I’m working on sending out my query and finishing off other books in the series. So, I thought I could start sharing bits of the Red Letters world that helped build the story to me yet didn’t make the books for one reason or another.

This one I’ve fleshed out a bit more, so that it is a short story moment.

For my first Fiction Friday, I present how Tweety and Runta started a friendship over fashion. We see them in the series, and this could be considered Red Letters Lore. I hope you all enjoy it.

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Red Letters Lasses – Tweety and Fashion Designer Runta

It worried me, just how many stores in this area sold clothing that was latex and covered about an inch. But I kept looking. A new job as a waitress in a weird bar? I wouldn’t do well in clothes that were too big and loose like this yellow tee from my old friend. I also knew that wearing clothes like these stores showed wasn’t me at all. I didn’t wear tight stuff, because I wasn’t comfortable like that. 

I’d been working since I was 14, and I didn’t get into a feminine lifestyle. Practical clothes allowed for my work ethic. And constantly fussing with things, like this yellow shirt? Hated it. Wash and wear, on and forgotten. That’s my style. 

Two towns over, and a lot of walking later, I found it. The store seemed a little too run down, like it might not be there in a few years, but it had regular clothes. So I took a deep breath and forged ahead.

My budget was tiny until I started making tips, so I headed for the clearance rack. The fall and winter things would be too expensive. Leftover summer clothes I could at least layer up on. I needed everything. 

Summer colors felt too bright and wild. I found a dark blue tee in my size. A pair of grey jeans.  Even though I was trying to think for the Tweety in me, who got hired, I still had to be confident putting it on.

Being seen was the new challenge. Especially when it was the job to be regularly noticed.

“Hi, can I help you find something?”

The sales girl was my height, maybe smaller than me, but she looked put together and the tone said she did want to help. Of course, in my head I knew she was checking if I was trying to steal. Yet, I didn’t know if the interest there was commission based, or an actual fashion girl.  Even if I was mesmerized by her cat eye liner look. 

“I’m just looking for basic pieces,” I held up the arm with the jeans and tee. “Not really sure if there is help for me.”

Honest replies worked, right?

“You’re looking for classic reusable staples?” The girl asked, looking me over, and when I nodded she went on to help me hunt the rack. “I think you might want to try this dark blue denim skirt, and these basic black pants. Us fun sized ladies do better when the pant legs have a little flare to them.” She took a moment to use herself as a model, waving her hand up and down. “The wrong lines make you feel like you’re an upside down triangle, right? But a little flare gives balance and makes the proportion look intentional. With the right shoes, you might even feel taller.”

I was overwhelmed, by the things she expertly pulled out, by the way she moved around in those heels, by the breakdown of clothing information like it was it’s own language and not just if it fits it sits. “I’ve never worn heels like yours before.” That’s all I managed to add to the conversation as the pile on both our arms grew.

“Heels aren’t hard, it’s just about balance, but there’s wedges and block heels, and even knee high boots that might help you feel more stable in a less square base.” The sales gal grabbed something purple and started heading for the dressing room area. “But that’s only if you want. Basic staples are evergreen closest needs. Shoes are so personal, it’s like purses and accessories on the basics.”

“That’s too much information…” I paused, and shook my head. “Wait, did I even get your name?” 

She paused, sticking her hand out, and waited for me to come meet her. 

“Durunta, but all my friends call me Runta.” She smiled, “You know, because of my height.”

I pointed at the slightly infamous yellow shirt, and tested my new name. “Tweety, because of this, some blue glasses, and my stop at a bar.” I shook her hand as she laughed. She continued to pull me into the changing portion, helping me into a stall. 

“Do you want to know why you are having issues with that shirt? Besides it being too big?”

I didn’t answer, not right away, but the back mirror showed my head bob yes.

“You had the right idea, but because this is a guy’s shirt, it’s not cut the same way for your knotting tricks to work.” 

She grabbed the fabric where I had knotted it in the back and let it go. I instantly went to cover my chest, knowing how low the shirt could get. Runta pulled a rubber band from her wrist, and twisted her hand between my shoulder blades. The shirt evened out. I dared to think I could be comfortable in it like this, if it weren’t for the weird lump in my back.

“Finding the right shape for your body type makes all the difference. Especially since you have a pocket venus thing going on. There’s so many ways to make yourself feel good in stuff that’s moderately covering.”

She picked through the arm full and pulls out black jeans and a black tank top.

“Try these on, I think you’ll see what I mean.”

I must have looked confused if Runta treated me this softly. But her steady simple explanations made me both understand and trust her opinion. So, she stepped back and I tried on the outfit she suggested. It showed off my arms only. The neckline wasn’t too low, and the jeans hugged every curve but didn’t feel tight or too curvy. I could maybe feel good in this.

I opened the door and let Runta have a look.

“This could be comfortable and practical too. Thank you for the suggestion.”

Runta eyed me, and grabbed the purple halter top. “You should try this. It might be the edge of your comfort, but I think it will look amazing on you.”

I did as she asked, and it was a bit too much skin, but it wasn’t something that felt dirty. It just looked misshaped. When I showed Runta, she turned me and got permission to fix my straps. When she was done tightening me up correctly, the halter top looked right, and actually felt a little sexy. Normally I didn’t dress that way, but this was good on my body. 

It was like the slowly growing Tweety in me screamed that yes, this was a Tweety look. 

“Do you work here a lot?” I asked Runta as she paired some tops and bottoms together for me. “I think I needed this help, and may need it again.”

She leaned over my shoulder and looked at me in the mirror. “I design clothes, if you let me test things on you, I will help you figure out what to shop for. Does that work for you?”

“If you can work with me slowly, because I’m no model?” I waited for the slight nod to continue “I think that can work. If I can’t come see you, I just started working at this bar. You should come see me when you have time? I owe you a drink for this effort.”

Runta laughed, adding “deal!”

I didn’t know what was the best part of this day. Finding outfits I would be happy in, or possibly making a new friend.