Writing Prompt

The job description of a Starbucks barista didn't include the words 'glamorous' or 'fashionable', but Cordelia was nothing if not an overachiever. She was determined to uplift this Starbucks, one outfit at a time.

Some people might have viewed styling Starbucks green as a setback, but not Cordelia. She welcomed the challenge of making it as fabulous as the rest of her. She debated matching her apron with a pair of stylish brown trousers, but she was not about to be serving coffee looking like a forest. Too much brown and green. She steered herself towards introducing a pop of color instead. She pair her fitted white shirt and apron with a pair of coral trousers instead paired with a pair of crisp green and white Nike Court Legacy Lifts.

And that was just the first day.

Day 2 saw designer jeans and a lighter green shirt under her dark apron. Her hair clip, of course, matched the apron while her shoes matched her shirt. She wore Converse this time.

Cordelia was particularly proud of Day 3. She wore a royal purple sweater with black pants and sparkly purple platform sneakers.

After only a week of her employment, employees and customers alike had agreed that Cordelia was the most lively thing this small town Starbucks had ever been exposed to. While the expected it to get old fast, they actually couldn't help but look forward to her second week to see how Cordelia would next surprise them.

It took approximetaly…20 minutes to get completely dressed. Soft music playing in the background, and a pile of both new and old clothing on the chairs, bed, and floor. she picked a pair of socks, and anallized it. every detail, every spot. “either this one. or maybe that one over there.” in 15 minutes the bell rang and this girl had barely put on a shirt. she checked the weather and smiled. “rain.” the mood was calm, peaceful, but strong. “SERIOUSLY! RAIN!?” she searched her closet for 3 minutes, looked in the mirror for two, changed it twice cause, “no, this one makes me look fat.” and finally grabbed just the right one. one button, two button, three button. so delicate the way she took care of her clothes. pink elegant shirt, white fancy skirt, and a big cute bow. "i need a coat.” she grabbed a coat. well, many more. "just in case i need some mo… “abby let’s go!!!” she applied glossy lip gloss and zipped all her backpack zippers up. Walking down the stairs she thought, “I think i might be a princess.” she puts her earbuds in her ears and starts humming with a gentle tone. When she gets juice from school spilled, she cries and calls her mama home. “i’m just a girl." She’s just a girl.

Uniform is pristine ironed it’s most realistic. It has lots of stars on it for merit and achievement and it’s on show and display and its glory.

The colours are bright. It’s also fairy tidy and press and perfectionistic and display.

It displays the character of the culture realistic roots of the regiment throughout the centuries covering up injuries.

The annoying sound of my alarm is heard. I wake up, still half asleep. I shouldn't have slept that late, but I can't help myself. I stretch a little and look at the time. 6am. It's way too early but I can't be late for school. I need to be perfect. Or at least perfect in the eyes of the other students. Sitting in front of my vanity, I look at myself in the mirror. Why do I look like this? Why can't I be like the pretty girl at school? Perfect skin, perfect body, perfect everything. I get dressed in the uniform. Putting on the gray skirt along with the white blouse, my thoughts go to multiple places, thinking too many things at once. Why are the girls so pretty in this uniform? Why don't I look like them? We have the same uniform and I make sure to put on the same cute makeup they wear, desperate to at least try to look like them. Am I obsessed with beauty? Probably. Am I afraid of judgement? Definitely. While curling my lashes and applying mascara, I realize that I never even liked mascara. I didn't like wearing it before seeing that every teenager wears some. Now I can't feel pretty without it. Same thing goes for gloss: I always hated lip balm, I couldn't even think about putting gloss or lip stick on my lips. But now? Having glossy lips is a must before leaving the house, because once again, I can't feel pretty without it. I check the time; 7:30 a.m. It took one hour and thirty minutes to put on the same outfit we're forced to wear at school, and same makeup as usual to fit in with other girls. I don't have time to make my lunch today, or I'll miss the bus. I focus too much on my appearance, don't I? It's okay if I skip one meal, right? It won't do anything. Besides, it's the least I could do to achieve such a perfect body as the other teenagers. I'll just put a quick snack in my backpack and leave the house, I'll be alright. I out on my shoes and my jacket. My mom forced me to wear it, saying it's really cold outside. When I finally get in the bus after waiting in the cold snow, I melt in my seat. The heater of the bus soothes me. Now only a few minutes before we arrive at school. Another boring day, worrying about how I look and constantly comparing myself to others.

Snow clung to his black felt hat. It was bitterly cold that day. He rubbed his threadbare leather gloved hands together, fighting off the stiffness and chill. His tattered jeans and old leathers almost already soaked through from the snow as he made his way to his horse. The Montana sun barely glowed through the overcast sky. There was a blizzard coming, and the cows needed moving. He was put together rough, and rode life rougher. His sun wrinkled face made it hard to tell how truly old he was, yet his eyes were bright and young. He tightened the cinch on his old bay gelding, white hairs dotting around his eyes and nose. He lightly smacked the gelding on his belly, already knowing the old trick the horse was trying to pull. “Not today, son. We got work.” He gruffed out. The old gelding let out a groan, as if he understood. He huffed out, letting go of the air making his stomach swell, the girth loosened. “Atta boy.” He softly praised and tightened the cinch up a few more holes.

He put the toe of one of his well worn boots in the stirrup. And with a handful of mane pulled himself up and onto the saddle. He took out a hand rolled cigarette from the pocket of his mud covered beige jacket. He lit is with a old rusty lighter he’d gotten years ago in a bar in Arizona. Taking a swell, he relaxed in the saddle, enjoying the warmth that spread throughout his body. Cigarette in lip he gave the gelding a kick and a click of his tongue. And off they trotted down the snow covered trail as the blizzard prepared to raged far up in the sky above.

She tucked in her belly and pulled her white socks all the way up, her hair had to be straight with no hair out of place, her teeth had to look as white and as straight as they could possibly be, and her posture had to be just right. This wasn’t anyone else asking her to do these things. This was simply her choice. She wanted to make sure her grades were all A’s and no B’s. She had to be good at every subject. Know big words. Understand the numbers in math. Of course she also had to get the highest test grade…if she didn’t, well she would try and bribe the teacher to let her redo tests until she got the highest.

Her uniform color was blue. Dark blue to be exact. Perfect. That was the color that suited her blackish-blue hair and brown eyes. Her sneakers could not have a single speck on them.

When she looked at other girls who had something that didn’t look right like an odd laugh or too giggly around guys, she always frowned upon them and sighed with sympathy. Those poor girls, she thought. If only people could be as perfect as her. If only people were as cool as her. If only people were as pretty as her….

She had to have almost everything perfect. Clean lines and folds throughout every piece of clothing. All the pleats were perfect along with each clean curl. Barbra was expected to be elegant and graceful, by just about everyone in school. She had really put this curse upon herself but she couldn’t seem to escape what seemed like hell. Barb walked briskly to class and sat down with her legs crossed. She smoothed out her skirt and looked at the clock while waiting. The was the class where she’d see- oh gods…

With the corner of a bright white handkerchief, Jane dabbed at a smudge on her patent leather shoe. She returned her hankie to her purse slung neatly at her side. Next she adjusted her tidy white cap. White cap, white nurse’s uniform, white support hose, white shoes, each item was spotless.

Jane hated those modern nurse getups indecent scrubs and silly plastic clogs. So unladylike, she thought as she turned in her floor mirror. No it was important to have standards. This had been her mother’s uniform and Jane had worn it when she cared for her during her long illness.

She was a good nurse. Jane didn’t need all that fancy school stuff. Mother taught Jane all she needed. Focus on the patient, relieve suffering, be a lady. Jane flung her long wool cape over her shoulders.

At her throat, She clasped the black button of her long dark cape. Carefully Jane adjusted her hood over her cap. Her basket of special sandwiches were loaded on her bicycle. Jane checked the slim timepiece pinned to her cape. Nearly 2 a.m., it was the perfect time.

Outside her door heavy fog lay thick on the ground. Jane only tend to the sick and lonely on nights like this. When the damp kept most people home in bed Jane went out to hand out food and hopefully help some poor soul gain relief forever from pain.

Jane disappeared into the night. Soon she would be on the sleeping streets of the business district among the forgotten. Soon she would be serving her patients. Mother would be so proud.

Joy, a girl that always to try to fit in. In her adolescence she have the desire to resemble to her classmates. They are pretty and I could never be like them she think. Coming from a family where fashion doesn’t matter, she tried too hard to feel good in her skin in high school. After years in college, she developed a style of herself. She wanted to be class and simple. Just a pair of jeans and top. Nothing to make her stand out. Coming to America, the styles change. Everybody dress so relax and appearance is not that important

As I finish breakfast, I consult the calendar I have on the wall. I sigh heavily as I realize I have a guild job today. They pay well, but there are so many rules. What I can say, where I can work. Hours, mandatory breaks, materials, even the rules about what style I am allowed to cast spells; all of it heavily regulated. Most of all, they have a strict dress code. During orientation the phrase ‘Present a Unified Front’ was endlessly repeated. They stopped just short of branding it onto our skin.

I head to my closet and pull out my guild robes. The garish reds and golds shimmering as I set it on my ironing table. With a wave of my hand, the iron gets to work smoothing out any lingering wrinkles as I pick out my clothes. A simple sleeveless tunic and a pair of tight but not restrictive pants. Just because I have to wear that stuffy robe doesn’t mean I need to be uncomfortable.

When the iron finishes its job, I put the robe on on, trying my hardest to find a comfortable way to drape the thick and stiff fabric over my body. I tie it off with a sash, technically out of uniform but the flow of the robe is too distracting to cast spells otherwise. I grab the circlet I keep on my dresser, my fingers running over the runes I’d carved into it. My mind drifts to the hat box in the corner of my closet as I activate the circlet, willing it to create an illusory copy of the guild’s mandated wide-brimmed, pointed hat. I never understood how these hats became fashionable for wizards; they’re far too unwieldy and prone to being blown away.

I check myself over in the mirror, making sure I’m not forgetting anything. As I head out the door, I grab my staff. It’s probably the only part of the ‘traditional’ wizard outfit that I find helpful. Even beyond using it as a spellcasting focus, it’s great for self defense. I’ve also mastered the art of the standing nap, bracing myself against the staff while pretending to be deep in thought over some arcane calculation.

I climb into the guild-owned carriage, greeting the driver warmly. At least they know how to treat us well. It almost makes the uniform worth it… Almost…