Well, It's A Start
guy who finally finishes something almost 10 months deep into his gg hyperfix. (It's me. I'm the guy.)
Venom says that he only needed to pull his hair back but given the lack of eye + his little bangs I would imagine he at least had to cut some of it. I originally made a joke abt being the barber who had to watch him walk in but the image of him doing it himself made me sooooo. yeah.The hair needs to go.
He doesn’t need it anymore. There’s no longer a need to hide his face from the world, in fact, it’s probably more dangerous if he kept it. The white veil of hair and blue eye far too recognizable for anyone who knew anything about the guild.
The hair. Needs. To go.
So here he stands in the bathroom of the bakery’s living space, using one hand to hold a chunk of hair away from his face and a death grip on a pair of kitchen shears in the other. He’s elected to keep most of it, all that needs to be cut is anything that couldn’t comfortably be pulled back or contained part of the eye. It should be easy.
And yet he’s been standing there unmoving for what’s felt like hours. Doing nothing but stare at his own reflection and watching the look on his face slowly sour. It feels like he’s about to cut off a limb. It’s almost sad that a man who’s killed so many people can’t even cut his own hair. It’s pathetic. What would Lord Zato th-
Venom wires his eyes shut and cuts.
The shears clatter to the floor as he leans forward and uses his now free hand to grip the sink's rim, panting. His head is spinning, and he worries he might faint. He chastises himself for having such a childish reaction, that he’s lucky he didn’t stab himself when he dropped the scissors, but at least it’s done. He waits a moment to calm down before he finally takes one last deep breath and looks back up at the mirror.
It’s an ugly, blunt cut. He’ll have to fix it later, maybe go out and find some scissors actually made for cutting hair, but all he can do now is stare at his reflection. Venom can see his face. Shining eyes stare back at him as he runs a shaky hand over every detail of it as if it was a world unknown. Tracing a finger over an eyebrow, he thinks maybe one day he’ll let his hair grow brown again too. And in his other hand, laying limp, is the last thing he’ll ever kill.