have here," he states with absolute certainty then smiles. When the material is lacking the refinement can come from skilled cratsmanship and there's no craftsman more skilled than him.

" About the tools, however, you'd do well if you asked Tony Stark. If we don't have them already, I'm sure they can be made."

Given how many ladies they have on the train? That's subject that's bound to gather some interest. Perhaps enough to warrant another project.

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Hair pins are a necessity

this is long hair cabin

It is and they should make each other prett... ier

She's already adorable.. must be magic

It's the ~Force~

Obviously, duh ~~~

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wrap?