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Entry tags:
Fic - Signet/Echo haircare
This is canon for my AU lolol because why not
for dora/@harpydora on twitter! (because last night I realized I forgot how to tag people on dw w/e it's okay)
Echo peels off the layers in quick succession—coat, shirt, undershirt, until they’re left with just their pants as they angrily kick off their boots. “The fucking gall—” They don’t know how to finish that sentence, so they don’t.
Signet, silent since they retreated from her office, moves to her vanity in the bathroom. “I won’t say anything you don’t already know,” she says, voice soft, as she lowers herself onto the stool. “But you don’t have to respond to his letter. Either letter.”
They allow themself to stomp around angrily, bare feet slapping on the tile floor, before they stop, shoulders slumping. “I know.”
“And you have the time to take. Don’t pressure yourself into responding.”
“I know. You’re right. It’s just…” Echo sighs and allows Signet to catch onto the waistband of their pants, drawing them in to her. “It’s a lot, after everything.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Let’s focus on one thing at a time. I said I would help fix your hair.”
They give a breathless laugh before scrubbing their hand over their face. They tug off their eyepatch and ruffle their hair. “Yeah. Hair first.”
“Go grab a seat. I’ll find my scissors.”
Echo pulls over another one of the low, padded stools from her room and plops down onto it with a sigh. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” Signet says with the conviction of someone who probably doesn’t. She laughs when she sees their expression in the mirror. “I do!”
“I guess it can’t look worse than it already is.”
“Rude. I used to cut my hair all the time when I was younger.”
Echo lifts an eyebrow as she positions herself behind them with her scissors and a comb. “Did you really?”
“I was out in the field a lot. With Belgard, I mean.” As she talks, she runs the comb through their hair with the same gentle consideration she shows everything. “When I was first learning the controls, I hated having my hair in the way.”
They laugh, trying to picture that in their head. “Did your hair get caught in the ribbons?”
“It would get caught, I would get so sweaty, it would get in my mouth. It was really unpleasant.” Signet gives a soft hum as she starts to trim the uneven strands. “So I got really good at just cutting my hair off myself to keep it short.”
They glance at her in the mirror, studying the graceful sweep of the golden strands in the low bun—the pieces that hang loose across her forehead or hugging the curve of her neck.
She catches them staring when they take too long to reply, and smiles softly before leaving a kiss to their shoulder. “You’ll want to go to a hairdresser eventually, but this will be good enough.”
“That’s all I need: Good enough.”
Signet makes a sound in the back of her throat. In thought, in understanding, Echo isn’t too sure, but resumes her work with a quiet concentration.
for dora/@harpydora on twitter! (because last night I realized I forgot how to tag people on dw w/e it's okay)
Echo peels off the layers in quick succession—coat, shirt, undershirt, until they’re left with just their pants as they angrily kick off their boots. “The fucking gall—” They don’t know how to finish that sentence, so they don’t.
Signet, silent since they retreated from her office, moves to her vanity in the bathroom. “I won’t say anything you don’t already know,” she says, voice soft, as she lowers herself onto the stool. “But you don’t have to respond to his letter. Either letter.”
They allow themself to stomp around angrily, bare feet slapping on the tile floor, before they stop, shoulders slumping. “I know.”
“And you have the time to take. Don’t pressure yourself into responding.”
“I know. You’re right. It’s just…” Echo sighs and allows Signet to catch onto the waistband of their pants, drawing them in to her. “It’s a lot, after everything.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Let’s focus on one thing at a time. I said I would help fix your hair.”
They give a breathless laugh before scrubbing their hand over their face. They tug off their eyepatch and ruffle their hair. “Yeah. Hair first.”
“Go grab a seat. I’ll find my scissors.”
Echo pulls over another one of the low, padded stools from her room and plops down onto it with a sigh. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” Signet says with the conviction of someone who probably doesn’t. She laughs when she sees their expression in the mirror. “I do!”
“I guess it can’t look worse than it already is.”
“Rude. I used to cut my hair all the time when I was younger.”
Echo lifts an eyebrow as she positions herself behind them with her scissors and a comb. “Did you really?”
“I was out in the field a lot. With Belgard, I mean.” As she talks, she runs the comb through their hair with the same gentle consideration she shows everything. “When I was first learning the controls, I hated having my hair in the way.”
They laugh, trying to picture that in their head. “Did your hair get caught in the ribbons?”
“It would get caught, I would get so sweaty, it would get in my mouth. It was really unpleasant.” Signet gives a soft hum as she starts to trim the uneven strands. “So I got really good at just cutting my hair off myself to keep it short.”
They glance at her in the mirror, studying the graceful sweep of the golden strands in the low bun—the pieces that hang loose across her forehead or hugging the curve of her neck.
She catches them staring when they take too long to reply, and smiles softly before leaving a kiss to their shoulder. “You’ll want to go to a hairdresser eventually, but this will be good enough.”
“That’s all I need: Good enough.”
Signet makes a sound in the back of her throat. In thought, in understanding, Echo isn’t too sure, but resumes her work with a quiet concentration.