Charlotte Blair ~ District 6 Mar 15, 2011 12:15:29 GMT -5
Post by GreenBeads on Mar 15, 2011 12:15:29 GMT -5
~You can hate me, after you pay me~
I'm an attractive woman, what can I say? When you can look in a man's eyes and see the hunger lying underneath the surface- you know you look good. I use it to my advantage, I use to it to put food on the table. There is an art to being pretty, it's an energy you have to harness.
Well, enough about being pretty- let's go into the detail about my beauty, shall we? I'm pale, very pale- like paper white. My hair is blonde to- guys like blonde girls. Tiny, blonde girls. I happen to be thin by nature- lucky, I guess. While it may help my work, being thin is definitely a negative when it comes to cold weather, or self-defense. I'm constantly cold. It's like my blood is ice- I don't believe all this warm-blooded crap. I'm fucking cold. Oh and self-defense, well it's hard to intimidate someone if they're bigger (like most of my customers) but that's why you have connections. I'm tall, which is a plus. Standing at around 5'9- I can hold my own.... most of the time.
My eyes are blue, and not like the "deep ocean" kind; they're the "solid as ice" kind. My boys compliment me on them a lot, then again they're drunk most of the time. Anyway- back to my ravishing looks. Fingers- they're long and slim. Occasional I'll get that freak who has a fetish for hands and he'll play with my fingers a lot. That's one thing about being the in this business, there is a boy for every part of you. There's always someone there who likes smaller breasts, or long, bony fingers.
I keep getting offtrack, don't I? Well, back to my hair- I keep it short because it gets to thin and stringy. Plus, short hair doesn't get in the way of my line of work. The boys like short hair, anyway. Win, win. My eyes, besides being blue, are smaller and my nose fills the gap between them. I'm not sure if my nose is ugly or not. I mean no one ever tells you that your nose is beautiful when trying to get some. Stuff doesn't work like that. I'm going to go with an average nose. My lips, well they're hard workers. They're on the thinner side but when I get my hands on that expensive lip gloss, they look gorgeous.
~Lovely Ladies waitin' for a bite, waitin' for the customers that only come at night~
As many of my customers, my pimp, my parents, and the Peacekeepers have said many times- I'm a smartass. I rarely have a sincere answer for anyone. Why should I need to be serious to anyone? Customers- I just want they're money and the Peacekeepers- they're gonna scowl at me either way. Frankly, if you really want to know- life in the Districts is hell to start out with but when you're as low on the totem pole as I am you find that acting like everything is okay is the only way you can keep going.
I usually don't take anything that another one else says seriously either. Sure, it'll piss off a Peacekeeper but even law enforcement have needs. It's funny. There's the rebels that physically fight against people every chance they get, then there's the people that live directly in the square the law tells them to. Then there's me. I do what I want and no one really seems to notice. I'm not paranoid about it, I go where I want and talk to Peacekeepers and they occasionally snap at me to get off the streets but usually they're more interested in the tightness of my clothes.
What else do you want to know? Well, I'm not really book smart. I quit school when I was fourteen and no one seemed to care. I can't read or write anything besides certain names. I'm actually embarrassed about this- I'll explain later- so I'm lucky that in my line of work you don't do a lot of reading. What I lack in school smarts I make up with street smarts (and after 17 years of living on the street I damn well ought to know my way around). I know the exact corners of the District that house the best paying customers, I know what Peacekeepers are approachable, and I know the businesses that allow my kind. Yep, even in this hell hole some shop keepers don't want me soiling their goods. Who needs them?
I'm... alone, okay? I'm constantly by myself. I don't really have friends. My parents- I don't even know where they are anymore. I don't have a boyfriend- who wants anything to do with a whore? Sometimes I feel like I'm in that story of the beast and the beautiful girl and how they fell in love anyway only I'm the beast instead of the young maiden. I don't even have a magical flower either.
I'd like to make one thing clear- I do not like my job. Don't act like all those stuck-up merchants that think I walk the streets because I want to. I don't have a god damn choice. Sure, I can act like I do but deep down where my emotions are raw I hate everyone that looks at my form with that glint in their eye. Sure, I try to tell myself that it's a compliment- but it's not. After awhile of the same shit everyday, it wears a person down to almost nothing. That's what I feel like. Nothing.~It is not for the whore to say "yes, sir" or "no, sir" Not for the harlot to pick or to chose or to lead me a dance~
Let's see, My dad was a pickpocket and my mum was a whore. Never cared for my mother, she felt like the only thing I could do in life was be just like her. My dad died when I was young. My mom says it was flu, but I'm sure it was the diseases she's crawling with. As you might have noticed, I'm not a big fan of the woman who bore me and I don't think she liked me much either. She wasn't educated and had been tossed around so much by life that she didn't care anymore. I don't know where my mother is. I refused to work with her, but after awhile you can only do what you've been taught. The last time I saw her she was standing across the street from me. I had just picked up a customer. She was smirking. That bitch.
Now, I know I refer to them as my parents and such but they weren't really.... together. My dad was never really my dad. I never even met the guy. It sounds pathetic but I liked to pretend I had a father. In my mind, he taught me to read and count, and took me out to the market to slip coins from people's pockets. He was tall, and had a laugh that sounded like a furnace rumbling. Yeah, imaginary dads are usually the best ones, because then they can't disappoint.
Now, there is another person in my life who I'm not sure he knows if I exist. He's a Peacekeeper and I see him some times. He's very cruel, but never to me. I don't think we've ever talked, but we've made eye contact plenty of times. Funny, for a whore- it's enough for me. His eyes are so deep, and calculating you think you're going to fall into them. His uniform, crisp and white. He's a gentleman. He's a man I wish would take me away from the streets. It's a dream though, some of the things I think about while on the job.
Then there's Cillian. My pimp. He's nice enough for a guy in his trade. Plus, I'm a favorite of his which lands me the big spenders. Cillian, well he's not really my friend. I'm not entirely sure what he is to me. He's fiercely protective, like a brother- but then again you don't sleep with your brother.
I stayed with my mother most of my life, living in the "brothel" she did. Let me tell you, it sucked. I had to sit outside in the hallway whenever she had a customer, and it wasn't like I could read or had any homework to do either. She didn't want me going to school- something about Peacekeepers, I don't really know, most her speech was slurred with some kind of drug or drink. She got kicked out of the brothel when I was twelve. Got old and ugly was what the owner had told her (the owner also told me to give her a call when I got a little older). From then on we stayed where we could: a small apartment above a shop, in an abandoned warehouse. I started out on my own at about... fourteen? Or maybe I was fifteen- no it was before then because I had my first customer before I cut my hair. It just all runs together into one big gray mass until you can't even remember your own age. I remember my birthday though. I'll never forget it, you wouldn't either if yours was on Valentine's day. Oh the irony! Oh the pain!
My trade screws up everything about my life. Nothing is normal. I guess that makes me special. Almost.~All it takes is money in their hand~<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">~Don't they know their making love to one already dead?~