Chapter One - Bel's Hair Cut (Squalo's PoV)

It was time for Bel to get his hair cut. When I'd joined the Varia, I'd been told about the interesting people I would be able to kill, the new places I would see, the strong opponents to fight, new sword styles to learn. No one had mentioned the babysitting. With the Boss out of action (and that burned every time I thought about it, so I didn't think about it much. It didn't keep me up at night, or make my breath catch at random moments) I was in charge. That meant paperwork, mission requests, and all the other stuff I had expected to come with the position. I hadn't realised that it also meant listening to Lussuria bitch about his newest boyfriend and making sure that Bel ate his vegetables. Because somehow, I'd become a parental figure to the most messed up child in existence. Why was this my life?

I had to make sure Bel was educated – which generally meant searching through the Varia for someone with the appropriate knowledge or skill, and praying that Bel didn't kill them for being wrong, or boring. It was a way to thin the herd, and surviving a lesson with Bel had become something of a rite of passage.

I had to make sure that Bel ate properly, and the brat was almost as fussy as Boss. I had to try and make sure that his entertainment was all age appropriate. Giving Bel the Talk had to be the most excruciating half-hour of my life. I had only done it because Bel had threatened to ask Lussuria if I didn't explain why the girl was screaming like that if there was no blood involved. I had then spent a wonderful four hours teaching Levi why he shouldn't leave his porn lying around.

And now, the hardest task of all. Bel did not like having his hair cut. He was terrified of someone seeing his eyes (which had led to the deaths of three hairdressers). He didn't like someone having scissors near his neck (which we all understood, and was why the Varia always visited the hair dresser in groups.) He didn't think that any of the peasants were worthy of cutting the Prince's hair in the first place. But it had almost reached his mouth, and I was tired of hearing him bitch about it. None of us had any skills in hair dressing, and the one time Bel had tried to do it himself, he had managed to cut himself with one of his knives. I wasn't willing to sacrifice sixteen Varia members (and face the damn paperwork) every time Bel needed a trim, so we were taking it to a professional.

Lussuria had made the appointment without telling the receptionist who was coming. The last time we had made that mistake, the salon had closed down before their appointment. Lussuria had hunted down the hair dressers to make an example, but Bel still didn't get a haircut.

Bel had been whining the whole car ride, and combined with Lussuria's trilling, I had one hell of a headache by the time they pulled up to the salon. I turned to talk to Bel before I unlocked the car.

"Voi! Behave. No knives, no tantrums. We go in, get your hair cut, and leave. I don't need any blood today, got it?"

"I don't have to do what you say." Dear God, the brat was pouting. Had he learned about teen rebellion from trashy American movies?

"If you can't manage this, brat, then we'll go home and I'll let Lussuria cut your hair." Bel looked disturbed at Lussuria's exclamation of glee. I didn't blame him.

"What will the Prince get if he cooperates?"

He was obviously genuinely upset instead of just complaining. The third person only came out when something was really bothering him, so I relented.

"I'll let you watch the Saw movies this evening. We can marathon them." Bel had been wanting to watch them since they came out. The responsible-adult side of me had refused him. But that part had never been very loud, and it wasn't like they could make him more disturbed and bloodthirsty than the little freak already was. They were more likely to give him wet dreams than nightmares.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the car door (riding with Bel made child locks a necessity), and led my little band into the salon. Mission – get Bel's haircut. First obstacle – receptionist. As I turned to the girl and gave her my least terrifying smile (that still made her go pale), I saw two men vanishing into the back room. If they were planning on a quickie while there were customers waiting, I might have to kill them for sheer unprofessionalism.

As the woman fluttered and sputtered and was generally useless, I felt my hand twitching for a sword. I had told Bel not to kill anyone, which meant I wasn't allowed to either, but I'd be damned if I wasn't tempted.

"Voi! Where the hell is the hairdresser then!" I was hanging onto my patience by a thread when one of the two back-room-boys came towards us with a smile. Black hair, green eyes, five foot five, this would be Harry Evans. Born in England, raised by his Aunt and Uncle, attended a private school, took a course in hair dressing and moved to Italy three months ago, hired by this salon almost immediately. I ran through the key points in my head automatically. Running a background check on someone holding a sharp object near your neck was just common sense.

Evans had obviously come to rescue the useless receptionist, as he told her to leave, talking to her like you would to a skittish animal. Or like a normal person would to a skittish animal. None of the Varia were very good at the 'calm, soothing voice' thing.

As he turned to look at us with a bright smile on his face, I fought the urge to slice him up. Who the hell smiles at assassins?

"The princess needs a haircut. Can you handle that, scum?" See how nice I was, giving the man a chance to back away.

Bel immediately chimed in. "The prince does not need a haircut." Third person again. Crap. All this time wasting had let his nerves build back up. If the hairdresser wasn't careful, we'd be scraping his bloody remains off the floor by the end of the day. Cleaning up after Bel's hits was always a nightmare.

To my shock, the smile didn't drop as Evans led us over to the sofas. He asked the other back-room-boy to close the salon on his way out. Was he just trying to help his friend? His attitude was more of a leader evacuating his people from a danger zone. His background check hadn't shown anything that would lead to that kind of response.

"My name is Harry," he started. I cut him off. We knew this already, and with Bel so wound up, we had a limited time frame to get this done.

Evan's didn't take offence, which was rare. The man was getting more and more interesting. I was even more stunned when he asked Bel what he would like directly. Most civilians only saw Bel's age, and talked over his head. Most civilians didn't have a very long life expectancy around Prince the Ripper.

Bel insisted that he didn't want a haircut. Distress or not, I was tempted to take the brat over my knee. Did he think that we wanted to be here either? Isure as hell wasn't dragging him here for fun. The only good thing so far had been that Luss kept his mouth shut.

Of course I spoke too soon. My headache burst back into life as he started cooing at the brat, as though that had ever encouraged him to do anything except the opposite of what he was asked.

And of course the brat had to start throwing a tantrum. A Varia Quality assassin he may be, but he picks the most inconvenient times to act like the twelve year old he is. Damn spoilt brat.

Either the hair dresser had the biggest balls known to man, or he was an idiot with no self-preservation instincts at all, because he completely ignored Bel's little tantrum. He sounded confident that he could cut Bel's hair without seeing his eyes. I wondered if he would have been so confident if he knew that his life depended on it.

He looked a little like a deer in headlights as we stared at him. Most civilians would have run away screaming. Could we have finally found a Varia Quality hair dresser? Lussuria looked eager. If he did a good job of actually cutting hair, I didn't put it past him to kidnap the poor man. I wasn't sure that I would discourage him either. It would save having to drag Bel into town every time he needed a trim.

"I can trim your bangs just enough to even them, so they're still well below eye level. I can thin the hair to make it easier for you to see, or I can leave it, whichever you prefer. And I can add some layers and texture to the rest of your hair, so it looks more stylishly messy. Will that work for you?"

Evans still sounded professional. His voice didn't show any of the startled-bunny that was in his eyes. If Luss didn't kidnap him for his bedroom, I might have to, just to figure out what he was hiding. His background was obviously as fake as mine was.

Bel had obviously found his new best friend, if his smiling and giggling was anything to go by. Years of experience had taught me how to tell the difference between his various creepy grins, and that was a happy, friendly one. The poor hair dresser was never going to escape the Varia now.

That was, if he made it through the day. He dodged the knife Bel threw like a professional (who did the background check? They obviously needed to be killed for sheer incompetence) and didn't run screaming for the door. I felt like an idiot. Why had I not predicted that Bel might react badly to being told to take the damn tiara off?

I was not expecting Evans to glare at Bel. "Prince Bel. You will put those away and you will take your crown off now. You are far too old to be throwing tantrums like this, and I won't have such immature unprincely behaviour in my salon." I only realised that I had whispered "Voi," when Luss nudged me in the ribs, hard enough to bruise. I was in awe, and maybe a little bit in love. This man had balls of steel. The hair dresser knew exactly which buttons to push. Who had taught him to read people like that? This man was as much a civilian as I was.

And Bel listened. He took the damn crown off and sat down. Not even I could make Bel do that. Not even the Boss could have, some days. And this tiny little thing had done it without a weapon. Once he was kidnapped, I was stealing him from Lussuria and making him Bel's babysitter. I didn't think the prince would object.

I just sat in silence and watched the man work. He was quick and professional, making sure that Bel's hair was always covering his eyes and not trying any of that 'friendly conversation' that hair dressers like and had been the cause of more unpaid Varia assassinations than insulting the crazy prince. His movements were quick and precise. I wondered what he would look like with a sword in his hand. All that restrained power was wasted on scissors.

Lussuria started his twittering, but I was focussed enough on Evans to tune him out. He was finished quickly, and the brat's hair didn't look bad. At least, he seemed to like it, given the way he was flipping it in the mirror like a model for a damn commercial. After giving Luss enough time to pay the man and make whatever excuses for our behaviour he needed to, I dragged Bel out the door. I needed to do more research on Harry Evans.

This story is a continuation of chapter ten of 'How Harry Became'. A reviewer suggested that I write that chapter from Squalo's point of view, and it grew. Let me know if you like it!