There is frequently a small hint of self-satisfaction to her smile whenever she gets her way, which is also frequently and thus perhaps now familiar to him, as she steers him toward a cushioned stool in her en suite, near the mirror. She has, at some point, picked herself up a small hair-cutting kit - combs, scissors, clips to separate, a spray-bottle of water and conditioner - and it's set on the vanity, so it's a safe guess that she might have had this in mind a while.

Some people might find that unsettling, and that-- would probably be fair. She does have her moments where the awkwardness of distance makes itself apparent, and when she doesn't quite hit the appropriate interaction mark the way she'd like to; it's ways like this, mostly, where that undercurrent of out of step intensity catch her fumbling and trying to take a step back and promise that she didn't mean anything untoward, or uncomfortably obsessive, or-- it's only that she takes an interest, you see. Curiosity or care, either way.

(Though she has apparently learned at some point that her small eccentricities are usually more tolerantly received if she demonstrates them when she isn't properly dressed.)

“I will do my best not to take very much length,” she promises.