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Fel’rekt stared at the mirror. Someone was pounding on the door, and all he could do was stare at the mirror.
“Fel’rekt?” Krebbyg asked through the wood, his voice adopting a whiny quality as he attempted an Illuskan accent.
“Did She get you?”
After another few moments of silence, Krebbyg forced open the bathroom door, rambling about them being late for the departure to Waterdeep, or how he just needed to ignore Soluun, or how he missed lichen crackers. Whatever it was, his jaw went slack when he saw the other drow.
“I cut it,” Fel’rekt said bluntly, his voice just barely shaking.
Like any self-respecting drow, Fel’rekt’s hair had always been kept long, used hard to mark one’s station and age and power. There had been a few times since Fel’rekt joined Bregan D’aerthe that he had broached the topic of cutting his hair to Krebbyg, particularly after receiving his sapphire earring from Jarlaxle. The item reduced his… shape, and deepened his voice, but it had no effect on his hair. Fel’rekt had become accustomed to looking and sounding like a male, but his hair had continued to irk him, tying him back to his old life down below.
He wasn’t the training priestess of House Lafeen anymore. They couldn’t reach him here.
The drow staring back in his reflection was not the drow he had left behind in the Underdark. His face was sharper, a long scar ran horizontally across it, and his uniform was trimmed with gold that would only shine in the light. Now, his hair was cropped short as well, and seemed to have taken on a spiky quality that reminded him of a rebellious academy boy.
“Hells,” Krebbyg muttered, his own reflection appearing behind Fel’rekt’s, a head shorter.
“Are you shaving the rest of that off?”
Fel’rekt snorted, upsetting some of the white scraps that now littered his sink. “I am not Jarlaxle,” he replied lightly.
“Could’ve fooled me!”