luisa mortar d2 wip

Appearance:

So I'm getting ready for work right now, which I am really excited for. Now, work isn't usually the most exciting thing in the world, but it is when you're me, and it's your 3rd year anniversary there. Even so, I still only throw on a black tee with some threads dangling that I simply cannot be bothered pulling off and some grey jeans are just slightly too short for me. Me, who is 5ft 11, may I add. The reason? Cause way too often, I end up spilling molten glass on my apron, and the heat fuses my clothes together somehow, and I have to throw it in the trash, which is something I can't afford to let happen again. It would be the 6th time. I stand up to look myself up and down in the mirror, and I smile. In no way am I implying I'm attractive by smiling at myself, at this point I think it's a way of just pretending. I can't see any other reason for it. I'm far too thin, at least that's what my Uncle tells me, and its probably because I've never seen him consume food except my birthday cake when I was 13 and my mother can't cook for shit. Now, I'm not exactly on the brink of starvations, but seriously when your ribs are showing and your elbow is on the verge on being thicker than the majority of your arm, I think that's a little concerning. Maybe I need to learn to cook for myself more.

I'm debating whether to put my hair up before I go out. Hair that's brown for the most part, except from little auburn highlights from god knows where. It's not like I spend days in the sun. In the end I decide to, like usual, because the time where I singed my fringe still both literally and metaphorically scars me (there's a thin white line no more than an inch long on my forehead from the burn). It clears up my face, and I sigh before smiling again to reveal teeth with a slight cream tinge, which isn't exactly unusual. My lips are unchapped for the time being after biting then licking my lips, and I blink my pale green eyes a few times over to try and feel more awake. There are bags under my eyes which I don't understand, since I sleep a sensible, if not excessive amount. I'm such a pale mess it hurts sometimes, it really does. I envy those who get tans, but then again, if I actually went out in the sun for once in a while instead of spending an eternity in the glassblowing studio...


Personality:

Since Uncle didn't stay over for the night, which he frequently does, I have to make my own way to work instead of piggybacking on his bike. You see, cycling is fun in theory; wind blowing through your hair; freedom to roam the streets; overtaking other pedestrians while aggressively ringing the bell hurling nonsensical abuse... but in practise, it tells a rather different story. Hard work, then more hard work, with a little bit of hard work additional. I swear, from what I hear about the capitol, I'm truly surprised they haven't worked out teleportation yet. I guess most people would call me lazy, but I argue that's not true. Yes, I might not like manual labour, but any task you ask me to do that doesn't require me sweating until I could fill the District 5 Dam. I'm already sweating, and I'm less than a quarter way there. I'd be happy to work all night writing your essays, but I'm not sure why you'd want me to, since I'm really not the sharpest tool in the shed. It's probably because you spent all day training to be a career, god dammit. If there's something I can't abide about District 2 (because, trust me, I love it here.) it's the careers. They waste their entire youth training to escape from what they call a "hellhole" (saying that makes me shudder) when they could be making contribution to the society, and changing the 'hellhole' into a utopia. I'm not saying District 2 is perfect, but it just aggravates me so much the majority of people would rather train (illegally, may I add !) to kill 23 strangers than make their home district a tolerable place to them. I glance down and see my knuckles have turned white on the handlebar, and feel the flow of blood relieve my clenched hands as I loosen them.


Please believe me when I say this, but bar the previous outburst, I'm a calm person. Maybe apathetic would be a better word. Nothing really grinds my gears as much as anything gets me excited. Well no, I think that's a lie. The one thing I'm (positively) passionate about is glass-blowing. (And then there's mother, but that's another issue.) It has pretty much become my life. 3 years ago, to this day, my Uncle asked me if I wanted to give it a shot. 18 months later I'm still trying to get the hang of it. It's not like I don't have the hang of it, per se, but I just makes silly mistakes over and over and over again. I've only had 4 commercial successes, and I keep the first thing I've made at home. I'm not going to give up just because I screw up (which I do... excessively) because with Mother constantly out of the house and Father dropping dead, I've got nobody to really look up to except from my Uncle, and I really want to impress him by following in his footsteps.


No, I wouldn't really say