Ruby Tuesday District 8 [finished]
Jul 6, 2012 15:41:55 GMT -5
Post by cyrus on Jul 6, 2012 15:41:55 GMT -5
[/color]::Ruby Tuesday::::District 8::::17::Don't question why she needs to be so free
She'll tell you it's the only way to be
She just can't be chained
To a life where nothing's gained
And nothing's lost
At such a cost
Recipe for Ruby Tuesday
Ingredients
[/b][/color][/center]•One set of long legs.
We’re talking runner’s thighs, built from years of racing my brother to be the fastest sibling. Now they’re not ham hocks, but sometimes they make me feel like I’m a little out of proportion. Not that I get self-conscious or anything. I’m still a runner, even after all these years. And I love to dance as well. I can’t dance as well as my brother but then, that’s a story all in its own.
•A few dozen freckles, these are splotched over the face and arms for good measure.
I always say that a few of them are in the shape of a heart down over my butt, but that’s not a spot that I’ve let anyone really see, at least, not on purpose. There might be a few callouses on the hands, but then, who doesn’t in district 8? Work as a seamstress will leave anyone with rough hands and more than a few scars from the scrapes you can get sewing and cutting pieces of fabric or fur. It’s tough work, probably requires better eyesight than in most of the other districts if you’re going to get a good finished product. And lord help you if you make some sort of mistake with the furs.
•One tangle of light brown hair, sometimes looking like a rats nest.
I try to keep it neat but it’s just too much and I can’t be bothered. There are so many other girls that like to primp and preen and keep themselves looking like a half-pint imitation of the capitol, but that’s not me. The most I’ve ever done is put a few curlers in my hair to make me look like an old fashioned doll. I mean I’ve never had a problem making eyes at the boys in the district, so why does it matter so much when my hair looks like I’ve been standing in front of the exhaust pipe of a hovercraft?
•Two brown eyes, the color of mud after a rainstorm.
A little wide, sometimes leering, and altogether one of my best qualities. I think that looking into someone’s eyes can say so much about them—of course, mine are so plain that I think that if someone looked at them they’d be terribly bored with me. I suppose that having brown eyes isn’t so bad—they matched my fathers, and he was a good man.
•Parts Knobby knees, pointy elbows, and a chest more flat that busty.
Let’s face it, I’m a mess. I laugh at my friends because my body seems set against itself—I’m skinny but gangly, with thin arms and long legs. I’ve got no boobs, it’s something I have been waiting to come in forever, but I think that dream is about to die the same way I dreamt of getting a pony to ride through town on my tenth birthday (unfulfilled). I guess I’m pretty comfortable with all of it though. Everyone around my age is pretty f—king awkward looking, too. And we’re so busy trying to work and to keep up I don’t know how any of them would ever have time to think about things like that. Sometimes people will get dressed up in fancy clothes and colors for something important… I mean we are the district that makes clothes… but for the most part I don’t ever see anyone putting that much thought into it. At least, not my group of friends. Leslie Anne gives a s—t about it sometimes, but then she acts as though she’d rather be parading around in a tee shirt and underwear and not be bothered. I guess we just don’t know what we want yet.
Instructions
Roughly chop a few clichés together. Probably something along the lines of climbing every mountain and thinking I’m destined for greatness. Add a dash of a mission to be myself. This part’s important, because it has to be fresh or it simply won’t work—the mission changes daily, so any day-old purchase will completely spoil the recipe. Such missions have run the gambit of finding my one true love (I thought that this would be Barney Hamplebottom, when he kissed me when we were twelve on my front porch) to determining what I want to do with the rest of my life (I want to be a superstar actress, and perform in the capitol, in case you were wondering). Like I said, the dreams change often and if you don’t keep up you might completely miss something—and I promise I won’t stop for you to keep up.
Sprinkle with a few hormones.
Mix four parts sass, two parts concern, and just a pinch of common sense. I say a pinch because I still dream about things all the time. I still think about what life must be like in the capitol, and how maybe I could make something really great out of myself. Like, I could be a great seamstress and my clothes would be seen by the capitol and they’d pluck me up to work in a dress shop there. Or maybe I’ll get a chance to sing and dance for more than just my friends… or even, for more than just the sorry sods in district 8. Because that’s what I’ve always wanted to do! I’ve always wanted to be in front of people… to show them that I have talent, and that they can love me because I’ll love them… and I’ll be gracious and kind and wonderful.
You put it all together and let it bake on high heat for seventeen years. After set to cool, ice with a thin layer of hope. Because even if my dreams seem ridiculous there ain’t nothing in this world without hope. You gotta believe in something to get anywhere. It’s depressing when folks think that we get anywhere by keeping your head down and not taking risks. ‘Cause that’s not gonna lead to anything at all. And I’d rather die young than be nothing to nobody.
History of the dish
[/color]I’m the youngest of two in my family. There’s me and then there’s Daniel, my older brother. He’s almost twenty, and by gosh if he isn’t the best brother you could ever have in the world. We grew up with my Pa (Nyland) and Ma (Dorothy), and they did their best to give us a good home. Pa was in textiles and worked hard, and Ma was a seamstress. She dabbled in a few other things but mostly put together clothes. I like to think I got my work ethic from my Pa and my eye for color from my Ma. They raised us in our little shack up the way like the rest of the families in the district. All the homes that come in rows and are stitched together looking like the same thing house-after-house-after-house. Wasn’t so bad since everyone knew everyone else. But they all knew each other’s business which wasn’t my favorite thing.
Was I good in school? I was clever. I was always talking back and drifting off and finding my own things to learn. Couldn’t care much about what they had to teach us when it wasn’t interesting to me. I knew I was gonna be a seamstress since I was six, so why learn all the stuff they thought we had to know? Just about the only time that I ever had fun in school was when we put on plays about the capitol and I got to be up on stage with everyone looking at me. That was the best part, for sure. Was glad when I pretty much finished it up last year. Then I got to working full time putting together clothes and working in a shop. Ladies there are quiet and don’t cause much trouble. They just work us hard—never seems like we can do enough in a single day, hands are always cramped up when I get back home.
My Pa passed away when I was 14. It was a tough time for us since he was still working to support us, and Daniel was just about finished school. He died of something with his heart—he was pretty old anyway, so I guess we couldn’t have been too shocked. Hit my Ma hard, she could barely handle it for a few months. We muddled through, and that’s about the time that my brother found his new hobby. He would come into my Ma’s room when she was out—and he would start putting on the pieces that she’d sewn together. We’re talking dresses and stockings, gloves and even costume jewelry. And Daniel, he looked so good—I caught him the second time he was doing it, but I didn’t care. He was so embarrassed about it I thought he was going to cry. But why can’t he be happy with himself? Wasn’t like he was hurting nobody. So I told him to show me why he was dressing up like that, and he said he did it because he felt pretty and that he felt better cause it made him laugh. And he would pretend in this high voice and walk around—sashay when he really got into it—and then he’d start making fun of things in Panem like he was some sort of comedian.
And so then we started doing it on the regular, him dressing up and me watching and critiquing him. And he got so good, he called himself the Queen of District 8 and I even snatched him a big blond wig to wear (cost me practically ever sent I had saved but I couldn’t care). And then, then when my Ma came back one day and was having a real bad spell, we decided—I forced him—to show her what he was doing all this time. And so we sat in the living room and then there came Daniel—the queen—and she got real quiet. And then he started making his jokes, and she smiled. And she started laughing so hard. She laughed for the first time since Pa had been buried.
She started living with one of our neighbors ‘cause she didn’t want to be alone anymore. And she wanted for me to get into the trade and have my own place—girls my age are ‘sposed to learn a thing or two about living on our own. So now I live with Leslie Anne in an itty-bitty place for two seamstress girls that barely make enough. But I wanted my freedom and I wanted to see if I could make it. And Daniel isn’t too far away from me. I still go on Tuesdays to this dark little place where they let him get up on stage and be The Queen. ‘Cept he’s changing the name. Starting to get big for his britches, and well deserved ‘cause he’s just about the funniest you ever saw. I love him so much. I just wish I could find out what my talent was, because when I look at him up on that stage it makes me burn so much—I just want to be up there, singing, or dancing, or acting… somethin’ that lets people show that I can do that, that I got talent. But for now I’ll just bid my time in the shop, and go out with my friends, and find the cute boys to kiss and cigarettes to smoke, and the alcohol to drink. Yeah, I got a lot to figure out yet.
There's no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Ain't life unkind?
[/center]Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Ain't life unkind?
codeword: <img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">
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