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About MissAllynn

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  • Birthday 05/18/1995

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  • Location
    Three steps that way, and four to the left.
  • Occupation
    Tender of the bar

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  1. She pressed her cheek to his cold fingers, thankful for his comfort and company. He was the first person she had told in ages about her husband. Hell, he was the first person in forever to see her scar and not take pity on her. “Jason?” She shrugged. “I’m not really sure what happened to him, though I would have to assume he drank himself to death. At least that’s what I always hoped.” Cora hated lying to Ezra, but she saw no point in telling him the truth. What good would it do to tell him out of the two, she was the only one that had successfully murdered someone? “Cora!” It was Harrison. The fortuneteller stiffened, “What is it, Harri?” “Time for the fights! I want my best girl to be watching me from the sidelines. “We both know I’m not your girl, Harri, but Ezra and I will be there.” She wasn’t sure why she had pulled Ezra into the mix, but it was too late to take anything back.
  2. What did she promise you? What a question. “Don’t get too excited with what I’m about to do, okay?” Normally the corner of her full lips would have started to violently twitch as they began curling into a smile, but there were no hints of one tonight. Not with what she was about to show him. “Hold my tea.” As she spoke she passed him the delicate teacup and allowed her Gypsy shawl to slip from rigid shoulders; then, she slowly removed her yellow, cotton dress before neatly folding it and placing it on her lap. Cora was shaking once again, but this time it was simply because she was cold. She refused to look at Ezra, straightening her spine so that he could get a better look at the wicked scar that ran across her abdomen. It was ugly. Disgusting. Painfully so. “I was promised,” her eyes flicked back to Ezra. “Life. That I would survive the night my jealous husband tried to, well, murder me.” What else was there to say? Samuel had been jealous for good reasons, but should he have tried to murder her? “That was years ago, though. I don’t think about it much.” Only when I’m asleep.
  3. I'd very much like to create something Midsommer's Murderish, or Peaky Blindersish. Either or.
  4. She shrugged at his answer, trying her damnedest not to seem indifferent to his pain. “It’s not what any of us expected.” Least of all me. “Illiana promised us all what we wanted the most. Harrison, a family that gave a damn. Katie, her freedom. Allan, the use of his legs. Me,” Cora paused as she padded over to Ezra with the piping hot tea, though she had no intention of finishing that sentence. “What did she offer you?” She has asked a dangerous question, but she needed…wanted…to know. The more she knew, the more likely she would be able to help The Gypsy settled in beside him, tucking her feet under her ass as she poured their tea. “It’s ginger tea with eucommia bark. It’ll help soothe your aching muscles.” Or at least that’s what she had been told by the elderly Chinese man that sold her the bark. Cora wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. “Sorry I ask so many questions, it’s just unusual to see a new face around here.” When was the last time someone had joined the circus? Thirty years? Shit. Forty? Everything was seeming to blur together.
  5. Ugh. Fair enough, I'll give you your tax.
  6. They're trying to charge me an arm and a leg for a toe!
  7. You had me until you mentioned shipping. 10.98? That's a little steep for my taste.
  8. Cora took one final drag of the cigarette, putting it out on the back of her wrist without a second thought. The burning was almost pleasant. “Tonight?” She sank against one of the beams. “Rough. People were really unhappy with what I was telling them tonight. They kept accusing me of making things up, but I would never do that!” Her voice made it seems as if she were begging Ezra to believe her. “Here,” she held out a dainty, shaking hand. “I’ll take you back to my lodgings so you can rest for a bit. I’ll make us tea before we have to get out and tear down the tent.” Tearing down the tent was the least of her worries. The least of their worries, really. The young woman’s lodgings looked like an old, colorful Gypsy wagon, rather fitting for a fortuneteller and “future” seer. The inside was warmly decorated. Vibrant pillows littering the floor. Tapestry hanging from the wooden walls. A chandelier of incense dripping fragrant, blue smoke. Her bed was off to the side, hiding behind a mess of thick cream-colored curtains. “Make yourself comfortable while I start the tea!” Once he was comfortable, she began questioning him. “How have you enjoyed your time with us so far?”
  9. She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. The Princess of Fairiron repeated his words, but they just made her mouth feel sticky. “Blend in.” She paused, frustrated. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to tell me right now.” Blend in. That was decidedly not an option. “The only place I ‘follow lead’ is in the bedroom.” With that said, though, she followed close behind him; dainty fingers tangling with the hem of his dirty tunic. Callista was starting to shake, but if he asked? It was just because she was cold. Woefully underdressed for this pleasant, warm summer evening. Not because she was scared or unsure if she had made a mistake or not. No. None of that. None! As they drew closer to the rickety inn, the laughter and singing grew louder and louder. It was unlike anything Callista had ever heard before. Raunchy ballads were slipping through the cracks of the windows and walls. “Maybe we should go somewhere else?” She was stumbling over her words, now certain she had made the wrong choice. Her comfort zone, and servants, were dozens of miles away. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to blend in! I’m practically wearing a sign!” Without warning, she took his hand to comfort herself. “Do you promise you’ll protect me?”
  10. I will only be satisfied if it shoots lasers.
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