I’ve been growing out my hair for about 2 and a half years and I’ve never gotten a trim. This is my first time ever growing out my hair so I think there’s a lot of breakage I need to cut. Should I do the trim myself or should I go to a salon?

hello everyone, especially women of hyderabad, i have long but weak hair and would like to get it coloured in secunderabad.
Does anybody have any recommendations from personal experience? Willing to travel until HiTec city also if worth it.

I really appreciate your advice for this. I have a close friend who has been always very judgemental, such as criticizing how I look or how I spend money. We know each other for 10 years. I consider herself as one of my close friends. I consider around 5 girls in my life are close friends who I often meet and travel with, and they helped me when I was depressed and had difficulties.
In terms of criticizing me…For example, one time I went to a hair salon and spent $70, and she said I was wasting money (though I only had my haircut every 8-12 months; and I had a decent income). We also have very different values. She is more conservative while I am more liberal, so political topics are off the table. The reason we maintained good friends over the past 10 years is because we both love travels, so we traveled together a few times before, and we often talked about travels. When she was diagnosed with cancer last year, I was very sad because it is very difficult to have a good friend. However, I gradually found she becomes so much meaner and even more judgemental after she gets sick. I still want to be a supportive friend. However, it become harder and harder to chat with her since now she is not traveling and we have almost nothing to talk about. Currently, she still has “okay” energy that she can go for a small hike or small biking trip, but she is weaker than before due to chemotherapy.
I also can't share my worries with her anymore because she is struggling with her treatment. She also starts criticizing me more. Just yesterday, she criticized that I should not buy takeout food because I am wasting money (it was only $15). She used to earn around 120k/year before getting on sick leave, so I am not sure why she would do this all the time. Occasionally, I shared some of issues at my work, and she showed no empathy at all. I understand that she is now in difficult time, so it’s okay. But I feel it’s difficult to maintain this friendship, and I would like to have some guidance because I still want to be supportive.
Note: We met each other about once a month (for ski, canoe or hike weekend trips) before she got sick, and now I tried to visit her every two months (we are 1.5 hour driving apart). We talked on the phone once a month.
TLDR; My friend and I are friends for 10 years. She became meaner and much more judgemental after she was diagnosed with cancer last year. We also have less topic to chat with. I want to maintain friendship and want some suggestions.

Anywhere decent I could walk in and get a women's haircut? Price doesn't matter. Preferably near Soho.

Fourth and final part; back to the usual post schedule from tomorrow.
Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Twelve - The Blacksmith's Boy (Part Four)
​
‘Should’ve listened, stray.’
The first blow caught Cal across the cheek, whipping his head back with a crack. Light exploded around the edges of his eyes, and his vi-sion spun. The second took him under the chin, hard as a hammer, and his legs vanished from under him. His world tumbled into a crash of scattered chairs and tables, and half-empty mugs went clattering across the floor, throwing foam into the smoky air like sea-spray.
‘Shit-’
‘Watch it, runt-’
‘By the Makers, what are you-’
The other villagers were surging to their feet, roused from their bickering, but not fast enough. Cal somehow managed to regain his feet in time to find Petr advancing on him, fists bunched and face like thun-der. Behind him, Carel was clawing at his arms, trying to hold him back, but he shrugged her off, then swatted Lokk to one side as the slender innkeep’s son tried to bar his path, sending him skittering into a row of chairs. Cal’s head was spinning, and his eyes blurred.
‘I’m not done with you, you little shit.’ Petr growled, closing the ground between them with big angry strides. Cal swayed, dazed. His body was on fire. He couldn’t move. The youth’s heavy fist slammed into his gut, and he doubled over, air rushing out of his chest in a choked gasp. Someone managed to get between them then. Three someones, hauling Petr back. Cal crumpled to his knees, retching emp-tily onto the ale-splattered floor.
‘That’s enough, boy!’
‘Cunt had it coming-’
‘Enough, Petr! He’s ‘ad enough.’
Cal blinked up at them groggily, spittle trailing from his aching mouth. Forley and Godry had Petr by one arm, the miners by the other, struggling to hold him back. Albin hadn’t moved. He was sitting by the fire where he had been, a crooked smile on his lips. Cal squinted, eyes reeling, mouth full of bile.
‘The fuck is going on?’
The Innkeep was standing by the bar, a fresh cask under one arm, rosy cheeks suddenly hard. Petr stopped struggling, shrugging himself out of the patrons’ grasp.
‘Little cunt tried to hit me.’ He told the Innkeep with a snort. He jabbed a finger at Cal where he knelt on the floor, gasping mutely for air. Lokk appeared at his side, helping him unsteadily to his feet. The slender youth was looking a little shaken, and there was a small, red cut at his brow. ‘Had it coming!’
Cal’s breath was coming back, and the room around him was steady-ing. He saw Carel standing a little back from them, hair scattered mess-ily over her wet cheeks. As he looked, she caught his eye for a moment, then looked away, face hidden in the shadows of her sandy hair. The pail of water was on its side nearby, steaming as its contents spread slowly across the sopping floor.
‘I don’t give a damn if he bedded your mother!’ The Innkeep re-plied. He took one look at Carel and set down the cask on the bar, step-ping in close enough for the big youth to smell the pipe-smoke on his breath. ‘There’ll be no fighting, in my inn.’
Petr flinched in spite of himself, taking half a step back.
‘Boy’s right, Goran.’ Albin added, scowling. ‘Saw the whole thing. Little runt started-’
‘That’s enough!’ The Innkeep cut him short, turning an angry eye on the butcher. ‘Unless you want to tell the blacksmith whose son’s been beating his hand?’
Albin hesitated at that, and his ruddy cheeks lost a little of their col-our.
‘Thought not.’ The Innkeep went on. ‘Now, get out. And take your fool son with you.’
Albin was out of his seat in an instant, all thoughts of the Blacksmith forgotten.
‘Alb, wait-’
The butcher shoved Forley aside. He stopped just a few inches from the Innkeep, glaring down at the smaller man with hard eyes. Even from where he was, Cal could smell the ale on his breath, but the Inn-keep didn’t flinch. The fire stirred in the sudden quiet, and the villagers stood in a moment of perfect stillness, taut as a lute-string. Godry and Forley shared a worried look. Priss had appeared beside Carel and put an arm around her slumped shoulders. Petr was glaring at Cal, dark eyes boring holes into his forehead, but Cal didn’t even notice. His head was hanging limply over his chest, and if Lokk hadn’t been hold-ing him, he was sure his legs would’ve buckled. His head spun, and his skin burned. Neither the butcher nor the Innkeep had moved an inch.
‘Come on, boy.’ Albin said at last, eyes not leaving the Innkeep for a moment. ‘Let’s go.’
‘But da-’
‘I said let’s go.’
He held still for a moment longer, then took his son by the arm and led him roughly away towards the door.
‘You’ll pay double next time.’ The Innkeep called out to him as he reached the door. ‘Both of you.’
For a moment it looked as if Albin would turn back. Then he scowled, spat on the floor, and shoved his son out into the night beyond the door, slamming it shut behind them.
There was a collective sigh of relief from the remaining patrons. The Innkeep watched the door for a few moments, then began unhurriedly scooping up discarded mugs from the ale-splashed floor.
‘I think that’s enough for one evening.’ He said quietly as he worked, not looking up. Godry, Forley and the miners looked at each other.
‘Bar’s a mess, Goran. We’ll lend a hand.’ Forley offered.
‘We’ll manage.’ The Innkeep told him, still not looking up. The vil-lagers exchanged another look, then they made for the door without a word. Priss stepped back from Carel, giving her shoulder a squeeze, and joined her husband as the door swung closed behind them. Lokk didn’t say a word. Carel still hadn’t lifted her eyes. Cal shrugged him-self away from his friend’s arm, taking a step towards her.
‘Carel, I-’
The Innkeep straightened suddenly, hurling one of the mugs across the room. It smashed into the closed door, shattering across the thresh-old with a crash.
‘Don’t you dare, boy.’ He growled, whirling on him, soft eyes hard as steel, fidgeting hands steady. ‘You’ve had a fall tonight. Must’a knocked your head. Only reason you aren’t catching another beating.’
Cal looked back at him groggily for a moment. His wits were return-ing, and the ache was spreading outwards from his jaw and cheek in throbbing waves. His shredded arms and legs were afire with shifting lines of pain, and his back ground at his ribs like a blade. Stupid. What was he thinking? Running from shadows in the dark. Brawling in front of half the village. What would the Blacksmith say? This was not their agreement. This was not their word. Blood rushed into his cheeks, hot with shame, and he lowered his eyes.
‘Go home, boy.’
‘But, I-’
‘I said go home, boy.’ The Innkeep stared back at him with cold eyes. ‘You can’t stay here.’
Cal hesitated. He looked at Lokk, but his friend would not meet his eye. He nodded slowly, straightening as best he could, and made un-steadily for the door. He looked back from the threshold, but nothing had stirred. A mess of upturned tables and chairs, scattered mugs and soaking floor boards. The three figures that stood frozen amongst it all seemed suddenly very different to Cal, their names new and unfamiliar. No one looked up as he opened the door. He hesitated, skin bloody and numb, jaw aching like winter, haggard, dazed, and spared one final glance for Carel, standing alone beside the bar, a dozen words racing on his silent tongue. Then he turned and went out alone into the dark, and the cold took him as its own.
*
It was quiet outside the Nest, and the streets were empty. The storm had moved off to blow itself out over the lowlands in the west, and only the faintest whir of it carried on the air between the little stone build-ings of Rindon, the fevered mumbling of weary hills. Cal walked for a time, going nowhere in particular, dry eyes moving listlessly over the stones, picking out the familiar notches of the rock, the knowing wink-ing of shuttered fires. The pathways were wet beneath his boots, pud-dled and gleaming in the silver stain of the moon. No one to be seen. Not Petr, waiting for him behind some dark corner, nor the other pa-trons, staggering home arm in arm. No faceless shadows leering at him from empty doorways, chasing him into the night. All was as it should be. After all, why wouldn’t it be? The thought filled him with a kind of bemused, frivolous amusement. He knew this place. Why should it not be as it always was?
After a time, he found himself at the eastern edge of the village, looking down over the little cluster of thatching and its glinting win-dows. It was cold, he knew, but he did not feel it. The bloody skin be-neath his ragged clothes tingled numbly. Even his jaw seemed to have stopped aching. He looked down, for no reason in particular, and saw that the dirt at his feet was churned and dented as though by some fall-ing beast, and little flecks of red blinked back at him in the moonlight. He realised that this must have been where he had fallen. Where his legs had failed and the world had spun like sand in ocean spray. Where the shadows had chased him from the hillside, swarming after him as wolves after their prey. He realised he was frowning. His back was to the trees, but he felt no fear. What was there to fear? After all, it was just a dream, and there is nothing to fear from dreams.
The trees were before him. Had they not been behind? The dark pil-lars stretched away up the slope, and the great black shadow of the Teeth held the horizon beyond. The murmur of the distant storm moved through the branches, shifting softly. Nothing else stirred.
He realised he was walking. The trees were all around, watching him. The earth was soft and wet beneath his feet. He looked down as he went, picking out the footprints in the loam. Something had come this way. Bootprints, scrambling, sprinting, falling. He had come this way.
So he walked, much as he had before, aiming without aim, and the trees whispered their same whispers. Words he had known since he first came here, all those years ago. Slowly, he went, until his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, to the silver luminescence of the moon. Footprints. Bootprints. Running, scrambling. Falling.
Alone.
He lingered a while, just to be sure. But there was no mistake. There had been no men in the trees. No shadows to flee from. No one else had come this way. His head ached. He could not have… there must have been…
But there was nothing. Nothing but untouched earth, smooth as fresh wax. Just a dream. And there is nothing to fear from dreams.
So he came down out of the trees, and made for home along well-worn paths, watching for shadows he knew were not there.

Hi guys! For any hairdressers or hair experts on here...I've been bleaching out my hair fully myself over covid from dark brown (probably a level 2) to platinum. I now want to transition from bleach out to partial highlights to give my hair a chance to become a little bit healthier. How much regrowth do you recommend before going to a salon to get this done? Also would this be considered a color correction service?

TLDR: story time about how my hair got damaged due to my mom’s negligence to my natural hair and how Im slowly trying to progress to going natural.
So my mom is very narcissistic I can’t even say controlling atp. She’s very afraid of me looking like a guy in any sense. Me personally idgaf about my gender representation as long as I'm happy. But she refuses to let me take care of my hair because of it among other reasons. My mother had stated since we were young she hated doing our hair and got herself locs for the reason she can’t do hers. To be honest I’m glad she stopped because she would threaten to cut our hair when she got tired or to lock it because she didn’t want to do it.
I honestly think its rooted in jealousy because she tells me when I asked her once to just loc my hair she said try all the styles out there before you decide. But then goes to tell me I have no right to do anything with my hair like make up your mind.
So, I got my hair straightened a lot as a kid. But add on getting relaxer at some point without my consent at the hairdressers 🙂. Probably aware of the result but as I got into high school I didn’t realize how bad it was. I got comments from my friends even that my hair was even dry and brittle in its straight state. It was (still kind of is) so frayed at the ends and super dense and not moisturized it feels and looks awful in its natural state. That caused a wave of insecurities when I realized, unlike my other black peers I was going through it with my hair.
Tbh it was probably hurtful at the time but I’m thankful my friends informed me because my hair would be in a horrible state right now. I'm almost 16 and feel like I need to be able to do things with my hair if my mom doesn’t even want to bother. She already complains about getting my hair straightened, complained about my hair getting braided, and now complained about me trying to cut it so I can have healthy hair.
I started to get braids because I was like until my hair grows out or I cut it I'm not going to straighten it anymore. So I get braids a couple of times and my hair got better I got a silk press at a black-owned salon rather than the one in my home town which probably should’ve never been an option. They managed to maintain my hair and not make it worse and even my sisters did as well. But still, the hometown salon had already done so much damage to our hair that when if we went anywhere else there wouldn’t be much change.
So about 2-3 months ago got my hair braided by a family friend so she cut my hair because she has years of experience doing hair and trims and styles natural hair all the time. She trimmed it and cut a good bit because, for the life of me, I couldn’t stand the pain from the brittleness and drynesses and my very sensitive scalp.
So when I told my mom she was like “wtf omg your hair never going to grow back and when it doesn’t I'm going to laugh at you” or “Your hair was long the straight pieces are just normal”. The only reason my hair wasn’t growing back was that her neglectful self never wanted to do my hair or teach me. Plus she never even bought the supplies to style our hair as a kid maybe some moisturizer to style it.
If my dog gets his hair done more than mine there's a problem. But she pretty much manipulated me to feel bad about my choice of hair and my health.
So she then apologizes. Then a month later when I take my hair out she ask me again what I want to do with my hair I tell her I want it cut. She goes on and tells me just grow it out and I'm not gonna pay money to get your hair braided if you keep cutting your hair. ( she doesn’t pay shit to get my hair done lmao my dad pays).
One reason she didn’t want my hair natural was that I have eczema and it affects my head so build-up will occur. Like ok, then I’ll wash it? My hair is dry makes it even worse. But she also wouldn’t buy many things for my 4b-4c hair because my sister needed it and because her hair was more manageable because it was less costly with looser curls. I think she honestly hates my hair because she talks about my dad's hair and my sisters and praises it like it's the best hair texture ever and mine is no comment.
Now flash forward to this week I go to my Aunt and she has lots to do. So she graciously offered to style my hair and I said yes. She essentially told me as well to cut my hair. if multiple people are telling me to cut my hair there is something wrong. I mean I think short hair is really cute and nothing is wrong with it,but she just seems to think black fem people can’t have short hair without looking masculine🤷🏾.
Thankfully she gave me some information on how to fix it because I looked fucking goofy before that. Also how to wash it in general because all I had was just shampoo and conditioner under my sink nothing else ☠️. Thankfully my dad said he was going to go to the store once we got back home so if you guys have any tips on what to buy that would be great 🫶🏾. Or any other advice as well.

have moderate depression but lately, I’ve had some life changes and I believe my depression is getting worse. Around April, I got really sick out of nowhere. I lost a lot of weight due to my illness and missed out on a lot of work because I didn’t feel well and I also had to keep going to the doctor to see what was going on. Then In the beginning of May, I moved out of my parent’s house. I’m 22 yrs old, female and I live completely alone. No pets, no boyfriend but the guy I’m seeing does come to visit me frequently. I just feel so alone. I have to feed myself, get myself up for work, if I’m hungry, I can’t wait on my mom or dad to cook for me. I have to look out for myself. I still visit my parents very often. But Yesterday I just couldn’t stop crying. I don’t know why I just was extremely emotional and on top of that, I started having some suicidal thoughts.
I went silent and ghosted all of my family and closest people to me because I feel like my life is a mess and when I’m depressed, I tend to isolate myself from everyone. Including starting him from work. I miss being able to go out, & not worry about bills but now I have to worry about paying for my rent, car note, gas in car to get around town, food to eat, and extra stuff for example if I want my hair or nails done I have to wait for that because my bills come first. Nail salons are just getting too too expensive.
I was depressed while living in my parent’s house also due to some trauma. I am going to therapy and talking to my therapist about everything that’s been happening in my life. Is it normal to feel stressed out and depressed after moving out alone? I moved out 3 years ago at 19 but that time, I had roommates, I didn’t feel as depressed but this time is much different when you’re completely by yourself. I don’t want to move back in with my parents is not the point of me writing this. I’ve been on my own for about a month now. I guess because this is a huge life change, I just need to adapt to it? I’m thinking maybe I just could be homesick? How long after being away from your parents do people usually start to adjust?

Can a job charge you a fee if you’re not in uniform? I work in a hair salon we have an easy dress code you just have to wear black shirt or black bottoms it just has to be something black. It’s summer time so usually we don’t have any problems with wearing shorts they just have to be above the knees. However my coworker wore shorts and my bosses felt like they were too short and said she had to go home and change and also pay a $20 fee for not being in uniform. Thank you in advance !

Former guest coordinator here, heres why you wont be getting a guest coordinator :) ( because nobody who knows their self worth would ever put up with what i did for as little as i was paid)
I worked as a guest coordiantor for 6 years and i was too good at my job. When i first started working there i was under the impression that full time workers got health benefits. Imagine my disappointment when i went to open enrollment and only the part time benefits were available. It took over five years of my working there to finally be given paid time off and health benefits :) here is the reasoning i was given as to why i was cucked of a lot of things i was owed. - im the only person on salon payroll that costs the salon money, i dont make the salon money. ( This is BS because it is expected for GCs to mention add ons and assist in bullding books. The stylists agreed that i was the best at scheduling appointments in the most efficient way. Which is saying something because BELLA booking prgram is the most god awful, glitchy, POS ive ever worked with. My hardwork enabled stylists had the most time to do services. We were a high volume and high earning salon and we wouldnt have been had i not been there to support.) - GCs make the same as beauty advisors which also means i was making less than new hired beauty advisors. I would come in at 8am and work salon supply truck and pro hair truck, all whilst taking phone calls, checking in/out guests (GCs use the registers too btw!) doing the stylists laundry and dishes and helping guests on the floor. - i also trained guest coordinators for other stores as well. In the end, i worked 40+ hours a week and lived paycheck to paycheck. Guest Coordintaors positions are sincerely management positions and come with almost the exact same management capabilities in Bella. However, Ulta refuses to compensate them as they do managers. I ran that salon and my life was consumed by my time there. In the end it wasnt worth it. The stylists did pretty much nothing. When they didnt have a guest they would sit in their chairs on their phones or go to starbucks or go shopping on the clock! They would have me walk their guests through the check out process instead of them doing it as expected (you should be hands on with your client at the rebooking part) and dont get me started on the DRAMA. No one was ever happy. They complained if they had guests they complained if they didnt. Nothing was ever enough and they often got shitty with each other and would complain to me about it. And thiugh we had our sweet regular clients, most of them were total witches. Not to mention stylsits woild accuse me of sabotaging their books ans if their books werent full it was somehow my fault. Ulta, you took years of my life i'll never get back. Its only a matter of time until the business model for your salons collapse; its not sustainable.
If you got this far, thats my rant. I have so many stories i might share one day but do yourself a favor and run from the GC position. Its not worth it.

(Hey everyone! Finally out of the shadow realm! Im reposting chapter five here as it got wiped last time, 6 is still percolating away in my head, but in the mean time, enjoy! Comments are appreciated!)
(Previous)
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4-LOM rolled up to the holotable, the aging shipbuilder looking over the various fleet and division commanders.
4-LOM was an old Mk1 astro robot, his main body was a sphere, with four mechanical arms extending from his body, two large and bulky, and the other two smaller, more nimble and accurate, more dexterous, with a cylindrical lower body leading down to his treads, which were angular, tank like in shape, designed for heavy lifting. His head was flat, with a duo of square optics, a set of welding shields flipped up, ready to flip down when and where needed. His backpack was open, with tools sticking out, ready to be grabbed and used.
Looking around, he noted that the Saurians had their Admiral, a middle age Rox, their massive, tyrannasauric form still managing to tower over most of the others, even in holo, while Serano stood next to him. Nearby, Hota sat, nursing a coffee, rubbing his head, while one of the chief science officers hologram glanced at him nervously.
Another door entered, and a Mk12 frame entered, standing at the table. At first glance, the frame looked pristine, but 4-LOM wasn't fooled. He wasn't a shipwright for nothing, and he could see the pitting under the paint where plasma weaponry had uselessly splashed off, taking with it little layers of metal with it. Despite how new the frame looked, it was clear it had seen some action, recently as well, judging by the fresh coat of paint.
More holograms of fleet officials, and the bridges, or representations of their ships, flickered in above their shoulders. Serano looked like he had an old sailing ship floated there idly, a representation of the Enterprise. Some had wasps, while one captain had a cartoonish Barbus fish, with an old style white sailors cap and a belt of dynamite.
And then a small black hole flickered into view in front of his faceplate, making him roll back with a start. Getting a good look at the now pulsing black hole, he seemed to frown, one of his welding shields rising higher to simulate a eyebrow raise….. "Horizon? Is that you, little lass?" He said, with a thick, Scottish accent as his other shield rose up to join the other in shock.
The holographic black hole bobbed up and down in the air, two arms extending out from its corona and spun, as if to represent it, no, her, spinning in happiness. For a moment, 4-LOM was silent, before he began laughing, reaching up, even as his servo passed through the holo. "Ach, what I wouldn't give ta be in the Link with ye, lassie! I'm glad ye survived." He said, as the little ever hungry representation of the ship spun around him, before it shot off, floating near the Mk12, who looked at it.
The 12s head tilted more, as it listening to what the ship was saying, while 4-LOM felt a bit of possessiveness flair. Horizon was one of HIS creations, his and his wife's. Their ships were like children for them. Rolling over, he mentally began preparing a bit of what his wife would call the shovel talk, something they used to do with Captains that took on their vessels……
"Did you need something, Grandfather?" The machine said, domed head snapping to his, taking the wind out of his sails, and stare blankly at the taller, thinner machine.
Behind him, he heard Serano chuckle behind him, even as the Rox raised an eyeridge, while the Saline sat his mug down and placed his head in his hands.
"Grandfather- oh. I see…." He said, gaze turning flat as he gave a glare at Horizon. "I see the little gremlin is still able to make me short a fuse or two. Void knows Maria's hair turned white before she had to move bodies due to someone's antics." The little black hole pulsed sharply, as if squawking. "Would have appreciated a warning she made herself a captain…. Lassie, ye best be teaching him self preservation instincts." Catching the snort from the Rox and the sigh from Serano.
Slowly, his head turned around to face the two, one shield twitching, and finally saw Hota looking up with a flat look. "Too late on that one. I'll pass you the after action report later, AFTER the meeting." Serano said, hiding a smile. "If you want a first hand account, ask Hota. From what I understand, he had a front row seat for the Chaos the two caused."
She wasn't a little ship anymore, she wasnt- ah kriff it all. She was still his little lass. He'll talk with her later…preferably with Maria there…..after he grabbed his wrench and had a….. talk….. with whoever was their crew.
/------------------/
All the admirals and fleet commanders were soon in place, Asimov standing to the side, near the Admiral Serano, Horizons representation floating next to his head as his own panned about, looking at the assembled species. Several robotic ones, not Astro Robot series, called Glinch, looked at him curiously, while he picked out several different….Saurians, a few Roxes, several Trikes.
Several were pale, white skinned humans, bald, be they male or female. Clones, like himself, but with organic bodies, accompanied by nat-born humans, and several more advanced Astro Robot series units, these ones looking everything from near human, to large and bulky, armed with cannons, inbuilt missile launchers on their upper arms, and massive treads, or slimmer, almost skeletal ones with modules that could be swapped out at a moments notice.
"I appreciate ye all for coming on such short notice" 4-LOMs voice said, cutting over the gentle hubbub of the side conversations. "I had hoped that we wouldn't be facing them again, but here we are." The robot said as one of his smaller limbs tapes a command into the console, pulling up images of Everwatch stations current…condition. "Those of yeh from Federation space are more familar of the old stories, battle videos and the like. The Demons, as the Human Federation calls them, have been returned. It's only thanks to the work of Representative Hota that we have this information….. and had stumbled across an old Ace that had woken back up in time for this chaos." 4-LOM said, nodding to the Saline, getting the attention of his compatriots, who he shook his head to.
"Our opponents are equipped with biotech vessels, and are known for appropriating technology to forcibly integrate it with their own. Which means keep an eye out for a worse hodgepodge of weapons than a pirate vessel after its crew hits a pound of Spice and then gets drunk at a star port." 4-LOM said dryly, as various, old, images of the vessels and a few of the newer ones. "That being said, expect the sheer firepower jammed onto each of these ships to be on the higherside. However, they need long recharge periods, likely due to whatever power source used overloading, or the capacitor banks running dry and needing to recharge. Don't be fooled, they do have some form of biological armament, acid spitters, spike launchers, the works." He said, as images flicked up organic turrets, tentacles, and what looked like maws.
"As of right now, several of our larger vessels are being inspected and repaired, resupplied, and upgraded as needed. Several older vessels are being pulled out of mothball for the same reason. All civilian vessels are being drafted for emergency roles, receiving refit with hardware that will allow them to fight in a pinch, though their primary objective will be escorting transport ships and acting as emergency evacuation ships. We won't be expecting them to fight, but we need every ship we can get."
An image flickered into view of what amounted to the humans old museum of warships and deep space vessels, revealing it to be a hive of activity. Many other races had laughed at humanity for keeping their old vessels, rather than scrapping them, but now, now there was a reason why humanity had.
"Patrol fleets are to be at least one Saline Sensor ship, two to three Buckler class Trike Shield Bearers, one Rox Artillery ship, one Vohle capable human vessel, Two human PT ships, and three Raptor Swift claws." 4-LOM said, "these things aren't to be taken lightly. Sensors pick them up, call it in and engage. Stall for time if needed for reinforcements to arrive. Intercept fleets are to consist of five Trike Aegis class Shield Bearers, six Swift claws, one Rox supercarrier, three Rox artillery ships, two Saline Auxiliary ships, one Saline Medical cruiser, one Human Vohle Super-carrier, eight human PT ships, two Human Iowa class destroyers." The elderly bot belted out, making several Captains and admirals wince. Those weren't lightweight ships. The 'patrol' fleet could have been considered a planetary invasion force.
Before anyone could make any arguments or questions as to why the fleets were set to the Human classic of 'Maximum Overkill', and before any more ridiculous fleet deployments could be called out, a slightly panicking human sprinted into the room. "Sir! Confirmed hostile assault on Tisan-4" the human said, breathing heavily. "The Demons made planet fall, looks like a small invasion force that had left before the incursion field went up."
4-LOM stared….and then sighed. "Well, Caliburn had been itching for a fight." He sighed and placed a servo over his optics.
/-----------------------------------/
WARNING: Hostiles detected. Match confirmed; species D-65.
Threat level:Apollyon. Combat systems:unlocked.
That was what appeared on the Colony Managers terminal as alarms screamed across the Colony, alerts screaming on PADDs, sirens spinning as bunkers opened up.
An aging Wargen bared his teeth as he rapidly tapped at his terminal, as the younger human clone stood grimly at her manager's terminal.
"Civilians are filling out the bunkers, tunneling charges are set and ready to clear escape routes." The elderly, wolf like Wargen said, his muzzle splitting into four as he spoke, one part vertical, the other horizontally. "Colonial militia are manning hard points and connecting to systems now."
"Understood." The Colony manager said and let out a long breath, before opening the PA system. "All hands, brace for Activation procedure. I repeat, all hands, brace for activation procedure." She said, before securing herself in on one of the chairs, even as the commander buckled himself in across from her, even as terminals all around them flickered and the building shuddered and shook, new lights came online all over.
"And the other races call our alliance insane for building the bunkers" The Wargen muttered under his breath as the command room became a flurry of activity, sensor teams working together in an attempt to get data on their opponents. "Our people are safe. That's what matters, commander." The clone said softly, looking at her long time friend, even as the hidden defense system of the Colony woke up.
/------------/
Outside, the demonic army approached, on a slow, steady March, disgruntled at the lack of organics they had found to use. They needed biomass to fuel their war machine, to create their bases, their armies, their ships. And while they didn't care much about the sheer number of ships they lost during planet fall thanks to the orbital defenses, they needed to deal with the local defense computers. There had to be a way to broadcast an all clear signal and allow their other ships past.
Before them sat a large, fortified structure, looked like a massive cathedral, really. The irony was not lost on them as ports on the castle-like structure opened up, and began spitting metallic shells at them, exploding after punching through their infantry, leaving craters behind, destroying more of their forces.
The ground shook as their massive siege beast began forming from the splattered biomass, like some strange, oozing horror, slowly forming into a quadropodic creature.
The beast was mostly just a giant mouth in legs, with a long, worm like body lined with eyes, teeth, spikes, and tendrils, flinging said teeth at the structure.
Warlord Gistle ground his teeth as he stared at the cathedral as it held its own, his forces decimated by the attempted rain of metal. Said rain changed to one of scalding plasma as the castle changed tactics to try and burn the bodies to prevent them from forming additional, stronger units.
"Battle lord." Hissed one of the smaller battle chiefs said, as they stepped up next to Gistle. "The Seekers have not located where the miserable Frails have hidden themselves. Our efforts would be best put to entering the fortress ahead." The chief said, pointing at the massive fortress as the siege beast brushed off the weapons fire.
"No need, we will be inside soon en-" Came the guttural voice of the Warlord, before it was interrupted by a computerized voice, echoing out.
"THREAT ASSESSED. ASSUMING COMBAT MODE."
There was a rumble, everyone grabbing onto the stablest thing around them as the ground tore apart, the siege beast stumbling back, as the building tore up its own foundations as steam hissed out, and part of the building lifted up, and then slammed into the ground, and then the other side, slowly pulling itself up….and up…and up……
The structure wasn't a structure. Not any more. Towering over them, looking like a massive hunchback stood the cathedral, it's towers opening, revealing to be cowling around massive artillery cannons. It's arms, once covered with flat pillars, opened up to reveal a set rotating barrels, slowly spinning up, and a bulky duo of MAC batteries on the other arm. Sticking off the side of its upper arms were smaller hardpoints, each turret armed with four barrels, small and accurate, sniping ground units with horrifying accuracy, the soft metal shells ripping away to reveal their incendiary cargo held within steel mesh, allowing the coilguns to spit them out rapidly.
The head section looked like a sphere with three optics in a triangular formation, around a cannon that locked onto the siegebeast and whined, arcing brightly, before it fired, a bright flash seen as the cannon went off, it's round leaving behind a trail of fire as it raced through the air, punching through the beast, making it howl, and began trying to heal the injury that pierced it, ripping open a hole below it.
It's bipedal legs were thick, armored, and just as equally armed, it's lower legs armed with rotary cannons that spun, the lower pair foring a heavy stream of plasma, one barrel firing and then cooling as it spun, the others keeping the pace up, while above them, physical artillery was spat out, helping pierce armor for the plasma to scorch and burn to uselessness. More cannons sat on the sides and back of its legs in, taking aim at the surrounding armies, making sure to add on their screeches of rage.
Hanging off the underside of the platform that held the Cathederal sat more turrets, each swiveling around and adding to the chaos, their mini MAC armament chattering as they fired, picked a new target and fired again. On the top of the platform were AA cannons, taking aim and firing into the air, altering the timing of their rounds so that they acted as impromptu artillery, while more cannons, on four turrets, covered the monstrosities back, preventing them from sneaking up behind it, as if the cannons on the back of its legs weren't enough to cover it.
"TARGET ACQUIRED."
Warlord Gistle hissed in shock. The Frails had been LIVING in a Siege beast of their own!? Hidden partially underground, deceiving them to make it seem as if it was nothing more than a fortification!?
"Have all expendable units merge with our Siege beast, NOW! if the frails continue to pick our forces off one by one, they will never be able to reinforce our beast after they fall!" Gistle roared, even as around him the battle chiefs barked out the orders……..
/-------------/
The massive machine stared down at the hostile forces as they turned into a thick, biological slurry, short of the Demons themselves, and oozed towards the horror before it.
The monster seemed to absorb the substance on contact, growing larger and larger with each passing moment, howling and hissing.
He could feel his crew cursing in their heads, humans and otherwise, lighting the slurry up with plasmafire, burning some of it, but not enough. Caliburn agreed with them, as his Plasma getting cannon spun up, the five barrels glowing brightly, the heatsinks by the ends of the barrel glowing as the machine poured plasmafire from the barrels, searing into the beasts body, burning it up as it grew, stunting its growth heavily, and forcing it to consume more biomass to make heavy, chitenous armor, layers burning away under the assault.
Caliburn could feel the dust coming off as his gears spun, and he stepped forward, swinging the glowing arm as it cooled down, making the horror screech as he spun his upper body to add to the force of the blow, digging the glowing heating into the beast's face and knocking it back, buying time for his crew to deal with the horrific slurry around them, which still tried to fuse with the horror, chasing after it with a single minded determination.
As his upper body slowed down and he was facing forward again, he saw the beast setting up, snarling. His other arm came up, and he could feel his capacitors burning as he began firing his MAC arm at it, the massive, vehicle sized slugs punching into the beast, knocking it back farther, punching holes in the chitin it tried to grow as armor, making it hiss and move rapidly, trying to put distance between itself and the machine.
Unfortunately, the beast had the advantage in land speed, as it had four legs, while Caliburn only had two and lumbered slowly forward, his aging systems relishing the taste of combat after so long. And now he had far better weapons then a simple crane arm, like he had last time he fought a creature like this.
Because the beast had put distance between itself and him, it managed to absorb the last of the biomass, and began bounding forward, it's maw open, teeth spinning like some sort of Cuisinart….
A target he couldn't miss. His head cannon barked again, not as powerful as last time, but this time, he wasn't trying to rip it apart from the inside. The shell detonated on contact with the teeth, shredding them, tearing into the soft flesh within, making the beast howl and close its maw, it's chitin armor weathering the plasma splashing off, hardened to withstand the smaller weapons fire his crew spat at the creature.
His arms pulled their shrouding back around them, as he drew back and swung, hard, again using his body spinning to his advantage, striking the beast, the heavy weight of the heatsink and the weapon itself burying the shroud covered arm inside, the end opening up. Unfortunately, thanks to the partial shrouding, he wouldn't be able to spin his cannon, but all he needed was one shot inside it, and let it fly, ripping his arm out as it howled, smoke billowing from its new hole it tried rapidly to heal.
The tendrils it had tried to dig into his arm burned away as he kicked it up from below and began unloading both arms, fully unshrouded, the heat coming off both of them making steam hiss up into the air, as the beast took a heavy slug and then a plasma bolt, one after the other, deep into its stomach, sending it onto its back.
Loud popping sounds were heard as its limbs reoriented, allowing its former belly to become its back, the holes sealing slowly as it circled the walking cathedral, even as Caliburn scanned it, his upper body following its every movement. His command crew were breaking down every schematic and scan he gave them, working hard to figure out a way to kill the horror.
In the mean time, Caliburn and his crews would do their damndest to stall the beast and continue on their current plan. Burn it down, slowly.
He could feel his crews tracking the retreating demon forces, listening to the mental chatter within him as the artillery crews happily worked together to figure out their path, searching for the enemy command position, even as sensor crews watched as the rapidly approaching flood of biomass and machinery charged for them, some of the artillery crews already letting loose N-4 shells, the 'super-napalm', as the crews nicknamed them, impacting and exploding, burning into the biomass, unquenchable, even as the biomass attempted and failed to smother the burning substance, only serving to make it worse, melting the weaponry it carried with it.
The only reason why the crews could get away with it was because the biomass wasn't near the Bunkers exits or near infrastructure. Or Burnable items.
Command soon had a viable target, a sort of brain mass it had, separated throughout its body in a vain attempt to make sure it could still operate when a few of them were destroyed.
Several had been burned away by the plasma bolt going off inside of it, but many more remained, and it was attempting to make more/replace the burned away ones. They needed to eliminate the command signal….
Jubilation and grim satisfaction bloomed in his sensor and artillery crews, as he felt the mad scramble for bunker busting shells, before they were let loose into the air. Even as he blocked a tail strike from the beast and managed to crush its head under one foot, letting his landing engines ignite for the first time in decades to burn the creature more, his crews targeted the command bunker, shelling it with deadly accuracy, smoke rising from the hill they were tucked away behind in the distance, making Caliburn burn with satisfaction and praise for his crew.
/---------------------/
Gistle ran as fast as his hooves could move him, teeth barred as he snarled.
Around him, their command temple shook and shuddered, veins bursting, cables arcing wildly as the biomass contracted involuntarily or simply sagged, turning to biomass.
"Warlord, they are heavily shelling our position, we won't be able to retreat at this rate!" Hissed one of the Battle Chiefs at his side, hissing in fear, even as he snarled at the Pitiful, compared to him, creature. "We won't be taking everyone, only the essentials. The Everlasting King must be notified of this development. King be damned, the frails took the time to prepare for our arrival again." He growled as he came out to a hanger area, and ran into a small, fast ship, even as the others ran into larger, bulkier, slower ships.
Soon, the chitin that served as the door opened, and they shot out, erratically flying, trying to avoid the artillery shells, and now AA fire joining the fray.
He kept close to his compatriots, using them as a living shield as he twisted the small vessel around, smirking as he dodged the fire while they took it..
They were almost to space, soon, they could tear a Gate and get the fleet-
Reality tore open above him as a massive ring shaped vessel pushed itself into real space, disgorging hundreds of smaller vessels, bearing down on their positions, others engaging the floating fleet around them with aggressive assault runs, the sudden appearance in the system allowing them to have the element of surprise.
Weapons fire began filling the space around f them, tearing at their vessels faster then they could repair them as little, frail vessels zipped in and out of line of fire faster then they could shoot, track, or react, unloading slugs, plasma, torpedoes in a flurry of activity before diving away, allowing their munitions to wreak havoc amongst them.
Already, the larger vessels were disabled before Gistle managed to sacrifice one, smirking as it warped, it's biomass fueling the Gate, as he flew through, hoping he was in friendlier territories, unaware of a sensor torpedo flying in behind him.
/------------------------/
Down below, on the surface, Caliburn flung back his opponent again, arms blazing as he shelled it.
It was bigger then it had been, managing to absorb the biomass from the surviving landing ships and the remains of the command center they shelled out. It's armor was thicker, and was flinging out dozens, hundreds of calcium spikes, spitting its unknown energy weapons, only to splash off his shields, for the energy weapons, and his ar.or foe the calcium spikes, even as his weapons screeched.
The beast had holes all over its chitenous armor, from his shells punching in, or his artillery crews shelling the beast, his plasma following close behind as he sought to burn the creature out from the inside, going so far as to ram his plasma cannon inside and unload it, the rotating barrels helping tear it up from the inside as the heat sinks burned it.
Ships began dropping down from above, doing strafing runs, dropping smaller caliber explosives, distracting the beast as he tore another hole in it by spinning his upper body, one shrouded cannon arm striking the beast and ripping in, just as a gunship fired a Cleaner into it, just before it healed.
A burning flash of light, a horrific scream from the beast as it howled, body jerking as the explosive did its job…. Before it swung down, still alive, though just barely, it's armor shattering rather then buckling on the next strike from Caliburn, a facsimile of a uppercut, before the barrels let loose again, even as the plasma cannon dumped bolt after bolt into its lower body, searching for, burning the neural clusters as he found them.
The beast wrenched itself away from his grasp, snarling as it looked at him, the beast snarling as it tried to heal from the most recent injuries.
Caliburn felt his crew snarling back, his cannons swiveling around as they gave their response in munitions as he lumbered forward, the ground shaking from his steps and the escape ships erupting out of the ground around them, his rotary cannon screaming as it fired, the MAC on the other arm barking as he hit it again and again as it charged forward.
The beast no longer cared for its injuries, all it cared was to take the metal monster before it down, spitting acid out of it as it tried, and failed, to blind the machine, even as said machine swung its smoldering plasma cannon up and brought down the burning barrels down on its head, smashing it into the ground, pinning it there as it's crew continued shelling it out ruthlessly.
Caliburn refused to let the beast survive, he refused to let the thing get to the civilians. His crew snarled their agreement as the beast tore the pinned head off its body, even as it burned away to nothing, and tried to charge again, blindly, only to smash against the MAC arm and receive a pair of heavy slugs to the neck stump for its troubles, sending it somersaulting back, trying to reform its head.
It was much, much smaller now, now matching Caliburns size, due to all the biomass loss, it's head reforming as it snarled.
Caliburn seemed to roll his pauldrons and twitched his MAC, as if saying 'come at me'. The beast howled and charged forward, razor sharp tentacles erupting from its sides, whipping about wildly, only for turret crews to blast the tentacles off at the base, and for his artillery crews to shell it down from above, flattening it into the ground again with explosive shells.
Again, the beast began pulling itself out of the ground, only for another strafing run from aircraft , this time dropping standard napalm canisters onto the beast, making it howl as it healed around the canisters, and began burning from within.
It thrashed and writhed, tail and body whipping about, even as Caliburn kept firing, not letting up, shells puncturing the chitin bubble it was trying to form around the napalm to contain it, keeping it burning into the beasts body.
At last, the beast tried to fling itself at Caliburn, thinking that it could at least burn out the mechanical monster with it, only for Caliburn to swing and strike it, flinging it away again, the beasts body unable to get back up, and laid there, slowly burning away at last……………

hello, i did Hollywood waves in a salon for a night occasion, it is in net but i need to ablute to pray, which involves wiping the front of the hair with water, will it ruin it so bad or can i get away with it?

Hey! Trans girl here w/ 3b hair. Trying to find somewhere accepting where I can get a cut and not get either misgendered or my hair ruined. Thanks in advance.

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