Chapter 11 #2
That’s not what happened, of course. His stylist cut his hair a little, put a bunch of potions and creams on it, focused on the strands like it was of vital importance-
-and honestly, Trove couldn’t really see much of a difference.
It was shorter? He guessed. But not by much.
It was still straight. It was still down past his shoulders.
The color this time was a mix between the dressing gown he wore and the black of the chair he sat in, but it wasn’t like he wanted it artificially colored anyway.
That would take away the whole point of his camouflage.
His stylist, however, looked smug as he ran his fingers through, talking about the softness and the strength and wasn’t it much more lively now? Trove had no idea what that meant because his hair wasn’t alive at all. It was extremely stupid.
But then he turned around and saw Chee in her chair.
Her orange hair, which was usually so frizzy and fuzzy, had been tamed into sleek, shiny waves and now glittered.
Actually glittered. Her stylist had added something to her hair that made the strands shine like gold.
Chee was fawning over it in the mirror, exclaiming her appreciation and adoration.
It was stunning. Trove could admit. But he also liked it when it was frizzy and out of control.
It was cute that way; it was elegant this way.
She was just lovely either way, really. So maybe this hair thing wasn’t about him, he was just along for the ride while she got hers done.
And if that was the case, then he loved his hair as well.
Then, the two of them were taken to the next room where their claws would be tended. Both their toes and their fingers.
Trove hesitated then, but Chee was already walking ahead, eagerly talking about what she wanted done to her nails. She didn’t have claws. Human nails were far too frail, thin, and blunt to be claws.
Trove just followed after until he could take the seat beside her. An elevated chair gave the worker space to work on his toes at their comfort, with the arms spread and ending at tables so they could work on his hands.
Hands that he kept on his lap as someone else approached to, once again, examine their nail type and determine who needed to be working on them.
As Trove expected, Chee wanted hers to look pretty.
She wanted them buffed to a shine, she talked about making the tips white – he didn’t know why – and having them grown out and the ends curved slightly.
Her toes, however, she wanted flattened – same color and buff, but straight across.
It was a clean, elegant look, she said happily.
The coordinator or manager, whatever she was, agreed and praised her choices before using her combot to summon someone to give her what she wanted. Then, she turned her attention to Trove.
“How about you?” She asked, looking at his hands – still folded – then his feet.
He shrugged. “I don’t really need a buff and color change. I’m okay.”
“We can certainly fix those up a bit,” she said, pointing to his feet. And sure, they weren’t as delicate and pretty as Chee’s, but he didn’t see why that would matter. “Nothing too fancy but make them a little more presentable. Now, your claws.”
“I’m alright.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, let me see your claws.”
“No, really, it’s fine.”
“Come on, Trove,” Chee laughed. “Don’t be such a big baby and let the lady see your claws. We had a deal.”
Trove sighed and offered his hand.
As he expected, the female trying to examine them suddenly went quiet and still. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat that spoke volumes more than it said. And her reaction, naturally, got Chee’s attention, who leaned over to look at what made her pause.
Trove didn’t have claws.
His species did, of course. But his were gone. Completely. All that remained of them were the scarred up beds where they had once been. Scars that weren’t at all neat or pretty. They were rough and puckered and wrinkled, proof of how badly they had healed.
“Oh, er…” the coordinator fumbled, searching for something professional to say even as she suppressed the desire to cry out in shock or horror.
Scars weren’t uncommon. It was a rough universe sometimes, and not everyone could afford the treatments needed to get rid of scarring.
Or they never had the opportunity at all.
Still, some cultures saw scarring as an art form in and of itself, or even an honor to proudly be worn and never to be removed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chee looking at his claws, then up to his face. He tried his best to keep his casual smile in place.
“Told you,” he said easily. “No reason to deal with my hands at all, eh?”
The coordinator gathered herself quickly, antennae flicking at the air. “Nonsense. We can fix that right up for you. We have a miniature mediring for just such occasions. There are many reasons people end up with, er, scarring or warping of the claws, and we’re happy to tend to them.”
“Really, it’s fine,” he assured her, putting his hands back in his lap. “Put twice as much effort into her claws instead. She’ll look far prettier than me regardless, I assure you.”
The coordinator hesitated, the need to do her job combating with his refusal for just a moment, before she smiled in agreement and turned to summon someone to deal with his toes. Though he wondered if he could defer that as well.
With her gone, he could focus on Chee. On the look in her stormy eyes. He wasn’t quite sure he liked it. It wasn’t pity, but there was a hint of understanding there.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her, making a show of relaxing back into the chair. “They don’t hurt at all anymore. It’s been years at this point.”
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You can ask,” he wiggled his clawless fingers. “But it’s not at all a relaxing story, so I’ll save it for another time.”
She nodded once, accepting his refusal for what it was. She asked next instead, “They said they can fix it. Does that mean they can grow them back?”
“They could,” he nodded easily.
“So, why don’t you want to?”
He looked her way and gestured at her. At the long, puckered scar taking up so much of the right side of her face. “Why did you not let them repair your scars when we were doing the skin treatments?”
“Because I wear this scar proudly,” she answered immediately, no hesitation, her head coming up high. “I will keep my scars because they’re proof of my strength and the love of my parents. Nothing will make me get rid of them.”
He chuckled. “Ah. You’re one of those then.”
“One of those?”
“The ones who consider scars to be an honor.”
“Scars can be an honor,” she agreed easily, reaching up to touch the marks on her face. “If you want to wear them with pride, they are. Their proof of how much you’ve survived. Of what couldn’t kill you. Of all you weathered. They’re beautiful.”
“I agree,” he smiled easily. “Your scars are beautiful. Your face is enchanting.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her hand, looking at him with a seriousness that made him want to turn away. “If you agree, then why didn't you look at your own scars like that?”
“Like what?”
“That.” She gestured to his face. “You didn't look proud. You looked… resigned.”
He shrugged, putting his hands behind his head, doing his best to look as relaxed as he could despite the tension coiling in his gut.
“Unlike you, I don’t see my scars as marks of pride.
I don’t see them as anything but scars. They’re just tougher tissue where something used to be.
That’s it. There’s nothing shameful or honorable about them. They just are.”
“So, why not let them fix them? If they mean nothing to you. If it doesn’t matter either way. Why not grow them back? It’s included in our package.”
“It’s not that important.”
“Exactly, so let them do it.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not acting fine.”
Smirking, he lowered one of his hands and held up his longest fingers, curling them suggestively in the air. “Trust me, I’m much better without them.”
Chee scoffed. “Not everything comes back to sex, Trove.”
“Just the fun things.”
“Be serious.”
“I absolutely was,” he laughed, laying back on both hands again. “Just let me know when you’re ready and I’d be happy to demonstrate just how serious at any time.”
Chee sighed, but shaking her head, she gave up and laid back as well.
The claw techs were coming their way, each one leading a hover tray of supplies.
She was letting the subject drop while they worked on them, but he didn't think she was letting it go forever.
He knew females too well to think that was the end of this conversation.
He wasn’t sure how to tell her that he couldn’t regrow his claws.
That he’d tried. He’d made appointments in the past. He’d thought about it.
He’d even gotten close to trying once. But he couldn’t go through with it.
He just… couldn’t. It was like there was some block in his mind that refused to let himself even get close.
So, he’d given up on trying. And like he said, the lack of claws served him well. He felt no pride in them. He felt no honor about them. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have his claws back again. To actually feel the weight of them, the strength of them.
But that was just his imagination. It was something he’d never actually known.
No, it was too late for him. He just couldn’t. And he’d come to terms with that. For all the good and bad it did him, he was clawless. And that was… that was fine.