“Sometimes I’m jealous of your hair,” Mihmatini tells him.
Acatl stares at his little sister in shock. “Why?!” It’s a ridiculous concept. Mihmatini’s hair is arrow-straight and gleams like a polished obsidian mirror, falling to her waist like a waterfall. Well, almost straight; she’s just combed out her marriage braids, and they’ve left kinks behind. But those will soon be gone, and she’ll be back to her usual loveliness. He’s positively unkempt in comparison.
She gestures at him. “It’s so thick and wavy! Like our mother’s. And it looks so nice when you bother to take care of it properly.”
Slowly, he reaches up to tuck an errant curl back behind his ear again. It’s just slightly too short to stay in the white cord holding the rest of his hip-length hair back, not that the cord is more than a token gesture half the time anyway. She is right that it’s something he’s inherited from their mother—the only thing she ever left him other than her scorn—but... “Mihmatini, it breaks combs.”
“It does not!” she huffs at him, and shifts to kneel behind him with her own comb in hand. “Here, let me comb it out for you for once. You’ll see how much better it looks.”
He sighs. There’s really no stopping her once she gets an idea in her head. “Fine,” he mutters as he loosens his hair, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
For a few minutes, it’s actually rather pleasant. And his hair does need the attention. But then—
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl & Mihmatini
“Sometimes I’m jealous of your hair,” Mihmatini tells him.
Acatl stares at his little sister in shock. “Why?!” It’s a ridiculous concept. Mihmatini’s hair is arrow-straight and gleams like a polished obsidian mirror, falling to her waist like a waterfall. Well, almost straight; she’s just combed out her marriage braids, and they’ve left kinks behind. But those will soon be gone, and she’ll be back to her usual loveliness. He’s positively unkempt in comparison.
She gestures at him. “It’s so thick and wavy! Like our mother’s. And it looks so nice when you bother to take care of it properly.”
Slowly, he reaches up to tuck an errant curl back behind his ear again. It’s just slightly too short to stay in the white cord holding the rest of his hip-length hair back, not that the cord is more than a token gesture half the time anyway. She is right that it’s something he’s inherited from their mother—the only thing she ever left him other than her scorn—but... “Mihmatini, it breaks combs.”
“It does not!” she huffs at him, and shifts to kneel behind him with her own comb in hand. “Here, let me comb it out for you for once. You’ll see how much better it looks.”
He sighs. There’s really no stopping her once she gets an idea in her head. “Fine,” he mutters as he loosens his hair, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
For a few minutes, it’s actually rather pleasant. And his hair does need the attention. But then—
Snap.
“Ow!”
“...Ah. There went a few of the teeth.”
“I tried to tell you!”