Autumn Madness

       It was really a pity that Emil’s brilliant, touching story for Sigrun wasn’t put to use, at least in its full version. He meant to say there was a chance to make three people happy with a single act of violence: Onni, through getting a new stylish haircut to attract women, getting laid, and coming out of depression; Lalli, through seeing his cousin happy; and Emil, through seeing Lalli content. Besides, that way, Lalli and Emil would be able to leave Onni unattended and move to Sweden—or even to Norway. But as soon as Emil mentioned knocking Onni out, Sigrun perked up, smiled like a maniac, and said she was in. And waved the rest of the story off. The older Hotakainen, she explained, was the reason why she had missed the summer hunt and got stuck in this gods-dropped swamp, so any cause to bash him was a good cause. And she brought Mikkel with her to ask Onni to come to a remote, solitary barn in the backyard of their inn. Onni looked nervous, but anyone would be triggered by Sigrun’s carnivorous grin. A little distracting trick, a swift blow, and the Finn collapsed in a heap at Mikkel’s feet. Judging by the raised eyebrow, the Dane was not informed of the operation details. With somewhat shaky patience, he asked if Sigrun and Emil were aware that this stunt qualified as a criminal offence, and moreover, once the mage came to senses, he might retaliate. Would they wish to be turned into frogs or plain scorched? Emil hadn’t thought that through and shivered, but Sigrun noted that it was too late to back out, and Mikkel’d better do what he was good at. No, that wasn't a translation into Icelandic; that meant carrying heavy objects. Stoic as ever, he carried the heavy object to the barn, seated him and bound him to a chair procured in advance, and stood guard while Emil did his own sort of magic. And Emil did. He brought different combs and scissors, a mirror, a razor, a white sheet, and a powerful lamp in case the daylight from the open barn doors was not enough. Sigrun held Onni’s head up and fast while Emil was cropping off the abhorrent mass of hair with artistic zeal. Still pitying his cover story, he related it to the assistants along the way but got only a dismissive look from Sigrun and a sceptical look from Mikkel. Gradually, Onni was appearing more and more like a civilised person. Just as gradually, Sigrun’s jokes about silly ways of making people happy ran short. "Odin’s sweaty pants," she gasped as Emil ruffled the remains of Onni’s fringe to see if it would settle down properly or still needed some trimming. "It really works! The Grump is sizzling hot!" Her gaze was fixed on her victim (and not only the face), her smile was wavering between carnivorous and sleazy. Emil blushed on the off chance that she meant something indecent and wasn’t just using strange Norwegian slang. "Hush, boys, the sleeping beauty is kinda going to wake up." She turned to the accomplices and shoved them to the exit. "If you’re so afraid of irked mages, you go and hide in the bush, and I’ll stay to make him feel better. You’ll see, tomorrow he'll say thank you for the mop chop. Now, move your feet, and don’t show up till evening!" Wow, that was really what he thought it was! Emil glanced back as Sigrun was dragging barn doors shut. His mood soared higher than the famous Norwegian mountains as he scuttled down the hill after Mikkel, as bidden. First, he saved his eyes and nerves and made Lalli’s cousin look decent. Second, Onni would not kill him for that later. Third, he did have a special talent, aside from mere good taste. And maybe Lalli, seeing his cousin benefit from the trimming, would admit that Emil wasn’t weird or stupid with his obsessi— ideas about others’ hairstyles. A laugh escaped him, and Emil hopped in joy and nearly crashed into Mikkel. He apologised, then did a double-take and felt an urge to apologise again, with more feeling this time. Mikkel was, well, not exactly depressed, but at the downcast end of his coolness. And wouldn’t he be? He and Sigrun grew really coupley since Silent Denmark, and now Sigrun was there with Hotakainen, and Mikkel was here alone, and it was Emil’s fault to some degree. "I... I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m pretty sure that good looks mean much for popularity, but not that much!" Mikkel snorted. Oops, he was really distressed. Emil sought in panic for something soothing to say as they walked to the village… okay, town centre. Then Mikkel sighed and looked into the skies. "Frankly speaking, I did not believe in the beneficial power of haircuts at all. Your very existence undermines your theory. You may appear proficient in fashion, but it does not seem to bring you success in romantic relationships. Even if you count Lalli —" "We’re just friends!" Emil protested, more to vent his frustration about the rest of the statement. As usual, Mikkel was ruthlessly right. Even with the skalds the day before... Emil might have thought he’d charmed them into helping him, but when out of sight, he had heard distinct snickers. "But then, one time, I did not believe in magic either. Now I am inclined to agree that there is some ground for your trust in style. Probably, you just cannot use your gift to your own benefit." Emil’s mood floated back. "It is also possible," Mikkel just couldn’t keep from adding a fly into the soup, "that Sigrun is merely highly susceptible to haircuts. After all, in the beginning, she did value you higher than your actual merits were. But, well, whatever the reasons behind the phenomenon we’ve witnessed today… What, in your opinion, would be the most becoming hairstyle for me?" Emil stopped in his tracks, pinched himself, checked his own pulse, counted to ten. The world stayed there, and Mikkel stayed there, earnest as ever—but wasn’t he always playing out his jokes with that poker face? On the other side, Emil couldn’t imagine what the trap could be. "Well, if you ask me," he started tentatively, "for a man with your face and your hair colour and structure… I have some ideas, and I can tell for sure that sideburns don’t belong there." Invigorated, Emil looked around for a suitable spot for a makeshift hairdressing salon. He still had the tools with him, after all. Except for the lamp, but daylight was good. Maybe he’d need curlers, but they were easy to make. "I guess we can’t go back to the inn right now," Emil uttered with full competence. "Let’s go to a grove behind the town hall. Later, we can visit the skalds there and test the effect."