Melrose Humplots, District 10
Aug 31, 2012 2:11:05 GMT -5
Post by cyrus on Aug 31, 2012 2:11:05 GMT -5
::Melrose Humplots::17::District 10::“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
::Appearance::
She still remembers the moment when she saw her. Blond hair, teased up—the higher, the closer to ripred—unnatural against her black eyebrows. A pair of rouged cheeks, swirled upward. Thick globs of black on her long eyelashes. Deep red lipstick against a pair of bright white teeth, unstained because she never smoked cigarettes. A swooping low dress that made men stop in their tracks to look at the effortless beauty. Her dress that came right up to her thigh, far above the knee the way that her mother wore her own. And a set of heels that shimmered in the light, clear at the bottom so you could see out the other side.[/color] All of it made Melrose wide eyed, all of it made her curious. She was the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen.[/color] Yes, Dolly Two-bits, the whore up on Sandy Duncan’s old ranch that would do whatever you pleased for ten dollars, she was Melrose’s most lasting role model.
She stands taller than most girls in her district, with thick legs that are rarely covered by anything, save a pair of cut off shorts or a skinny-mini skirt. Her shirts always show off her assets—she never hides the girls [/color] as she calls them—but she lets everything hang on display for the world to see. Some boys say that it was after her fifteenth birthday that ripred blessed this earth with Melrose’s womanhood—two large, round breasts that have been compared to melons, even basketballs under the right light—and some have uttered about how she’s even able to keep balance with the pair of them on her frame. She’s learned the tricks of the trade: adding foundation and a few faint lines to make ‘em look bigger… hefting them up tight with a bra… even adding some padding when she thought they just weren’t quite where they needed to be. Her knees are skinned and bruised more than they should be, and her hair can look like a rough patch of field on a summer’s day. But that’s from all the fun she likes to have.
She’s never been a natural beauty. Heck, she’s never been a natural[/color] anything, but it hasn’t stopped Melrose from lusting after the eyes of all the men she can. Because what does honesty matter when it comes to looks? Everyone looks the same after the lights are out, anyway. Her bleached hair and too full lips belie the scheming that goes on underneath. Her skin, weathered from the work on the ranches, has aged her beyond sweet seventeen, and more than a few times she’s been mistaken for a woman—never a lady—in her twenties. Cat calls and whistles only help to bolster the swish of her hips and the flash of her skin. You won’t catch a lick of modesty from this girl—though you might get a lick from her if you play your cards right.
There are a few times that she’s felt beautiful in her life: When she was first runner up in the Ms. District 10 pageant at the District Fair; or the time she got stark naked at the swimming hole and all the boys stopped to watch her swish around in the water. They whistled before they got real quiet—the load of them collectively a bunch of hormonal teenagers—able to see the
::Personality::
It’s nearly effortless for Melrose to pretend she doesn’t have a thought in her head. It didn’t always used to be this way. She used to look up to the girls that read books, holding thick tomes in their hands and reading the dark yellow pages with their earthen smell as though there were secrets still to be revealed. But she saw the way no one looked at them, the way the boys on the ranches were much happier when their lips didn’t open up and question the way things were. Her own mother was a mousey woman, popping out child after child, until she went through life like a ghost. Melrose could see it now, her little form covered in a long white shirt as she dipped into the swimming hole, frail and quivering, looking only to her husband Eugene to steer her in the right direction. No, there was nothing beautiful or loved about brains.
But there’s still the thin curl of her lip, the arch of the eyebrow, the way she slips from using ain’t to isn’t… she can’t stay hidden all the time, not when the world is so much more than giving out a handy behind someone’s shed or finding the right boy to take home after a night out. Alcohol helps—makes the people of district ten more bearable—but there’s only so many times a girl can black out and wake up in an old man’s room with her panties hanging from his ceiling fan before she starts to reassess the situation. Still, better to wave off boys with a giggle than to say what she really feels. Because that would take so much more effort, anyway… having to think through what she was doing, rather than owning up to it.
She’s grown accustomed to the way the older men of the district have started to take notice of her. It’s not uncommon for her to press for gifts. After all, if the old sods are willing to give her a nice new pair of boots, or maybe some of their dead wife’s old jewelry, who is she to say no? And so she giggles and smiles and flips her hair—fiddle dee dee[/color], she says—before taking it all in like there’s nothing she wants more in the world. Of course it’s all to take her back home with them, behind closed doors, where she’s willing to show them a good time. That’s just how the world worked, though, isn’t it? She wasn’t going to wind up like the f—king Tansys, poor and on some rented piece of s—t land in the middle of nowhere. No, she wanted to wind up with a name like Poers—or Emberstatt—someone rich and wealthy, someone that would let her be eternally beautiful. Someone whose money and power could give her all she ever dreamed about.
Because if she were beautiful, then she could be loved by everyone, right? Then she would have the adoration of her friends, not the scorn of when she opened or legs or acted like an idiot. She’d have the nicest dresses, and the prettiest hair, the best make-up, the biggest house… she’d throw fabulous parties, and everyone would see just how wonderful she was. Then she’d live forever—she’d live even if she wanted to die young. Because there was that impulse… the impulse that life could never be as great as it was now, when her best years were fast passing her by. For once she reached adulthood, her figure would fade, as would the novelty of her kisses. Then she would be just another whore that had walked the block one too many times. Better to live fast and die young, than to never live at all.
::History::
It wasn’t easy growing up the youngest in a family with six brothers. Lord knows they certainly weren’t the cleanest bunch, cooped up in a tiny little hovel of a house, sharecropping just to get by. Papa Joe is a stout man, burly chested, with a disgusting penchant for snorting back the phlegm in his throat and spitting it out as far as he can. He scratches his ass in public, wears the same set of overalls for days on end, and hits on any woman, anytime, anywhere. All this in front of his dutiful wife Meegan, a wisp of thing, standing no more than five feet and skin tucked tight against her body, looking like some sort of shriveled up piece of rotted fruit. The two of them worked to raise the boys and Melrose the best they could, of course, with so many and so little to go around, there was always the chance for things to get overlooked.
There was Jeb, John, Jules, Jack, Eugene Jr., and Melrose. The six of them fought like cats and dogs—Jeb was the oldest, seven years older than Melrose and acting like he was king; John, his silent little enforcer, the one that was sure to tattle when something went wrong; Jules, that ran around screaming profanities at the top of his lungs, picking his nose, and belching right in your face; Jack, too boring to even put into words, sometimes she forgot he was even around; and Eugene Jr., closest to Melrose in age, and always scolding her for the way she wrapped her legs around so many different boys. He was, just jealous of course, his sorry ass was never going to get anything[/color] , being small, red haired, and covered in acne. The most unfortunate looking of the Humplots, to be sure.
Despite her place as Daddy’s little girl, Melrose was confined to the same sphere as her mother. The silences that were supposed to be hers—never questioning her father or brothers’ decisions—spurred in her a deep desire to break free from the Humplots’ home. It was easy enough for her to pretend to be stupid and hang along boys… but that was child’s play for Melrose. Why not get a ring on her finger from a respectable gentleman, and get out of the little s—thole her family had dug? As she got older it felt more and more like a grave, anyway. And Melrose planned on burying her husbands, not herself. She wanted a house with running water, and a little balcony, with a garden down below. She wanted all the trimmings on the Ratmas turkey, with gravy and biscuits and giblets for everyone. But most of all, she wanted to burn out her candle before things got to be too boring in district 10.
And so now she fills herself with all the things that a girl her age should—men, alcohol, fast music, glamorous knock-off styles, hand-me-down gowns—everything to make her look like a beauty. Because that’s all she ever really wants, is to be a woman of repute. There might’ve been something in there, way down, about being something more than she is now. But it’s hard to say—Melrose likes her fun. She likes her boys. And she likes the safe little life she’s created for herself. Sure, every so often she’s puking into a trashcan or regrets the boy she went home with… maybe there have been a few times that she’s been late… but what’s the use in going to life’s banquet if you’re going to starve yourself to death?
codeword: odair[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]
