| Nine - The Society, Michael and Gabriel
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| Gabi squirmed, kicking his feet and wishing with all his might that
his legs would suddenly be as long as Michael's, so that his feet could
touch the ground properly. It did him no good; his legs remained as short
and chubby as ever. At least by sitting on the front of the chair Gabi
could bend his knees properly, instead of sitting with his feet sticking
straight out in front of him like a little blond doll arranged on a dresser.
Gabi thought himself very clever for thinking of this. Michael hadn't
noticed. Or, if he had, he hadn't called attention to it. Instead he'd
simply tilted Gabi's head forward and gotten on with it.
Michael's hands were broad and square and made expressly for the handling of blades, and he wielded the long silver scissors as competently as he wielded his sword. The air around Gabriel's head was filled with the sharp sound of snipping, and every time the scissors snicked closed another long golden curl fell to the ground. Gabi, his head tilted forward, watched them fall, and squirmed. "Do I have to have my hair cut off?" he eventually asked, clutching at the knees of his pants. "Yes." Another snip, another curl falling. "Why?" "Because otherwise it will get in your way when you fight." Gabi squirmed again, and the scissors fell still until he was done. "I could tie it back..." he said, already knowing the answer. "That isn't good enough. The tie could break, or come undone." The scissors were cold against the back of Gabriel's neck as they slid along. "Can I have bangs, at least?" Gabi asked. "Yes, you may have bangs." Michael stepped around Gabriel, his own wings pulled back and out of the way, and his empty hand raked Gabi's curls straight forward over his eyes. Gabriel's world disappeared in a haze of blond. The scissors didn't lift immediately; instead Michael said, "Look, now. Can you see anything?" "Yes," Gabi said, stubbornly. "I can still see you through my hair. You're right there." One of his tiny hands groped out, smacking against Michael's stomach. "Yes?" Michael's hand shot past Gabi and grabbed the back of his chair. "Then stop me, if you can." He gave the chair a shove and it spun around in swift oiled circles, Gabriel clinging to it for all that he was worth, his bangs hanging in his eyes and obscuring most of his face, his wings flashing out in an attempt to slow him down. Abruptly Michael's hand thumped to Gabriel's chest, arresting him in mid-spin. Gabi's hands flew to block him just a moment too late, both hands clamping around Michael's wrist; looking down he saw the scissors held sideways in Michael's hand, the silver blades resting just over his heart. "That's why," Michael said, and he didn't sound triumphant or anything, he just sounded the same as always, like Michael, like duty. Gabi didn't say another word. He just closed his eyes behind the ragged remains of his curls and let Michael do the rest, trembling when the cold blades snicked straight across his forehead, above his eyebrows. When it was done and Michael produced a mirror, Gabi studied himself, the soft curly hair on the back of his neck clipped so close that it felt like lamb's wool, his curls still hanging down over his forehead in front, and then threw the mirror onto the floor, where it shattered. "It's ugly," he said, his voice trembling. "I hate it. I hate you!" And holding his wings tight against his body he stormed out of Michael's office, leaving his brother standing in the midst of the mess, golden curls and shattered mirror, with the twin blades still in his hand. |
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