Ragnarok, third year hair stylist in The Eastern Gnome Institute of Beauty, stood on the roof of the prestigious school and surveyed the stealthy attackers. His hair danced in nervous anticipation, animated and synchronized with his emotions by use of the Gnome’s patented sentient hairspray.

“Pickling yurts!” Danny exclaimed at the incessant murmur behind him. He was a first year makeup artist with a knack for the absurd. The sound of 26 beatniks debating the merits of war didn’t help Danny and Ragnarok formulate a plan in the slightest little bit.

“Those are some well-groomed Ninjas down there, Danny.” Ragnarok said with his hair shifting and styling. And he was right. Though they were Ninja, their immaculately tailored uniforms and incredibly stylish hairstyles meant they were a force to be reckoned with. Clearly they were here to challenge the school in a beautician’s battle royale.

“They’re approaching epic groove down there!” Danny blurted out.

“Danny, hand me that shovel. This is gonna get ugly…”