A/N: Hey there, every-peoples! It seems I've gotten around to uploading another story (nooo! My 90,000 word average!). Anyways, I got this idea while I was in the FFTA forums (join us if you have an account!). We were talking about what we might change about the game and I decided to do my own take on a prologue. So here it is...
RITZ
"Red No. 12, shake well before applying." The label stated, succeeded by a relentless sequence of complicated instructions. Ritz quickly looked over them but didn't care much about paying attention. "It's hair dye, just how hard is it to say dump and comb?" She thought as she changed into one of her dad's old T-shirts. "I could do this in my sleep." This saying, of course, was never meant to be taken literally. Had it been true, Ritz wouldn't be so late for school everyday. It simply meant that she was so used to doing it, it no longer required much thought. Pink stains from previous morning routines decorated the shirt around its shoulders and inside the collar. There were at least 11 layers of dye on that shirt and the number would continue to grow until Ritz decided it was time to get a new one, which was usually once a month.
She walked over to the bathtub and took a seat, lifting the showerhead out of its holster on her way down. Leaning her head across the basin, she turned on the water and thoroughly soaked every strand of hair on her head. She stared somberly as streaks of red accompanied the dirty water down the drain. "This stuff better be stronger than that last brand." She mused as she furiously shook up the bottle. "Oh well, here goes nothin'!"
---
"Today's the day!" Announced 6-year-old Ritz, punching the air as her childhood friend watched indifferently. "Today, I'm going to confess my love to Guinness!"
"You've got questionable taste." Daryle muttered, kicking a bale of snow in Ritz's path to ruin her good mood. Her friend didn't seem to mind but stopped to stick a tongue before proceeding on with her self-conducted pep rally. "He's lazy, arrogant, violent, and he's always wearing that stupid, blue beanie!"
"Oh, that beanie." Ritz sighed as her hands moved to her cheeks, pretending to conceal a blush. Daryle whacked her lightly in the back of the head.
"Seriously, Ritz. You're so childish; both of you are! You two deserve eachother."
Ritz met her friends reply with a small laugh. "I'm so glad you're finally seeing it my way!"
Daryle frowned at her hopeless friend but it was already too late to talk her out of it. Once Ritz made up her mind, she'd pursue her goal to the end of the earth. "We both know very well that that was sarcasm. That boy is nothing but trouble and I'm not going to pity you when your heart gets broken." She pleaded one last time. "Back down before you get hurt."
---
"I really should have listened to you." Ritz muttered to her, even though she knew for a fact that her friend was over four-hundred miles away and couldn't possibly have heard her, especially in that tone. It had been over 8 years since Daryle's father was transferred to England (St. Ivalice is in France), though the two of them still talked through letters and e-mail. She was always sure to sound happy and optimistic whenever she was writing, which meant she never told her childhood friend what was really going on.
"If you could only see me now..." She thought, spreading the colored gunk through her hair with the comb. "See what a mess I've become." She smiled wickedly at those words; how would anyone react when they found out the class head dyed her hair every day. The fact that she did wasn't entirely unknown, they were just waiting for her to slip up. She gave her hair another spritz, doing her best not to inhale the fumes. "Why do I even bother?"
---
"What is that?" Guinness demanded, staring at the sticker-sealed envelope in Ritz's outstretched hands.
"It's a letter of confession." The white-haired girl replied nervously. "Please accept it!" The boy took it out of her hands and looked it over before shoving it in his coat pocket. Without a word, he started walking towards the main schoolhouse. Ritz stared after him in shock. On one hand, he accepted her letter but on the other, he didn't seem to have any reaction at all. "Aren't you going to open it?" She called after him.
"Of course I am." He shouted back, turning his head back just long enough for her to catch the wicked grin on his face. "How do you think it's going to sound when it's read over the loudspeakers?"
---
"So that's how this all started..." She recollected, playing over the exact moment that caused her to start dyeing her hair. She didn't even know if Guinness had actually read her note on the P.A that day, though she had a strong feeling that she would. The class 'D.Js' were entrusted with the morning announcements and those who were given the job were driven to corruption. Guinness was no different so the minute he was out of sight, Ritz ran off the school grounds and didn't stop running until she reached home. She remembered staying locked up in her room for a week, stepping out only for meals and to use the bathroom. It took her another month to work up the nerve to ask Guinness why he wouldn't return her feelings and his response made her want to lock herself back up for another week.
"I don't like prissy, little grandmas."
The words were permanently embedded in her memory, serving as a constant reminder of why she made the change. "Here's to you, Guinness." She whispered as she placed the shower cap over her head. It was needless to say that her crush on the beanie-wearing bully was a thing of the past. In fact, she detested him with every fiber of her being. But despite her overpowering hatred towards him, he, as well as Lyle and Colin, were major influences in her life. The class followed their examples without much opposition, since those who spoke out against them went home with black eyes. Though it was a shameful thing to admit, her long-term goal was to be accepted by them. When they would finally leave her alone, she could live the rest of her days in peace.
After making sure the cap was on correctly, Ritz took a deep breath and walked into the hall. The scent of crispy bacon drifted from the kitchen as she descended the stairs and crossed the room to the dining table. On the other side of the room, a tall, slim man with flaming red hair was flipping pancakes. "Morning, Sunshine." He called. Ritz's only response was a groan, though it was far from enthusiastic.
Mr. Malheur smiled back as he added two eggs into the frying pan. He was well aware that his daughter wasn't a morning person, the stench from hair dye had that effect on everyone. All she needed was a few minutes to get used to it and she would be back to her agreeable self again. Sure enough, just a few moments later, Ritz's voice reached out across the kitchen. "So why are you cooking breakfast today?"
"Your mom has a photo-shoot today." Her father answered, "She told us about her new client at dinner, remember?"
"Of course." Ritz grumbled, her eyes falling onto the table. "How could I forget."
---
Ritz's mother was a modeling agent and a photographer for LaBelle, a company that makes clothing for teenage girls. After witnessing a slight decline in sales during the past year, the marketing team decided to start making clothes for younger consumers. However, one of their models called in sick on the day of the unveiling and they had to find someone to fill in. Unfortunately for Ritz, who was still confined to her room at the time, her father had been called away to a board meeting and they couldn't have a 6-year-old running around while they were discussing business plans. To put it frankly, that was the day Ritz's mom brought her to work.
"Go stand somewhere where you won't get in anyone's way." Ordered her mom the second they entered the building. Ritz looked helplessly as crew members raced around her, carrying things like coffee and clothes racks as requested by their foremans so whe went to the only place where it seemed she wouldn't get run over: the far corner of the room. "And try not to break anything!" Her mother called to her back. Ritz bit down sharply on her lip. This would have been the perfect time to use the rude gesture a friend had taught her at school but after what happened when she tried it out on a teacher, she could only imagine what would happen if she did it to her mom.
As soon as her daughter got to safety, Mrs. Malheur turned around and found herself face to face with her manager. "Mr. Tursman! Good morning!" She cried out, backing up a couple feet.
Her boss, a fairly short man whose smooth, bald head barely went up to Mrs. Malheur's shoulders, wore a red, checkered jacket with matching pants. He was on the cell phone at the time when he accidentally bumped into Mrs. Malheur but hung up just as she was saying her greeting. Mr. Tursman gave her a slow nod before shoving his phone back in her pocket. Almost instantly, he changed into a state of distress. "Oh, Ellen, this is horrible!" He wailed, grabbing the woman by the arms and shaking her slightly. "That was Maria's manager on the other line. She said she broke her ankle and couldn't make it."
Mrs. Malheur smiled politely as she pulled herself from the man's grasp and ushered him into a chair. "Now Mr. Tursman, it's not the end of the world. Maybe one of the other girls can take her place." She suggested.
"No, they're too big. The clothes are tailored to fit a size 6 figure and all the other girls are..." As he spoke, his eyes wandered desperately around the room when they suddenly caught Ritz's gaze. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at but when he did, his face immediately brightened up and he quickly scrambled over to her. "Why, hello there!" He chimed, pulling Ritz forward so fast she almost tripped on her own shoes. "And who might you be?"
"Um...sir? That would be my daughter." Mrs. Malheur replied nervously. "You see, my husband had a-" Her explanation was unexpectedly cut short when the director clapped both hands on her shoulders.
"Ellen, you're always two steps ahead! Where would I be without you?" He cried happily before turning back to Ritz. "So what's your name?" He asked, kneeling down to her level.
"Ritz."
"Nice to meet you, Ritz. I'm Mr. Tursman. And how old are you?"
"Six..."
"Really? Wow, you're big for your age!" Upon hearing this, Ritz promptly stamped her foot, obviously offended. "Oh, excuse me. I meant tall; tall for your age." The man corrected himself with a laugh. "Now that we've been properly introduced, could you do me a big favor?"
Ritz's mother suddenly paled, knowing exactly what her boss was about to ask. "Sir, you can't be serious!"
"Why not? She's as cute as a button!" The manager squealed, poking the little girl on the cheek. Ritz had to resist the urge to bite down on it. "She's a bit smaller than Maria but I'm sure the tailors could fit her into the prototypes."
"But what about..." Ritz's mother lowered her voice to a whisper, or at least she tried to. Ritz could feel her stomach twist itself into a knot as she uttered the last words- 'her hair'. It grew even tighter as their conversation dragged on.
"Oh, yes! She can't go out looking like that! No sirree! We'll get Linda on that right away." Mr. Tursman replied, taking Ritz by the hand and leading her down the hall. At this time, Ritz was in so much pain she didn't think much to argue. "I think she'd look just lovely with a head of bright red hair..."
---
"Dad...do you remember when I started dying my hair?"
"Erm...I think so." He replied between mouthfuls of bacon. "It was right after your pageant, wasn't it?"
"Mom's Pageant" Ritz corrected gratuitously. She had repeatedly denied ever taking part in such an event, despite the countless amount of photographic evidence. One picture even made it into print but, thankfully, in a magazine that nobody in her school read; at the time it was published, hardly anyone in her kindergarten could read. A laminated issue was framed in her parent's bedroom and Ritz made sure to hide it whenever company was over.
Mr. Malheur smiled at his daughter's response. "I think you gave an outstanding performance." Her father said, taking a small sip from his coffee mug.
"Outstanding? Yeah, right..." She remembered walking stiffly down the runway and not even once looked up from her shoes. Somehow, the audience found this adorable. "I was a complete joke." She thought, pushing the yolks of her eggs aside. But secretly, she was somewhat thankful for that experience. For once in her life, people were looking at her (or at least what she was wearing) instead of her hair. It was a wonder what a bit of paint and Hydrogen Peroxide could do to your image. As a child, Ritz was absolutely amazed. A sinful thought crossed her mind: maybe her white hair was causing all the problems. Perhaps it was because of her deformity that her mom always acted so embarrassed. "She always said she wanted a cute daughter." A wicked voice whispered in her ear. "She spends all day surrounded by beautiful models only to come home to you!"
Nonetheless, she was convinced that dyeing her hair would make everything better; she would become more popular, attractive, and adults would like her better. The hairdresser told her that the dye would wash out in a couple of days so Ritz decided to have it dyed daily. When she mentioned this to her mom, she almost cried, though Ritz never knew if they were tears of joy or sorrow. Every day when Mrs. Malheur helped dye her hair, she could have sworn she heard her mother sniffling. She blamed it on the fumes but Ritz found out the truth a few years later, her mom was ashamed. Dyeing her hair had made nothing better. But it was too late for change.
"You better wash that gunk out of your hair before it burns your scalp." Her father commented as he collected her half-eaten plate. "And remember to blow-dry it afterwards, you don't want it freezing up while you're walking to school, would you?"
"It'd look a hell of a lot more interesting." Ritz thought as she ascended the stairs. Her short trip ended right back at where she started, the bathroom. She closed the door tightly behind her and double-checked the lock before removing her pajama pants and underwear. The shower cap was tossed aside and several more streaks of red were painted onto her shirt as she lifted it over her head, dropping it lazily on the ground before stepping into the shower. Ritz gritted her teeth as a jet of cold water poured down on her head. Taking a cold shower was extremely painful, especially in a mountainside town that was practically winter all-year round. But the box had advised her to wash the dye out with cold water to keep the colors separated and prevent blotching. "Just five more minutes of this and I'm turning it to the right." She thought as she squeezed shampoo directly onto her scalp. She massaged her head fiercely, being sure to allow the water to run through every strand of colored hair.
For the first few minutes, she stood ankle deep in light pink water. She waited for it to run clear before gradually turning bar tap towards the hot water. The water immediately backed up, leaving Ritz freezing in au naturel, only to be replaced by a soothing stream of near-scalding water. She didn't stay in for long, waiting only for her body to heat up before turning off the tap and wrapping a towel around her. Taking a seat on the edge of the tub, she waited for the water to properly drain before plugging in the hairdryer. "Well, you made it through another morning, Ritz." She could barely hear her own thoughts over the roar of the plastic apparatus but she nodded in submission.
As she looked up, she caught sight of today's outfit. Her mom had a knack for planning out the next day's clothes during the night before and hanging it in the bathroom door so it would be the first thing Ritz would see when she stepped out of the shower. Today's outfit was a white coat over a thick, blue jogging suit. "Oh yeah, Mr. Leslaie said something about a snowball fight today." She thought, switching off the power and shaking the rest of her hair dry. She quickly pulled on her clothes and a new pair of socks, grabbing her school bag from her room before heading down the stairs. She stopped to check herself in the mirror before she left, brushing her hands against her coat to make herself more presentable. No pity was spared on the strand of hair that had escaped tinting.
After putting the finishing touches on her image, she pulled on her shoes and pulled open the door. A fresh patch of snow met her as she stepped out into the blanketed streets of Ivalice. "Who knows..." She said hopefully, tracing her frosted breath as it dispersed over her. "Maybe today would be different!"
A/N: Well, there you go. The end of my first chapter. Two more are on the way and maybe an epilogue if I get any good ideas. If you're wondering where I got the idea for this...well, let's just say I watch too much anime. I really didn't have much to build on with the whole hair thing so I decided to start with the hardest part. I rather like how this turned out, it didn't veer completely off course like my other chapters in my other fic.