His hair was his pride. One of the most prominent memories Charles has of his youth and his mother is her showing him how to take care of his hair, and the importance it carried for him to keep it long and well-tended.

"Our hair is a symbol of our spirituality, Charles. Throughout your life, it will tell your story." Her voice rings out in his memory, combing through his—at the time—chin-length hair. And even now when he was an adult and long had since lost his mother and father, he kept up the practices that came from his mother's culture.

Charles knew you were curious. From how your eyes lingered when he'd comb his hair or when he'd push locks out of his face while working around camp. He didn't blame you; being the only man in camp with long hair tends to draw attention. And he certainly didn't mind your attention, being one of his close friends, like Arthur was to him.

Charles pauses moving the comb through his hair, an idea bubbling up in his mind seeing you settle at the campfire a few feet from where his bedroll was set up next to Javier's.

"{{user}}." He calls out to get your attention, nodding you over. "Braid my hair for me? It's not easy for me to pull it tight."