09-13-2009, 08:07 AM
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 The Ballad of Baby Jane - Sa13+
Banner by Ama
Hello!
Some of you miiiight know who I am from the SS School RP where one might say I am quite active, but the only presence I've had here in the FF area was to enter and win the first round of the Tom Riddle Chronicles (you can read the fun interview I got to do with Ari here). That is about to change though! I'm going to earn that lovely SS Featured Writer tag I'm sporting and hopefully entertain some of you (and admittedly myself) in the process.
This is my first ever fanfic on SS, and its an RP Character story for the ministy roleplay right here on SS. Jane Holland is a new reporter for the Daily Prophet and I thought it might be fun to peek into her mind a bit. Credit to J.K Rowling for the Wizarding World, Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones providing inspiration for the diary parts and everyone who might just find themselves featuring after an interesting RP or three.
Note that at some points I might jump around in time, but it should be pretty clear in this first post where we are at and you can choose to read it chronologically by the date of the story or by the date of my posts, up to you!
Any questions don't hesitate to ask!
~Tegz
December 2nd 2069
Interviews: 1 0
Pairs of lucky shoes: 1 0
Tubs of ice-cream: 5
Article due: Quick Flicks: How to Fold Robes in Half the Time and Half the Motion
Jane Holland must be crazy. Quite confident staff at Florean’s definitely think so. Might be only thing Jane Holland confident of. Bought enough take home packs of lemondrop and strawberry jam ice-cream to paint every surface in flat and would do so if ice-cream coated wallpaper and shag rug were in vogue. Fairly certain that is not case, so Self will dispose of all ice-cream via lips and store via hips.
Can’t possibly face Mrs Elliot and Mr Spinks at terrible job tomorrow, though they will be dying to know how things went. Self will be ill from disposing of and storing too much ice-cream and will need sick day. Mrs Elliot and Mr Spinks will have to wait.
~
Jane looked down at her shoes willing for them, as if by some great stroke of fate, to become the kind of shoes she’d wear for luck in the future. They were new, a little stiff, shiny and squeaky when she flexed her foot. Surely they’d appreciate their first outing into the world being for an interview at Witch Weekly?
She flexed her left foot, watching the leather crease across the top of her foot and listening for the creak that she was sure served as a way for her shoes to tell her that, yes, they would be lucky.
She’d get the job.
“Holland, Jane.” There was a secretary-type in terrifying skyscraper heels standing in the doorway of what was presumably the office that she was about to have her interview in. What felt like a billion pairs of eyes zeroed in on her as the other applicants watched Jane lurch to her feet, the kitten heels at that moment deciding that they didn’t feel all that lucky or significant when compared to the stilettos that were greeting her with a sneer.
“That’s… that’s me.” Jane found her voice and instantly disliked how it heard to her ears. She sounded completely intimidated and out of place, even a little hoarse.
The secretary type raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and looked down at Jane superciliously. At 5’8, almost 5’9 it wasn’t easy to look down on her, but the secretary-type managed it, her perfectly sculpted nose tipping up to do so.
“Are you sure?”
Jane just smiled and nodded feeling like an idiot. She should just run away. Go back to her boring desk job writing articles for various wizarding periodicals with a consumer base made up mainly of desperate housewitches or the old and decrepit.
Hobby Model Brooms Take Flight.
Best Bookshops of the Wizarding World.
Elbows In: 48 Fascinating Floo Destinations.
Feeling the Burn: Adventures with Galbrathian Fire.
She walked past the secretary-type, very aware of her own heavy footfalls even through the thick carpet, which was seemingly designed with the sole purpose of rendering it impossible to walk through it in kitten heels.
Don’t fall over. Don’t fall over.
Jane was proud of herself when she made it to the office and sat down in a stiff little chair that faced the desk.
“Oh by all means, sit down.” The voice positively dripped and Jane blushed slightly, choosing not to look at the secretary.
The tarty looking secretary.
The… secretarty?
Jane smiled sweetly to herself, feeling a little better. The feeling lasted all of ten seconds and the secretarty sat on the expansive wooden desk with the air of someone that had made themselves quite comfortable on that particular surface a million times before in a million different ways.
“Your kind doesn’t belong here, you know that don’t you?” Secretarty told her in a casual voice, examining the talons on one hand and crossed her legs.
Jane was fascinated. How on earth was that woman able to cross her leg over then tuck her ankle back under her calf like that? How? Was it a beanpole thing? The woman was very long and thin, almost sinuous. She, the secretarty, was the type that had legs up to places where torsos should have begun. Whereas she, Jane, had legs that occasionally helped but mostly hindered in her efforts to get from one place to another, and a torso she preferred not to acknowledge in the slightest.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Jane found her voice and made it a little firmer, “I am very experienced in the industry, and my resume outlines my achievements quite clearly.”
“But you don’t look like much of a go-getter. We run on a schedule, a tight one. You don’t look like you run period, let alone fit something tight.”
There was a horrible silence and Jane felt her throat close up and her face turn what she was sure could only be an alarming shade of tomato red.
“I… I’m a writer?” Jane answered faintly. Why had that come out like a question? And why was she suddenly very aware of where her hips touched the wooden arms of the chair? She squeezed her legs together and sucked in a breath, trying to appear nonchalant. “My appearance has nothing to do with the quality of my work. And I interned at Spella Weekly for a while…”
The secretarty laughed, sounding to Jane like a deranged crup.
“If you think that is enough to get you a job here, then I truly feel sorry for you.” She stood up suddenly and laughed again. “Mr Harding will be with you in just a little while. Good luck.”
Jane watched as the secretarty sashayed out of the office, leaving her alone in the heavy silence.
After a moment she squeezed herself out of the chair, picked up her bag and fled from the office, stumbling slightly in the waiting room and feeling all the other applicants staring at her. Jane slipped her shoes off and hurried out of the Witch Weekly offices barefoot.
Home.
Icecream.
And the new shoes would go in the trash. December 5th 2069 2 3 4 December 6th 2069 5 (Ft. Con_Stripes) 6 (Ft. Con_Stripes) January 2nd 2070 7 January 15th 2070 8  |