Friday, December 08, 2006
Green Hair Week: Drastic Measures
The last person Mitchell wanted to talk to about this was Trevor. But Trevor was his roommate, and Daniel and Eric were off in their room, probably with girls. Which meant Mitchell couldn't just go knocking. Even if the interruption would be welcome -- which there was no way in Hell it would be -- Mitchell didn't want anyone outside the band to see the green too closely. Not that he wanted the guys to see the green, but he was stuck on that one.
"What else can we try?" he asked Trevor morosely.
Trevor held up the slice of pizza he was chowing on. "Anchovies? I'm still hungry."
"You hate anchovies, asshole," Mitchell said and flopped on his back on his bed. "And why the fuck would they work if nothing else has?"
"I still think you ought to cut it," Trevor said around a mouthful of the meatball pizza he'd special ordered, shamelessly using the ShapeShifter name to get what he wanted. For free, too, that fucker.
"Just shave it all," Trevor said. Mitchell could imagine his usual I'm-up-to-no-good expression. "It's hardly a chick magnet all green, but I hear chicks dig stubble. That could work for you for awhile."
Mitchell didn't even bother to snort. Trevor could shave his own damn head if he wanted to know about girls and stubble. But he was Mitchell Voss. He had an image to maintain as a long-haired rock god.
Which meant he had to get the blonde back.
Groaning, he reached for the phone. "Name your price," he said to the person who answered. "But you've got to get your ass over here and get the green out of my hair."
"What did you do now?" she asked.
"Are you gonna come, or not?"
"Are you going to pay for this?"
"Repeatedly," he sighed. But yeah, he'd pay for her flight down. There was no way she could get there if he didn't.
"I'll call you back when I book the flight."
Mitchell hung up and covered his face with his hands for a long minute, than sat up and lit a cigarette. Trevor was finishing the last piece of pizza. He'd eaten the whole thing by himself.
"Drastic measures?" Trevor asked, smacking his lips and flicking some leftover sauce off his fingers. It splattered on the wall.
"As drastic as it gets."
"Good." Trevor stood up and burped. He looked over at Mitchell. "I'm tired of your mopey ass. It's too big a world to spend it hiding in a hotel."
"We could go swimming," Mitchell told him.
Trevor laughed. "There's hope for you yet, asshole."
"Cut my hair off while I'm sleeping tonight and there won't be any hope for you," Mitchell tossed back. Knowing that help was on the way made him feel that much better.
This is some heavy duty green he's got himself. Poor guy.
Or, he can make a mohawk and bring a retro trend back! :)
Or ... he can dye it blue... and then dye it yellow... :p
How's THAT for a hint?
Actually, since you've read Trevor's Song, I suspect you can figure it out; it was patently obvious to me when I sat down to figure out how to get poor M out of this mess.
And no, harbormaster, Mitchell doesn't know too much about boats. I suppose he'll need a career once he's too old to rock, though! (can you ever be too old to rock?)
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