Post by Thimble on Jan 27, 2023 8:20:00 GMT
"All done, my friend!" Sliocht beamed at the brigand seated in his barber's chair. The man's messy mop of tangled brown hair had been a challenge, but not one that Sliocht's deft razor couldn't meet. Muted moonlight pierced through the clouds onto the pirate's now smooth shaven head, lighting against the man's golden earrings and hastily braided beard.
The nameless sailor nodded in thanks as Sliocht deftly recovered the cloth covering from the man's neck and soaked away the brown shavings into a bucket of warm water. On another night, there would have been time spent gazing into a dirty mirror to ensure a perfect cut, maybe even some bartering for oils, but not tonight. Tonight, there were many more men eager to take his place in the barber's chair, not for style but necessity. All on the crew who were worth their salt knew the deadly consequences of infected cuts, and the dangerous disadvantages of long hair during pugilist combat.
The new man sat hurriedly, and the satisfied customer rushed off to join one of the throngs of raiders gathering along the ship's rail. Others that still waited in the informal line busied themselves with other tasks, checking cartridges of powder and drumming their fingers against the sides of scabbarded cutlasses. The mood was tense amongst the men, Sliocht knew. He could see it in the tightness of their necks and the way they spoke in hushed whispers. On the eve of battle, tonight had become a night of necessary efficiency, not artistic rigor.
Still, Sliocht made sure to give each of his customers a little touch of style. It was his job after all, and many of these men would be wearing the styles he gave them for the rest of their lives.
The nameless sailor nodded in thanks as Sliocht deftly recovered the cloth covering from the man's neck and soaked away the brown shavings into a bucket of warm water. On another night, there would have been time spent gazing into a dirty mirror to ensure a perfect cut, maybe even some bartering for oils, but not tonight. Tonight, there were many more men eager to take his place in the barber's chair, not for style but necessity. All on the crew who were worth their salt knew the deadly consequences of infected cuts, and the dangerous disadvantages of long hair during pugilist combat.
The new man sat hurriedly, and the satisfied customer rushed off to join one of the throngs of raiders gathering along the ship's rail. Others that still waited in the informal line busied themselves with other tasks, checking cartridges of powder and drumming their fingers against the sides of scabbarded cutlasses. The mood was tense amongst the men, Sliocht knew. He could see it in the tightness of their necks and the way they spoke in hushed whispers. On the eve of battle, tonight had become a night of necessary efficiency, not artistic rigor.
Still, Sliocht made sure to give each of his customers a little touch of style. It was his job after all, and many of these men would be wearing the styles he gave them for the rest of their lives.