Page 30 of Trove’s Purpose

That part wasn’t any more exciting, but at least it wasn’t literally just lying there.

Apparently, Chee and Trove had two different hair types – he wasn’t sure what that meant. But after someone went through and examined their hair and declared their type, they got different workers who were experts in that type. Trove’s was a domini, handily enough, but Chee got a tall, lanky female with pink skin and white hair that sparkled like starlight.

She and Chee immediately set to planning out her hair like it was a combat mission. Meanwhile, Trove had to try to figure out what he wanted done with his hair. He just kind of sliced at the ends with a knife when it got too long. A fact that apparently horrified his stylist who immediately set to work on correcting whatever grievance that was.

Trove had very little say in his hair style. Not because he wasn’t allowed, but simply because he didn’t care. Honestly, he could be shaved bald, and he’d shrug and deal with it until it grew back.

That’s not what happened, of course. His stylist cut his hair a little, put a bunch of potions and creams on it, focused on the strands like it was of vital importance-

-and honestly, Trove couldn’t really see much of a difference.

It was shorter? He guessed. But not by much. It was still straight. It was still down past his shoulders. The color this time was a mix between the dressing gown he wore and the black of the chair he sat in, but it wasn’t like he wanted it artificially colored anyway. That would take away the whole point of his camouflage.

His stylist, however, looked smug as he ran his fingers through, talking about the softness and the strength and wasn’t it much more lively now? Trove had no idea what that meant because his hair wasn’t alive at all. It was extremely stupid.

But then he turned around and saw Chee in her chair. Her orange hair, which was usually so frizzy and fuzzy, had been tamed into sleek, shiny waves and now glittered. Actually glittered. Her stylist had added something to her hair that made the strands shine like gold. Chee was fawning over it in the mirror, exclaiming her appreciation and adoration.

It was stunning. Trove could admit. But he also liked it when it was frizzy and out of control. It was cute that way; it was elegant this way. She was just lovely either way, really. So maybe this hair thing wasn’t about him, he was just along for the ride while she got hers done. And if that was the case, then he loved his hair as well.

Then, the two of them were taken to the next room where their claws would be tended. Both their toes and their fingers.

Trove hesitated then, but Chee was already walking ahead, eagerly talking about what she wanted done to her nails. She didn’t have claws. Human nails were far too frail, thin, and blunt to be claws.

Trove just followed after until he could take the seat beside her. An elevated chair gave the worker space to work on his toes at their comfort, with the arms spread and ending at tables so they could work on his hands.

Hands that he kept on his lap as someone else approached to, once again, examine their nail type and determine who needed to be working on them.

As Trove expected, Chee wanted hers to look pretty. She wanted them buffed to a shine, she talked about making the tips white – he didn’t know why – and having them grown out and the ends curved slightly. Her toes, however, she wanted flattened – same color and buff, but straight across. It was a clean, elegant look, she said happily.

The coordinator or manager, whatever she was, agreed and praised her choices before using her combot to summon someone to give her what she wanted. Then, she turned her attention to Trove.

“How about you?” She asked, looking at his hands – still folded – then his feet.

He shrugged. “I don’t really need a buff and color change. I’m okay.”

“We can certainly fix those up a bit,” she said, pointing to his feet. And sure, they weren’t as delicate and pretty as Chee’s, but he didn’t see why that would matter. “Nothing too fancy but make them a little more presentable. Now, your claws.”

“I’m alright.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, let me see your claws.”

“No, really, it’s fine.”

“Come on, Trove,” Chee laughed. “Don’t be such a big baby and let the lady see your claws. We had a deal.”

Trove sighed and offered his hand.

As he expected, the female trying to examine them suddenly went quiet and still. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat that spoke volumes more than it said. And her reaction, naturally, got Chee’s attention, who leaned over to look at what made her pause.

Trove didn’t have claws.

His species did, of course. But his were gone. Completely. All that remained of them were the scarred up beds where they had once been. Scars that weren’t at all neat or pretty. They were rough and puckered and wrinkled, proof of how badly they had healed.

“Oh, er…” the coordinator fumbled, searching for something professional to say even as she suppressed the desire to cry out in shock or horror.

Scars weren’t uncommon. It was a rough universe sometimes, and not everyone could afford the treatments needed to get rid of scarring. Or they never had the opportunity at all. Still, some cultures saw scarring as an art form in and of itself, or even an honor to proudly be worn and never to be removed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chee looking at his claws, then up to his face. He tried his best to keep his casual smile in place.