I know you all thought this story was dead, and honestly, I did too. But I just decided that I really do like it and might as well finish it, so here you go. It's pretty close to the end now, so it should be done in a week or two. As always, nice reviews help me write faster, concrit makes the next chapters better, and negative reviews tell me what not to do again. So whatever you feel about this story, it's really in your best interest to review. Enjoy!
The bottle had been mislabeled. It had been severely mislabeled, in fact. About as severely mislabeled as anything Bobby could think of ever seeing. Why someone would have stuck a blonde sample on this bottle, he couldn't even begin to imagine. For that matter, he couldn't imagine why anyone would have bought magenta hair dye in the first place. Could Jubilee…? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting the stuff off.
A quick glance at the bottle confirmed his suspicion: it was permanent. The whole thing would have to come off, then. Maybe he could go back to Logan and get more hair, but he couldn't believe he would get away with that twice. And anyway, without real blonde dye, it would be useless. He tugged at the beard and winced; the glue was holding up remarkably well. A few more tugs convinced him that if he wanted to pull it off, he'd have to be willing to sacrifice a nice chunk of skin. The only way to avoid walking around with a magenta beard would be to shave.
He closed his eyes and leaned forward against the mirror. There was no way he was going on a date like this. There was no way he was leaving the bathroom like this! "She'll just have to have a fit," he muttered to himself, digging out a razor.
It didn't work. Bobby supposed he should have known it wouldn't, but it was still a shock to see little pink stubble glued to his chin. With so little hair left, the glue was horribly obvious. When he tried shaving closer, the only thing he managed to do was nick himself. He grunted and grabbed at a Kleenex to stop the blood.
So. He could go out on his date and try to explain that he'd both shaved and glued pink stuff to his chin. Such an explanation would be difficult to invent; more likely, he would be left stammering about something completely unrelated. Alternatively, he could hide in his room and pray that the glue would loosen overnight. And risk her breaking up with him. But then, if she realized (as she undoubtedly would) that he had lied to her, even about something as trivial as a beard, she would probably break up with him anyway.
With a groan, Bobby resolved to email her and say he was sick. Maybe she'd believe him, and maybe she would be willing to reschedule. More likely she would just not respond to any further emails, but he couldn't see a better option. "How did this happen? How in the world did this happen?"
By the use of creative maneuvering, he managed to make it to his room without anyone seeing him. Unfortunately, John was waiting for him there. At the sight of Bobby's face, his eyebrows rose higher than Bobby realized was possible.
"It didn't work," Bobby snapped, forestalling him.
"I never would have guessed."
"Shut up."
"Are you planning on going like that?" John snorted. "I think it's my duty as your friend to stop you."
"No, I'm going to tell her I'm sick."
"If you'd done that in the first place, your life would have been a lot easier."
"What part of 'shut up' is hard for you?" Bobby grabbed his laptop and began trying to compose an acceptable email, the sort that cried out apologies yet was supremely dignified.
"The general idea of watching this without comment. Whose hair did you use?"
"Not telling. Let me think or go away."
"Must be bad. Have you put me in your will y– Hey! Don't you dare throw my things at me!"
"'I am terribly sorry, but I am unable to go out tonight. I've come down with a sudden case of the flu and simply cannot leave my house. My flu should be gone by next week, and I would love to reschedule then. I am once again very sincerely sorry.' Sound okay?"
"Sounds old."
"What?"
"You sound like the professor. Do you want her to think she's dating a geezer?"
Bobby turned to give his friend the most indignant look he could muster, but he did rewrite the email. "Good enough," he said, and sent it.