There's something to be said about typewriters. Historically, they're a glimpse into how we as a species sophisticated our ability to distribute works at a larger and greater scale, with smaller and less expensive parts as well. In our current day, we find these antiquated tools charming. They might be nothing more than a curio, yet there is some respect to be had for these, like a well-crafted quill, sharpened stones from prehistory, or even a ladder that remains in one place for centuries. There's also a sadness within that we are aware of, yet don't vocalize. Much like how paper will eventually fade away and the piece printed by a typewriter will fade from history as it's left forgotten until the words are too faded, so too does the art of typewriter creation and maintenance fall to greater obscurity, perhaps eventually only remembered by museum curators and archivists showing how they operated. Words may be remembered for ages, but knowledge is more applied and requires more intimate understanding than just books can provide.
While the past may threaten knowledge and the tools that brought us said knowledge like a sandstorm trying to bury a tomb, I would be remiss to not look at the present. So today, I want to talk about Miyo and her hair. Hair that most would see as a pale brown, almost cream. But her white ribbons within provide a second reading, and instead have the color of dated pages that have been seen by many, sandwiched snugly by others of its kind. The curly hair revealing itself near the end, adding depth in how they weave amonst one another, adding highs and lows, ending with a slight curl reminiscent of a page viewed for an extended timeframe, the contents being soaked into the reader. Hip-length hair giving enough to be satisfying, for too little leaves not enough room to elaborate and results in dissatisfaction, yet too long invariably induces incomprehinsible rambling through tangents. A length long enough to tell its story to a satisfactory conclusion. The ribbons of which she wears symmetrically, braid itself and her hair into the end of the ribbon, like how a book will always come together at its spine, providing subtle strength to the hair in how stable it shows, yet takes to the side like a secondary trait. The hair vents obscure the ears in a great, yet not absolute, fashion. This gives detail to the eyes, yet that perception is ephemeral, for should a good character captivate charmingly, the reader may indeed be immersed in the environ, hearing what is said, breathing the breath within the breadth of the book, and perchance presently percieving participants.
While Miyo's outfit may not have any synergy with her hair, the ink ribbon that typewriters use would make Miyo's hobby instead be the synergy. Despite this, anything further would wander warily to Wonderland, deep into the rabbit's hole regarding Wild Hunt's library as opposed to referring to Miyo.
Miyo's hair is proper, the curls and separation providing an airiness to it that makes it feel light. A brush will naturally find quirks and kinks within due to its curly nature, but that adds a level of flair and charm to the work. I've long held that the flowers listed under specific gift tastes are a pretty good indicator to what a student's hair would smell like. Yet for Miyo, somehow this feels off, like a word which changes the tone of a piece entirely. I can't help but catch notes of a cafe, the cappuccino near the table, looking at something written. These days, that wouldn't have a scent, yet Miyo's typewriter collecting leads me to believe that there's a faint hint of a book within, almost imperceptible, as though it's imagined in how the rest of the scene comes to life.
Link to previous entries (assuming I don't forget):
https://rentry.org/hair_archive