Challenge 16: Transmission
Title: Transmission
Author: thirstyrobot
Words: 200
Genre: FPS
Characters/Pairing: Jones, Troll (Dan/Jones implied)
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: Not my property, alas.
Notes: For Challenge 16: All work and no play.
The girl with the Mott the Hoople cassette woven onto the front of her towering bouffant cheerfully pays her £300 and totters out on her wooden stilettos. Ilana throws her comb in the sink and mutters a string of Russian, which, thanks to what's now known as Fucking Geek Pie Week, Jones knows is to do with pig shit.
"The end," Wendy announces with a flourish of her quill. No more appointments. Jones winds down his records and starts packing up.
Troll holds up a can of Stella, a handful of tinting brushes, and a questioning eyebrow.
"Might not take," Jones says as he sinks into Troll's chair. "I ain't washed it in ages."
"I'll make it take. Usual?"
"Yeah, alright." Jones is glad that the rough tugs and twists on his hair are nothing like Dan's fingers idly combing through it last night.
"How's Ashcroft?" Troll asks as if he's heard the thought, which wouldn't be surprising. Jones feels like he's been broadcasting those memories and inklings and maybes, sweating them.
"Getting better." Maybe. "What're you, a fuckin' hairdresser now?"
"No, one just plays me on TV."
Yeah, and there's that broadcasting too.
"Cut it too, yeah?"
"How?"
"Off."