*Staring into the mirror, fixing his flowing hair, it scared him. The grim reality of who he was and what he had become staring back at him. Eyes as dead as the body that lay lifeless, sprawled out on the floor at his feet. The blood slowly draining from the single bullet wound in the centre of the forehead, staining the wooden floors and inching ever closer to his own jet black boots. He had been looking at it for years and it had always looked right back at him and deep into his soul, but today was the first time he had ever really seen it. It scared him more than his feeble words could say or his inquisitive mind could ever hope to comprehend. He was one seriously sexy bastard.

He often thought pretentious nonsense like this when he had enjoyed a few drinks and started to think about life. Why are we here? What is our purpose? What time will dinner be ready? How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? He had so many questions and so few answers. Who had chosen to ordain him with these incomprehensible good looks? Why had they chosen for him to have tobare the responsibility of using them? And, most importantly of all, how were all these people standing around looking at him, able to read his damn thoughts. Once again fixing his hair, he turned to address the onlookers*

Hello to all,

I previously posed a question that had been on my mind for quite some time, what is the perfect whisper? Not being unaccustomed to having sweet nothings being whispered in my ear, they will do anything to get that close to the hair you'll understand, it’s a thought I’ve had for quite some time and wanted to get some input from the masses. It occurred to me though that in doing so, maybe I should have spent a little more time sharing, a little more time opening my heart, a little more time fixing my hair and a little more time divulging who I am and where I came from. 

Just as the word mafia has evolved from originally meaning "sanctuary" to later meaning "swagger" or "boldness" and "bravado", my own evolution has followed a similar trajectory. At a young age, I quickly noticed I wasn't like the other kids. I was exceptionally gorgeous and handsome to a point a normal person couldn't possibly comprehend. Teachers swooned at me, dampness filled the air the moment I'd walk into a room and lets not even start on my hair. My hair was simply amazing. *Takes a few moments to check the hair is perfect. Which of course it fucking is. It's always perfect.*

While the other kids played kickball or tag, I used my time to convince my admirers to do my bidding. Protection rackets, gambling rings, racketeering, the arbitration of lunch room disputes and the organizing and oversight of illegal homework trades and transactions. We ran it all. Life was good. Then, however, things started to go wrong. Boy did they go wrong! There were just too many of them. They'd push and shove and scramble. The violence was uncontrollable. Biting, kicking, stabbing, shootings... and that was just the teachers. All to try and touch the hair. Understandable, I know it was dead sexy, but it was impossible to handle. I had to go into hiding.

For many years I practiced the arts of assassination. Moving in the shadows, staying unseen, remaining unheard and killing anyone that got too close. Oh, you think darkness is your ally? But you merely born in it, moulded by it. I was born beautiful and then made the dark my bitch! The shadows betray you, because they long for me and my sexy hair! As the deaths started racking up, so did the stories. Who was this mysterious killer? Where had he come from? What was his name? What the hell is he using in his hair to get that incredible shine? Where did he get those sexy elbows? Rumours started about my origins.  Some said I was a sophisticated sex robot sent back through time, to change the future for one lucky lady. This was clearly a lie, I changed the future for many lucky ladies every day. Some said my hair had a life of its own and came to life at night to snatch up young children while they slept. Again, this was totally false.... except for that one time and that barely counts. Some said I was a crazy killer with no sense of right and wrong. I guess that lot weren't too far away.

The world had shaped me. My experiences as a young man, when I put my forefathers trade to work on the school yard and had experienced the awful trials and tribulations of violent adoration had turned me into the man you see today. Nicknamed MonsterHair, I had become more of a fictional figure of fear and a story to tell their children. I still face difficulties each day. My hair is still too damn sexy, people still stab their partners in the face for an opportunity to simply touch it, but I have found comfort and joy in my life. Taking home with FitzChivalry has managed to scare all but the most determined of my fans away. Even I'm not stunning enough to make up for Fitz's face. Those skills I learnt along the way now serving my family well.

So, now you've heard my story, I'd love to hear yours.

Where does your name come from? How did you get it? Do you deserve it or live up to its promise? How much do you love my sexy elbows?

Share your thoughts, the hair is listening.

There he was, just in the distance, dazzlingly beautiful like a rising sun. Anathema thought she might go blind he was so radiant. Feeling her legs go a little weak, she steadied herself against the nearest lamp post. You see Monsterhair was the reason she wanted to join @FitzChivilry's family, although she kept this to herself and instead impressed upon Fitz and his then Right Hand Disorder that she had heard about their fantastic work and wondered if they would employ her. They did and Anathema enjoyed going to work everyday in the hopes of seeing the heavenly Hairmonster and steal a sniff of his magnificent mane.

Listening to him speak now, not a word did she really hear. Mesmerised by the lilt of his voice, words rolling off his tongue like smooth warm chocolate, she simply stared at his dreaminess. Anathema realised she was drooling a bit from her mouth being agape. Quickly sorting herself out to look more her normal unapproachable self, she tried to control the urge to scream and throw frilly knickers at him like some excited girl at a concert.

Just then it happened. He looked directly at her, perhaps in an effort to get her to speak but she couldn't, her knees felt so weak, just like spaghetti, she also noticed she was feeling really sweaty. With her heart pounding the only thing she could think to do was make a scowly face at him then exit the scene. Which is what she did as she made her way home to take a cold shower.

*Blinded by the shine of the hair, Bort forgot everything. He forgot that he was a 190-pound male and forgot that he himself was a famous womanizer whose dazzling looks enchanted any woman that crossed his path.

He could only look at the hair. So shiny. So bright. It made him feel like he was the only woman in the world. It couldn't be that the Hair enjoyed dozens of women every day.. it just couldn't. He was the one. He could see it, he could feel it: love was in the hair.

Shivering from excitement, Bort crossed his leggs, interlaced his fingers, waved his receding hair with a cocky flip of his head, and asked in a high-pitched voice:*

I...am...lucky...lady?

Checking out the archives I come across a hairy monster asking what is the perfect whisper. My excitement over this great question was not met with the only answer. Walking off in disappointment, I ask is this par for the course?