James
She hadn't spoken to Marianne Wilburn in... Hell, a few weeks now? Time sure did fly when you were trying to avoid getting mauled by packs of rabid dogs, huh? 

But that didn't matter too much; in her opinion, you didn't need to see someone all the time to stay friends with them. She could go a year, even a decade, and pick right back up where she left off. Just ask Carina Templeton— she knew that Dimitra didn't hold a grudge for that kind of thing, even when laying on her death bed. 

But Marianne had been going through it lately, hadn't she? What, with Francis biting the dust and all... Well, she could only imagine she wasn't in the best way. She'd thought of visiting her but God, time really did get away from ya, didn't it? She felt really awful about it, too. 

But Dimitra had thought about maybe making her something to eat, maybe a pie or tart or something to try and lift the spirits. She was still aching from those months ago, another reason to not making the trek to the Wilburn house— but it seemed fate would deliver the mourner to her doorstep that day. 

She had been tidying up, setting about to try and make something of her little house, when the knock came. It wasn't *Fragile*, but it was soft, not the solid knock of someone with important business... Like the police. 

She didn't bother peeking as she opens the door and paused, seeing Marianne on the other side of it. "Oh, look what the cat dragged in!" She said, already stepping forward to envelope her friend in a tight hug before she could barely get a word in. She squeezed her tight and winced at the feeling she gave her own bones, but ignored it in favor of squeezing so tight. 

"How're you doing, huh? Holding up alright?" Dimitra asked, pulling back enough to get a look at Marianne's face for her answer.
Allen
Enough, Marianne thought, was enough. 

The ache of grief, of loss she had hoped to never experience again for as long as she were to live, was never-ending. It weighed upon her shoulders like a cloak inlaid with rocks chipped from the ridge itself, dragged her down with every breath she took, with every morning she was cursed to wake up and remember, again and again, that despite all she had had and fought for and clung to, she had been left alone again. 

She was not, however, entirely alone in this world, a fact that she had neglected to remind herself of throughout the duration of her mourning period. There were those that had taken it upon themselves to take the climb up to the house and visit her despite her inhospitable state, faces who had turned up at her door on the night of the full moon and spent the night in the living room listening to the unearthly howls. 
She did not have to be alone. 

And that was why, one morning late in April, almost three months to the day since Francis had closed his eyes for the last time and left this life for the next, Marianne wrapped a parcel of raspberry-vanilla cookies she'd spent the previous afternoon baking, polished her boots, and untucked her silver locket from inside her blouse. She was not yet quite ready to shed her mourning-dress, but she would show just a little more of her old self from this day forth, she was determined. 

It did not take her long to reach Dimitra's doorstep, though her pace left her somewhat breathless by the time it came to knocking. Not that it mattered, for any air she might have had in her lungs left them forcibly when her friend flung her arms around her and held on for dear life. 

The Marianne of old might have burst into tears at the mere touch of a familiar hand.

This one held her composure, though she couldn't deny herself the moment of companionship, the feeling of *Safety* When it came to breathing in the scent of Dimitra's perfume. 
When the question came, she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat before she quite dared to give a response. 

"I'm... Ah. If I'm to be truly honest with you, Mimi, things are worse than they've been in a long time. But no matter, for I'll heal just fine in the end of it, and it's a blessing I get to heal at all. Wounds of the heart ain't so pressing to be fixed as those of the flesh." She sighed softly, and held out the cookies, a peace offering. She should have brought these months ago. "For you. I actually came to ask a favour."

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James
She was a tactile creature, and she hadn't even let the woman go properly. She set the cookies aside and focused purely on Marianne; lifting her hand and tucking some of the hair behind her ear, brushing it away from her face and getting a good look at her. Her hand even came to cup her cheek, like a mother might do to soothe a child weeping from a scraped knee. 

"I should've come to see you sooner," She chastised herself, shaking her head and pulling Marianne into her little woodland cottage. It was warm and inviting inside, and she gestured for Marianne to have a seat. "A favor? Please, I can do whatever you want, no questions asked." 

She slid into the spot beside her on the couch, and she draped an arm around her shoulders. "Whatever you need, I'm right here. Even if it's to kill and hide a body, you know I'll do it." She winked, before she was sitting up proper to take a cookie and bite into it. 

They were divine, of course, because Marianne was a radiant and brilliant creature on this earth. She didn't deserve to hurt like she was. She wanted to curse Francis, that bastard, for departing to the afterlife so soon. But she wouldn't blame the dead... It wasn't his fault, of course. Though she didn't know where else to place the blame in her head right now, for the ache that settled deep within Marianne, even all these months later.
Allen
"No- no, it's not your fault none," Marianne protested softly, as she allowed Dimitra to take her inside. She had always so loved it here, and had her own house not held so many memories, perhaps she would have liked to downsize to a similar cottage of her own. Dimitra's home was cozy, and felt safe, and was the perfect size for a woman on her own who hosted a friend now and then. She dropped down onto the soft couch cushions, and when Dimitra's arm wrapped around her shoulders, she was powerless to do anything but lean into it, a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding making its way past painted lips. 

"I can promise you I've no bodies to go hiding," She assured, and with it, she laughed, and though it were light, she had not heard herself laugh in... Well, months, if she were to be true about it. Simply being in Dimitra's presence was a healer in itself, better than any medicine she might have been able to procure from a doctor. She regretted not coming sooner, though she'd really been in no state for social calls until now. Truth be told, she still wasn't *Entirely* Ready for all of it. But it felt like the correct step to take, albeit a small one. 

"Now you've said that, the real ask seems so... Small. Pathetic, really," She admitted, shaking her head and sitting up a little straighter. She reached up to her ponytail, which was tied back in the pretty red bandana Dimitra herself had lent to her all those months ago, and with a little tug, auburn curls tumbled down over her shoulders, down her back, into her *Face*... Tangled, poorly combed, all split-ends and birds-nest knots, and she couldn't help but feel a little shame wash over her. 
Caring for her appearance had been her lowest priority of late. 

"Would you - *Lord*. Mimi, will you cut my hair for me?"

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James
"Well, should you ever need one hidden, you know where to find me. If I can walk past three cops with a bottle of rum up between my legs, I can make quick work of a body," Dimitra told Marianne, her hand reaching to squeeze her hand in that comforting way. Dimitra was a chameleon - she was a friend, a lover, a mother to some and a sister to others. She could be anything you needed her to be; she made for a good friend and an even better enemy. 

She beamed internally, to see Marianne still done up in that beautiful red bandana. And as those curls came cascading down, Dimitra could tell that this poor woman had not cared for herself in ages. She knew all about what it took to care for curls; maybe even more than Marianne did. She could only imagine how hard it had to have been for her... To not even be able to brush her hair? Dimitra cursed Francis again for up and dying on beloved Marianne like that. 

"Oh, Mari, you sweet thing," She sighed and took her hands, squeezing them in hers and brushing her thumbs across her knuckles. "Of course." It seemed that aside from friend, lover, and confidante, she was also prepared to add *Beautician* To her extensive list of titles. "Don't you worry about a single thing!" Dimitra was up and across the little cottage. "We'll put tea on, we'll make it more than a haircut," She told her, reaching out to grab her hands again and pull Marianne to stand. "This is a full blown makeover." She gave a few little hops on her toes, full of energy. "How does that sound?"
Allen
Dimitra was a good friend. More than good, she was... An angel, in her own right. She'd been by Marianne's side for years in whatever capacity she'd needed her to be, and never once complained, never questioned a request. Loyal as they came, that was what Dimitra was, and Marianne had been grateful for her time and time again, but none so much as now, when she revealed the state she'd fallen into and her companion didn't so much as bat an eyelid. Marianne had always prided herself on being well-kept and presentable, every inch the lady her mama had brought her up to be, but all of that felt so far away now. 

"It's a dreadful mess, isn't it?" She asked, as her hands were squeezed tight and she was brought back to the moment, pulled away from the scoldings of a mother and the catch and tug of briars, back into the comfort of Dimitra's home. She was safe here. Things would be made well again. "I fear it simply... Slipped my mind. I didn't notice it until it was too far gone to save alone." She tucked the bandana into her pocket, and rose when she was aided.

A makeover?
Well, she supposed that *Did* Sound like some fun. 

"I'd like that. I'd love it, in fact."

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James
"A mess?" She waved her hand around, a smile on her face. "Nonsense! Not your fault, time got away from you," Dimitra let go of Marianne's hands and walked around her in a slow circle, before she placed her hand on Marianne's twisted, knotted up hair. It was quite the... Tangle, but nothing she couldn't handle. "Unfortunately, I'm thinking a lot of this... Might have to go." She said. "It'll be a big change." 

But that was the beauty of it, wasn't it? A woman cutting her hair was like a snake shedding it's skin; leaving behind the old and accepting the new. A big change, a new identity, almost. She was certain that that was what Marianne needed - if she was ready for it. More importantly... Ready to accept it herself. 

"I'll be right back," She said, and disappeared into another room, procuring a pair of hefty metal scissors. She snipped them a few times with emphasis, beaming at the sound of metal on metal as she did it. "I promise, you will leave here looking like the belle of the ball," She said, stepping closer. "Do you trust me, Mari?" 

She hoped so. She trusted Marianne very much, and she hoped she felt the same way in return.
Allen
"A damned mess." There was a smile in Marianne's voice, though, as she made her confession - it was difficult to keep it away, in the company of her friend, for all her grief and sorrow weighed less heavy upon her shoulders when they were together. She wished she had come sooner, felt the light from Dimitra's eyes shine upon her and warm her when she was in the very depths of her mourning. Perhaps, if she had, it would have lifted her spirit sooner. But there was no use in dwelling in the past when the present held such hope. 

The scissors' glint in the lamplight only made her smile grow. 

"Hair holds so many memories, Mimi. And my memories at present only serve to drag me down. I'm not so sure I can afford to be dragged down much further than I've already gone. Take all you need to - more if you so choose. Short hair is all the rage in the cities, you know? I should have brought the magazines, the ladies there do look so beautiful, and *All* Of them keep their curls bobbed, cropped even."

She sat up a little straighter, and made no effort to hide the excitement painted in her expression. 

"I trust you. With all my heart."

||
James
Dimitra knew all too well how hair held memories. It was why she only trimmed her own to keep the necessary upkeep; she liked to hold in all the memories she could. Even the bad ones. The bad ones were some of the most important, in her mind. They shaped her to be who she was today. But for others, she knew, shedding it was part of the healing. Not everyone could, or *Should*, just grin and bear it. Just as Marianne said; the memories only dragged her down. The sea of sorrows didn't need another handhold to drag her under the rippling tides; Marianne would *Not* Drown today. 

"You're going to be right in fashion!" Dimitra declared, and she took her hand in hers. She squeezed it, and then brought her hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles so gently; where one might see a motion like that as romantic, Dimitra's intention was far different. It was a promise; that she could always trust her. Always. 

"Come," She beckoned her to sit at the kitchen table, those shiny scissors in her hands. "Have a seat. I will work my magic and you'll be a brand new woman." The first thing to go was the giant knot in the back of her head. It held the most weight, and as it hit the floor, she could only imagine the amount of relief there was. "No turning back now," She said, giggling. "I could never pull off short hair, you know? I don't have the face for it. But Mari- you do. You have the perfect face for any hairstyle," She assured her with a beam as she came around to trim up her bangs.
Allen
Marianne had often wished, in her years since returning to Briar Ridge, that she could be a woman who cared little for being *Right in fashion*, as Dimitra put it. Alas, she had never quite been able to leave behind the ladies of Tennessee, with their hairsprayed up-dos and pretty dresses off the pages of the catalogues. Every party had merited a new outfit, a trip to the fabric store and the tailor and the jewellery counter, and so often when Ma had had the women come to socialise, Marianne's appearance had found itself the topic of conversation. They had lamented the colour of her bright hair in the same breath as complimenting its length and fullness, nit-picked at her height as they praised her for her thin waist, and all through her youth she had taken each of those comments right to heart.
It was only since leaving the city once and for all that she had come to care not for her looks. She no longer minded whether the folks in town thought her a good-looking woman - there were better things to be than beautiful. She could be kind, and generous, and a skilled gardener, and a baker, and a friend. All of those mattered more to her than *Pretty* Ever did. 

But Dimitra's gentle compliments went right to her heart anyway. Her cheeks flushed with a warmth she was unused to lately, and she looked up at her friend as she came around to her face, making no effort to hide her smile. "You're always so full of flattery," She scolded softly. "There's no wonder you get away with all that you do." She was trying not to laugh, though, wanting to keep still so the scissors didn't end up in a place they shouldn't be. She really did feel lighter already; not only had the heaviness of her hair fallen to the floor, but with it had fallen some of her sorrow. "I'm sure you could wear your hair however you wanted to and still have all the men charmed and falling at your feet. The women, too. You're a darling."

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James
"You think I get away with it all because of flattery?" She gasped, sounding quite scandalized, even though she was grinning. "Because you'd be right. That's how I get myself out of most trouble." She chuckled to herself as she snipped away at the tangles, before moving on to blend it all in and even it all out. "But you know, people are fond of me for lots of reasons, I think. I'd like to think I'm fun, I'm friendly. I'm beautiful..." She snickered. "And that last one - that gets you very far in life, doesn't it? It's almost disgusting - especially with men. But I'm lucky; Abel isn't that kind of man." She paused and cleared her throat as she began to trim up her hair some more. 

"I think if I cut my hair off, this town would just about crucify me." Dimitra laughed. "Don't you think?" She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder as demonstration. "The men *And* The women... Well, I like the sound of that." She picked up a hand mirror and fluffed Mari's hair out, giving her a little peek in the mirror. "How do you feel about this, then?" She asked with a beam. "I think you look adorable. Look at how it makes your face look so dramatic and angular - I could just kiss you myself," She cooed, giving her a big kiss on the cheek before she pulled back and scurried towards her bedroom door. 

"Let me dress you up like a little doll!" She called as she started rifling through her wardrobe.