Just a Trim and a Pal

Solstice loved the weather today. She embraced the brilliant sunshine that greeted her. It didn't look like winter sun so much anymore. Surely it was moving on to Spring. The sun had chased away some of the bitter chill in the air, and she stepped out with jeans, knee boots, a floral blouse that she'd put a few of her favorite necklaces over, and then had grabbed a heavy camel colored tapestry coat that was embroidered with a cream colored filigree. Her last addition for the day was a tan suede wide brimmed fedora that she'd found at a thrift shop. The hat was in pristine condition, and she'd cleaned it up, changed the band, and claimed it as her own.

She'd been putting off a hair trim for a year or better, since the muggle woman she'd found in Liverpool mangled the last trim she'd had. Solstice had sworn she was never going to get it trimmed ever again. However, her hair had gotten dry and, as a half veela, she did understand that losing part of her hair was potentially hazardous. So, when she heard that a new salon had opened in Diagon Alley, she was hopeful that the stylist understood something or another about veela hair and was willing to try to get rid of the ragged ends on her ash blond tresses.

She went into the shop, hoping to find more competence in wizarding stylists, even though she didn't have an appointment.

"Hello?" she called.

Word was quickly spreading of Beautification, something that was giving Rosanna hope in that leaving her job at the ministry had been worthwhile and not a completely foolish idea. Starting any new business was a risk but being someone who tended to watch the world go by rather than jumping head first into something meant Rosanna was even more vulnerable to risk. Risk was a word in the part of the dictionary she wasn't particularly fond of. Thankfully, at least in the short term, the gap in the market Rosanna had spotted was proving to be doing its job and clients were continuing to roll in to book appointments - perhaps not as many as Rosanna would like to break even but after one week with the doors open there was promise.

The witch had been bottling more of her hair revitalisation concoction in the back room when the jingle of the doorbell distracted her from her measuring. Quickly funnelling the last of the potion into a bottle and sealing it with a wooden cork Rosanna removed her apron and made a swift entrance to the main Salon where a witch with blonde hair and an interesting fashion sense greeted her.

There was something about the witch that captivated Rosanna's attention. She had a presence about her, an energy that Rosanna couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the clothing. The witch wore a camel coat with what looked like personal additions and a fedora to match. Her outfit was authentic, one that Rosanna knew nobody would find in Madame Malkins. Perhaps it was this that was so fascinating about the lady? Her originality... Either that or she had veela blood in her, although the condition of her hair would suggest otherwise, usually Veelas had sleek, glossy hair full of life and vibrance. Then again, the lady was obviously in the Salon to address this issue of her hair so perhaps Rosanna shouldn't be so quick to rule out any possibilities as to why she found the lady so enchanting.

'Good morning! Sorry I was just bottling some hair revitalisation concoction in the back room.' Rosanna explained, hoping her slightly delay at appearing before the client would be understood.

'What can I do for you today, Madame?'

"I know I don't have an appointment," Solstice said apologetically, "but I really need a trim. The last person who trimmed it,...well, I guess she doesn't know how difficult it is to work with Veela hair." She was a bit self conscious for making such a gross error in judgment. "Sorta has been looking like she hacked it with a chain saw. My mother would kill me if she saw it. Can you help me, do you think?"

She hadn't yet mentioned the second error in judgment, but that was rather obvious too. She had bought some hair care products from some little weasel that had made all sorts of miraculous promises. Her nose for herbals told her the herbs were right, but obviously the herbals were window dressing for something that might have worked for a muggle but were caustic for sensitive Veela hair.

For the first time, she'd dodged going home for Christmas because of it. And her family was pressing her for some sort of appearance. Veelas didn't have the option of shaving their heads, although it had been a passing thought. She was hoping that perhaps this woman wouldn't laugh her right out of the shop.