A minor detail ...

[T'aral 0]

The Comanche Creek was again moored at the New Topeka colony, and once again they were off-loading survivors for transit to other destinations within the Federation. Once again T'Aral found herself working with Leutenants Daniels and Baker, and aclimating herself to their unusual mix of efficiency and bureaucracy. It was the most curious sensation: T'Aral couldn't decide if they were efficient despite being bureaucratic, or if they were bureaucratic despite being efficient.

 

She shook her head to clear the thought. It mattered little; the colonists were on their way, and she had a few hours to herself. Moving to a nearby lounge she stared out towards a window. Anyone observing would simply think she was staring out into space, but the fact was she was pondering her own reflection in the glass. She examined her image at length: focused gaze, straight posture, and long hair which drapped randomly about her shoulders. Beyond cleanliness T'Aral never gave much thought to her appearance, but now it struck her - the oddness which she was often greeted with became apparent. She was one of the few Vulcans who wore long hair.

 

During her service she had done her best to keep it from becoming a distraction, but looking at it now she couldn't shake the thought that it appeared ... untidy. It was easily and acceptably explained away; she focused her attention on other things besides her looks. Surely this was beneficial, but viewed another way it was undisciplined. T'Aral needed to have the respect of others, and those who needed to confide in her needed to know they were dealing with a professional.

 

Exiting the lounge, T'Aral made her way through the colony's commercial district. It didn't take long to locate a styling salon. Upon stepping in, she was cheerfully greeted by a young lady in a colorful apron who led her to a styling chair immediately. "It's so rare to see a Vulcan who looks, well, different. Your hair is beautiful - I wish more Vulcans would think about letting things grow. So: what are we going to do today?"

The stylist's comments burst upon T'Aral's trained indifference like waves upon stones. "I would like to return to something more traditional. Since you are familiar with Vulcan appearance, this should not be difficult."

Fifteen minutes later T'Aral left the salon and the saddened stylist, looking very much like every other Vulcan female. The crop was very short, and the stylist insisted on something called 'layering' to avoid what she called the 'Soup-Bowl Haircut'. No matter: the result was what T'Aral wanted: short and professional. Blonding ends which had seen too much sunlight gave way to darker roots.

 

It was curious the difference a simple style made. She was Vulcan now, with no compromises. A contentment was within her, and upon catching a glimpse of herself in a window reflection, an eyebrow raised in approval. The long hair may have shown a greater focus on important things, but this presented an appearance of discipline. T'Aral was determined that she would maintain that discipline to the betterment of the ship's crew, of her service, and of herself.