Doing My Duty
Before we begin, I’d like to tell you a few things about myself. My name is Close Shave, and as you can probably guess, I’m a barber. I style and cut manes, as well as trimming beards, sideburns, and any other forms of face fuzz. I learned it from my father, who learned it from his, who learned it from his, who learned it from a unicorn passing by on a summer day. I specify him being a unicorn because I am an earth pony, as were all my forefathers, a fact that has led to many awkward conversations regarding my ability to handle a straight razor.
But in all my years of working, the worst shave I ever gave was when a customer requested I give him muttonchops and a long swirly mustache, and frankly that was on purpose. Nevertheless, I give closer shaves than most unicorn barbers are capable of. Something about gripping the handle with your tongue gives gently cutting the outcropping fur to an even length a more personal touch; I’ve had many say that they’ve never had a closer shave.
My skills are somewhat renowned and unknown at the same time; not many look for an earth pony barber, and those who come across me by accident often leave for that fact. Despite this, I’ve attained a noble position, the position of the royal hairdresser, or the “Head Honcho” as I like to say.
…Wipe that scowl off your face. That was funny and you know it.
Puns aside, I serve the princesses as an artist, and as a confident. Holding a razor in one’s mouth tends to limit conversation, but the princesses take the opportunity to tell me, well, everything. The tell me the trivial things, like who’s in love with who in the court, or which visiting diplomats were making a mule of themselves, but also the more personal things.
I can’t tell you what kind of things, of course. All ponies are entitled to their secrets, and I make no exceptions outside of my own.
Yesterday had been no exception, a session with the princess Luna, and in the course of it, she told me much. It was the usual things, but there was also something interesting, at least to me. I was brushing her mane, and she made a small offhoof comment; nothing spectacular, just her saying, “I wish that I did not have to deal with that Prince Blueblood fellow.”
I changed my pace slightly. In my years of practice, I’ve learned how differing speeds and pressures during my hobby can impart emotions, and as such I changed to prompt her to elaborate. She did, giving a deep sigh. “My sister partook of an affair a few decades before my return that yielded the foal, and he insists on being counted amongst royalty. Utterly preposterous, in my opinion.”
I began to towel off the princesses mane, somewhat marveling in how quickly the otherworldly air returned to it. She continued, even more relaxed. “It’s another bit of trouble for my sister and I, but we can’t exactly do anything about it. Tis truly a shame…”
I finished quickly afterwards, and checked my schedule out of curiosity. His name had sounded familiar, and there was a feeling deep in my gut that I had recently seen or heard that name. I found that there was an appointment for this Blueblood fellow later that same day; my last appointment for the day, a full mane washing and trimming, and a shave. Despite being alone, I allowed myself a slight nod.
The time came around, and he entered my little studio. My tools had been prepared, and I stood ready by my chair, waiting with a calm professionalism. His reaction came exactly as expected.
“Is the barber here?”
I chuckled, trotting over to my tools and grabbing the barber’s cape. His eyes went wide, and he visibly shuddered. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you are a barber?”
I shrugged off the insult. I had heard it thousands of times before, and I had long since learned to ignore it, and others of its kind. I simply gesture towards the chair, a slight nod to get him moving. He didn’t seem to pay attention, instead opting to continue commenting on my species. “Are you the barber’s assistant? I’d like to take care of my grooming quickly.”
I twitched involuntarily, an impulse from an insult that actually hit home. I didn’t mind him thinking I was an assistant, but to say he wished to be done quickly? Inexcusable. I scowled at him and reached under a nearby counter, grabbing an example.
A simple manikin head with a mane and stubble upon its chin was set upon a table near the closet. I picked up my scissors and began to work, trimming the mane quickly, but with as much care as I could manage. Within seconds he had a proper manecut, and I returned to my tools, gripping my straight razor.
My razor was something of a point of pride for me, the blade made from the metal of a fallen meteor that I happened upon as a young colt. As for the handle…
The handle was one of a kind, talonmade by griffon master craftsman from precious metals carefully worked to give it a beautiful appearance. An image of Discord was carefully worked into the side in pieces of precious ruby and garnet, the red creature beautifully shining in the light. I lifted it in my mouth, tongue wrapping around it, carefully unfolding the blade and savoring the taste of the handle. It was pure bliss, to hold such a precision tool in my muzzle, and I turned to the dummy.
The prince stood speechless as I shaved the manikin perfectly, with no nicks or cuts on the fabric that represented its skin. I wiped and checked the blade, still sharp enough to split a hair, and strong enough to cut a dragon’s scale. I set my beloved companion upon the tray I had retrieved him from, and gestured once more to the chair. He sat down without complaint.
I started by grabbing a bucket of crystal clear water and a bar of soap. I worked quickly for this part because as much as I love my hobby, I hate the taste of soap. My client was silent save for the occasional content sigh or surprised yelp from the water trickling down. My hooves began to work at rinsing the soap, and he finally began to speak.
“You don’t talk very much, do you sir?”
“My mouth is occupied most of the time sir. Feel free to let out some steam if you so choose, or simply to rant about your day.”
He fell silent once more, and I finished the rinse. As I took the scissors in my mouth he started to speak again. “I take it that you have many prestigious clients?”
I started measuring out his hair with my eyes, determining where to cut. I let out a small grunt to remind him that I couldn’t respond.
“Ah yes. I remember now. This is why I prefer unicorn barbers. A good chat during a trim certainly makes the time pass.”
Again he insulted my profession, and this time he doesn’t even attempt to sugar coat his insults against my very being. Despite this, I maintained a level head, still trimming gently. He continued speaking, and his words began to grate on my nerves.
“I’ll be honest; you seem to be doing a good job. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what one can accomplish with magic. Working with blades and such seem to be more suited to magic than mouths. And that cannot be sanitary.”
For a second, I was tempted to simply stab him the back of the neck with my shears, send him to his maker and mark it off as a loss. I decided against it; no sense letting a crude imbecile with no appreciation for my craft ruin a good job. I continued my work silently, not changing my pace in the slightest.
“Still, I’ll admit, you did come highly recommended. Is it true that you work with the princesses? Oh, wait, I forgot you couldn’t speak while you work.” He gave a chuckle, and I had to focus hard to keep from slipping up. I finished with the scissors, turning to the brush. I began to mold his damp hair into a presentable style, and he continued to speak.
“I must admit, you do seem to know your way around a brush. I just wish you didn’t have to come so close to me. Frankly, you have a slight odor.”
I tried to tune out his words, to simply ignore him, but years of listening to my clients and absorbing their every word was working against me. I kept working silently, focusing on fulfilling the task at hand. I finished the hair and set down the brush. It was time. I started to rub shaving cream on his face and moved in close. There was thin blonde stubble on his chin that matched his mane.
Satisfied that he was ready, I drew my steel and silver friend and got to work. I drew the blade across slowly, cutting the golden hairs at the exact spot they turned white.
“Ooh, that certainly feels close. Do be careful not to cut me, will you?”
Cut him? Cut him! To insult my talent and skill in such a way was beyond any other insult I had received! I had never slipped up in all my years of working, and for him to even imply that such a thing was possible…
I finished the shave, trimming the last of the outcropping fuzz from his chin.
“Are you finally finished? I do have things to do.”
That was it. The final straw. I had finished my hobby, and now it was time for my royal duty. I gripped the handle of my razor tight in my teeth, and with a quick jerk of my head, a ruby-colored spray burst across the room. Prince Blueblood fell from his chair, grasping at his throat with his hooves. He couldn’t scream, but he let out several loud gurgles before his eyes rolled back.
I wiped the blood from my faithful companion and began to clean the studio. I dirtied several towels to clean up the blood and set them to soak in a basin out of sight. I rinsed Blueblood’s coat, removing the dark crimson stains and restoring his fur to its brilliant shine before dragging out the crate.
The crate was a simple wooden box, long and tall enough to hold a sizable pony. I lowered the former prince in and shut the lid, pushing it back into the closet I removed it from. The prince would sit there for an hour at most, at which point the royal guard would “discover” that he had been assassinated by an escaped prisoner who just barely escaped.
It was the way things always worked. Everypony has their secrets, and I am no exception. I perform my art in silence, a master of beauty. But when I am called upon, I do my duty faithfully and efficiently. Ever since I entered their service, the princesses have called upon me for this grim duty, a duty I oblige without pity or remorse.
At this point, you most likely think me a monster, and I cannot deny that I most likely am a monster.
But at least I when I end a pony, I send them to their maker with a clean face and well trimmed mane.
Two for One
I will admit that in a few instances, either due to negligence or a desire for a challenge, I have had to work with two clients at once. It’s a bit nerve wracking and exciting at the same time, a truly unique experience. Of course, every time this happened it had simply been two clients. Yesterday, I had the unique thrill of having to work with a client and a victim.
I would need to kill a pony with a possible witness in the room. To say I was nervous would be a slight understatement; I was downright scared. I had never had to deal with witnesses before; when I took on my royal duty the princesses were careful to avoid such conflicts when setting up contracts, ensuring that I would have total privacy when dealing with whatever unsavory element they had sent me.
Nevertheless, I prepared my tools, honing the edges to nigh perfection. I checked over the names on the list as I worked, preparing my nerves. First of the two was the name “Fancy Pants,” whose name I recognized as belonging to a famous and wealthy philanthropist within the Canterlot community. His name was written in normal black ink, and listed that he was coming for a shave only.
The next name was written in black ink, but it was obvious it had been watered down before it was used. Golden Treasure, a mare looking for a haircut. I went to my desk and looked through the papers there. Most were simply normal documents for one of my profession, though at the bottom of the pile, snuck in through magic, was a simple manila envelope. Inside was a dossier of the mare in question, along with a criminal record and some headlines.
Apparently she was the wife to somepony named “Filthy Rich,” a successful businessman who, despite his massive wealth, had managed to maintain an air of sophistication. His wife, on the other hand, acted like a complete mule. She had been arrested several times for being drunk and disorderly, and when she was sober was often seen as being an arrogant and egotistical mule.
This didn’t explain why the princesses wanted me to take her out. I made a mental note to inquire about it before I did her in as the bell on my doorframe alerted me to somepony entering. I turned to spot a white stallion with a blue mane and mustache, as well as hints of a beard growing in. He wore a very impressive suit and a monocle, and even the way he spoke showed that his name wasn’t far off from his personality.
“Good day sir. I take it you are the barber?”
I nodded. It was a bit surprising that he hadn’t assumed I was an assistant, and as I sat him down in his chair, he seemed incredibly at ease with the situation. I grabbed the cape and draped it around his front just as the door opened again, this time slamming open to reveal a unicorn with golden fur and a silver mane.
“Alrighty, let’s get this over with. I have an appointment in two hours, and I need to get to it early.”
I visibly twitched. Impatience, especially when it came to matters such as my passion, was a trigger for me. Before I could say anything else, she looked me dead in the eyes and scoffed. “Excuse me, but where is the barber? I need to get this over with, but I refuse to be worked upon by an amateur.”
I kept as good a poker face as I could manage, but I felt my teeth grinding, and my eye had begun to twitch more and more. I prepared to say something when Fancy Pants spoke up.
“Madame, I assure you that the pony before you is indeed the barber you seek. I daresay that he is the best barber in Canterlot, and the princesses themselves cry out praises of his name to the heavens.”
I was more than a bit surprised. I was so used to ponies, especially unicorns, being worried and paranoid during their first visit to my salon, but here was a gentlecolt not only accepting my trade but defending my very honor. I blushed slightly from the praise he gave to me.
“I don’t care if he’s shaved an Ursa Major, I’m not sure I trust an earth pony barber.”
I sighed in unison with Fancy, and Golden Treasure seated herself in an available seat. I begrudgingly wrapped a cape around her and went to my tools.
“If you don’t mind, good sir, I’d appreciate it if you could take care of her first. I have a spell that should render me dormant until you’ve finished with her ‘treatment,’ my good man.”
I caught the change in pitch as he said treatment, but I shrugged it off. He was, in essence, offering me a window to accomplish my task without worry, and I gladly accepted. His horn glowed gently, and his eyes shut slowly. Within a minute I was prepared to deal with the mare and he was snoring with a sophisticated air, something that impressed me greatly. I started with the usual, washing the mane carefully, this time around using a special soap with a sort of bliss-inducing potion mixed in, but Mrs. Treasure complained and squawked loudly as I worked.
“Gah! That water is too hot! Watch yourself, my husband could run you out of business! You’re pulling on my hair you buffoon! Pay more attention to what you’re doing. Aaaaugh! That water’s freezing! Are you trying to give me pneumonia?”
She complained loudly, and with each passing second I found myself hating her more and more. As I rinsed her hair my mouth was free, so I did something I wasn’t used to in the slightest.
I talked to her.
“I’ve heard that you’re somewhat unpopular ma’am.”
She jerked around, attempting to glare at me but accomplishing little, save for disturbing my concentration slightly. She grunted like a wild boar and began to rant. “I suppose you’ve been dabbling in those two-bit tabloids you find at supermarkets, haven’t you? Yes, I’ve made some seemingly unpopular decisions, but I assure you that many have prospered from what I’ve done.”
“Does that include jail-time ma’am?”
She once again turned to try and glare at me, but righted herself and let out a deep growl. “It’s true that I have found myself on the wrong side of the law on occasion, but in all honesty I had done nothing wrong. So I was responsible for that family, that didn’t mean the guards had the right to try and arrest me.”
That confused me. I hadn’t read anything about a family. “What family ma’am?”
She groaned, holding it long and irritating me endlessly. “Can you not read? Or are you just stupid by the standards of a Canterlot pony?”
That had been completely uncalled, but I kept my anger in check. I had finished the washing and started to trim her hair, working calmly despite my frayed nerves. She sighed and kept talking.
“Honestly, it’s not even that significant, but frankly I am an important pony and because of that the story got blown out of proportion. Their land was technically the property of my husband, and they had been using it for rock farming. Can you believe it? Rock farming! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”
Rock farming was actually a fairly well respected profession amongst earth ponies were I came from, with their innate powers allowing them to change and work the insides of rocks as they rolled them, allowing them to grow large crystals. Unfortunately, few ponies bothered to learn the details and assumed that they simply spent their days flipping rocks.
“Anyways, the fools were wasting valuable land, so I set out to evict them. They paid their rent on time, but their whole business was a waste of time.”
I couldn’t see why that would warrant a guard action unless she had gone to illegal means to acquire the property, but I also questioned why she even desired the land in the first place.
“Of course, they were quite stubborn. Refused to move, and even threatened me. I responded to their threats with self defense.” She seemed to be reveling in her words at this point, enjoying her own speech. The soap had definitely kicked in full blast. “I used a rather potent spell against the head of the household. Apparently he broke a few ribs.” She chuckled slightly, and my blood continued to boil. “Of course, what happened to that filly was unfortunate…”
I stopped cold. I pulled back and set my scissors on the tray, and with my mouth free I sought to quell my suspicions.
“What happened to the filly?”
She laughed loudly, the kind of laugh a sophisticated pony uses to mock the common folk. “She was caught in the blast of the spell. Got knocked into the cottage, and apparently broke her leg. A pity really, and far more trouble than it had been worth.” I gripped my razor, my friend and ally, tight between my teeth, the star metal blade folded out. I spoke through my teeth, submitting a simple question.
“Why did you do all that?”
She was quiet for a moment, before her horn glowed and her chair turned about to face me.
“Well, all wealthy ponies need a nice summer home. And it was such beautiful land…”
What happened next was a blur to me; my vision went red and I lashed out. I heard the makings of a scream, but the cry never came. When I finally returned to my normal self, I found that I had caused far more damage than I was used to.
I began to worry. Fancy Pants was still sleeping, but in my fury I made an immense mess that I now would have to rush to clean up.
I started with the obvious task of disposing of the body by shoving it into the crate. I didn’t have time to clean it off like normal, and when I first tried to move it I realized that I hadn’t exactly left her in one piece. I crammed Golden Treasure into the crate in the closet and moved on to dealing with the blood. I covered the seat with a black barber’s cape and began to wipe the blood from the surroundings.
I tossed the rags into the closet on top of the crate and finally began to clean myself when I heard him begin to stir. I turned around while taking a quick glance around the room, making sure no evidence was left. My eyes fell upon my trusty razor, my dearest friend, and I realized I had yet to wipe the blood off.
I panicked and lunged for it. It was obvious I only had seconds left, so solved the issue in the fastest way possible. Fancy Pants awoke and turned around to catch me wrapping my tongue around my razor, freshly shining with saliva. An awkward silence pervaded the atmosphere. I was silent. So was he. Finally, I spoke.
“Let us never speak of this again.”
“Agreed good sir.”
The life of a royal assassin forces one to act quickly, and rumors circulate quickly in Canterlot. For the next few weeks every client I had requested that I hoof-wash my razor before I used it. Amazing how much one’s reputation can fall from a simple slip of the tongue.
… Don’t give me that look. That was funny.
