Three weeks after meeting Jenny Vasquez, Marron stood in front of her apartment mirror with scissors in hand and a determination that bordered on reckless.
"You're really doing this," Mokko observed from his position on the bed. He sounded amused.
"I'm really doing this," Marron confirmed.
For the last three months or so (she also couldn't believe it had been that long, in another world) she'd been pulling her long, curly brown hair into a ponytail.
But she was tired of how heavy it felt.
In light of her recent accomplishments (the coalition among them) she decided it was time for a change.
"You could go to a professional," Mokko suggested. "The Guild district has salons. People who know what they're doing with scissors."
"I'm a chef," Marron said, sectioning her hair with the same precision she used for mise en place. "I'm very good with knives. How different can scissors be?"
"That's not reassuring."
