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[location: various]
Nov. 23rd, 2012 01:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thepersianyouthMorning comes; being himself again he makes plans, careful and neatly laid out; he makes an appointment at a nearby barbershop, and whiles away an hour prior with dressing and undressing until he feels a shade more like himself. He sends messages (text only, dictated to the tablet) to a select few people, then stumbles here and there, reacquainting himself with his own body. Averting his eyes from the mirror in his bathroom, he forces his hands not to reach up, and ignores the strange sensation of an uncovered back. He feels naked. Not even draping himself in his deep dark blue winter coat alleviates the feeling of being exposed. He gathers the sable fur trim close to his face, and sets out.
As is the nature of things, it is not until Bagoas sets foot at the barbershop of his choosing that nausea sets in. It matters little that he's asked his friends to be there if they can, during (Glitch and Azkadellia for support, and perhaps coffee at some café or other) or after (Buffy for shopping at the mall and/or the bazaar, Remus for tea afterwards and Josef after night falls): he still feels entirely out of his depth.
He remembers Alexander, after Hephaistion's death, looking like a restless spirit himself. His hair short and uneven, unkempt. A Macedonian custom, to cut the hair above shoulder level after a death: not Persian. To this day he associates short hair with grief and loss, and that is only the beginning of it. After Alexander's death, after being brought to Taxon, he chose to honour his King with a funeral rite of his people. It was his choice, he was in control.
~*~
He enters the barbershop with back straight and shoulders forced into relaxation (oxymoron as that may well be). He takes a seat, stoic and silent and positively determined to be grateful still: this is where he takes the reins back from Holmes and makes of this what he wants. His resolve crumbles within minutes. When the barber cheerfully digs his hands into what's left of his hair, Bagoas lifts his eyes, seeing himself in the mirror as if for the first time. Resolve crumbling to pieces, he finds himself dissolving into tears.
As is the nature of things, it is not until Bagoas sets foot at the barbershop of his choosing that nausea sets in. It matters little that he's asked his friends to be there if they can, during (Glitch and Azkadellia for support, and perhaps coffee at some café or other) or after (Buffy for shopping at the mall and/or the bazaar, Remus for tea afterwards and Josef after night falls): he still feels entirely out of his depth.
He remembers Alexander, after Hephaistion's death, looking like a restless spirit himself. His hair short and uneven, unkempt. A Macedonian custom, to cut the hair above shoulder level after a death: not Persian. To this day he associates short hair with grief and loss, and that is only the beginning of it. After Alexander's death, after being brought to Taxon, he chose to honour his King with a funeral rite of his people. It was his choice, he was in control.
~*~
He enters the barbershop with back straight and shoulders forced into relaxation (oxymoron as that may well be). He takes a seat, stoic and silent and positively determined to be grateful still: this is where he takes the reins back from Holmes and makes of this what he wants. His resolve crumbles within minutes. When the barber cheerfully digs his hands into what's left of his hair, Bagoas lifts his eyes, seeing himself in the mirror as if for the first time. Resolve crumbling to pieces, he finds himself dissolving into tears.
