Today, Chernobog felt unusually quiet—at least in one particular corner of the hair salon named Verdant Sparks, that description held remarkably true.
The group sat in a row, casting wary, cautious glances toward the enormous puff of cotton-candy-like fluff resting atop FrostNova's head, and the deeply vengeful, soul-crushing glare radiating from beneath it.
"This is way beyond mere resentment! That's a full-blown declaration of autumn payback! Jeanne, please save us! If we go back looking like this, our lives are finished!"
An anonymous Yeti Squad member clung desperately to Jeanne's arm, refusing to let go while trembling beneath that freezing, unblinking stare. She could practically taste the unadulterated malice emanating from her beloved leader.
Unless they found a way out of this predicament, the squad leader was guaranteed to extract a horrific toll for the hair disaster she had just suffered.
Jeanne, however, sat rigidly frozen, staring straight ahead at FrostNova while twitching uncontrollably. The display convinced the surrounding Yeti Squad members that the situation was unsalvageable—it had driven poor Jeanne to the verge of a stress-induced breakdown.
In reality, Jeanne was exerting every ounce of her mental fortitude simply to keep from laughing out loud. If she broke now, FrostNova would permanently carve her name into that infamous ledger of grudges, ready to collect with interest at the earliest opportunity.
So she absolutely could not laugh, no matter how ticklish the humor felt bubbling up in her chest. The vibration frequency of her suppressed giggles simply made her bounce in place even faster.
She wasn't the only one. Alina, alongside Nine—who wasn't even intimately acquainted with the snow rabbit—were both biting their cheeks raw trying to suppress their mirth as they stared at the walking cloud of white fur.
"If you want to laugh, just go ahead. It's not like I'm going to hold a permanent grudge over something this ridiculous," FrostNova muttered, thoroughly exhausted after watching the trio struggle so valiantly against their own amusement.
The moment she gave verbal permission, a chorus of uncontrolled laughter erupted. Everyone in the vicinity cracked up at her wonderfully bizarre aesthetic, drawing curious turns from passersby along the street.
When those onlookers spotted the giant cotton candy resting atop the rabbit's head, paired with her utterly deadpan expression, interest in the boutique hair salon spiked exponentially. Countless people instantly resolved to drop by just to see what kind of mad genius of a stylist could engineer such a masterpiece.
"You Idiots... how do you expect me to walk back through camp like this?!" FrostNova snapped, glaring crossly at her subordinates as they trudged back toward their quarters.
"What are you still complaining about, Big Sis? We all went ahead and got matching styles just to keep you company!"
"Exactly, exactly! Honestly, it doesn't look half bad. Might be fun to switch things up like this every now and then."
"More importantly, Susie said her spell was unstable, so it won't last nearly as long as you'd think. Give it two or three days, Big Sis, and your glorious hair will bounce right back!"
The Yeti Squad members trotted along behind their leader, each sporting their own miniature version of the explosive halo, offering ingratiating, sycophantic smiles as if they were younger siblings desperately pacifying an enraged older sister.
Realizing they couldn't let their leader take the fall alone—lest she hunt them down one by one once the shock wore off—they had willingly marched back into the styling chair and requested the exact same treatment.
Fortunately, for the sake of combat mobility, most squad members kept their hair trimmed relatively short compared to FrostNova's long locks, meaning their results resembled tidy little cotton puffs rather than towering cumulus clouds.
"With that hairdo, you look like a massive storm cloud surrounded by a flock of stray cumulus fluffs. FrostNova, you are now a literal embodiment of a storm leader."
"Stop standing there making snarky commentary. At least my girls had the decency to share the pain with me—you haven't expressed an ounce of solidarity. Don't you feel like you ought to contribute?"
"A shame, really. I have zero desire for a style change. Besides, looking at your current reflection tells me exactly what I'd look like if I sat in that chair, and I'd rather pass."
Jeanne flatly rejected the prompt. As if she would fall for such transparent peer pressure and let her hair get blown out into a cloud!
If a short-haired snow rabbit turned into an electrified dandelion, Jeanne's thick braids, which reached all the way to her knees, would undoubtedly transform into something out of a disaster film. She didn't even want to picture it.
"I thought you were just scared. After all, a silhouette like this takes a very specific kind of confidence to pull off."
FrostNova adopted a deliberately grating, provocative tone, her twitching bunny ears betraying the wicked little plot spinning around in her head.
Would Jeanne actually submit to such a ridiculous trap over a petty taunt? Highly unlikely. Yet Jeanne fixed her with a knowing, been-there-seen-that smirk.
"I happen to think my current look is quite dashing. It's a novel life experience, you see—don't tell me you've lived this long without ever trying something radically out of character? How dreadfully sheltered of you..."
"Spare the psychology lectures. You aren't tricking me into your little trap with reverse psychology. Don't treat me like a gullible child!"
"I figured you practically were one. You willingly walked right into the salon, yet you chickened out of committing to the full aesthetic."
Alina, who had been quietly watching the banter from the sidelines, suddenly froze.
There was a minor detail the others didn't know: today's impromptu salon trip hadn't actually been Jeanne's idea—it had been suggested entirely by Alina herself. Should she perhaps feel a twinge of guilt?
Alina turned her head to cast a lingering, speculative glance back toward Verdant Sparks, a dangerous spark of temptation flashing in her eyes. Though she managed to squash the urge down instantly, the seed had already been planted.
"What's this? Feeling tempted to try your luck?" A voice murmured directly beside her ear. The sudden intrusion startled Alina so badly she hopped backward, colliding directly against two remarkably soft, resilient surfaces.
"Must you always sneak up on people like that?!" Recognizing Jeanne, Alina immediately reached out to pinch her cheeks, stretching the strategist's face into comical distortions.
Jeanne cast a desperate, pleading look toward the surrounding group, silently begging anyone to pull her away from her assailant's grip.
All she needed was a simple distraction—a stray remark to break Alina's focus—and she could slip away like an eel and vanish down the street, pretending she never heard the summons.
Yet not a single traitorous soul stepped in to help. They simply watched with unmasked amusement as Alina ruthlessly dragged Jeanne backward down the pavement, offering cheerful little wave-goodbyes.
Ten minutes later, two matching, highly explosive hairstyles emerged from the pink-eared Feline's establishment. Jeanne's voluminous golden mane, in particular, looked like an enraged golden lion caught in a high-voltage gale.
Glaring at her reflection—which bore a striking resemblance to a startled beast of prey—Jeanne shot a venomous side-eye toward the serene, unrepentant Elafia standing beside her. To think Alina had orchestrated this trap all along!
"Jeanne actually pulls this look off rather well, you know. I've always maintained that someone as striking as you should experiment with bolder stylistic horizons," Alina remarked with a deeply satisfied nod.
It was safe to assume that ever since FrostNova came out of the salon, Alina had been quietly scheming to drag Jeanne into the exact same predicament.
"Just wait until we get our hands on Talulah," Jeanne muttered darkly to herself while staring into the mirror at her puffed-out lion's mane. If she had to suffer this indignity, her close friend was definitely going down with her.
Far away in her administrative office, Talulah suddenly shivered, seized by an inexplicable, bone-deep chill. She had a distinct premonition that some nameless force was actively plotting terrible, unholy things against her.
That ominous premonition materialized the moment she stepped through her front door and laid eyes on the matching hairstyles worn by Jeanne and Alina.
Sensing immediate peril, the Draco spun on her heel and scrambled for the exit, desperate to flee the blast zone.
Regrettably, her tactical retreat was intercepted by a golden-maned lion and an enthusiastic Elafia. Jeanne clamped onto Talulah's torso while Alina grabbed her ankles, hauling her kicking and screaming into the living room.
Following a rigorous round of impassioned verbal persuasion, Talulah stood her ground with unbreakable conviction, swearing by her status as a faction leader that she would never, under any circumstances, subject her hair to such barbarism.
Respecting that unyielding executive veto, Jeanne and Alina finally relented.
With that chaotic episode concluded, the city settled back into its rhythmic routine. Yet beneath the surface calm, an undercurrent of vibrant energy continued to knit the Victorian refugees closer to the local community, helping everyone settle more comfortably into their new home.
That peaceful interlude persisted smoothly—right up until the day the expeditionary fleet from Rhodes Island finally returned to port.