The Renaissance Era

Frowning, Ethan examined Brit's hand. His thumb rubbed over the raised bump over and over again. It was the size of a pinhead. There was an obvious build up of skin beneath the surface. Bending, he observed it closer and felt his jaw set. "It doesn't hurt," lisped Brit. He acknowledged her words with a nod and reached for his dagger. With a steady hand, he shaved the offending blemish off and tossed the dead skin into the fire.

"A callous is unacceptable, Brit." Reaching for lotion, he rubbed it onto the fresh skin. "I do not wish for my wife to work so. There are others who can push mops." Brit protested that there was much to be done to prepare. Again, he acknowledged her, but his mind was made up. He did not wish for her to have work-hardened hands. "Work shall have to wait for tonight. We have an appointment."

The pair went to the bar where Ethan left her by the door to talk to a lady near the bar. After a few moments, the lady finished her drink and followed Ethan. They went down the street to where the beauty shop stood. Although in disarray, one station had obviously been somewhat maintained. Sliding Brit into the chair, both Ethan and the beautician discussed how to do her hair.

"That is not how it use to be, Ethan," said the beautician. "It was more poofed toward the front as it coming forward."

"Nonsense," said Ethan. "I remember it well." Both adjusted, teased and pulled Brit's hair. Ethan snatched his hand away once and glared at the beautician as if she slapped his hand. "Mind yourself," he growled but sat on the chair next to Brit's and held his hand. Silently, Ethan watched nodding or shaking his head as the beautician pulled all of Brit's tresses up and coifed it perfectly. Pin after pin was pushed into her hair. "What are you using?" said Ethan.

The beautician said, "Hairpins."

"You could use threads to secure the style. I think that mayhaps it would last longer. And it would be more accurate."

"NON!" exclaimed the lady. "Do not be so bold as to question. Threads are fine for when no one took the hair down for months." Brit owed softly as she pulled the hair up and pushed in another pin. The beautician continued, "Some of those ladies...by the time they removed their hairstyles, the hair was so matted we must cut it off and they wear wigs!" She pulled up another piece and said, "And once, a very regal baroness had a family of mice living in her hair. Not what we want now, hmm?"

Ethan folded his arm looking most amused as the beautician said, "Hairpins have been around since the 13th century. And Mme DeFortne' lost her head...but her hair stayed intact due to my hairpins!"

Chuckling, Ethan said dryly, "Now that is a fine endorsement for the humble hairpin."

"Oui!" The beautician worked quietly as Brit continued to peek in a mirror to see what she was doing to her hair. Finally, the lady stepped back and exclaimed, "Voila!"

Before giving Brit a mirror, Ethan stood to look over the fine hairstyle. "Ah, but the memories it brings." The beautician nodded and seemed to be caught in a few of her own. "Days of grace before the common riffraff declared casual dress the rule rather than the exception." Another nod of agreement. "You will powder it now?"

"You are, of course, joking, Ethan," replied the beautician. One glance told her he was not. "But that fashion....it does not transcend time as well as some others might!" He blinked at her. "Do you not remember? Powder sometimes smelled so stale. We tried to sweeten it with jasmine water...anything." Seeing Ethan's expression, the beautician said, "Very well." She gave Brit a cone to cover her face with and powder flew everywhere.

When Brit uncovered her face, the room looked foggy with powder. Ethan brushed off his jacket and the beautician was waving the air around her wildly. Brit looked in the mirror at her grey-white hair. "I hate it," muttered Ethan grimly.

"NON! I tried to warn you! And...and..." Ethan shrugged and the lady exclaimed a series of words as she pulled out the pins and started again. Ethan chuckled and said, "You do not mean such words." She gave him an annoyed look, but her mood started to brighten as she worked Brit's hair after washing all of the powder from it. When she finished, it was obvious the beautician and Ethan were pleased with the finished product.

Once Brit's hair was perfectly coiffed, they returned to the resting place. Ethan talked with her about the Renaissance era. Pulling out her make-up case, he took his time dragging the color-soaked brushes over her skin. He never like the lead on faces, but smiled as her natural color had a porcelain quality to it. Once completed, he sat back to enjoy the image she created.

Ethan spoke with Brit about the culture, fashion, and popular things to do at the time. Looking through the costumed gowns in the basement of the old theatre, he selected a dress for her to wear.

Turning her, he smiled. She would have been right at home in those days of grace. Brit asked, "So. Now what do we do now dressed like this?"

Ethan grinned. "What do you do? Well, now. You look pretty. I will show you how to dance a dance that was quite popular in its day. You make nice conversation, BUT you do not mop." He took Brit’s hand and led her through the basics of the dance.