The comb and scissors were found easily enough. Though they were of decent quality, their age certainly showed. The blades of the scissors had been sharpened a few times in their lifespan, so they would at least do the job. Michel kept the comb in hand, but sat the scissors down when he walked over to her. He gave her only enough time to finish scrubbing her feet.
After that minute, he grabbed the collar of her dress to pull her back up in a manner that was only careful enough to make the gesture nonviolent. It was a wonder why she would trust him with anything sharp near her head, too. However, he didn't give her a chance to question him. She had asked him first anyway. Well, sort of. "Watch your damn mouth and hold still," he commanded, glancing over her wet hair. Holding her head in place, he started raking the comb through her hair, doing his best to separate the matted sections. It was a rough attempt to see how much could be fixed before cutting away blindly. Being gentle was out of the question. Those knots were coming out one way or another.
"Surprised is far from what I am. The only thing not typical about your situation is the fact that you still have a head. If you're bothered by what people are expecting of you, then why don't you prove them wrong for once?" His tone still sour, but most of it was the frustration at the task's surprising difficulty. He grabbed the roots of her hair in one section while he tugged at the knots so as not to jerk her head around too much. "You're not doing yourself any favors by letting yourself get like this. The likelihood of success doesn't matter. If someone told me to lay around and do nothing, I wouldn't do it."