Feb. 5th, 2012

haolehothead: (drunken tongue: by rockingraphix)
Danny has the distinct sensation that something is wrong. The smells are wrong, the air is wrong, and what was supposed to be a nice night in with Steve looks like he's managed to tear up the town in a way he hasn't done since -- well, ever. Carefully, slowly, he comes to and sees feathers, scissors, and the occasional tuft of hair, here and there. The sinking sensation that something's wrong only increases when he peers skywards and there's nothing but blue skies.

Also, he's not alone.

"Shit," he croaks, sitting up slowly and reaching for one of the feathers to give them a tug, praying that he hasn't gotten so insanely drunk on something that he's woken up with a damn chicken -- or an army of them. He reaches up to rub a hand through his hair, to grip it as he thinks, and that's when he realizes there isn't anything there.

That explains the scissors.

"What the hell happened and what moved into my head to take over?" Danny groans, clutching at his forehead as he tries to recover anything.
haolehothead: (at wit's end: by ?)
It's been one hell of a long day and a half. Danny's been retracing his steps for so long that he feels like this ought to have a case file, but he's found out just enough information to know that he'd acted like a real jackass the day before and somehow, he got the idea to chop the hell out of his hair. He's been left with a shaved head the likes he hasn't had since his early twenties and while it's not the end of the world, it's one of those things that he would've at least liked to do when he was aware he was doing it.

When he made sure Savannah was settled away, Danny headed back for the house, grabbing a bottle of wine from the Hub as he went, a blanket, and a bunch of cookies from the bakery, making a spot on the beach with the dog. He's watching the tide come in, trying to eat and drink away the day while he ignores the real regret -- a part of him, after all, just wanted to spend a quiet evening in with Steve, but somehow that never happened. He still doesn't even know how that's possible.

He rubs a hand over his head again, getting used to the lack of hair. It'll grow back brighter, bleached by the sun, and in about six weeks no less (given that it's mostly gel that does the trick). Until then, he's probably going to develop the bad habit of rubbing it, more than a little.

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Danny Williams

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