“Tricks indeed,” she said quietly, more to herself than him, though her grin indicated her entertainment. What else are you hiding? she thought, giving him a final once over before turning on her heel. Or, rather, she’d meant to. His hand on hers stayed her for the moment, and at his whispered thanks, she felt a little shiver go through her. There was most certainly an undeniable hunger to his physicality, the way he thrived off their contact–he had not been exaggerating. She would have to remember that, for better or for worse. Though it did make the idea of a hair cut all the more interesting. Claire wondered if that experience was anything like a man hiding his…enthusiasm…in public settings. That certainly brought a smirk to her lips, and as she regained her hand, she nodded. “There is no need to thank me. It’s vanity, really. I can’t have you appearing shabby, now can I?” A wink accompanied the words, taking some of the barb out of the statement.
Attending to Mohinder’s new wardrobe, she met Steven at the counter, credit card at the ready. Steven was silent as he rang up the outfits they had selected, carefully putting them in suit bags before handing them off to Mohinder as Claire indicated. Claire was equally silent in thanks, at least to him, and followed the demon out the door and back to the car. There was a hook for clothing on the opposite end of the car, and she indicated he leave the suits there before patting the seat next to her.
“To Rochelle’s please, if you would be so kind,” she said, tapping the partition between themselves and the driver before rolling up the tinted window. Turning back to Mohinder, she crossed her legs. “It really is a wonderful salon. They even give you a scalp massage, if you’re extra nice.”
The car rolled forward, smoothly seeing them across town to an upscale, modern-looking hair salon. Once inside, everything was brightly lit, though sectioned off for privacy. “Quite a few high profile people come here,” Claire explained as they stopped at the front desk. Something faintly zen was being piped through the speakers–altogether relaxing, but forgettable. “Would you tell Rochelle that Claire Wandesford is here?” she said to the girl at the desk, who nodded and bobbed away in search of the woman in question. She returned before Claire had time to say anything further, all fluttering hands and excited, multi-lingual welcomes. Claire returned the words, though not quite as touchy-feely, and gestured to Mohinder.
“I’ve brought you this fine gentleman in hopes you can do something with his lovely mess of curls,” she said, jumping on another chance to run her fingers through his hair, though she knew what she was doing this time. Briefly making eye contact, she slipped him a little smile before bringing her attention to the stylist. Rochelle circled Mohinder, seemingly unconcerned about anything other than his hair. She was tall, lanky, and had a short, asymmetrical hair cut of her own, but you could tell she knew what she was doing. Without further comment, she took Mohinder’s hand and drug him to her station toward the back corner, sitting him down without ceremony to stare intently at his hair again.
“What kind of impression are you wanting to make?” she asked, bringing her eyes to his face for the first time. “I can make your hair say anything you like.”