Chapter Text
Amirah can't help the grin that spreads over her face as she re-reads the letter in her hand again. She's only read it perhaps two dozen times, so it's still novel enough to fill her heart with warmth every time she reads the words.
My darling Amirah—
The door flies open and Amirah shoves the letter behind her, between the small of her back and the wicker of her chair. Heidi wouldn't open the door like that, so she desperately hopes it's Pablo.
It’s not.
"Dear sister! What a fine day, isn't it?"
Amirah can feel the heat in her face refusing to fade. "Arvio, what brings you here?"
He looks at her, at her cheeks, at the hand that's still behind her. "What do you have there?" he asks excitedly. "A secret?"
"It's a letter, and it's private." She folds it carefully so he won't see so much as a word of the handwriting. As much as she loves and supports Arvio, he can be a bit... traditional. She's not quite ready to share this part of her with him.
Thankfully, he doesn't reach for it when she slips it under the ledger next to her. He does watch her intently, though, and his eyes light up as she tries to hide the paper. "That paper looks like Lucy's make. Oh, my dear, you're in intimate correspondence with someone in town!" He gasps, making absolutely no effort to hide his excitement. "Oh, do tell me who it is!"
"Arvio, please."
"Oh, no matter. I shall watch your body language and I shall guess. I love this game!" He pulls up a chair, sits directly in front of her, and starts off with, "The sheriff."
Amirah isn't going to dignify his absurdity with a response. If he thinks he can guess her pen-pal just from her facial expressions, fine. She schools her features into a mask as refined and unchanging as the porcelain she so loves to work with.
"Perhaps, yes. Quite strong. Steady employment, if a bit dangerous. Hm. No, I suppose it isn't him." He leans in a bit and tries again. "Or perhaps you've caught the eye of a certain innkeeper. Yes, Owen's poured his heart out to you in a well-versed missive. A worthy suitor, certainly. Worldly, wealthy, and a decent storyteller. You certainly won't lack for entertainment."
Firing porcelain is a tricky process, as Amirah well knows. Heat it too high or too quickly, and the delicate structure may crack, or even shatter. Arvio, however, has no clue how to make porcelain. He can barely cook soup without disaster.
"Ah! It is Owen."
"It's not Owen!" she snaps. So much for thinking she was going to have his support. Her mind drifts briefly to the letter hidden next to her. "You'll never guess, so you may as well be on your way."
Arvio jolts upright. "Never! If I'll never guess, then it must be... Ah! Burgess!"
"Arvio."
"Yes, you're right. Of course not. Silly me." He strokes his chin as if massaging the skin might make a beard come in any faster. He narrows his eyes as he studies her, muttering, "Too obvious. Too young. Too old. Too weird." Suddenly, he claps his hands. "Aha! I've got it! Your correspondent is our senior builder!"
He's too close to the truth, and the porcelain mask she's put on explodes. She collects the pieces as quickly as she can, but it's much too late.
"It is Lucy!" he crows, lunging toward her as if he might start an argument.
Amirah coughs. "No! It's not the builder. I mean, she's attractive, but—"
He relaxes once more, sighing wistfully. "Oh, she is, isn't she? She is divine. I daresay the Light made her especially for our fair town, and I could not be more pleased that she's graced us with her continued presence."
Amirah sighs and lets herself sink a little further into her chair as he chatters about whatever comes to mind. She's all too familiar with this verbose mood of Arvio's, so she simply waits for him to work himself into enough of a tizzy to breeze back out from whence he came.
She does wish he could be a bit less like Mum and Dad, with their intense focus on the net worth of her potential partner. Her shop is doing well, though the new kiln set her back and she still hasn't mastered the techniques it requires. In six months or a year, she thinks, she'll have enough squirreled away, and enough of an income stream, to finally bring them out of the hardscrabble life of Barnarock to Sandrock. There's no need for her to find some well-to-do gentleman, because she's doing well enough for herself on her own.
"I've got it!" Arvio crows, jumping up out of the chair and snapping Amirah out of her own thoughts. "We'll have a party! No! A dance! No, a masquerade! Oh, it will be the event of the year, my dear sister! Masks and costumes galore. We'll invite everyone in town, and we'll dance all through the night!" He gasps and claps his hands in front of him giddily. "I can just see it!"
Amirah hopes this idea dies in its cradle like so many of its kin. As much as she'd love to put together a masquerade, masquerades mean masks, and masks mean porcelain, and she's already working herself half to death with all the orders stacking up in her queue.
"Arvio, darling—"
"Oh! If it's to be a town event, we'll have to speak to the mayor. And I have just the thing to say for it! Darling, dearest sister of mine, you are an angel and a muse." He kisses both of her cheeks and flies out the door.
"Oh, joy." She slumps further into her chair, and her attention falls on the ledger. She'd almost forgotten about the letter. Well, she ought to get back to work on her orders, but she has time for one more read first.
My darling Amirah—
You are the sun through a window in the morning. You're a warm cup of tea on a cold winter eve. You are no desert rose as I've heard you described before—you're the delicately-petaled blossom of an Ataran cherryplum tree.
If you haven't guessed already, blossom, I love you.
I want to shout you from the rooftops. I want to whisper you to every grain of sand in the desert. I want to sing you into the canyon until you echo into every corner of the world.
I mean every word, but make no mistake. I cherish you as my dearest friend. Should I have misjudged the smiles that fill my heart with glee, you have only to tell me, and I'll cast them all to the wind, to the corners of the world, never to be seen or heard again. Your friendship means more to me even than the indescribable ecstasy of loving you.
Yours always, in whatever way you'll have me,
Heidi
Logan stops in front of the salon, adjusting his grip on the crate of clothes he's taking to Vivi's. "I'm trustin' you to come straight to Grandma Vivi's if Pablo's done with ya 'fore I git back."
"I know," Andy groans. He's a good kid, but damn if he don't wander off more often than Logan's comfortable with. He kicks at the air, then runs up the stairs and flies through Pablo's front door. Logan winces at Andy's rough treatment of the building. He'll have to work on that, too.
For now, he's got business down the street at Vivi's. The bells chime pleasantly when he gets the door open. Vivi's working on a dressform at the foot of the stairs, straight pins held between her lips. She finishes up with impressive swiftness, and then turns to him with her customary matronly smile.
"My, my, I thought you'd run your trousers to threads before I saw you in my shop again, honey."
Logan winces. He's paid her a visit once or twice with Andy, but he don't come by as often as he should. "I brought some ol' things I found in the house." He hasn't even looked down at the crate since he stepped outside. It was hard enough packing them all in; he ain't keen on dwelling on them any more. "I was hopin' you could get these someplace they'll do some good."
He sets the crate on the table so Vivi can paw through it. She pulls out a brown plaid shirt—linen, for long days in the desert—and holds it up. Logan turns away while she peruses the rest, but she only takes a few more seconds to say, "They'll do plenty of good in your closet."
Logan shakes his head. "Naw, they don't fit, and Pa never kept useless fripperies 'round, 'specially if somebody could make better use of 'em."
"Good quality clothes are hardly useless." Vivi steps up and holds the shirt against him, pushing the seams around a bit. "They could use a bit of fitting, but they're not that far off."
Howlett always impressed on him the value of being presentable. Logan's been trying to do the same with Andy, but getting that boy to sit still long enough for Vivi to measure him's about as easy as hugging a desert jumper. He's not sure how Pablo's going to manage to give him a haircut, but Pablo swore up, down, and sideways he could do it.
Logan shakes his head again. "I got my own things." A few changes of clothes, coupla pairs of socks, plus his boots and outer gear. Plenty. Probably too many, really, but he's gotta keep something clean on hand just in case.
"Logan," Vivi chides. "You take these and put 'em in your closet, son."
"I don't need 'em, Viv."
She takes a second shirt out of the box, a black one with a crisp collar, and holds it up to him. He remembers this one. Pa liked to wear it to the Blue Moon on summer nights when the band was playing, and to the festival for Day of Memories. It's lightly woven and breathes well in the harsh desert summer, but the simple cut and dark color give it a somber air that fits well with the season.
"Really," he insists. "Somebody's gotta need this junk more'n me."
Vivi shakes her head as she folds the shirt and puts it on the table with the other one. "Even if you don't use 'em now, keep 'em a while."
"Viv..."
"It won't go away, y'know. It gets better, with time, but it'll always be there." She gives him a soft smile. "And so will the good things."
Logan sighs and glances at the crate. Tailoring's cheaper than brand new clothes, but wearing his pa's old things don't quite sit right. Regardless, it still ain't something he can afford just yet. "I don't know, Viv. They ain't gonna fit me, and I ain't got time for fixin' 'em. Surely somebody—"
"That somebody is you," Vivi says in a tone that brooks no argument. "Tell you what. I'll take your measurements, and you can leave those things here. I'll get to 'em when I get to 'em, and you can have 'em back when I'm all done. Sound good?"
He promises himself he'll scare up a little something for her trouble before he takes them back, and nods. "I can live with that." He picks up the black shirt and carefully puts it back in the box. "Y'know, maybe I am gettin' the hang of it. I went through three boxes of my pa's old things, and I only got misty-eyed once or twice."
Vivi gives him a pat on the arm and a fond smile, and sets about measuring him for alterations. She's just measuring his trouser leg when the door flies open and Andy bursts in, setting the bell jangling loudly.
"Andy!" Logan snaps. "Ya gotta be gentler with the door, kid!"
Andy's eyes widen and he winces visibly. "Sorry, Grandma."
Patiently but firmly, Vivi says, "It's alright. You go on outside and try again."
Andy ducks back outside and, after a couple of seconds, carefully sneaks back in. Logan resists despair. Sneaking is, at least, nicer on the hardware than barreling in. When Vivi gives him an approving nod, he whips a mask out from behind his back and slaps it on his face. "Ain't it the coolest!" He shoves his hands in all directions, pointing fingers and muttering gun noises under his breath. "I'm gonna be the most awesomest outta everybody!"
He hasn't sat still long enough for Logan to get a good look at his haircut, but it looks more or less the same, if a little neater. The mask is the brilliant red of a summer sunset, though its brightness really doesn't compare to Andy's grin. Logan's vision blurs, and he turns away from Andy to give Vivi a clearer view of his shoulders.
Maybe Vivi's right. Maybe he does need a bit of his pa to keep with him. Maybe it'll give him the strength to keep on being a father to Andy. Might even make him a good one. Light knows the boy needs it.
"Ain'tcha gonna go get a mask?" Andy's asking him.
"A mask?"
"For the mask raid!"
"The... what?"
"The mask raid! I dunno what we're raidin' but it's gonna be awesome!"
"Masquerade," Logan corrects slowly. "It's a fancy party with dancin' and costumes." And a spectacular opportunity for him to make a fool of himself, seeing as he's years out of practice. Even if somebody actually wants to dance with an outlaw, he won't be able to promise their feet'll be safe.
Andy pulls off the mask and looks at it, wrinkling his nose. "Aw, but the mask is so cool."
The bell rings above the door again, and Jasmine skips in, a handful of envelopes under one arm. "Oh! Hi, Logan. Hi, Andy."
Andy hides the mask behind him. "Uh, hey... Jasmine. What's up?"
She gives him a funny look, then takes the stack of envelopes and flips through them. "Grandma, and Heidi, and Hugo," she says, handing Vivi three of them. She keeps flipping, and then hands one to Logan. "And yours, since you're here."
Logan arches an eyebrow. "What's this?" He slips his finger under the seal—stamped by City Hall—and pulls out a fancy-looking piece of thick paper inviting him to the City's fundraising masquerade ball, along with Andy, as guests of honor.
"What's it say?" Andy asks, grabbing Logan's arm as if to pull himself up with every excited bounce.
"Invitation to the masquerade," Logan says, shoving the paper back into the envelope.
"Aw yeah!" Andy does a little jig, then sobers up when he remembers Jasmine is still there. "Uh, I mean, yeah, cool."
"It's going to be pretty fun," she says. "My mom invited some people from Atara, and from Highwind. She says it'll be a good way for the City to raise money for repairs and stuff, plus we can show everyone we're not just a bunch of backwater bumble ants."
Logan winces. He loves this town, but the girl's got a point. Sandrock's got a reputation, and while it's changing now that the town's not being stifled by nefarious foreign agents, that's an uphill battle. As much as he hates the idea of a ball—all those people crammed into City Hall is just asking for trouble—he can't very well say he loves the town and not show up to support it. "Vivi, d'you think... you might see your way to fixin' me up somethin' fit for a social event? I'm sure there's... somethin' in this here box." He doesn't want to wear any of it, but if it's for the town, well, maybe there's enough of Howlett left in those old threads to carry him through the night.
The door chime is a welcome interruption to Heidi's work. She finishes sketching in a column and sets the pencil down, but before she can get up, a familiar face rises over the stairs like the sun. Like the sun through the clouds? Heidi gives up. Pretty poetry was always Pablo's thing, not hers. She prefers to express herself in lines and angles and colonnades.
"Are you terribly busy?" Amirah asks, perching like a bird on the edge of the desk.
Nah, definitely Pablo's thing. "Just workin' on the design for City Hall. Since we're fixin' the damage already, and we're movin' up in the world, Trudy wants to give the ol' place a sprucin' up."
"I see. It's lovely, what you've got there." She winces. "Sorry. Am I allowed to see, or is it a surprise?"
Heidi chuckles. "Not a surprise. It's..." She heaves a sigh. "It's fine, I guess. It just don't say Sandrock to me, y'know?"
Amirah slips delicately off the desk and circles to stand next to Heidi, humming thoughtfully. Heidi hears her say something pensive, but Amirah's delicate hands have stolen her attention as they run over the lines of Heidi's design. She has colorful stains on her skin, and a smear of chalky porcelain on her knuckles. Firing masks, Heidi guesses, though with how much work Amirah's had lately, it could be anything. Aside from tea with Pablo, they haven't hardly had a moment together since Arvio proposed his damn fool idea to Trudy.
Heidi tries to focus on what Amirah's saying instead of the way she smells like clay and flowers, but this is the longest she's had Amirah alone in almost three days.
"Aha!" Amirah says, waving a hand excitedly. "Suppose you moved this over here, and replaced the traditional columns with some rough poplar? I'm sure there are some trunks in the Bend that would be perfect for it."
Heidi closes one eye and peers at the design, then grins. "See, this is why I keep you around. I didn't even think about takin' inspiration from Mama Tree."
Amirah flushes a pretty shade of pink. "Sometimes it just takes a fresh pair of eyes."
"That was more than a fresh pair of eyes, blossom," Heidi tells her. When Amirah hesitates, Heidi chuckles. "Ain't no one else here."
Amirah's answering laugh is nervous. "I know." She turns away, and Heidi refrains from pulling her down into her lap. "Arvio's been insufferable about it. When he isn't going on about this masquerade that we're putting on, he's bombarding me with questions, trying to get me to tell him—well, anything."
Heidi does take Amirah's hand this time, thumb brushing over Amirah's clay-encrusted knuckles. It's telling how overworked Amirah is, if she's walking around town with her work still on her hands. "Take your time. I ain't goin' anywhere."
Amirah's dark hair falls over her face when she ducks her head, obscuring her expression. "I just don't know how to approach Arvio about it, let alone my parents. Especially now that he's dug in about the masquerade and everything."
Heidi wrinkles her nose. The masquerade's become the talk of the town, and Arvio's constantly flying into the barbershop with new ideas. "Light, ain't he just." She puts on a falsetto and says, "Oh, darlin' dearest lovely sister of mine! Let's have balloons filled with glitter!"
Amirah snorts. "Balloons, yes, glitter, no." She throws her hands up and sits up straighter, mocking in her own falsetto, "And for refreshments, a chocolate fountain! With Ataran cherryplums and Meidi strawberries!"
"Where are we gonna get that much chocolate?" Heidi laughs. "I'm sorry, blossom, I know he's your brother and all, but does that boy even think?"
"Oh, don't apologize. I love him, but I'm fully aware he's not the brightest." She clasps her hands over her heart and mimics a dazzled, dreamy Arvio. "Just think! Pablo's designs will dazzle the whole world! And Vivi's execution of them will draw in so much business for her!"
Heidi's eyes widen. "Don't tell me: he's expectin' them to do it on the cheap for the exposure."
"You know him all too well." Amirah grimaces. "It's a very good thing he's not in charge of the budget."
"Sure is. Otherwise we'd be importing—" She puts on the falsetto again, declaring with as much drama and absurdity as she can muster "—a full orchestra!"
"Oh, yes! For our intricately choreographed dance routines!" Amirah lets her hands drop, giggling.
"And we'll have it catered with the fanciest Vega 5 caviar!" Heidi jokes. "All the premium horse divorce from every corner of the world!"
Amirah falters, leaning toward Heidi with a frown. "Horse... divorce?" she asks. "I'm sorry, did you mean hors d'oeuvres?"
"Ain't that what I said?"
She claps a dainty hand over her mouth, shoulders trembling as she shakes her head.
"Sure it is! Premium horse doors!"
Amirah bursts into peals of laughter.
"What?" Heidi jokes. "I like me a good order horde! What's wrong with wantin' to snack on some ore divers?" Amirah doubles over, breathless and gasping, and Heidi reaches out to catch her. Amirah collapses into Heidi's lap, and the laughter catches, rippling through Heidi as she holds Amirah against her.
"Horse divorce!" Amirah gasps, still helpless with giggles. She takes a few breaths to steady herself, calming enough to wipe her eyes. A few more bubbles of laughter escape, and then she hums and leans against Heidi. It's good to hear her laugh like this, even if it's at the point of hysteria. She refuses to admit it, but between her usual work and the masquerade, Amirah's running herself ragged. "Do you think we'll pull it off?" she asks, suddenly serious. "Well, I suppose it's mostly you and Pablo. I haven't done much to help."
Heidi tucks Amirah's hair behind her ear, lingering over the silky texture of it. "We'll pull it off, don't you worry. You just leave it to yours truly." Truth be told, Heidi has the same concern. The event will be the talk of the town, and it's sure to stun the visitors Trudy's invited, but that may not be enough. If Arvio sees it as his grand moment, and he can't make it live up to his dreams, he's sure to go into a fit of hysterics—and the town really can't afford to scare off the kind of tourism and embassy that'll be represented.
Amirah settles into her with a sigh. "Just let me know what I can do to help."
"You're doin' just dandy as you are, blossom. Though... I've been meanin' to ask you somethin'." In truth, she's been meaning to ask ever since she heard about it, but they've both been busy, and she isn't sure Amirah will go for it. "Would you... go with me? To the masquerade."
To her surprise, Amirah nods.
"Really?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
Heidi frowns. "Blossom, don't take this the wrong way, but what do you mean why wouldn't I?"
Amirah flinches, and Heidi winces internally. "Heidi..."
"I ain't mad, 'Mirah. I'm just a little surprised. You don't want to tell Arvio about us, but you're okay with goin' to the dance together."
Heidi kicks herself then, because her beautiful blossom wilts. If Heidi's not careful, she'll blow away with Heidi's next breath. It's been hard enough lately to get her to land in one place, the way she's being pulled in every direction.
"Hey." Heidi tightens her arms where they rest around Amirah's waist. "I'm sorry. I want to go to the dance with you."
"I don't know if I'll be able to tell Arvio before then," Amirah says quietly. "Would you still go with me, as friends? If it came to it?"
Heidi tucks Amirah's hair behind her ear again. "Blossom, just 'cause you love me half as much as I love you, don't mean we ain't still friends. Best friends, even." She thinks about writing that letter to Amirah, how many drafts ended up in the trash, and how many wrinkles Pablo nearly wore into his nose with how often he grimaced at her writing.
Amirah pulls away, indignant. "Half as much? You love me half as much!"
"Agree to disagree." I'm willing to tell the world just how much I love you, she thinks in a fit of bitter pique. Trying desperately to keep the acid from her voice, she asks, "If we go together as friends, are you still gonna dance with me?"
Amirah smiles and leans her forehead against Heidi's. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
A chime echoes through the shop, breaking Pablo out of the artistic fugue he’s in. He has no more appointments until this afternoon, and it's unusual to get a walk-in he's not expecting. To his surprise, he sees Logan, of all people, standing by the counter, watching him silently with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops.
Now, that's unexpected. He wonders what possible reason the monster hunter could have to wander into his domain. To his delight, when he walks over, he’s greeted with the answer to his unspoken question.
"Vivi told me to come see you ‘bout a... mask?" The man doesn’t sound certain. Pablo’s been sending everyone over to Amirah for measurements, but Vivi knows that. She’d only have sent him here if she had ulterior motives. Those aren’t terribly hard to guess. Logan’s been looking like a half-wild mess ever since he moved back into town a couple weeks ago.
To be honest, despite what Trudy said, Pablo hadn’t expected the man to attend the masquerade at all. Even before all the drama, Logan was the type to avoid a fancy shindig like the plague. Hoedowns and solstice dances were more his style. A real shame, since no amount of gear or dishevelment can hide that man’s looks. Pablo’s dreamed of dressing him up for years. Up, and down, and—well.
"Oh, sure," Pablo drawls appraisingly. Logan looks apprehensive, but Pablo continues, "We can do some work on that mop of yours as well." Logan frowns, turning away. Pablo rapidly adjusts the amount of teasing his new patron can tolerate. He’s been away a long time, with no one but Haru for company. Pablo's about to invite him to sit before he can get out the door, but Logan stops next to the entrance to hang up his hat and cloak. Well, at least he hasn’t become a complete savage out there in the desert. It is a bit odd that he's in full kit for a barbershop appointment, however impromptu it is, but to each his own, Pablo supposes. Logan settles stiffly into the nearest chair, shoulders tense.
Pablo grabs a nearby notepad and a thin measuring tape, dutifully taking the measurements he knows Amirah needs. She’ll be a little put out that Pablo didn’t send him over to her instead, but she won’t begrudge him the chance to tidy up one of the local heroes.
Logan flinches whenever Pablo’s bare hand touches his skin, though he doesn't say anything. Pablo stifles a frown; it won't do to scowl back at the poor fellow. The man’s skin is significantly less weathered than Pablo anticipated. That must be Haru’s doing. He really does make the best products, on par with the expensive imports from Walnut Groove. Pablo can't wait for him to return from school. Having access to that kind of talent locally will be a game changer.
A particularly strong jerk of the face draws Pablo's attention back to his client. The fact that Logan can’t quite handle even an innocuous touch is troubling. They’ve never been friends, but it wasn’t like they avoided one another. Howlett had prized being clean-cut despite his job—or perhaps because of it—and had done his best to convince his son of the same, so they were both among his regular clientele. This level of avoidance, plus Logan's attire—full armor for town errands is really overboard—points to larger problems beneath the surface. Everyone's been on edge since the occupation, but no one's quite this bad. The more Pablo reviews the evidence, the more obvious it is that Logan's still half-expecting to be driven right back off into the sand.
Pablo breaks the silence before it can become smothering. "Really making me think you want to be here," he says a little absently, taking another measurement along the man’s ear. This close, Pablo can practically smell the tension rolling off of him, layered thickly on top of the leather and faint tang of gunsmoke.
Logan sighs through his teeth. "I ain’t real keen on it, to be honest. But Andy’s excited." Pablo takes a mental note: like Howlett, Logan wants to be a good father. He'll have to save that tidbit for later.
Humming, Pablo carefully baits a trap. "Seems like everyone's excited. The kids, the parents, the couples... I’ve never seen Lucy this excited either." It's not entirely true—he hasn't seen her for more than two minutes at a time since he and Amirah and Heidi started planning the event—but that's really not the point.
Logan stills, pale eyes darting over to catch Pablo’s. "Oh? I ain’t noticed."
The trap snaps shut, and Pablo swings around behind Logan to hide his smile. Heidi swore up and down that Logan wasn't interested in the builder, but Pablo bet fifty gols otherwise. Just because he isn't as obvious as he was when he was younger doesn’t mean Pablo can't see the signs. Heidi's too hung up on the boy she grew up with to consider the man his experiences have made him.
Unfortunately, that's true of most of the town, and Logan’s new habits and change of outlook are throwing off their expectations. No matter that his intentions were good, and that he saved them all from a literal military occupation, almost four years away frayed those few friendships he had. They shouldn’t expect everything to go back to how it was, but it's clear they're looking for someone else in him. If anyone understands how hard that is, it's Pablo.
"Oh, yes, she was in here yesterday." Strictly true—she'd brought him some tea leaves. "She cleans up quite nicely. You could, too." He gives Logan’s hair a pointed and significant stare.
Logan sighs, relaxing slightly into the chair. The little furrow between his eyebrows tells Pablo he knows he’s been caught like a sandfish. "I still gotta be able to tie it back."
Pablo raises an eyebrow. "If I cut it short, that won't be a problem…"
Logan shakes his head. "Naw, can’t have it falling into my face on a hunt."
Pablo keeps his face carefully neutral. This is so much worse than he thought. Even Howlett had kept his hair shorter than this. That Logan isn’t willing to commit to anything shorter than its current chin length confirms he’s already thinking of the next time he might need to vanish for a while. Either Logan hasn't noticed how enthused the town is to have him back, or their insistence on keeping him in town has spooked him. Neither option is particularly pleasant.
Pablo inspects Logan’s hair, finally able to get a good look without the hat in the way. He winces as he takes it in, giving himself a quick mental pat on the back for turning Logan away from the mirror. Poor nutrition and the desert sun have done a number on it, and it doesn't appear to have had any special care from Haru. Or perhaps it had, but even the best products can’t stop everything. It looks like he hacked it off with a knife, maybe more than once—at least, where it doesn't look like it's been caught in briars.
He really is a mess, but Pablo isn't the best barber this side of the Eufaula for nothing. He can salvage plenty. He layers off the worst of the split ends, brushes some oil through for some much needed moisturizing, and cleans up around the neckline and Logan's ears. Now that the split ends are gone, and the lengths are evened up… Well, it’s not runway-ready but Logan at least looks civilized. Hobo chic has been replaced by mildly disreputable ruffian instead. Give it a couple of months to grow out, and Pablo'll get him back in here to fix that, too.
The disheveled look gives him an idea. He reorganizes the costume ideas that have been buzzing around his mind. Arvio wants to be both the flashy one and the mysterious one, of course, but since he's left all the details—and all the real work—to Pablo, he's also unwittingly left all the decisions to Pablo, too. The Light has neatly dropped the better choice for one right into his chair, and now he knows which to assign to Arvio. If he can match Logan's color palette to the builder’s… Pablo grins as he spins Logan around to face the mirror. "Will this do?"
Logan pushes his hand through his hair, nodding. "That guy looks alright. Wish I was that handsome." To Pablo's dismay, he doesn't leave it down, but instead ties it back into its unfortunately restrictive ponytail.
Well, Pablo supposes he can't have everything. This is a different man than the one who used to sit in his chair. For one, he's trying to get up without a shave. "Ah-ah. Not done yet."
Logan sits back down in the chair like he thinks it'll bite him. Pablo starts mixing the shaving cream, the brush quickly bringing it to a smooth lather. Logan looks on apprehensively, but doesn’t tell him to stop. He tenses again when Pablo begins brushing the cream on, until Pablo can see his knuckles white with pressure against the arm of the chair. He’s perfectly still, but his eyes are wild.
This won’t do at all.
Pablo finishes his preparations, then presses the handle of the razor into Logan’s palm. The man looks up, puzzled, but Pablo merely holds up the mirror for him. Tension drains out of his shoulders, and a look of sheer relief crosses his face. The ritual continues in silence, the only sound the rasp of the razor and the soft brush as Pablo applies more cream. When Logan hands the razor back and wipes his face with a towel, Pablo inspects the work and nods.
"Passable job. If monster hunting doesn't work out, you could be a barber."
Now that the patchy stubble is gone, Pablo can see the line of his jaw. It’s significantly sharper than he remembers, and he’s left to wonder again just how harsh the desert was on him. Is that why he doesn't shave? The difference is stark enough that it hardly takes a barber's eye to notice.
"Not sure I could keep up with the famous Pablo," Logan says. His tone is grave, but he's joking back, which is at least a glimmer of the Logan they used to know. "Anythin' else?"
"Alas, I'm afraid my skills have been exhausted, unless you've changed your mind about the short haircut."
"Not today." Logan stands to leave, and the gun at his hip catches Pablo’s eye, reminding him of Logan's new penchant for being fully geared up.
"You aren’t planning on bringing that to the masquerade, are you?" Pablo asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Sure am," Logan replies, not missing a beat.
Pablo lets his displeasure show just a little, in the wrinkle of his nose. "Any way I can convince you otherwise?"
"No." Logan’s eyes turn sharp as flint, his stance tense. Well, Pablo had to try at least a little. He isn't going to push the issue; he's finally gotten Logan into his shop and he's not about to run off a client who so desperately needs his services.
"Perhaps a shoulder holster, then?" When Logan's stare remains expressionless, Pablo elaborates carefully, "Howlett wore one sometimes, on more formal occasions."
Logan takes so long to answer, Pablo starts to think he'll refuse that, too. "I'll try it." He says it slowly, relenting only because Pablo isn't trying to take the firearm away entirely. Pablo waits until Logan's paid and gone to sigh in relief. It’s pretty obvious that the monster hunter won't go to the party at all if he can't take his security blanket. The fact that he thinks he needs it is another problem entirely, but not one that can be solved today.