#let’s u into my mind palace aka the apartment that cissie anita and greta all share when they’re college aged

[cowboyboygirl]

7 for stephcass or anitacissie if you’re up for it🤲

woe. anitacissie be upon ye (and tysm for the prompt :])

7 | “Can I do your hair?”

Rain patters gently against the window as Cissie flips her way through a magazine. Trash gossip has always been a bit of a guilty pleasure, a bad habit only made worse after she actually co-starred with some of the people they gossip about. She's nosy, sue her; she finds comfort in the fact that her friends are exceptionally noisier.

Across the room, a comb clatters to the ground. Cissie looks up at Anita, whose face is twisted up into a grimace.

She hisses, shaking out her hand, which is currently in one of those as-seen-on-tv compression gloves. “Ow, shit.”

“You alright?” Cissie asks, moving over to pick up the comb. “I didn’t wanna say anything, but you’ve seemed sort of… jittery.”

Anita takes it, sets it down beside her folded leg. Cissie follows the movement of her hand as she rolls her wrist in slow circles. “I’m fine; my hand’s just been acting up. They do not tell you about what sword-wielding does to your wrists.”

“Ugh, I get you. my hands lock up at the weirdest times.” Absentmindedly, she takes Anita's hands into hers, trying to knead the tension out of them. “Would Miss Mazi be able to get them out for you?”

Anita clicks her tongue. “Nah. She prefers when I do it beforehand. Plus, I love and appreciate Miss Mazi so, so much but them prices… eugh. I'd also prefer to just do it at home.”

Cissie nods. “Oh, totally fair. And when’s the appointment?”

Dropping her head into her hands, Anita sighs. “��At seven.”

“‘Nita, it’s four.”

“I know.” She flops down on the couch, chews at her lower lip. “I might just have to bite the bullet and pay. Man, I wanted to eat at that one place tomorrow too.”

“I could do it,” Cissie blurts, “Your hair, I mean.”

Slowly, Anita sits up, her gaze skeptical. “Do you even know how?”

Cissie tosses her own braid over shoulder. “I can braid! I do it, like, every morning.” She motions to the hair for emphasis. “Taking out smaller ones can’t be that hard.”

“Hm.” She muses, then hands Cissie the comb. “Prove it.”

Admittedly, she didn’t really expect Anita to say yes. She’s done Cissie’s hair plenty, but never the other way around. Anita has always been very particular about her hair, especially after her dad couldn’t do it anymore due to quite literally being a baby. Not even Maas was allowed to touch it. Miss Mazi, who runs a saloon a block away from their apartment, is a very recent development that baffled both her and Greta.

Cissie blinks, dumbfounded. Thankfully, her body catches up before her brain does; she takes a braid into her grip and pulls the knots at the bottom. She repeats the movement, working her way up until it’s been completely unraveled. “Is that to your liking, your royal highness?”

Anita inspects her handiwork, twirls the loose curls around her finger. “It’s up to par, I suppose.” Suddenly, she plops down onto the floor, sitting criss-cross on a pillow she pulled with her. “You may continue.”

Cissie rolls her eyes, smiling to herself, and continues her work. “Well, if I’m doing your hair that means we’re not watching the same episode of Xena—“

“But, it’s such a good episode! You hater!” Anita exclaims.

“As the hairdresser, I get to pick the entertainment. We may watch Sailor Moon. As compromise.” Every time she’s tried watching it before she zones out or has to do something else, and is genuinely invested. At least, invested in what she thinks the plot is.

“That I can get behind. You actually gonna pay attention this time?” Anita teases, flipping through the channels.

“Yes. Probably. Maybe. Yes.”

Anita looks up at her, bats her eyelashes. “And I most definitely believe you,” is the last thing she says before getting swatted with a throw pillow.