"Because my hair doesn't grow fast enough to suit what they want it to do." Which is: just about anything. Twisted into weird shapes, colored green, and gold, and brown, and red. Spiked, slicked down, braided, coiled. Sometimes it had been fun, and sometimes it had been shitty. "My stylists are total idiots. They couldn't plan their way out of a wooden box."

Like a coffin. Johanna's smirk lifts at the corner of her mouth, just a little. "Maybe they're dead now," she says, conversationally. The thought is both nice and not. She didn't have any love for the crew. Maybe it's a little sad, in a very distant way, but mostly not. Except it would have been nice to put an axe in some faces personally.

"And what the hell does shanky mean?" Sharp, but not cruel, she shoots a glance over her shoulder, her mouth pursed. "You keep saying it like it's an actual word."