WOLVIE'S BAD HAIR DAY part7
      
      Author: vangiekitty 


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own 'em.

Hey, all these characters belong to Marvel except Rodney who is based on a 
friend of mine. He's not a beautician, however, he's a CT/MRI tech and a very 
excellent one at that. He may not work at a salon, but
he will be more than happy to give beauty advice and be brutally honest about 
your 'do. You go girl! :)


WOLVIE'S BAD HAIR DAY part 7

At the salon, Rogue hustled Logan in at the side door and stood peering around 
through the 

crowd of people, mostly women having their hair done and the stylists working 
among them. At last

she appeared to see someone she knew. 

"Rodney, over here, Sugah!" she called. A slim, stylish blond man strolled over 
to them and

shook his finger at Rogue.

"Girl, what am I going to do with you? This is the 4th hair 911 this week!"

"I know, Rodney, honey, but this is the worst one yet!" confided Rogue. "We're 
in desperate 

need of your expertice. There's been a terrible accident and my friend here 
is..." she indicated Logan.

"Disfigured for life." said Logan glumly, finishing her sentence.

"Now, Sugah, don't go dipairin' like that!" pleaded Rogue. "Just put yaself in 
Rodney's capable

hands- he can fix *anything*."

Looking Logan up and down, Rodney said sweetly, "Yes, handsome, please *do* put 
yourself in my

hands. I promise you won't regret it." Aside to Rogue he stage whispered, "You 
didn't tell me he was so

*muscular*, girl!" Turning back to Logan, he continued briskly, "Now, let Rodney 
see the problem and 

we'll decide what to do from there." Logan was somewhat reluctant to remove his 
pink towel turban but the

stylist whisked it away saying firmly, "Now, honey, what Rodney can't see, 
Rodney can't fix." The towel at

last came off. "Oh my GOD!" Rodney cried on seeing the offending hair beneath. 
"What have you done to 

it? It sticks out in *points*! What kind of gel did you use to get this effect? 
But not to worry," he 

continued soothingly, "Rodney can fix. A little off the top, a *lot* off the 
sides..."

"It's not the cut, it's the *color*, Rodney, Sugah." said Rogue desperately as a 
menacing growl

built in Logan's throat.

"Oh really?" said Rodney, blankly. "But I kind of like that color on you- very 
bold, very dashing. 

Why, with a little trim, it could be Tres Manifique!"

"Oh no, not more French!" moaned Logan. "Everytime somebody speakes French, 
things go from

bad ta flamin' worse!"

"Well, after all, Honey, it *is* the language of love." purred Rodney. Putting a 
posseive hand on

Logan's heavily muscled bicepts, he drew the orange haired mutant to a waiting 
chair. Draping a baby-blue

plastic apron around Logan's neck, he began to pump up the beauty chair which 
creaked and groaned

in protest at the weight of his adamantium skelaton.

"Now," Rodney said, all buisness, "Since you don't seem to think orange suits 
you, (although I 

disagree- you're so obviously an autumn), what color are we looking for here? 
Maybe a nice auburn like

your friend Rogue here? I have just the kit to do it and you could even have 
some beautiful honey 

highlights put in..." As he spoke, he was massaging Logan's scalp and twirling 
tufts of orange hair around

his fingers. They were framed in the large mirror before them and Logan thought 
glumly about how he had

come to this point, sitting in a beauty salon on a perfectly good Sat. morning 
with this strange little man 

fondling his head instead of riding his harley down the freeway with the wind in 
his hair. His hair which was

now *orange*. Jubilee. That was how he'd gotten here. He glared at her in the 
mirror and she blanched 

and quickly dropped her eyes. After this was over, Logan promised himself, he 
was going to take Jubilee in

hand and teach her a lesson she'd never forget. He turned his attention back to 
Rodney just in time to hear

him say,

"A beautifull platinum blond, I think." His fingers were still burried in 
Logan's hair. "After all, 

that's what you were trying for in the first place, wasn't it? I can always tell 
when someone comes in with 

one of those cheap, do it yourself dye jobs, Honey! So, let's just finish the 
process, shall we?" And he 

turned away, presumably to get the heavy duty hair bleach and finish the process 
of turning Logan 

into a complete *freak*.

*SNICKT*!

Logan had had all he could take for one Saturday morning. Six razor sharp 
adamantium claws 

suddenly sprang out, shredding the cheap, blue plastic apron that covered him 
from neck to thighs.

"LOOK, BUB," he said testilly to the shocked hairdresser, "I'm already a mutant 
with an adamantium

skelaton who is possibly over a hundred years old with personality problems and 
no memory of my

past. I don't need ta look like flamin' Marilyn Monroe on top o' all that!" As 
quickly as they had appeared,

the claws were retracted. In a somewhat calmer tone, Logan added, "Just get it 
back ta my normal color, 

bub, *black*."

"*Well*," ( Rodney was never at a loss for words for long.) "Ease down, Big Boy! 
Black is a 

dreadfully boring color but I suppose I might as well give you what you want 
'cause I think you're gonna

be the last customer of the day." He gestured in the direction of the door where 
most of the salon's

customers were beating a hasty retreat.

"But Mrs. Strickland," one stylist was calling after a plump, fortyish woman 
whose hair was done 

up in what looked to Logan like little packets of aluminum foil. "That solution 
has to be rinsed out! Your

highlights will be much too light! You have to stay and let me finish."

"No, no! I'll take my chances, Mona!" cried the woman, rushing pink faced in the 
direction of the 

door. "I've got to go *right now*!" She cast a terrified glace at Logan. He 
glared back, in no mood to be 

polite and a little shriek escaped her as she ran out the door, pink plastic 
apron flapping behind her like an

absurd cape. 

Quite a few of the other customers were leaving too, all of them had witnessed 
Logan's little scene

since the salon was small and Logan's voice carried quite well.

"Did you see? That hairy little man had knives in his pockets!" whispered one 
customer to her 

friend as they hustled out, the curlers in her hair still dripping.

"Yes! And did you hear him say he was a hundred years old? He didn't look a day 
over 35 to me!"

"Uh-huh. And he said he wanted to look just like Marilyn Monroe!"

"Oh," her friend clicked her toungue dissaprovingly. "I think it's so sad whaen 
a man that's so 

hairy and masculine tries to look feminine. He'll never pull it off you know!"

"I *know*, but it's like they said on Jerry Springer, they feel they're a woman 
trapped in a man's 

body..." They were out to the parking lot by that time and mercifully out of 
range of Logan's super 

sensitive hearing. He sighed heavilly and looked up at the expectant Rodney.

"Sorry about the scene, but could ya just fix it bub?"

"Anything for you, handsome!" cooed Rodney, delighted to be back in controll of 
the situation. 

"Just lean back and let Rodney work his magic!" Logan obediantly closed his eyes 
and let the little

hairdresser work. Behind him, he heard Rogue and Jubilee sigh in unison with 
relief. The trouble was over,

at least for now. Jubilee in particular knew all this was her fault and had been 
imagining various dire

newspaper headlines such as..."Orange Haired Mutant Wreaks Havok at Local Salon, 
Claimes: I Want to be

Marilyn Monroe!" If only the stylist could put Logan's hair back to normal, 
everything *might* be ok.

But she knew from the look Logan had given her that she would have to pay for 
this incident one way or

the other and pay *big*. Suddenly a nice vacation to somewhere like Austrailia 
sounded good. She 

pondered her options as Logan submitted to a second, more expert round of 
scrubbing, soaking and setting.