Day 49: Late Afternoon - Pearl's Beauty Salon Hair and Nails

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

Meche couldn't remember the last time she'd had her nails done, if ever--it definitely would have been a long while even before the last time she'd had nails. Today was turning into the day for those kinds of things, it seemed like.

The salon was only about a block from the bookstore, so luckily she managed to stay pretty dry on the run over. Meche closed the door firmly behind her and smiled at the woman who rushed from the back to meet her. "Hi, I'm meeting a friend here," she explained, and sat down in the nearest chair to wait.

[for Donna]

Comments

[teabastard.livejournal.com]

Ugh, sodding rain. He should be used to it by now considering where he was from but really... this was intolerable and he was dressed entirely inappropriately. He needed an umbrella at least! Or a coat. A coat would be better than this crappy jacket they'd forced him into. Or the t-shirt. Sodding shirt.

He was hurried into the nearest building like he was a god damned child by the nurse.

Oh for... why did it have to be something like this out of all the buildings in the entire town? England ran a hand through his sodden hair to stop it dripping in his eyes, and looked around carefully. Tweezers and nail polish and wax and... ugh, women's stuff. Not that England was against it per se, he just wasn't interested in it personally. The closest he got was makeup to hide the bruises after a night of drinking.

There only seemed to be a couple of people in here which was for the best most likely, and no-one he knew because Prussia would never let him live it down if he saw England in here. A woman talking with what England assumed was an employee, another man failing to blend into the non-existent shadows and he had the biggest eyebrows ever. Weirdo.

[darwinism]

Sylar glanced up at the sudden burst of cold air that came into the shop. It looked like people were still rushing indoors, and this particular guy was about as soaking as Peter had been. And in with him... came another nurse. Great.

But... Sylar glanced quickly between the newcomer and the people already in the shop; it looked like everyone else was already preoccupied with something or someone, and a nicey patient making conversation was as good a camouflage for illegal activities as any. He glanced over at the pile of clean towels at one of the work stations and grabbed one, turning to hand it to the guy.

"Here," he said with a wry smile, making sure to glance at the nurse to emphasize his good will. "Looks like you need it."

[teabastard.livejournal.com]

He was sopping wet. Hell, it was even in his pair of trainers. His socks were sodden and made an unpleasant squelching sound as he walked. What a pissing miserable day. Just fucking great. And he was in a place which smelled strongly of nail polish and hairspray, sickly sweet and cloying and probably burning a hole in the ozone layer just by existing.

He was squeezing out his t-shirt when a towel was thrust in his direction. Someone he didn't know, the one who had been loitering. "Uh, thank you," he said after a moment, grabbing the towel and using it to roughly dry off his hair. At least it wouldn't drip into his face then. He used it to mop up the excess water where he could although it didn't make much of a difference. "You'd think that they'd give us umbrellas at least."

[darwinism]

"That'd be too easy," Sylar muttered, shifting his body language into 'peeved' mode as soon as the nurse turned to check something on the radio. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a shoulder against the wall and glancing at the guy – young, early twenties, looked like. British, like Grell, or at least that's what it sounded like: with alternate dimensions and fantasy worlds and whatever the hell else was going on here, he could've just as easily been a Morgo from the planet Morgulon.

Actually, the latter would be better. The weirder the origins, the weirder – and better – the power seemed to be, but right now, the screwdrivers were Sylar's main concern. They weighed heavily in his pocket; one stupid move and some caveman orderly might feel him up and find them, and really, humiliating Peter Petrelli was the most fun when Sylar got something tangible out of it.

He kept his eyes fixed on the nurse, just over the man's shoulder.

"The question is whether or not they'll let us carry anything out." He glanced back to the man's face. "You find anything interesting?"

[teabastard.livejournal.com]

England smirked without much humour and nodded, noting the slight shift in the man's demeanor. "God for bid we get an umbrella. Why, we might hurt someone with it!" he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he finished toweling himself off. Still sodden, the t-shirt sticking to his skin unpleasantly and ugh, the shoes.

He arched one eyebrow when the man spoke next but gave no other sign. If someone wanted to steal something, he certainly wasn't going to stop them. "Just an irritating Prussian who thinks that it's nineteen forty-seven," he muttered sourly. To be honest, the history, or lack thereof, had left him rather shell shocked.

[darwinism]

Sylar couldn't help but smirk and raise a brow at the man's random comment about a "Prussian." That was... some old country, right? If Sylar recognized it, there was a good chance the guy was from Earth, although his surprise at the time difference probably meant that he hadn't been dropped off here all that long ago. Good thing – it was always nice to meet someone new, especially when Sylar needed to keep them occupied long enough to shield him from some nurse's suspicion.

"Really?" he asked mildly, glancing back to the nurse and slowly sliding a hand into his pocket. "I'm guessing... that you're not from 1947, then?"

Still, the Prussian comment struck him as a little weird, and maybe a little too... personal. The way he said it gave Sylar the impression that the man knew whoever he'd been talking to or maybe just had a grudge against the country in general. But really, Prussia? Sylar couldn't even remember where that was off the top of his head. Middle-East, maybe? Or was that Persia...

Whatever. What mattered now was the damn smuggling.

[teabastard.livejournal.com]

England raised an eyebrow at the exaggeratedly slow movements but made no attempt to move away. Even if it was a threat, and he drew a gun or a knife, what was there to worry about? For England anyway. He didn't like the chances of the man escaping unscathed. It would be kind of entertaining to watch to be honest, except not because laughing at someone else's suffering was out of fashion now wasn't it? Yes, he had to be media friendly and active in international relations that unfortunately no longer included punching people in the face. Even if they were (probably) American.

"I'm from 2008," England replied with a shrug. "He's just an idiot." An idiot who insisted on hanging around despite no longer existing as a country. A little like England's brothers but they at least were still technically countries even if they answered to him for the most part.

[darwinism]

2008? Must've been the Prussian-hater thing, then. Unless the guy he was talking about was really old during his time, but Sylar wasn't about to divide his attention with that when– when all the nurses finally seemed busy with something or other. Sylar glanced over to the guy, then moved to crouch down, as if tying his shoe.

"Do me a favor?" he said under his breath, moving to pull the boot loose enough to come off. "Lemme know if that nurse starts looking this way."

Unless the guy was a real asshole, Sylar couldn't imagine any patient choosing a nurse over another prisoner. Except for Peter Petrelli, but he already knew he was a little bitch.

"I'm Gabriel, by the way," he added as an afterthought. He smiled grimly at his task. "Hope you don't mind me... multitasking."

[teabastard.livejournal.com]

England regarded him curiously as he ducked. Hiding something? Ah well, that made sense if there were things in town that one couldn't get in the Institute which seemed rather likely. He nodded, shifting position a little so that he could see the nurses better and act as a better block for whatever this man wanted to do.

"Arthur," he replied absently. "And not at all. Stones in shoes are a pain to deal with," he added with a grin.