16 April 2012
10pm, Monday
Stardust Theatre, Covent Garden, London

Long dishwater fringe covered Nemo's eyes, dusting and ticking her round nose. Her lips with the cleft-palette scar were in a wide smile. She was all lit up by the make-up mirror bulbs.

"I look like a sheep dog," she giggled and blew a puff of air up. Her hair floated away from her face then fell back again.

The orchestra rehearsal had gone long as always, and Nemo was lingering in the main dressing rooms with one of the costumier's young apprentices. Nemo played violin in the pit, but had come into curiosity about everything about backstage life. Now she finger-combed at the rest of her hair which was well past her shoulders now. She'd always kept it medium to long, and hadn't had it cut since she'd come to London over a year ago. The length could be fun, but lately she had begun to feel quite shaggy.

"You should show your eyes," Irina said in her Moscow accent. She draped her measuring tape over neck and, from behind Nemo, gently moved Nemo's bangs around. "they are very light and pretty."

"No, I'm growing out my bangs." Nemo said, having a second thought. "The rest is too long, though."

Irina released her and patted her on the head. "You would be much prettier," Irina insisted in that direct way she had. So used to it she was, evaluating others appearance and making adjustments. Nemo didn't let it show that the comment stung a bit. She liked to be mysterious. Slightly anonymous.

"Oh no, I'll never attract a husband," Nemo joked. "Whatever shall I do?"

He was making his evening rounds in the theatre, checking in with everyone to set the schedule straight for the next day. Edgar Carstairs did this every night - it was important to him to know what to expect. Would the Costumier be running late because their daughter was still in St.Mungo's? Was the understudy available to fill in tomorrow, just in case the lead's scratchy throat turned out to be more? Were the backstage hands happy to come in early?

And now, entering the dressing room, he nodded goodbye to one of the dancers on her way out. The cast shared the large dressing room - a haphazard space of many large mirrors, it reeked of stage make-up and that almost burnt scent that made itself obvious when too many people had casted glamour charms.

There were only a handful of people left, taking off their faces or throwing on their street clothes.

            "You would be much prettier," Irina was speaking from nearby a mirror that used to be Virgil's favourite corner.
   "Oh no, I'll never attract a husband," Nemo's voice quipped back. "Whatever shall I do?"

"Play Bridge, of course." Edgar replied as he approached them, a tired smile on his lined face. "With the little old ladies who take tea on Knockturn. What's all this?" he laughed at the way the hair fell in front of the little witch's face.

It was hard not to like Nemo. Angela was a touch critical of her and Yavin found her amusing. But Edgar thought Virgil's friend to be admirable. She seemed like she could spin magic out of nothing, from sheer want of it.

"You're a bit late to play Rapunzel," he crossed his arms, exchanging a look with Irina as he spoke to Nemo.

Nemo glanced over to see the distinct heterochromatic gaze of Stardust's faerie king. They knew each other now, from her role here as fiddler-in-the-hole, and through Virgil. Of all his family, Edgar was the one she liked most. She stood off from most adult men, but he was trustworthy enough as long as she didn't reveal him her true name. She smiled to herself at her little play.

Irina put her hands in Nemo's hair again to demonstrate to Edgar, and Nemo tolerated her firm fingers on her scalp, pleased at the attention. "She could be in Dickins like this," Irina said of her current look. Irina deftly gathered up all of Nemo's hair away from her round face, then allowed her bangs to be swept away to the side. "See how pretty?"

The look Irina offered to Nemo in the mirror was kind. She wanted the best for their little orphan, not accepting that Nemo was just fine thank you very much, and more years older than she looked.

Nemo looked at herself, still not exactly pleased with what looked to her like a 1980's cheerleader's high pony. All it needed was a scrunchie. Irina saw Nemo's smirk of distaste and released her once again. Nemo moved her hair back down over her shoulders how she liked it.

"I just want a trim. Shorter here, clean up the ends," Nemo explained the situation to Edgar.

He considered Irina's suggestion, easily imagining Nemo as something of a ragtag orphan child scampering through Victorian London. A production of Oliver! perhaps.

But that would be rather predictable - too similar to the little lady's presence, too much on the nose. Edgar drew closer and gestured to Nemo, in the mirror, that he was going to touch her hair. Theatre people were easy about touching and handling one another's bodies but he exercised caution when he wasn't directing; reminding himself and the people around him of unseen boundaries.

"I see," he used a hand to brush back the hair falling into her eyes on one side. "Growing out your bangs then, are you? Yes, that would be different. Might age you up a touch too."

Edgar moved fully behind her as Irina stepped aside and crossed her arms, watching. "I could do that if you like. No trouble," he brought his other hand forward to mirror the movement on the other side - sweeping Nemo's locks behind her ears briefly. "Used to cut hair for all my cast."

Her golden blondeness was so much like Virgil and Laidie's. She could easily pass for one of his own children; it was part of why he felt fond of her. A wayward child stolen from the crib and deposited across the pond.

"Adelaide used to have bangs." Edgar smiled to himself slightly. "When she was a little younger than you. Made her look rather severe," he fell into a thinking pause for a moment.

No, not a ragtag Oliver for Nemo, nor changeling. More of a smart looking street cat slipping through the gap in a door left ajar. "How about it?" he asked lightly. "Should I play hairdresser?"

Nemo sat up a little straighter in the chair as Edgar took over, unworried by his participation, preferring his sensibilities to Irina's. She listened a little enchanted as Edgar muttered above her, speaking about his past and Adelaide as a little girl and Nemo found herself pushing away a bit of jealousy, a mite of 'what-if'.

Then he offered.

"What? Really?" She hadn't sounded that American in awhile, blurting it out, bluntly. "Yeah. Sure."

She smiled big and sat forward to shed her jacket. The seventeen-year-old witch was illuminated by the unexpected offer of a miniature-adventure, of risk-free danger, of impulsive and unlikely connections. As often as she wanted to appear cool, it was hard to chill her excitement. Already, she couldn't wait to tell Abby and T[1] - they'd be eager audiences for the story. And Virgil who Nemo guessed would find the whole thing droll.

Irina chuckled and went to dutifully fetch her roll of haircutting tools for the maestro. When she'd return, she would lay the bundle on the counter and say good night, leaving the night owls to their work.

Nemo was settling into the chair now, fussing with her hair. She loathed a comb or brush, preferring her fingers for the job. She had fine-textured hair but a lot of it. Untended it could hang heavily. The ends were frayed from wind and hasty elastics.

1.	Abby Reid and Dido Tansi

He waited until little Nemo was done adjusting her hair, and then drew his wand as Irina took leave.

Edgar's beginnings had been humble when he left his family's fortunes to go into theatre - his first couple of years, while Angela was finishing her NEWTs, had been not unlike his son's current hectic schedule. Where had all the energy come from? He had helped sew costumes, cut hair, paint faces, accompany dances.

Now, drawing most of Nemo's golden locks up with a charm, he felt close to his past.

"I had my hair about this long when I left school," he took up a pair of silver scissors, snipping air first and then starting on the under-layer closest to the back of the neck. "Wore it in a ponytail. Angela was repulsed."

Snip snip. Strands of dry, split hairs drifting to the floorboards like the straws of Sleeping Beauty.

The wizard smiled to himself and glanced up at Nemo in the reflection. "She only agreed to marry me if I cut it, even shorter than how Virgil wears his now..." he trailed off into a rueful laugh. The respectability of the Carstairs had roped him back into Pureblood circles.

His hands moved quickly and almost on instinct, letting down layer upon layer to snip at. He used his fingers to smoothly pinch each down to measure against the shortest so that her cut was even.

"Have you always worn your hair long?" he asked, trying to imagine Nemo with a boy cut or similar.