A tryout for TWA @istylista and @chanel-and-pastels.
Valerie Cocha ,19
Job: Chamber Maid
Personality: mirthful, friendly, old-soul, intense, distrustful
Bio: Valerie is only seen as a blonde blur, whizzing through the hotel with laughter crashing into the polished walls behind her. Valerie wants to be everybody’s friend, and knows how to make them. She’s charming and has a strange sense of humor that can leave even the most uptight businessman smiling. But some of the staff finds her easygoing nature misleading and watch her with a wary eye. Her thrown back head and random high-fives seem almost fake, and her way of insisting on working alone suspicious. The truth? Valerie’s been stealing from the hotel for almost four months now. She feels awful about it, but the idea of going back home to Florida was more horrifying than sneaking around. No one knows, despite the light uncertainty, and Valerie is a good actress. She holds a mask of easy-indifference in front of her personality everywhere she goes, and shakes off her increasing fear. Valerie understands that she can’t keep the lies up forever, and her stress level rises after every bitter success.
Model: alisa matviychuk
There is no rush. No swoop of the stomach and no uncontrollable giggles that rise out of the tip of your throat and choke your tongue as they bubble out. Because now there is no adrenaline every time I snatch a neglected silk top that the diva from room Room 214 won’t notice missing. No rise of success when I take and snitch, replace.
I am a machine with no ending. Once I just had to pay rent. Just once, I thought to myself. Then I’ll be fine. It happened in Room 455, and I went home and cried because I knew that it was all over. It was the Waldorf Astoria, after all. With it’s gleaming glass windows that block out the noise of the city, the click of shoes I can’t afford on the floors, the shake of the chandeliers and the sparkle my fellow workers force into their eye every time they address a man whose day’s payment would last us for a week.
I hate the men with seven hundred dollar wallets and suits that look handcrafted by Angels.
I hate them.
I look so wild and funny and fierce all the time. I know what my friends see. But inside I’m just a black ball of hate twirling and growing until it bleeds over my edges for everyone to see. I think of my family back home in Florida and wince. No, it wasn’t the guests I had to smile sweetly at everyday that sent me on edge, it was my family.
How dare I? I left my sister in that house. Florida, my home: an awful place where the sun doesn’t shine no matter how hard it tries. I’m the monster. Not my mother. I am. I left her. I left them both. I broke the rules of sisterhood and left my baby sister. How dare I?
I straighten the sheets and wipe my eyes. I can’t work with anyone else, not because I don’t want to steal something in front of them, I’m a good liar, I could shoo them away fast enough to snatch a blouse, a ring, but because I seem to mentally break down once a week in random spots. Today, I’m working on a Saturday.
I would be out with some of the girls right now, but I knew that today just wasn’t going to be a good day. I had that gnawing feeling in my chest, and I kept feeling like someone was watching me. This would not be a good time to steal something. I sniff again and then a laugh of pain at my own pathetic self bursts out of me. I shut my mouth and scream as I plump up the pillows. God, What Am I Doing?
I kick the bottom of the gleaming bed and the shock of pain makes me feel better. I turn around to grab my cart of bed sheets, and then I see it. It’s beautiful: a leather boot from last season’s weird killer lace-up faze. It’s scuffed at the bottom and one of the strings is broken. I could easily fix that. I spin around and check the room. Of course no one’s there.
I chew my lip and an unexpected fear enters me, like it had on the first times. I really shouldn’t, but I want that boot. I need that boot. Where’s its match? I scramble quickly around the room and find its match, who’s in even worse shape, in the trashcan. Oh God, it's so perfect. This is fate, I need these shoes!
I smile, an overwhelming and false sense of security rushing over me like warm sunlight. I whip around one more time then bend down and grab the boots soft leather and dig my fingernails into it. I grab the other shoe and launch back to my cart. I’ve spent too much time in this room and needed to hurry.
I swing open the door with the back of my Dr. Martins and push the cart out of the room like a madman. I was a madman. I laugh at my own success, happier that I’ve been in weeks in one breath. Then I see her. She’s standing with her arms crossed in triumph, but her face is dead of emotion. I stare back into the eyes of one of my fellow employees.
My backs still to the hallway wall and my hands slacken on the cart that greatly exposes the pair of huge boots.
I’m such an idiot.
“Hey, Val.” She chirps, her eyes flashing and contradicting her cheerful tone. Then she smiles a deadly smile, the smiles I see on the wealthy women that glide in the WA like they own the place. They could if they wanted to. But this girl doesn’t. She’s broke, like me. It’s a ridiculous thought but it gives me strength.
“Are you going to tell them?”
My thrown back shoulders and burning gaze doesn’t frighten her, she looks easy-going, smooth, like she expected me to fight back. The girl stands closer and slides a delicate finger over the glossy boots that aren’t even mine. I can hear her breathing, she’s excited. I glare at her. I hate this girl now. We were slight friends before. That ship has sailed and left no trace. She’s holding her true colors up like a flag.
“Only if you give me reason too.” That smile again, poisonously sweet. The girl walks off, her heels clacking on the floor.
I sigh. It’s not her fault. I mean, yeah her reaction is her fault, but it was me that grabbed the boots. My chest rises and I know I’m going to cry. God, I have a problem. I try to calmly roll the cart to the next room before the tears come.
Reasons why I should be in TWA:
I’m a very active person, and I like to weave my characters into intricate and deep patterns. I love to make characters seem almost real. Also I connect my stories with other members, (I know some mods have issues getting people to interact with each other, and I am most definitely not one of those people!). I am in love with Valerie already, and it would be great if I got to write for her.