Well, it's finally happened.
Your [[hair]] has grown unruly.
You have to cut it.
It appeared in your house in the middle of the night. You don't know where it came from or how it got here, though you may have left the window unlocked. It is wavy and blonde, a striking blonde that sticks in your mind and bubbles up unbidden while you're working the graveyard shift or trying to get some rest. It has to be washed and combed daily, a multi-hour process, or it becomes tangled and clumsy, but you've come to appreciate the meditative nature of the process.
As far as you can tell, it is not an animal, and while it moves of its own volition and pulses like something that breathes, you're not sure if it's really alive. But you didn't call the police or animal control because it's nice to have something that at least seems to love you.
But it's gotten too long. It was a bundle the size of a cat when you met it, but it's now the size of a Great Dane and you can barely fit it in your matchbox bathroom to wash it. It needs to be [[cut]]. There is no way around it.Your hair quivers in the middle of your studio apartment as you think about your options.
[[Cut it yourself]]
[[Take it to the barber's]]
[[Call a pet groomer]]Risky. Terrifically risky. You have no idea how it will react to being cut. Maybe the hair's all one being, and any harm to a single strand will be seen as an attack. It hasn't even shed before. This is completely new and likely dangerous ground for you.
Oh well. "Death By Misadventurous Haircut" will be a better obituary than what you've been expecting: [["Corpse Found After Third 'RENT'S OVERDUE' Letter From Landlord Got No Response."]]
You suppose that you'll need something to cut it with.
[[A knife]]
[[Scissors]]
[[The ceremonial dagger]]Risky. Unnervingly so. Traveling outside your apartment eats at you. It's stressful to get to work at the gas station and back. You've had to get your groceries delivered, and you've been putting off your own haircut for months. You've got pills to reduce the effect, but they're not cheap and the gas station doesn't exactly have good health care, so you only take one when you really need to get out the house.
There's also the whole 'getting an autonomous bundle of blonde hair larger than most dogs through the city without getting arrested or worse' thing. Hard to prioritize that through your agoraphobia, but one must try nonetheless.
Anyways, it's kind of late, but you can probably make it to the barber's if you hurry. So, how do you want to play this?
[[Take it through the front door like it's no big deal]]
[[Climb down through the fire escape like it's a big deal, but you're handling it coolly]]
Risky? Potentially risky. You've been suspicious about this pet groomer coupon you got in the mail a while back. For one thing, you seem to be the only person who got one. For another, it came within days of the elaborate dagger that also came through the mail.
You call the number on the coupon. After some waiting (the wait music is bird calls for some reason?), you get in touch with one of their representatives and set up a time about an hour or two from now. It was easy, even for someone like you who doesn't like phones.
About an hour or two later, you hear a knock on the door. You open it, and there's a tall figure in a golden cloak and an ivory bird mask waiting for you. You barely have time to process how totally you've fucked up before they spray you in the face with extravagant hair fragrance. The mango persimmon sitton cheese combination overwhelms you, and you lose your footing immediately, along with your consciousness.
You probably should have called out from work tomorrow, [[is what I'm getting at]].Suffice to say that you don't get out much. You used to, but not so much these days.
Anyways, about [[Cut it yourself<-taking a blade to an alien entity who's the closest thing you have to a best friend...]]A knife? I mean...sure, I guess so. I suppose people have done that at some point, so yes, that's a possibility.
Wait, is that a steak knife? First of all, why do you have that? You've never been rich enough to eat steak in your own home. Second, it's serrated. That's good for meat, but bad for hair. The hair will hate that.
See? All the strands are on end, and it's shuffling like it's scared. It's only a matter of time before it starts breaking things and--
Yep, it broke the window. Good work, team.
[[Complain about needless negative commentary]]...do you even //have// a pair of scissors? If something needs to be cut, the knife usually does it for you.
You're acutely aware of how little you've used scissors since you got out of high school. It's honestly kind of uncomfortable.
You rummage through your apartment for a bit, awkwardly working around the hair, until you find a dull pair of...cigar cutters? Oh, right, [[Andy]] left them after he left. What a hipster. Well, it has scissor handles, so you can certainly [[attempt something.]]Ah, yes. The strange ornate blade with the gold inlay that was slipped into your mailbox ages ago with a note saying that "you will know when to use this". You've been using it for a letter opener, but perhaps you've finally found its true purpose.
The hair has never been particularly comfortable with it, and it always stayed on the far side of the apartment whenever you opened [[letters]]. But that was nothing compared to the reaction when you picked the dagger up and looked at it.
Every strand stood on end.
Every. Single. One.
But after a few moments, it relaxed, to the point of losing all volume and collapsing in on itself. You've seen it do this a few times, and you thought it was its equivalent to being tired. But this time seemed different. It seemed [[defeated]]."You son of a bitch, why did you leave me here? Why did you trust her? Couldn't you have left something more useful than this [[Scissors<-fucking old-timey hipster cigar bullshit?]]"
--An except from your journalYou gingerly take a strand of your hair -- the hair on your head, not your floor -- and test the cigar cutter on it. It takes a few tries, but eventually it falls to the floor. You cautiously advance on the other hair, which doesn't seem distressed by your approach.
With shaking hands, you snip [[a strand of hair]].To your surprise, nothing bad happens. The hair doesn't cry out in pain or start glowing eerily or try to eat you. It does quiver a bit faster when it realizes what you did, but you think it's just as surprised as you are.
The rest of the night goes slowly but easily. It's a lot of hair to work through, and the cigar cutter, piece of junk that it is, can't handle a lot of hair at a time, and you had to take regular breaks to stuff the shorn hair into bags since the hair would reabsorb it into its mass if it was left alone. But it was done. Now it's about the size of a terrier. You pet it, smiling for the first time all day.
You'll probably have to do this every few months or so, but it's doable. The hair will stay. You won't be alone again.
You'll have to figure out what to do with all this frigging hair, but that's a task for another night. Maybe there's a wigmaker's around.
Congratulations, you got Ending 1: Wig Baron Rising
[[Start.<-Start over?]]Bills. Spam. The occasional letter from Andy, with no return address. So trash, basically. Even though it's never anything useful, you like the peacefulness of opening letters after a long night and/or day working the register at the gas station.
[[The ceremonial dagger<-Back]]
You quickly check the hair for what passes as vital signs. It's still quivering, almost imperceptibly. You sigh in relief. Giant or no giant, you'd hate to lose your flatmate.
You gingerly try to cut one of the strands of hair while it's still calm. To your surprise, the hair resists the razor-sharp blade. You keep cutting and cutting at it out of frustration before you realize that the hair has started glowing. All of it. It's the most intense, unbearable blonde that you've ever seen. Your mind can't take it. You black out.
You come to a little later. You notice something touching you. You recognize the texture, the same silky feel that you've been maintaining for months now, but the shape is different. It feels like...
It feels like a [[human hand]]It is definitely a big deal, for a number of reasons, but sure, why not?
You open the front door and gently nudge the hair out the door. It obediently shuffles after you into the elevator, seeming as nervous about this as you are. Everything goes well until you pass by one of your neighbors and you see them look, look again, slowly process what they're seeing, check to make //absolutely// sure that it's not an incredibly shaggy dog or something, and then scream. Loudly.
Oh, yeah, //that's// why not.
[[You start running, hit the front door hard and keep going.]]You are definitely not handling this coolly, not by any means, but sure, let's go for it.
You unlatch the window and nudge the hair into going out. It takes to the fire escape very easily; your theory about how it got here becomes stronger.
You're doing fine. You're. Doing. Fine. It's only a ten minute walk to the barber's. Stay calm and you can do this. Keep repeating this to yourself and it'll be--
Oh, wait, it looks like you've been spotted by someone passing by the alley the fire escape exits out on.
...and now they're screaming and pointing. It's actually a spot-on impression of the bit at the end of //[[Invasion of the Body Snatchers]]//. That's pretty impressive.
[[You start running, hit the front door hard and keep going.<-Race down the rest of the fire escape and run.]]
[[Compliment them on their accuracy.]]You run. You run for a while. The hair keeps up with you surprisingly well, shuffling over the ground like a hovering vacuum.
Eventually, you stop running. This is overwhelming you, and you need a break, so you stop by the park. Which isn't a //good// place for someone with agoraphobia to go, but it //is// a good place for someone trying to hide something vaguely dog-like in plain sight. Let's hope the pills don't run out on you.
You find a secluded bench away from most of the trails to sit down, curl up and pretend you don't want to cry. After a few minutes of pretending, you realize that someone's joined you: a mousey woman in a brown turtleneck and glasses the size of two dinner plates.
"I hope you don't mind," she said in a reedy but comforting voice, toying with her brunette locks. "It's a nice afternoon. No reason to spend it alone." You don't have the strength to tell her to leave, and you're not sure whether you'd want to. After all, she's right. It is a [[nice afternoon]].
They stop their horrific, mind-devouring scream to accept the compliment. Turns out that their ex once said that Donald Sutherland was cute when they were drunk, so they'd do that impression occasionally to tease them about it. You bring up Andy's love of the movie and you start to get along nicely.
Eventually, they do ask about the incredibly blonde thing shuffling behind you, and you try to pass it off as some sort of rare dog breed. They clearly don't buy it, but they like you enough to not ask questions. Or they're waiting for a safe time to call the cops. You're not sure.
[[Ask them to come along]]It was Andy's favorite film, and you watched it four or five times together before he left. He'd talk your ear off about how it was one of Goldblum's first roles and one of the few notable appearances of Nimoy outside of Star Trek. Ironically, he apparently didn't learn about how people can be what they don't appear to be...but let's not get too grim.
Anyways, [[Climb down through the fire escape like it's a big deal, but you're handling it coolly<-you were in the middle of getting caught...]]Your awkward charm manages to convince them to stay with you. They're going the same direction you are, after all.
Having someone with you eases your agoraphobia a bit. You still feel tempted to curl up into a ball and cry, but it's not as strong as it should be.
The streets are surprisingly empty for this time of the day. The few people you do run into seem to be looking more at the two of you than the hair. Do people...think you're a couple? You kind of want to ask your new friend if you look like a couple, but you see no outcome that doesn't make this more horribly awkward.
Eventually, to fill the silence between you two, they start venting about how they shouldn't have gotten so obsessed about that Sutherland bit. The ex always seemed uncomfortable when they did it. It probably wouldn't have saved the relationship, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have made it better while it lasted. They pause a bit before asking what you think about regrets.
[[Musing<-"I should have spoken up when she lied to him."]]
[[Musing<-"He was always going to leave. I didn't accept that and I should have."]]
[[Musing<-"Regrets are for sinners, and I did nothing wrong."]]That's all you say. They give you a Look but continue with you nonetheless.
Eventually, you reach the barbershop. You thank your new friend profusely before [[Barbershop<-going inside.]]It's getting late. No one's waiting for a haircut, and there's only one barber left: a stocky old black fellow sweeping up.
"We're closing up," he says without looking up. "Come back later." You don't dare go back. Not yet at least -- you're still pretty jittery from the walk here. Sighing, he starts to repeat himself when he notices your hair. You see fear in his eyes. More worryingly, you see recognition.
"You'd...you'd better have a seat." You do. The hair jumps up onto the bench and sort of cuddles up to you. You idly pet it as the barber prepares with trembling hands.
[[Explain that you just need it to be trimmed]]
[[Question his reaction]]It's not human. It has the general shape down but it's bulbuous in odd areas and, of course, covered in hair. Like a particularly well-groomed muppet. Of course, most muppets aren't taller than you or lack all facial features or strongly express androgyneity, but nothing on TV lives up to what happens in real life anyhow.
It's pulling at your hand, trying to pull you up. It may be larger than you, but it's not particularly strong. Once you're on your feet, it clumsily pulls out your old suitcase from the closet and starts throwing clothes from your drawers into it. When you try to protest, still nonplussed from what's occurred, it grabs your hand and points at the door frantically.
It's terrified. And it thinks that you need to leave right now.
[[You should probably start packing.]]"Black came from the first coal formed under the earth. Mother Magpie [[made it so]]."Huh?
"Brunette was carved from the barks of the first trees. Mother Mockingbird [[made it so.]]"You begin to stir. The light is dim, the floor is cold, and you can hear the wind blowing. It's blowing on all sides, though the room is closed. You're somewhere high up. Very, very high up.
"Red came from the molten iron at the earth's core. Mother Macaw made it [[so.]]""And blonde was spun from the down of the great roc, Mother Albatross, and she made it ''so''."
Your eyes focus in the dim light, and you see four figures. Each with bird masks. Each wearing a robe. Black, Brown, Red, Gold. As you get to the feet, you glare at the one who knocked you out. If they feel likewise, you can't tell.
"Welcome to the Aerie. You must have questions."
[["Where's the hair?"]]
[["Where's the hair?"<-"Where's my friend?]]
[["Isn't the Aerie that lingerie spinoff of American Eagle?"]]You can't see their faces behind the masks, but you can definitely hear Red giggling while Brown awkwardly looks away and Black gives you a Look.
"This Aerie has existed on this continent for three hundred years, and it has been preceded by several more." said Gold, completely unfazed by you comment. "American Eagle alone is ten times younger than this edifice, much less its foolish attempt to compete with established lingerie outlets with their subpar, cheap merchandise. Now then, I believe you have more important matters to deal with. Though I suppose if you wish to make light of the situation when you don't know where your...//houseguest// is, then I suppose it's your right to be damnably //foolish//."
[["Where's the hair?"<-"You're right. Where is it? What have you done to it?!"]]
[["You sound like you care a lot about lingerie. I bet you're wearing some right now."]]"Your impertinence will not--Ara, control yourself!" Red isn't even trying to hide their laughter at this point.
"Sorry, sorry, Diomedea," said Ara, still bent over with laughter, "but I was thinking, we could always check. After all, we know you're only wearing the robe and--" Ara breaks into laughter again as Black elbows them in the ribs. Hard. As even Brown starts to giggle, Diomedea sighs and cradles their head in their hand.
"Hudsonia? Take care of our new guest. Mimus, Ara, a ''word''." Diomedea practically drags the other two through an archway in the back. You're left alone with the black-robed Hudsonia. Now that you're looking at them alone, you realize that they're a bit shorter than the rest, about your size even, though they carry themselves like they could break you over their knee in seconds.
"Did you figure out how to cause havoc in our ranks on the fly? Or were you so obstinate in the face of authority that you pissed her off through sheer stubbornness? Either way, not bad." they said matter-of-factly. "Don't expect me to fall so easily though. Now do you want answers, or do you want a punch to the gut? Because those are your two options."
[["Answers"]]
[["Gut punch"]]"So you're not //intractably// stubborn. Good to know."
"I'm not the eloquent one, so I'll try to be brief. Birds are connected to hair because some bird goddesses gave humans hair a long time ago. It's some weird Rudyard Kipling shit that I'm not going to get into. We're the Grand Order of Bird Keepers. We do wildlife protection and manipulate hairstyles across the world to appease our feathery overlords. Overladies." They shrug. "Whatever. We make the big decisions, but we need grunts to do grunt work, and that's where you come in. That hairball in your apartment? It's imbued with a portion of Mom Albatross. It was supposed to be your entry application. You cut it with the fancy dagger, unlock its true potential, shape it in accordance to your will, and if it looks fashionable, then we bring you into the aerie. Happy ending. You were supposed to see it as a challenge to be conquered or a monster to be tamed." Hudsonia leans in close, and you can feel the irration radiating from her. "You. Were. ''NOT''. Supposed. To. Love It."
"Anyways, Didi and Mimi gave you too much leniency, and now the damn thing's gone 'unruly'. We trimmed it down, but once it gets that large, it's practically irreversible. It's supposed to be a servant of the order, but at this point, it's practically human. So, nothing to be done but destroy it and let it return to the goddess."
You try to parse everything you just heard. Most of it went over your head, but you know the important part: the hair is going to die. You want to scream, and you want to punch the cold, unfeeling mask before you, but you know you'll just hurt your hand. (set: $comb to "Present")
[["However," started Hudsonia...]]BAM! Right to the solar plexus. You go down like a ton of bricks.
When you wake up, you're alone in an alley in an unfamiliar city. You try to ask some passers by for help, but you realize they don't speak your language. You're trapped on the other side of the world with no cash. At least they bothered to leave your ID with you.
As you fly back to your hometown a week later with money wired to you by a distant but merciful friend from high school, you can't help but think you should have gone slightly easier on the sass.
Congratulations (I guess)! You got Ending 6: Unintentional Vacation
[[Start.<-Start Over]]Within an hour, you have most of your possessions packed up, along with a chunk of cash for food and travelling. You've also wrapped up the hair golem (you're still not comfortable giving it a name) in an old trenchcoat and a hat. It doesn't look anywhere close to human, but it hid it's odd pseudo-organic nature to the point that people would assume it's a costume. You're not sure why you're obeying this hair golem without question. Maybe you're struck by the fact that it wanted you to come with it. You've gotten used to people leaving you behind.
Finally ready, you open the door.
There's a person in a brown robe and a bird mask in your hallway. It looks like they were about to knock, and are just as surprised as you.
You also notice that they're holding a revolver in their other hand. This could be a problem. A...lethal problem.
Ideas?
[[Hear the bird person out]]
[[Push them over, make a run for it]]
[[Lock the door, take the fire escape]]You try to push them over, but you immediately feel the blunt nose of the gun in your ribs.
"Okay, let's just chill for a moment," said the bird person. "I don't want to hurt you. I just need the--"
Before they can finish, the hair person stuffs its furry arm under the bird person's mask. They drop the gun and claw at the mask, trying to get a breath. Thinking quickly, you grab the gun and club them over the head with it. They drop like a sack of rocks.
Victory!
[[Consider the overuse of head injuries in fictional media and how it's trivialized the long-term injuries of athletes in contact sports like football and boxing]]You hastily close the door and lock it. You start unlocking the window, only for a gun shot to whiz over your head. You pull the hair person down and wait until the bird person fires all six shots. Then the two of you break out and clamber down the fire escape.
[[Make a run for the train station]] "Um, hi." said the bird person, quickly hiding the gun. "Listen, so there's this...thing that I need your...friend for?" Wow. That's like someone trying to make a parody of a bad lie. They sigh after they realize that you didn't buy it for a second.
"Look, I'm not usually in charge of assassinations. I barely know how to fire this thing. I'm not even sure if we should be //doing// this operation and oh god, I'm babbling." They look around hastily before leaning in and whispering. "Listen, I'm just gonna...curl up on your carpet and die of embarrassment. If you see anyone else dressed like me, and they ask about me, could you tell them that you, I dunno, stole my gun and knocked me out with it? That would be great." Before you can even say anything, they just give you the gun and sorta...curl up on your carpet.
...Victory?
[[Make a run for the train station]]The two of you run. Your mind is going crazy from what's happening and the fact that you're out in the open, but you try to channel your panic into your aggression. The hair person lumbers along clumsily, like a toddler getting used to their legs, but you're not exactly a long-distance runner, so you keep at about the same speed.
Eventually, you need a break, so you duck into an alley. Too late, you remember that going into an alley is always, //always// a bad idea when you're being chased, because it's the perfect place for a dramatic confrontation. You calm yourself by considering that alleys can also be used to release tension in a chase scene before realizing that there's a chainlink fence in the middle of the alley. Nothing says 'doomed' like a chainlink fence in an alley during a chase. You've fucked up.
"Heh, I knew ol' Mimus wouldn't get to you in time." said the voice behind you. You whirl around to see another bird person in a red cloak, casually playing with a pair of what look like extended sheep shears. The inlay on them reminds you of that on the dagger.
"So, did you do them in? I didn't think you had it in you."
[[Hilarious<-"I closed the door on them and left through the fire escape."]]
[[Hilarious<-"Distracted them with hair before clubbing them over the head."]]
[[Hilarious<-"Nervous breakdown upon being asked to assassinate someone."]]
[[Hilarious<-"I don't need to tell you anything, you birdfaced weirdo."]]You consider that you may have caused some long-term brain damage in this bird person assassin. Out of the kindness of your heart, you dial 911 on the land line and make sure that an ambulance will come to take care of them. You also make sure to leave the gun so that the police will have lots of questions for them when they get better.
It's the little things in life that give satisfaction.
[[Make a run for the train station]] "Oh, wow, you're a riot! But I can't let you go." Red brandishes the shears. "Your furry friend over there is past its clip date. We were hoping that you'd let us bring it in to try and salvage it, but you picked the wrong time to use that dagger. Still, hear me out, I don't need //you// dead. Only your pet. So if you would stand over there and sit on your hands like a good little shut-in, you can go home after this. Otherwise..." Red cracks their neck before taking up a fighting stance.
The hair person's cowering behind you and quivering with fear. Red does the weird 'lick the blade' thing that only tryhards do. Are you going to let this tryhard cut up your best friend? Obviously not.
So, since you spent your childhood memorizing Gilbert and Sullivan shows by heart instead of mastering the art of incredible violence, you'll have to improvise based on your knowledge of pop culture. Luckily, tryhards are also pop culture nerds (seriously, nobody licks their blade unless they're ripping off something they saw on TV), so you may have an advantage here.
[[Challenge them to an insult contest.]]
[[Ask Red to perform the entirety of the HMS Pinafore with you.]]
[[Stun Red through elaborate ad-hoc Freudian psychoanalysis.]]
[[Throw a rock.]]"...You know, the funny thing is, I know you're playing me. But yeah, cleaning up after Mimi's mistake isn't worth passing this up. Give me two minutes to look up the lyrics on my phone; it's been ages."
The two of you sing your way down to the train station, with the hair person serving as a sort of interpretive dancer. You start out with HMS Pinafore, but Red gets bored halfway through the first act and switches to random bits from Pirates of Penzance. It turns out they can actually do "Modern Major-General" at full speed. When you get to the train station, Red actually shakes your hand before leaving with a spring in their step.
You honestly can't believe that worked, but you're not going to complain. Looks like you're free to [[escape on the rails]].Remember how you're not a master of incredible violence? That means that all of your moves are easily telegraphed. So Red dodged that rock with ease.
As Red starts approaching you, the rock skitters across the street, rebounds against a wall and hits a lamppost. Red heard the groaning of metal as the lamppost detached from the road and tried to dodge, but wasn't fast enough to avoid getting pinned under it.
"...How?" was the only thing Red could say. You shrug. This isn't even the most implausible thing that's happened to you tonight. You and the hair person flee as Red yells expletives.
You honestly can't believe that worked, but you're not going to complain. Looks like you're free to [[escape on the rails]].The two of you relax as the midnight train going anywhere pulls out of the city. Specifically going up north, same way Andy went. As long as you're tearing your life apart, you might as well go see Andy and lay into him like you should have years ago. Maybe he can find someone who can figure out who those bird people were and how to make sure K stays safe.
Yeah, you went with K for 'keratin'. Seemed appropriate.
K, for that matter, is looking a bit better now. Still furry, obviously, but less cartoonish and more human. Now they look like a //mannequin// with fur instead of a muppet, but progress is progress. They're currently trying to figure out how to replicate hair styles. It has a good facsimile of your hairstyle right now. Not looking too bad. Not too bad at all.
[[Settle in]]"It seems that you're attached to that pair of shears. Does it remind you of your father, perhaps?" Red pauses mid-brandish and thinks a bit before responding.
"See, I get what you're trying to do here, but Freudian psychology's been on the outs for decades now. Now it's all Maslow pyramids and training dogs to salivate." You nod and sigh at the fact that there is no longer a place in academia for bearded Germans with weird ideas about sexual dysfunction. "Besides, my mother was the one with the blood fetish." You pause and implore them to go on.
In a few minutes, they're laid out on an ad-hoc couch of cardboard boxes and junk, laying out an elaborate history of blood-obsessed relatives going up the matrilineage for centuries. They don't even notice when you quietly take the shears from them. They probably noticed when you cracked a discarded beer bottle over their head and knocked them unconscious, but it's not like you could ask them.
(if: (history:) contains "Push them over, make a run for it")[Also, this is, what, the second time you've given someone a concussion today? Careful, that can be addicting.
]You honestly can't believe that worked, but you're not going to complain. Looks like you're free to [[escape on the rails]]."Ohoho?" Red puts away the shears, to your relief. "You know, it's been a while since the last time I've done this. Since, you know, the last person I did this with got so owned that he spontaneously combusted." Oof. Relief gone. "Let's see how long you last until you're crying like a baby."
After the first five minutes, you really wish you went with 'fight off the experienced murderer without a weapon'. Red is brutal. Relentlessly so. Yo Momma competitions in the playground? Insult comics at a celebrity roast? Those rap battles at the end of 8 Mile? Thanksgiving with the relatives? They made all of those look like charity soup kitchens. A true virtuoso performance. It's taking all your strength to endure it. It's so overwhelming that you can't even sense hair person cowering behind you. In fact...
"Hey, what the hell?" said Red, whirling around. You look around as well and realize that the hair took advantage of the battle to escape. "Where is that fuzzy moron? If it thinks it can get away from me, then it's--" Red cuts her rant short, as the hair person leaps off a nearby rooftop, aiming for her. They successfully backpedal fast enough to dodge it, only to get bashed over the head with a beer bottle. Wielded by you. With the coast clear, the hair person gets to their feet and...awkwardly bumps against you. You think this is their version of hugging.
(if: (history:) contains "Push them over, make a run for it")[Also, this is, what, the second time you've given someone a concussion today? Careful, that can be addicting.
]Looks like you're free to [[escape on the rails]].You yawn, stretch your arms and try to get some rest. It's gonna be a rough couple of months. But at least you have a good friend by your side.
Congratulations, you got Ending 3: Going Anywhere
[[Start.<-Start over?]]
Woah woah woah woah. No seducing the hair golem. Not in this game.
Listen, I know that expressing romantic attraction to hair is what some of you picked up this game for, but this simply isn't the right platform for this sort of thing. This is a weird universe with bird cults and stabbing shears and people who have crushes on Donald Sutherland. It's simply not grounded enough to support a developing romance between a player character and their sentient human-shaped hair.
So yeah, you'll have to settle for the hair dakimura you keep in your closet for now. Yeah, that's right. I'm calling you out specifically. You know who you are.
So, we're going to pretend you wanted to [[Settle in<-settle in]] and that you clicked this by mistake. Alright? Alright.Yeah, I guess that's fair. I mean, I've never cut my hair with a knife before, so maybe it seems more silly to me than it does to you. It's important to be understanding of each other's personal histories. I apologize, and I hope I can be a better friend to you in the future. Assuming we're friends. The relationship between narrator and player character in these games is always a bit weird.
Anyways, you managed to catch the hair and bring it back in before anybody saw it. But it's still pretty fidgety, and it's definitely not letting you near it with that knife. Maybe we should put this off for now. Try again tomorrow.
Congratulations (I guess)! You got Ending 2: Procrastination
[[Start.<-Start over?]]
"You've got a nice dog," she says after a while. You begin to panic, and try to figure out where your hair is, but you feel he hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry," she said with a smile. "My dog's a nice dog too."
She points off to the left. You sigh in relief as you see that the hair and the woman's dog (a glossy brown Afghan hound) are handling themselves pretty well. Your hair shuffles after the dog, who occasionally nudges the hair when it stops.
"So, what brings you out here? You seem stressed, you poor thing."
[["It's a nice day. Trying to take in the weather, that's all."]]
[["Sentient hair got too large. Taking it to the barber's"]]
"Ah, I suppose that's true. I like to stop and relax in the park after runs. It's nice. Lets you cool down a bit."
"But it's not true for you, is it? Go on, you don't have to lie to me."
[["Sentient hair got too large. Taking it to the barber's"<-"Okay, fine, I was trying to take a giant clump of sentient hair to the barber's."]]"Tsk. You really should have taken care of it earlier." If she's surprised at what you said, she's certainly hiding it well. "It's a big responsibility to have a pet. You can't neglect it just because it's hard to get out the house with your condition."
[["It's not my fault the pills are so expensive."]]
[[You never said you had agoraphobia]]You sit back and watch the two hairy things play. Under normal circumstances, it would be relaxing to simply take in their fun, but you're way too stressed right now and you can't help but feel that something's off about this situa-
Oh god
Oh god, it's hair. Her 'dog' is ''//hair//''. It's been styled perfectly to resemble a long-haired dog, but you recognize the way it occasionally quivers. You flinch as you feel her hand reach up your neck and around your chin. You want to flee, but you can't.
"Do you realize now, where I stand in relation to you?"
[[Beg for your life]]
[[Ask for an explanation]]"And yet, it sort of is, isn't it? Most people have friends willing to help them through times of struggle. But you were careless. You lost them. And now you're going through this alone." Her words are bitter in your ears, though her voice is as soft and delicate as ever. "Maybe if you were better, you would have kept Andy."
[[You didn't mention Andy]]
[[You didn't mention Andy<-You definitely didn't mention Andy, oh god, what is happening]]She smiles at your confusion. "It's a nice day. Don't stress yourself out too much. Just watch the dogs." Her voice is so...soothing.
~~[[You never said you had agoraphobia<-Insist that she explains herself]]~~
[[Ignore her and keep watching your respective 'pets'<-Watch the dogs]] "No, you didn't mention Andy. You didn't mention following him here after high school because he made striking out on your own so exciting. You didn't mention the anxiety from not having a safety net slowly getting to you. And you certainly didn't mention the hotshot music producer in the tight skirt who convinced him that skipping town to go to Nashville to play guitar for the greats would be a good idea, that his best friend didn't desperately need him and, in fact, didn't really appreciate him at all."
"You never needed to. The failure's written all over your face. You haven't even noticed the 'dogs' yet."
[[Ignore her and keep watching your respective 'pets'<-Notice the dogs]]"What? N-no, I'm not going to kill you!" She blushes indignantly, like you claimed that she was flirting with someone she wasn't or took the last donut from the box. You're not sure whether her break in composure is comforting or whether the fact that she's reacting like a nervous schoolgirl to the idea of //murder// is all the more worrying.
"Listen, wiseass, you should consider yourself lucky that it's me doing this. The others don't get hung up on..." She blushes again. "I mean, I'm not the violent type. I mean, not //that// sort of violent type. The others could knock you out as easily as kiss you, but--" Another blush. "Dammit, look! I don't hurt //everyone// I meet, though I guess you're kind of cute, but-" She stops, takes a deep breath, and leans in close.
"If you //really// want me to get violent," she says in a low, menacing voice, "then you'll have to buy me dinner first and get me in the mood."
Yep. Definitely all the more worrying. You frantically nod as best as you can with her death-grip on your jaw.
[[Ask for an explanation<-"Now, where were we?"]]"Tell me, did you ever wonder how that thing got into your matchbox of an apartment? I felt sorry for you. So, I thought I'd put you up for consideration. Whisper in her ear. Give you the chance to make something better for yourself. But all you wanted was to hide from the world with your comfort pet."
She gets up, still gripping your jaw from below. As she pulls you, your arm gets stuck. You realize that, at some point, she handcuffed you to the bench.
"Well, sorry. You lost your chance. And now, I've got to clean up after my own mess." She pulls out a whistle with golden inlay and blows it at an incredibly high pitch, and the brunette hair comes to her...as does your hair. Reluctantly, yes, but it comes. "Your hair's loyal, but there are mechanisms to get around that." She finally lets go of your jaw only to pat your head. "For what it's worth, I still feel sorry for you. Just not enough to put my neck on the line again." She walks off, blonde and brunette in tow.
The cops come after about half an hour to set you free. Apparently she called them for you: one last gift. You drag yourself home, call off from work tomorrow and curl up in bed.
Maybe you'll go back South. See if anyone from high school will still give you the time of day.
You're sure as hell not staying here. There's nothing worth staying for.
Congratulations (I guess?)! You got Ending 4: The Worst Possible Repo Person
[[Start.<-Start Over?]]He nods, locks the front door, and gets out a pair of scissors. The hair starts frizzing up as the scissors come into view, but you comfort the hair until it relaxes back to wavy.
The next hour or so is spent mostly in silence. At some point, the barber asks you to start sweeping away the cuttings for him, but that's it.
"You ever see someone in a bird mask? Ever? Even once?" he said suddenly, looking you right in the eye. You respond in the negative and he seems to relax a little. "You ever do, look for one in a black cloak. Tell them..." he pauses for a while before shaking his head. "No, no, it's been too damn long. Listen, kid, do yourself a favor and say what needs to be said when the going's good." You nod, mostly to get him to get back to cutting, but what he said sticks in your mind
At the end, the hair's in pretty decent shape, about the size of a small dog. You also get your own hair cut, while you're there. You end up only paying half of the cost for both haircuts. "Save it," he said with a wave of his hand. "You might need it when they decide to clean up after you." He shooes you out of the store before you can convince him to explain what he meant.
You slink home in the darkness of the night, your hair bundled to your chest.
You think you'll make some phone calls tomorrow. Andy. That snake in the tight skirt. Say what needs to be said.
Congratulations! You reached Ending 5: Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits
[[Start.<-Start Over?]]"You've ever been threatened by someone in a bird mask with a weird knife?" When you shake your head, he replies, "That sort of thing sticks with you. Now, what do you want?"
[[Explain that you just need it to be trimmed]] They lean in close and lower their voice.
"There are some in the order who believe that we should not treat the vessels of the most high like servants. Some who believe that they should be our equals, if not higher. If the goddess allows for such a thing to gain sentience, why should we choose when it dies?"
They quickly pull something from one of their pockets and presses it into your hands. You quickly glance at it; it's a comb with gold inlay.
"You'll have one chance. Don't fuck it up." Then, under their breath, they mutter "you're lucky you're so pathetic". They back away as Diomedea returns, leading a chastened Ara and Mimus. You quickly stash the comb.
[["Right then," said Diomedea. Shall we begin proper?"]]"The hair is safe...for now. You may be able to save it." Hope springs anew in your heart, but you watch the golden bird person with suspicion. "But for now, you must listen. There is history to be told."
"At the beginning of time, the early humans wanted to set themselves apart from the other apes. So, they went to Ursa Tyrranus, Father of Ursa Major, and asked him to give them a great weapon. Old Ursa shivered in his sleep and so he offered to raise them upright in exchange for their fur. They took the offer, and became great hunters and toolmakers, but when the frost came, they could not stay warm and died in droves."
"The elders among them went to all the animals to ask for spare hair, but they had all been hunted and would not give to help their enemies. But some of the birds were clever, and knew what humans would become in time. So they offered a deal. They would give the humans hair, formed from the earth itself, for them and all their generations. In return, the humans would come to respect those they hunted, and some would even protect them from the most bloodthirsty of the humans. In addition, a few of us would be uniquely linked to both birds and hair for all eternity. Our ancestors accepted, and such was was the beginnings of mankind."
You point out that this sounds like an off-brand Rudyard Kipling story. Gold sighs.
"I've heard that a dozen times since I became The Crest of the Albatross. Trust me, no one hates that imperialist more than I do." Black coughs pointedly, but Gold ignores them.
[["Now, for our role, Initiate..."]]"We are the Heads of the Grand Order of Bird Keepers. I am Diomedea, and the others are Hudsonia, Mimus and Ara." The ones in black, brown and red bow in order as they're named. "We are tasked by the goddesses to protect their children: both the birds of the world and the hairstyles of the world. With one hand, we prop up Aubodon, protect habitats, and secretly rebreed extinct species. With the other, we preserve the traditional hairstyles of old when we can, protect the best of the newer trends and condemn the worst. We are the ones responsible for saving the Bald Eagle, and the ones responsible for bringing back the Afro in the United States." Hudsonia coughs again. Diomedea sighs. "//Specifically//, it was the Order of Magpies who conducted that endeavor, occasionally at odds with the rest of the Grand Order. Nevertheless, you see how wide our influence is."
[["You still haven't explained, like, anything about what's happened to me.]]
[["You need a cough mint there, Hudsonia?"]]"Impatient, aren't you? Fine then."
"Every member of the Four Orders has a familiar. A direct conduit to one of the goddesses. In the past, these familiars would be birds, but as time went by, having a bird on your shoulder at all times became...socially inconvenient. So, we updated." You flinch as you realize what they're implying. Diomedea nods.
"You should have received a dagger along with your familiar, with instructions to cut it into a form pleasing to you. If it passed our expectations, you would be given the chance to enter our ranks. Otherwise, well..." they tent their fingers and give you a low stare. "I can do more things with hair fragrance than knock people out. Lots of memories connected to smell, you see."
"However, a mistake was made." They pause deliberately here, and while they remains motionless, you notice Ara and Hudsonia glancing at Mimus, who fidgets at the attention. "So, we sent you a dagger and a fake pet grooming brochure, assuming that you'd either figure out what to do or give up on dealing with an increasingly large hairball and call us. Either way, we considered the matter closed. But you waited too long and we waited too long, so the matter no longer has precedent. They're not supposed to be out this long without getting trimmed. So we've asked our top loremasters to tell us what to do next."
[["And now we wait."]]Hudsonia gives you a Look and shakes their head.
[["Anyways", said Diomedea...->"Now, for our role, Initiate..."]]"They conveniently fulfill a prophecy with an anointed comb they happened to come across, huh?" Hudsonia turned from a stack of religious texts to see Diomedea leaning on their doorway. "Don't think I don't know it was you." Hudsonia, stoic as always, shrugs.
"All I did was give them the comb. Everything else was either talent or divine instruction. You can whine all you want, but they earned the position fair and square. So suck it." Hudsonia continues to write notes on the scripts in front of them as Diomedea taps at the doorframe, their thoughts hidden behind the mask.
"What was your stake in it?," they finally said, speaking in measured tones.
"To show you up."
"Why?"
"The fact that you need to ask that is all the reason I need."Eventually, two people come in. One's in gold, and one's in brown, but the robes are a lot simple and the masks look like cheap plastic compared to the four leaders. The one in gold whispers to Diomedea. You can't hear it, but after hearing it, they seem...tired. That can't be good.
They lead you down four flights of stairs. Diomedea and Mimus in in front with the researchers, Hudsonia and Ara in the back, you in the middle. (if: $comb is "Present")[You can feel the intensity coming off of Hudsonia. You hope you don't screw this up somehow.]
Eventually, they lead you to what looks like a science lab exploded in a library. You get a whiff of five different hair fragrances within five seconds of being led in. You're led all the way to the back where, trapped by about half a pound's worth of hair spray, is your hair. A piece of some weird divine albatross. Your faithful if bizarre companion for many months.
You've never seen it so distressed.
"It must be you," said the brown intern, passing a knife to you. Golden inlay, like the dagger back home. "It was gifted to you, so you must shape it".
[[Use DAGGER on FRIEND]]"The hair is safe...for now. You may be able to save it." Hope springs anew in your heart, but you watch Diomedea with suspicion. "But for now, you must listen. There is history to be told."
They then go into a whole spiel that's basically the same thing Hudsonia said. All the while, you feel the comb in your pocket and wonder what Hudsonia wants out of this.
Eventually, Diomedea stops talking. You missed the last thing they said, but you feel like you're supposed to be [["And now we wait."<-waiting for something]]There's a flash of light. An overwhelming sense of blondness. Ara catches you and covers your eyes, shielding you from the worst of it.
As your eyes adjust, you look at what your friend has become. It's...not quite human, but close. An androgynous mannequin of beautiful blonde hair. It's...glorious. But you hear a horrified gasp behind you. You look, and you realize this is not what everyone else wanted. Mimus is the most shocked, practically on the floor, but everyone looks distinctly nonplussed(if: $comb is "Present")[, save for Hudsonia, who looked on with a grim determination].
"I'm...I apologize," said Diomedea, mask downcast. "We took too long. It's no longer suitable for a familiar. It must be...you must..." They don't finish, but the implication is clear. You feel a pit open up in your stomach, black and deep as a moonless night in the graveyard shift.
There's no escape. Even if you could get past Hudsonia and Ara, both of whom look like fearsome fighters, you have no idea where the Aerie even is or how to get out.
In your panic, you realize that the hair's gotten down on its knees. It seems to look at you before bowing its head. Tears well up in your eyes as you realize that it's sacrificing itself to ensure your safety.
You know what must be done.
[[Cut it]](if: $comb is "Present")[
[[Comb it]]]You quickly pull out the comb Hudsonia passed you. The whole room gasps as you advance on the hair person in front of you
"What are you doing?" yells Diomedea in a panic. "Somebody stop them!"
"Don't be foolish, she's too close!" yells one of the researchers, holding Diomedea back. "Everyone to the far side of the room."
Well, that seems promising. Be careful; looks like you've only got one shot at this.
[[Comb the legs]]
[[Comb the arms]]
[[Comb the stomach]]A quick cut to the throat. You do it as fast as possible. You don't know if it felt pain, but if you didn't do it for its sake, you did it for yours.
You don't really remember what happened afterwards, except that you cried a lot.
A few days pass. You're given a room to stay in, and three meals taken up to you. Not like you're getting out of bed in this condition. Mimus shows up to nervously give their regards and apologize. Ara too, in their lackadaisical way. Hudsonia refuses to see you, but everyone you talked to aftewards said that they were about as emotional as they ever get.
Eventually, Diomedea themselves shows up in your room. Never looking right at you. They offer their sympathies. They offer you a replacement, and you nearly throw the breakfast tray at them. Finally, they offer you something you can use: [[Employee<-A job offer.]]
Not like you're going back to that apartment alone.You carefully spread the hair in the arms out into wings. The hair stretches them out experimentally, looking more than a bit nonplussed but not unhappy.
"Are those...albatross wings?" said Ara from the back, where everyone else was hiding behind an upturned table.
"Are they...no, they couldn't have planned for this. Are they doing this off the cuff?" muttered Mimus.
Okay, looks like you passed. What next?
[[Comb the elbows]]
[[Comb the neck]]
[[Comb the feet]]You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You comb the feet out into something along the lines of webbed feet. The hair flaps the wings experimentally before looking at its new feet.
No one's even commenting anymore. They're all watching intently and nervously. Hudsonia does give you a firm nod. You're still on the right track.
[[Comb the nose]]
[[Comb the eyes]]
[[comb the ears]]You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You comb the nose out into a long hooked beak. Now, even the parts you haven't touched are starting to look more avian and feathery. It rubs its new beak against your arm and gives a tentative squawk. Another gasp breaks out.
"This is...this is..." Diomedea mutters, upset but unable to present a concrete thought. Hudsonia takes advantage of the confusion to step out in front.
"Members of the Four Orders," they began, "I present to you the Golden Roc. It is a gift of the Mother Albatross. Bow to its glory!" At that, Hudsonia drops to one knee and bows their head. Everyone else soon follows, Diomedea falling last. "Now, get them out of that prison. As for you," they said, drawing you aside, "welcome to the Grand Order of Bird Keepers...divine attendant."
Welp. [[Looks like you've been hired]].You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You're blinded by another light. When you come to, the first thing you hear is the wind, but louder this time. Much louder. In fact...
You open your eyes to see the ground approaching at terminal velocity. You turn back to see a great tower stretching upwards, with a smoking hole on the side. Well, that explains what happened.
As you wait for the impact, you look back and consider doing [[Comb it<-something else with the comb]].You're now the first attendant of the Divine Incarnation of Mother Albatross. Go you.
You wouldn't call it an easy position. It turns out that the first attendant of a divine incarnation automatically becomes the spiritual head of their order. So you technically outrank Diomedea now, to their endless frustration. So in addition to making sure DIMA (as you've come to nickname it) is always combed and petted and happy, you also have to handle some of Diomedea's old duties. You get damnably tired of retelling that Rudyard Kipling shit really fast.
But it's fine. All of this is fine. For the first time in years, you feel wanted, and important, and alive. And you now have a friend that will never leave you and also let's you ride them as they fly out over the ocean, which is, let's be perfectly honest, so great.
Congratulations! You got the Golden Ending!
[[Start.<-Start Over?]]You're now Diomedea's personal assistant. Depending on the day, you might be taking calls for them or helping to plot the undermining of an ugly haircut fad. As far as work goes, you can't complain that much. Hours are almost at random, but you get to travel, health care's included, and you get free access to an aviary and a hairstylist. You could do worse
You haven't forgotten why you have this position. Someone gave you an urn filled with part of what used to be your best friend. Every few days, you take some of it out and look at it. It gives you a little peace. Not much, but enough.
Congratulations! You've reached Ending 7: Lonely Near The Top
[[Start.<-Start Over?]]Volume: The Hair Affair
by Yarrun.
[[Start.]]