The wind was gusting that late spring afternoon, bringing with it a slight coolness that soothed one's fur, but didn't chill the ears. Cobalt ran a hand through his short-cropped hair to straighten it a little, as he did each time a gust blew across his head. The kimera had just left the hairdresser's, where he'd donated a fresh batch of six-foot hair to charity. He had become quite the favored customer in that regard.
And as per usual, it wasn't taking long for his hair to grow back in. He'd left the salon with a six-inch crop, and now he could feel the hair tickling the back of his neck. He thumbed his goatee, one of the many features that showed he was more goat than lion. Ten minutes ago he had a fully-shaved chin, but now it had bloomed into a one-inch puff. This, actually, was extremely unusual. He had long lived with a curse that beset him with a ten-foot, self-braiding goatee that grew back within ten minutes of being chopped off, which meant it should have grown a full foot by now. As the sun emerged from behind a cloud, warming his blue-furred face, he shrugged off the thought and decided to be thankful for the reprieve.
He was clopping through the park between the salon and his apartment. It was an easy twenty-minute route: no hills, all paved sidewalks, and nice scenery. He let his mind and his eyes wander, seeing families having picnics, kids running with a ball, and even a few kite flyers.
Cobalt was just thinking how long it had been since he'd flown a kite when a strong gust of wind blew half his mane in his face. He staggered, stopping before his blindness caused him to trip and injure something. He quickly raked his hands through it, pushing the thick white locks behind him again. They had finally gotten long enough to be held behind his shoulders, although a good amount of bangs still insisted on falling into his eyes.
He pushed them over an ear and continued walking, noticing the nearest picnicking couple eying him with dodgy expressions. He forced a sheepish smile and waved, but for some reason this only caused them to glance awkwardly down at their food. Self-conscious as always, Cobalt thought he'd somehow done something to offend them, but his reasonable side knew that couldn't be the case.
Another gust blew over and his hair flew in his face again. He fought the tresses again, starting to get annoyed at his lack of foresight to bring a hairband. This time, for some reason, he couldn't get it all to stay behind his back. Some of it insisted on draping over his shoulders, no matter how straight he stood or how little he moved.
A few minutes later the park exit was in sight. It would only be a couple more blocks until he was back home and could comb, braid, and tie his hair properly. But first, his stomach was feeling neglected. He looked ahead and spied, on the street in front of the park, a hot dog cart. He quickly clopped up to the vendor, smiling in greeting.
The vendor inside the cart, a square-shouldered alligator, seemed to frown as he approached. Cobalt thought he noticed the reptile's eyes narrow the closer he got. He wanted to abandon the idea of getting food then and there, but he'd already made eye contact, and it'd be more embarrassing--not to mention silly--to suddenly change direction and continue walking. So he stopped at the cart and said, in probably a more enthusiastic tone than he wanted, "One hot dog with ketchup and mustard, please."
The alligator didn't move. "That's gonna be three dollars."
Cobalt's smile dipped a bit. This man didn't seem to be very good at customer service. "Yeah. Okay."
Again, he remained static, for whatever reason disinclined to start working on the order. "Three dollars."
Cobalt couldn't help but give the gentleman an exasperated look as he pulled out his wallet and put the money on the counter.
At the sight of the money, the alligator's demeanor changed to sudden apprehension. He rang up the order on his register and quickly proceeded to prepare the hot dog. Cobalt eyed him curiously. What was going on?
With a broad smile, as if trying to make up for his standoffishness, the vendor handed Cobalt the hot dog and some napkins and bid him a nice day. Cobalt walked away thoroughly confused.
While he waited for a traffic signal to cross the next street, he bit into the hot dog...and chomped down on a strand of hair as well. "Gyugh! What the--?"
This prompted the other two pedestrians waiting at the crosswalk to look at him. He blushed and chuckled nervously as he pulled the wispy white hairs out of his mouth. He had grown a mustache! Not just a regular one, but one with hairs long enough to fall into his mouth. He felt a great deal of fuzz around the sides of his mouth, as well as along his jawline...hair that was definitely not supposed to be there. His goatee only grew from a small patch at his chin. So what was this?
He realized that the crossing signal was lit up, and the other two people waiting were already halfway across. He resumed walking, and carefully chewed the rest of his lunch. By the time he reached the next block, he discarded the wrapper and napkins and ducked into a convenience store. He knew this shop well, and of special note, he knew it had a restroom.
He scooted inside and took a look at himself in the mirror. Looking back was a goat with long white hair and a very unkempt goatee. It wouldn't have been a stretch to even call it a beard. It covered the lower half of his jaw and surrounded his mouth. White tendrils were even growing as far up as the sides of his nose.
What's happening? he thought. He'd cut his hair and cursed goatee plenty of times, and it never caused a reaction like this. He pawed the fluffy beard, which was surprisingly thick for its size. Suddenly, a bunch of hair slipped over his shoulder and fell over half of his face. He tried pushing it back behind him, but it kept falling back to the front. After the third try, he gave up and simply held it to one side as he continued examining his reflection.
They were still growing--his hair and goatee--even as he watched. And the longer they got, the more unkempt they appeared. Stray locks jutted out at random angles, and strands wove in and out of each other with no sense of organization. With a mane this disheveled, it was no surprise the hot dog vendor wouldn't budge until he realized that Cobalt had money. The kimera looked like he'd been sleeping on park benches for a week!
Scratching his head, Cobalt left the restroom. He tried to think of an explanation for why his hair was growing this way. He was so deep in thought that he almost bumped into the beaver who walked up right in front of him.
The fellow was clad in a plain button-down shirt with a name tag. Cobalt actually recognized him from a few previous visits. He staggered on his hooves and backed up a pace. "S-sorry," he said, bamboozled.
The beaver had his arms crossed. "Are you gonna buy something?"
Cobalt's eyes shifted side to side. "Uh...what?"
Looking at him more intensely now, the store worker repeated himself in a more stern tone. "Are you going to buy something? The restroom's for customers only."
Cobalt finally caught on to the guy's behavior and rolled his eyes. "Yes. I'm gonna buy something," he said indignantly. He marched over to the candy bars and grabbed something, then took it to the register. The beaver quietly rang up his purchase, which Cobalt paid for.
As he picked up the candy bar, he looked the store worker in the eye. "You know, I've been here forty or fifty times. You usually smile." The beaver simply cocked an eyebrow. Cobalt wondered if he was trying to recognize his bearded face, but he didn't give the guy a chance to make a guess. He was out the door in three seconds.
He walked across the street onto the block with his apartment building. He looked at the candy bar he grabbed and frowned. "Butterfinger? Of all the ones I could have reached for..." He dropped it in the next garbage can he passed.
The final leg of his walk was the most problematic. His growing mane wasn't only causing him problems by blowing in his face every few seconds, it was also making everyone he passed on the street stare at him. Some stares were innocent: just people distracted by the billowing white hair growing from the goat-lion. The rest were less so...almost contemptuous, or even fearful. Cobalt didn't like it.
At last, he was ascending the stairs to his apartment. Once inside, he shut and locked the door, and then fell backward against it. He ran a hand through what had become a very lush beard.
He clopped into the bathroom and took another look at himself. He gasped. His mane had exploded into a waist-length mass of hair that proved extremely unruly. He grabbed a hairbrush and went to work.
The pure white locks were quite clean and soft to the touch, but they simply insisted on refusing to follow a straight, parallel arrangement no matter how much he brushed them. As a last resort, he pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer. He made a test snip on one lock of the beard, anticipating the worst. His fears were realized as the lock grew back in the span of seconds, twisting and blending into the rest of his hair like nothing had happened.
It was impossible to even tell which hairs belonged to his head and which belonged to his beard. The frustrated kimera flopped onto the couch in a worried daze. How long would he be stuck like this? Would it start growing even longer? He started to think he'd never be able to leave the apartment again.
He managed to calm down over a time. The simple act of stroking his beard while his mind fussed about was a rather soothing ritual. He furrowed his brow and tried to convince himself things would be okay.
After all, his best friends were magical. They'd be able to help him.
Right?
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