Sam couldn't remember anyone ever brushing her hair. She figured her mom had to have done it at some point, when she was too small to unknot her own tangles, but she couldn't remember it ever happening. It was enough to make her go completely still for a few seconds, the unfamiliar feeling of someone else dragging a comb through her hair something completely foreign. It was a tangled mess, because she never paid any attention to the snarls, and she almost turned her head twice to make sure this shit was really happening. Jesus, what was she fucking turning into? A girl or something? Her brothers would laugh their asses off if they could see her, but they weren't here, were they? And whatever, she'd just break their noses. But it felt good, even if the braid felt unfamiliar when it fell heavily across her shoulder.
She did turn in the chair then, a hiss at the pull of skin along her arm that came with the movement. "Thanks," she said, and she wondered why a fucking braid made her feel like she was trying to be a chick or something. She wasn't, she insisted, convincing herself, like it would be some horrible capitulation to be a chick. Whatever, the braid made life easier, and that was all. It was practical. "Can you understand anything I say?" she asked. "Um... Merci?" That was the right word, yeah?