Chapter One: Food and Shelter
Okay, here's a new story that I wrote on a whim. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this one, but it will either be E/C or E/OC, which would you prefer? I'm considering E/C, with my character not being in the romance part. I dunno... R&R, and any suggestions are greatly appreciated! Please be patient as I try to find the part of my brain that wasn't corrupted by my other work-in-progress, BCWYWF. (FYI: Be Careful What You Wish For)
The moon peeked coquettishly from behind the mass of slate grey clouds as snow drifted down from them in a lazy fashion. The streets of Paris were just beginning to collect a thin layer of the white powder, but the promise of heavier snowfall lurked just behind the delight of the current weather as heavily garbed men and ladies strolled the sidewalks, chattering happily and looking into storefront windows as their children ran ahead, skipping and laughing, catching the tiny flakes on their tongues and singing impromptu melodies about everything and nothing. In the air hung a cheerful feeling that only the holiday season could inspire in nearly every Parisian. But one frail-looking young woman could hardly have reason to join in the cheer.
It would be impossible to place her age, as she was too physically mature to be a child, yet her face was too youthful to be a woman. The best bet would be to say that she was somewhere in her middle to late teens, though her eyes did not have the superficial, painfully joyful look of many teenage girls. A limp grey rag that once might have been a dress hung on her gaunt frame and her pallid skin stretched tightly across thin shoulders and prominent cheekbones that sat on either side of a delicately upturned nose as she walked in a slow shuffle towards a large building rising against the night sky. Her lifeless hair hung like slightly wavy straw down her back and hinted at being a light blonde colour behind the dirt which was to be found everywhere on her. Reaching up, she knocked on the elegant door and waited until a well-dressed usher opened it. He regarded her with disdain for a moment, then made a dismissive gesture.
"No beggars here!"
"Please, monsieur, I am looking for work." The girl gave him a blue-lipped smile of mute appeal, her breath forming an icy cloud which seemed to defy the warmth radiating from the fancy structure.
He looked her up and down briefly with a scowl, then vaguely gestured to the left. "Go around to the side door, if they'll take you, that's where you'll be hired."
"Merci, monsieur!" She didn't even mind when he slammed the door in her face, and paused only a moment to breathe on her cupped hands and rub them together for warmth before proceeding to the first door she found on the side of the building. She knocked once again, and heavy-set, ruddy-faced woman opened it.
"What do you want, urchin?"
"Madame, I need food and shelter, and I can work for it." She shivered involuntarily, wrapping her thin arms around her torso in a vain attempt to gain warmth.
"What can you do?" The woman looked ready to turn her away.
"I can wash, and sew, and cook to some degree, ma'am, but I am willing to learn anything."
"Never mind that, girl, you'll be fine if you'll agree to work hard. I am short laundresses, and if you'll work hard in return for meager meals and a cot in one of the prop rooms, you can stay. But if you're lazy I'll beat you and turn you out without a second thought."
Despite the harsh words, the young woman's face lit up. "I'll work twice as hard as the others, ma'am!"
This satisfied the woman. "What is your name, girl?"
She shook her head. "I have none."
"Nonsense! What are you called?"
"Well, ma'am… urchin, girl, little waif, strumpet, brat, filth, and scum, mostly."
"Hmmm… well you're brat, then. Come along brat, you're going to work right away, and you'll work until I can say you can stop."
The woman, who said her name was Manon, clearly remembered brat's words. Long after the other girls had gone to bed, she kept brat at work, washing until the sky began to grow rosy with the impending dawn. At last, the exhausted girl was given a burned crust of bread and a cup of water, and given a narrow cot set up in a nearly empty prop room where 12 other girls slept. Although her fingers ached from scrubbing the costumes in the scalding water, her thirst was quenched and her stomach had a bit in it to ease the pangs of hunger that had plagued her for as long as she could remember.
Okay, what do ya'll think so far? I know the chappie's short, but it is 1:40 A.M, and although this is my most creative time for my brain, it is the least creative time for my fingers, who have already worked all day on BCWYWF. Please try to be kind, but if you feel you must flame me, then just let mego get my fire-proof shield so I don't melt, m'kay? ;)