#pink williamson brooch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vanderlindemangofarm · 6 years ago

Text

Breaking the Gilded Cage

A few days ago I wrote this, musing about what would happen if I turned up to the Mayor’s ball with the boys dressed in a suit instead of a fancy gown. Well, in an act of complete self-indulgence, I decided to write a fic about it.

I realise that this isn’t something I’d normally write and I don’t plan on making a habit out of posting something so self-centred, but it’s a scenario that’s been on my mind for quite a while and I wanted to have fun and see where it could go. This was a way for me to explore some of the issues I have with my general appearance and confidence.

This is also for any other girls out there who don’t always feel their best in a dress.

I’m so nervous about posting this, but here goes nothing.

Word count: 2,900

Why me? I thought, standing in front of the mirror in Karen’s tent, looking myself up and down. My hair was fluffy, tied crudely in a bun at the nape of my neck, my shirt bunched around my hips, tucked hurriedly into my trousers, which were the only form-fitting item of clothing I bothered with – and they were splattered with mud. Of all the girls in camp, why would Dutch ask me to go to a goddamn ball?

“I envy you, doll.” Karen sighed, rummaging through her trunk of clothes. “It’s going to be gorgeous. Can you even imagine?”

Oh yes, I could imagine. The fine food, the wine from countries I’d never have the chance to visit, the fireworks, the people. All those beautiful people, dressed up to the nines, looking at me, wondering how on God’s green Earth I had managed to get in. My stomach twisted.

Karen had been especially sweet to me since I told her that Dutch had invited me along to the ball, instructing me to find something suitable to wear, his tone not warranting any opposition. Of all the girls in the gang, Karen was the only one who owned clothes that would even come close to fitting me. I shifted from foot to foot, chewing my lip, watching her unfold various gowns. She held up a scarlet skirt, looking between me and the material, making thoughtful sounds.

“How about this, with that little black coat you have? And I’m sure I’ve got gloves to match…” she was back to rooting through the trunk again. I gingerly wiggled out of my boots and trousers, picking up the skirt and slipping it on. It sat easily enough on my hips – perhaps a little too tightly – but the knot in my stomach didn’t go away. Karen peered over at me and blinked.

“Aw, there you go! That fits you just fine.”

I shook my head, gripping at the material, but Karen didn’t seem to notice. She stood up, firmly tucking my shirt into the skirt, undoing a couple of buttons to show some cleavage. I felt my throat tighten with discomfort, my cheeks burning.

“I can’t do this, Karen.”

“What? Don’t be silly! Now, let me see if I can’t find those gloves. I’m sure Mary-Beth can give you one of her necklaces and a brooch or two. And how about a shawl? Tilly has one that would really bring out your eyes. Oh, and you must take my fine hat, it hasn’t had a good outing since Valentine…”

“Karen, please.”

“What do you say I put a touch of lipstick on you?”

“No!”

Karen jumped, startled. I closed my eyes, exhaled slowly.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered eventually. Karen shook her head, started trying to tell me that it was fine. But I really, really wasn’t fine.

“I just…I can’t…this isn’t me. I don’t know why Dutch even bothered asking me to go along tonight. Perhaps this is his idea of a prank.” I slipped off the scarlet skirt and pulled my trousers, boots and overcoat back on, my hair falling out of its bun in the commotion.

“Oh, doll. Sit down for a while.”

Karen’s eyes were full of sympathy, but I didn’t want any of it. I apologised again but took my leave of her tent. The late morning sunshine illuminated Shady Belle, blinding me. I started to march back to my own tent, intending to have a stiff drink and figure out how the hell I was going to weasel out of the ball. Lost in my frustration, I bumped straight into Dutch.

“I beg your pardon, miss!” he said, throwing his arms up, smiling. I made a brief noise of acknowledgement and continued to walk, hoping he’d just leave me to it. No such luck.

“I hope you’re adequately prepared for tonight. We’re counting on you.”

I took a deep breath, ready to explain why I was certainly not adequately prepared, but he continued.

“I trust you’ve found something appropriate to wear? Even Mr Williamson has managed to squeeze into his old suit, though hopefully our fellow guests will be too far gone on the wine to notice the split seams.”

“Well, actually Dutch, I…”

His expression changed instantly, sinking into a frown.

“I sincerely hope you’re not planning on making an excuse, miss.”

My words got caught in my throat, as they always did when I was around Dutch. I stuttered, feeling my cheeks burning pink again.

“I was o-only wondering if one of the other girls might be…be b-better suited for tonight.”

Dutch blinked.

“Better suited?”

“Look at me. Wouldn’t you rather have Miss O’Shea accompany you? Or Miss Gaskill?”

“I don’t follow.” he said flatly, his brow still furrowed. I sighed, gesturing up and down my body, my patience waning drastically as my voice wobbled, getting louder.

“Are you blind? Do you really think anyone’s going to take me seriously?”

“Well, not if you’re going to whoop and holler like a child.”

“I meant when I’m all dressed up in some silly gown, tripping over my own feet. I’ll ruin everything.”

“You’re not going tonight to stand around and look pretty. You’re going because I need you to get people talking, to listen to their drivel in the hopes that some of it might benefit us. People will talk to you. Despite your best efforts, you’re actually quite charming.”

His tone was infuriatingly dry. I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately misunderstanding or if he was somehow enjoying this.

“I’m not going.” I spat. “You can’t force me!”

Dutch came closer to me, uncomfortably so, towering over me as he pointed a finger at my face. His expression was thunderous.

“You will go tonight. You will dress appropriately for a ball. You will be the perfect companion, and you will prove that you’re an asset to this gang because if you’re not, then what the hell am I keeping you around for?”

I turned on my heels and stormed towards my horse before he could spot the tears that had sprung to my eyes. Dutch called after me.

“Saint Denis, tonight. We’ll have a carriage waiting outside the Bastille Saloon at dusk. If you’re not there, don’t bother coming back to camp.”

I mounted up, speeding away from Shady Belle, dust billowing. I yelled some obscenities over my shoulder, grateful that I was riding too fast for him to hear me properly. My heart was thumping under my shirt like a hammer, my lips pierced together with anger. I did end up riding to Saint Denis, deciding to find the saloon and finally have that much-needed drink. Leaving my horse in the stables I started to wander the streets, appreciative of the crowds. I felt myself blend into the background, safe and invisible.

***

On my way to the saloon I passed several shops – a dress-maker, a tailor, a haberdashery. I scoffed, looking at the fine silks in the window of the dress-makers. They were beautiful, of course, their colours rich and sumptuous. Within the shop I could just make out a young woman around my age being fitted for a gown. She stood on a small stool, hands on her hips, rotating slowly so the assistant could take her measurements. She was admiring herself in the full-length mirror, a small, confident smile on her face. It was at that moment that I caught sight of myself in the glass of the window. Bedraggled, a little sweaty from the journey, my cheeks rosy. I sighed and walked on down the street.

It was at that moment that a vaguely familiar voice caught my attention.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

I turned in the direction of the voice, my gaze met by a top hat, a groomed moustache, a well-tailored suit, and a gently amused smile.

“Mr Trelawny?”

“At your service,” he beamed, giving me a courteous bow. I didn’t know Josiah terribly well – whenever he was around camp he seemed to keep to himself, or converse with Dutch and Hosea. I found his conjuring tricks tiresome, but he always had a smile and kind greeting for me whenever we crossed paths. He beckoned me over to the side of the road.

“And what brings you to fair Saint Denis today?” he enquired, briefly casting his eyes up and down my person.

“Our glorious leader has managed to get a handful of us invited to the Mayor’s ball tonight.” I replied grimly, folding my arms across my chest. Josiah chuckled.

“You seem thrilled by the concept, dear girl.”

“You have no idea.”

Josiah tilted his head to one side, studying me intently.

“Why the sorrow? You have the chance to experience the fine society of our noble city! The chance to dazzle and be dazzled! Your glorious leader clearly chose you for a reason. I’d say any young woman should be lucky to see such an event, especially when invited by such a strapping fellow.”

I shook my head.

“It’s not that I don’t feel lucky. I appreciate what Dutch is trying to do for me, for all of us. But no one seems to understand…it’s not a place for the likes of me. I can’t squeeze into a dress and still do the things that I do. I’d feel like a court jester, a circus attraction. The thought of everyone looking at me, of Dutch seeing me so…uncomfortable. I’d humiliate him, and I can’t bear it. If only I could wear a wonderful suit just like yours, Mr Trelawny! All my troubles would be melted away.”

Josiah looked at me thoughtfully, the silence after my little outburst stifling the air. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling at once too big and smaller than a mouse. I started when I felt Josiah’s delicately gloved hand rest on my shoulder.

“My dear, silly girl.”

“Please don’t pity me, Mr Trelawny.”

“Pity? How dare you! I’m empathising. And scheming.”

I looked up at him.

“Scheming?”

He murmured in confirmation, looking briefly over his shoulder towards the Bastille, which loomed in the distance.

“Indeed. I believe I may be able to help you in your wardrobe predicament.”

***

In what could have been a whirlwind I found myself balancing precariously on a stool in a small room at the Bastille. Josiah knelt at my feet, a small tape measure in his hand. He extended it up my legs, across my body, my arms. He mumbled to himself, brow furrowing and un-furrowing like a choreographed performance.

“Now, we’ve hardly the time for a perfect Cinderella transformation. However,…” he turned away, rummaging through a chest of drawers that stood in the corner of the room. “…I do believe I can work some magic before the evening arrives.”

He pulled out a smart pair of black trousers and a matching coat, trimmed with silver silk. I raised my eyebrows.

“May I ask why you have those, Mr Trelawny?”

“Certainly. And I reserve my infinite right not to answer.”

I smiled, watching him hold them up to me. He nodded, almost to himself.

“They may be a little loose, but it’s nothing a few well-placed pins couldn’t solve. And you already have a white shirt, I see? Excellent, that’s one less thing to concern ourselves with.”

He turned away dutifully as I changed into the suit, my heart racing. When I gave him the all-clear to look at me again his eyes gleamed.

“Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!”

“I look ridiculous, Mr Trelawny.”

He shook his head, walking towards me.

“Quite the contrary. May I?” he asked, producing a handful of pins from his pocket which he used to tighten the waistband of the trousers. He helped me tuck my shirt in, smoothing out the collar and re-doing the buttons. The jacket fit surprisingly well, nipping in at the waist. Josiah rolled up the cuffs slightly, so my hands weren’t too drowned in the material, and even gave me his own pocket-square. I brushed my hair, re-tying it into its usual bun, leaving a few strands loose for good measure. Josiah circled me, inspecting his work.

“Now, one last touch…”

He exposed the tiniest amount of my throat, so that the small silver necklace I always wore was just visible. I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

“Whoever said a queen must always wear a gown clearly never met you, my dear.”

I rolled my eyes, grinning. “Don’t overdo it.”

Josiah put his hands up in submission.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I placed my hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Mr Trelawny.”

“Think nothing of it. Society is a gilded cage that longs to be broken. I’m only too glad to assist the destruction.”

***

Josiah wouldn’t hear of me paying for the room – “it’s yours for as long as you need it” – and told me sincerely that he hoped to see me again.

“I wish you all the luck in the world tonight, my dear. And do sample as many types of champagne as you can manage – just pretend to be able to tell the difference and you’ll fit right in.”

I laughed, waving as he shut the door of the room. It felt distressingly empty and quiet now that he was gone. I looked out of the window, my stomach doing a backflip as I realised the sun was almost setting. Dusk, that’s when I was meeting the boys to get the carriage. It felt like I was awaiting my execution.

Just before I decided to bite the bullet and make my way outside, I paused to look in the mirror. I looked tidier, and that was the main thing, but there was something else as well. I looked older, stronger. I looked like I knew myself. I didn’t look scared anymore.

I walked through the bar of the saloon, past the poker tables and tipsy punters. The lingering glances bounced off me like hailstones, and I felt light as a feather. I waited outside, until a handsome carriage pulled up in front of me. A familiar face peered out of the window.

“Right on time, I see!”

“Hello, Hosea.” I grinned. “Arthur,” I nodded to the handsome blonde. “Bill, looking sharp.” I chortled, watching Bill flush pink and Arthur chuckle deeply.

I could just about make out the silhouette of a top hat in the far corner of the carriage. The door swung open, and Dutch emerged, his face composed. He looked at me for what felt like a century, and it was in those moments that I wanted to reverse the entire afternoon, to go back to Karen’s tent and accept the scarlet skirt and matching gloves, to smile and giggle at Dutch’s invitation, and for once in my entire life to not make things difficult for myself.

I stared back at him, deciding to take the initiative and speak first.

“You look nice, Dutch. Dapper.” I said coolly. Dutch arched an eyebrow.

“And you look…different.”

Well, that wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.

“I should think so to,” I retorted. “I could hardly attend a ball in muddy trousers, could I?”

The evening air felt thicker than treacle as I waited for Dutch to respond. I could almost see the cogs rotating inside his head. Eventually, he nodded.

“Well, you’d better get in. We’ve got a ball to get to.”

I shrugged, thanking Hosea when he offered his arm to help me into the carriage. A champagne bottle appeared, and soon everyone was clinking glasses and sipping the bubbling liquid. The smell made me excited about the evening for the first time. Bill turned to me, a faint scowl on his face.

“You look ridiculous.” he grumbled, looking me up and down. I smiled sweetly.

“And yet here I am, the only one out of the two of us who managed to find a suit that actually fits.”

Arthur and Hosea roared with laughter, topping up my glass with more champagne which I gratefully chugged. Hosea cleared his throat, composing himself.

“So…you’re confident with what you’re here to do?” he asked softly. I paused, but nodded.

“Yes, very confident.”

I noticed Dutch scoff subtly, glaring out the window. I kept my eyes fixed on him, continuing.

“I’m here to make people talk, to see if any of their drivel might be of use to us. People will talk to me. Despite my best efforts,” I paused deliberately, making Dutch turn to meet my gaze. “I’m actually quite charming.”

Hosea murmured with amusement. Dutch stared at me, the barest whisper of a smile playing on his lips.

When we arrived at the Mayor’s house he leaned forward when the other men were looking away. He rested his hand on my knee.

“I’m…” he started, frowning as he tried to find the right words. “…glad you’re here.”

I nodded, smiling at him. The cool outside air rushed into the carriage as the door was opened. I hopped down onto the street, the lights from the Mayor’s house beaming up into the sky, making it look like a bonfire. Dutch stood beside me, offering me his arm. I scoffed.

“I don’t need an escort, Mr Van der Linde.” I taunted, smoothing down my jacket and standing up straight. Dutch chuckled.

“That you don’t, miss.” he purred, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. “That you don’t.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mango writes #mango musing #mine #self insert #dutch van der linde #josiah trelawny #karen jones #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #bill williamson

85 notes · View notes