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There are three versions of Yasha’s hair that Beau’s seen.
The dreads and braids of her fallen self, already weary with mourning.
The smoother, silkier locks left behind from Obann’s “grooming” of her.
And the blend of white and black that marked her ascension into a protector.
But now she’s ready to see a fourth: A Yasha that no longer has it weighing her down.
Only two questions remain: how to broach the subject to her, and whether or not it’s okay to do so.
Gods, she hates having to be the working girl with a mind full of racing thoughts…
Thankfully, opportunity finally came knocking after a month of breaking in their new cottage outside of Rexxentrum, as Yasha was tending to her garden in the mid-afternoon sun. She’d only really been starting to get the hang of it after some brief lessons from Caduceus back in the Grove, and all this labor was truly no big deal for Yasha to handle.
What was really getting in the way was the heat, and how she quickly kept sweating even with her straw hat on.
Beau watches on from the entryway, entranced by how hot her girlfriend looks as she works. It wasn’t easy getting to this point, but a peaceful lifestyle might be possible to live, apart from the Cobalt Soul occasionally calling her back to the “front line” of political intrigue and court negotiations; a very different arena than a fighting pit where she could just let her fists do the talking.
So once the sun had set low enough in the sky to mark that she was done for the day, Yasha stands up and grabs her waterskin to quench her parched throat. The aasimar then removes the work gloves and hat, along with her apron. She looks so tired from so much hard labor, but it’s always worth it for Beau to see Yasha put her hands to use wielding a spade instead of a sword, planting life as opposed to taking it.
It’s the life that Yasha always deserved, that the Dolarov tribe and Obann long deprived her of. And now she finally has it.
Beau clears her throat rather forcefully and totally not for dramatic effect; this is her chance. “Hey babe?”
“Hmm?” Yasha replies as she reclines in her new favorite chair, Beau plopping herself into her girl’s lap. “What is it, Beau?”
“I-I’ve been meaning to ask… um…”
Don’t lose your nerve, Lionett. It’s fine, just ask her.
Beau clears her throat once more before meeting Yasha’s eyes. “Have you… always kept your hair long?”
Yasha tilts her head before she begins playing with some of the ivory and ebony braids cascading over her shoulder. “Yeah. There… weren’t really any barbers back in our tribe, really. And… Zuala really liked my hair being so long and pretty. Hell, even Molly thought that… even though I wasn't a fan of the black in hindsight."
"Bad memories, huh?" Beau asks. "And all the emotional baggage and damage that comes with it…"
Yasha hums in place of a response. Beau can only wonder what is going on in her head. She did say a while back that while she knows so much about her partner, there’s still so much more to learn beneath the surface. A lifetime to learn, being her exact words.
“There were times that I wished I didn’t have it…”
She doesn’t elaborate any further, but Beau can easily connect the dots there. After all, Yasha wouldn’t be Yasha if her life was all sunshine and posies.
No, it was also replete with danger and despair. Images show up clear as crystal in the expositor’s head of her girlfriend being pulled by the hair on more than one occasion, whether by members of the tribe or even… the Iron Shepherds.
And whenever her mind wanders into other specific examples of those who would’ve done such things, she shakes her head. It’s all in the past, but just imagining it is making her feel ill.
“Would you be opposed to… say…” Beau grabs hold of her own braid, raises it up, and does a motion of holding an imaginary blade and swinging it upward.
Yasha blinks her eyes, as if processing what Beau is trying to tell her. She’s about to explain herself further before Yasha mutters a simple “Oh.”
“‘Oh’?”
Yasha nods. “Yeah. I suppose… I never really thought about cutting it before. Zuala loved it, Molly loved it… you love it…”
“But do you, Yasha? It’s okay to want things for yourself.”
Yasha looks into Beau’s eyes. She seems taken off-guard at her girlfriend’s straightforward approach. “Well…”
“I mean, surely it must be an inconvenience for you sometimes. And… not to steal something that Caduceus might say in his weirdo sagely way, but… don’t you sometimes have to cut problematic weeds out, right at the root?”
The aasimar looks almost aghast… but she’s clearly just pretending. “Beauregard… surely you’re not suggesting I cut it ALL off!”
Beau laughs out loud, unable to stop herself at her girlfriend’s overdramatic mock-pouting. “No… no… not at all, just… enough? Whatever you’d be comfortable with, babe.”
The frown on Yasha’s face lingers for a moment before she reaches over the side of the chair past the armrest for something that Beau can’t quite see. “Um, babe, what are you—”
But Beau doesn’t even get the chance to finish her statement before the arm under her is gone and she plops flat on her back, still on Yasha’s lap.
What?
She pulls herself up, balancing herself with her palms on the other armrest. And in the moments where she is distracted, by the time she looks up at Yasha once more…
“Whoa, whoa—!”
It’s as if she is watching a stunt done in slow-motion, not unlike the sensation she’d felt when under the effect of a Haste spell.
Yasha is grabbing her hair and pulling it back in one hand, and in the other… there’s a dagger.
A momentary blink later, and the blade is pulled up in one swift stroke.
The moment passes, and Beau can’t help but remember how to breathe.
Her girlfriend had just cut her own locks… on her own.
“Like that?”
Yasha’s words slowly bring Beau back to her own sense of self, she was left as stunned as her opponents usually were. It takes a moment to nod, and another moment to process what she just saw.
The aftermath is right in front of her. Yasha’s long hair is clutched in her hand, and what remained is just barely past chin-length.
And is it just Beau’s imagination again, or did the black in her hair suddenly vanish?
Did she just take what Beau said literally? Did she just cut those lingering woes out?
And then… Yasha is smiling. “Gotcha.”
There is silence, which is quickly short-lived. In its place is a slightly panicking Beauregard Lionett. All that buildup earlier and now…
“You… Were you already planning to do that?! Then…”
Yasha chuckles with a rumble that is reminiscent of thunder before she pulls Beau closer. “Just needed the perfect excuse.”
And then she pulls her in for a kiss.
Once they break for air, Beau is left a sputtering mess. “But… But I was going to work my way towards asking you if I could do it and… So… I was getting all nervous and riled up for nothing?”
“Wait… you wanted to do it yourself? Um…”
Words fail them both. What comes out instead is raucous laughter. What a silly thing to worry about.
Just goes to show that some things never change, including being a pair of beautiful disasters.
“Sorry. Next time, I promise you can do it.”
“I‘ll hold you to that, babe. In the meantime…” Beau assures Yasha as she looks at the hair still in her hand. “What do we do with that?”
The aasimar brings her arm back and holds it in front of her eyes. There’s a bit of wonder and astonishment in that two-toned gaze, as if even Yasha couldn’t believe what she had just done. She had just committed to a big change.
Hopefully the first of many in this new chapter in their collective lives.
Then the moment passes as Yasha takes the locks and bundles them together after requesting a few of Beau’s spare hair ties. Surely she’s got something planned for later, but now wasn’t the time to press.
Instead, Beau decides to be a little more… playful. After all, she needs to get some sort of payback on the fast one that Yasha just pulled on her. It doesn’t happen often these days, but her girlfriend has her ways of turning the tables.
Well… two can play that game, Yash.
“I will admit… I might have had an ulterior motive behind asking for that haircut…”
Yasha tilts her head, her neck exposed… just as planned. “Oh? And that is…?”
The expositor pins her girlfriend in place with a focused stare as she licks her lips. “Far easier access so I can do this!”
Beau doesn’t hesitate as she dives into Yasha’s neck. The angelkin is left laughing and squealing helplessly as the monk lands a flurry of blows all over her quarry.
The relentless kissing continues even as Yasha recovers enough of her own willpower to carry Beau in her arms and take them upstairs to their room.
The part of Beau’s brain that is still cognizant is grateful that their home is so far out of the city. As such, no neighbors to bother with once the loud noises come, of which there would be plenty.
The other, more animalistic part just wants to take her girlfriend apart and hold her tight.
There are sure to be plenty of hickeys the next morning, perhaps also a fair share of bruises and shaky, wobbly legs that neither of them might be able to hide from the public eye.
Beau’s very certain, in the moments before Yasha kicks the door closed behind them and they both let their instincts take over, that she’s going to get plenty of stares from her coworkers.
But it’s still totally worth it.