mscora

[mscora]

hellrisen‌:

what stefan presented was IRONY. nosey but lacking the incentive to empathize. he asks for details and when he gets them—personal and raw—what he gives isn’t within the realm of normality. then again… what was normal? stefan grapples with the sense of putting two and two together, world changing around him as he does. today a ghost, tomorrow big foot. AND HE NEVER HAD KIDS. never planned too, either, and yet there he’s stood—an aging thirty-something—outlived by a teenager. immortal at that. it’s bizarre. like all things were.  “  … s’there a point to keep counting?  „  proof he was listening, insinuation that it did not penetrate. quiet for a moment, a question surface.  “  how’d that work? i mean, no parenting post-mortem, right.  „

Cora pursed her lips, “Well, I suppose there’s not much point, but there are a lot of habits that I’ve kept over the years,” she explained. “Like, I don’t need to breathe, technically, but I do, and I don’t get thirsty or hungry, but I sometimes like to have a cup of tea before I rest up, and I count the years I’ve been on the planet.” She shrugged, “No, not much parenting, but I used to visit her. I used to just stay hidden, watch her for hours. It made me feel better knowing that she was okay. I was even at her wedding. I have grandchildren - great grandchildren, actually.” 

[mscora]

diabhales‌:

   she doesn’t want cora to think that this is something negative, or that it will somehow impede on her working at the attic — as if she could get someone else that wasn’t a lazy high school student looking for an after school job or a bored mom whose kids went to college.   “   i don’t know. like, you have kind of a … prim & proper vibe, you know. like the whole MA’AM thing. i called like ALL my bosses dude when i was your age.   ”   a beat.   “   of course, you’ve been here longer than i was EVER any of those places. except for here.   ”   a high school student attic alum herself, sienna had effectively worked herself up the ranks to ownership once the owner kicked it which, while she would never SAY IT … was probably any day now.   “   but this isn’t about me.   ”   first time for everything.   “   i don’t know. you’re so polite. you’re what, like, eighteen ? aren’t you supposed to be like fuck the man! and all that ?  ”

Cora laughed, “I don’t really swear often,” she admitted. Of course, it was liberating that she could now, just like it was liberating to get to come to work every day and not wear a corset - to wear underwear with an elastic band, to sometimes wear her hair down. It was the little things. However, there were some things that she just didn’t do out of habit; swearing was one of them, as was wearing modern clothing, and addressing superiors as ma’am was simply second nature. 

The question of her age was a little more tricky. How long had she been working here? At least three years, and hadn’t aged a day. Her knee-jerk reaction was to say nineteen, but she couldn’t say nineteen to Sienna - she could pull her file and see that she’d lied on a technical level. “I’m twenty-two,” she settled, figuring that sounded about right. “Twenty-three this summer,” she said with a smile, “Feels like a lot more, though.” 

[mscora]

traditionale‌:

      he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suffocate a sneeze that threatens to let loose. it only makes his eyes water, trying to keep his motions to a minimal as he peruses the store. he likes this place, has some weird shit, like the figurine he’s holding with a vice-like grip. a delicate touch thrown to the wind the itch to sneeze comes back full throttle. ‘   holy mother of mary.    ’ he says apologetically, shaking his head. ‘   allergies. what were you saying ?   ’ he looks up from the porcelain, a smile stretching across his features. he’s interested he swears, but it takes a lot of brain power contending with seasonal allergies in a store that he’s sure has a you break it you buy it policy. 

Cora smiles patiently and waits until the boy looks okay again before she starts to speak again, “Just that this figure, she’s extremely old. Her date is carved on the bottom, all the way to 1910,” she repeated, with less detail. “Are you looking for something in particular?” 

[mscora]

open.

“Oh! Do be careful with that, it’s extremely old,” Cora gently told the customer who was holding a figurine of a woman in a pink dress. It dated back to 1910, the date carved into the bottom. It’d been crafted 10 years after her death, when she was still learning how to walk this earth in her new life. “Are you interested? She’s one of the oldest things in this town, I’m reckoning,” she said, smiling to herself at the joke she’d made - with herself. 

“And her colors are still in tact - she came from a home of someone who really cared for their collector’s items. They really mattered to her.” Of course, Cora didn’t know this person, but she imagined that they’d been alive around the same time she was, and that unlike her, they’d died warm in their bed of old age.

[mscora]

Interior Journal, Stanford, Kentucky, January 13, 1882

[mscora]

hellrisen‌:

what is initially felt, is disappointed. though quickly following suit —— amusement. stefan should take a moment: ask himself whether or not he’d discuss the circumstances of his death had he been. but he doesn’t. never had he been very sympathetic.    “    well, that’s a bummer.    ”    he starts.    “    i’ve always said … when i die — it better be newspaper, front page worthy. grizzly. who wants to live ‘till seventy anyway ?    ”    a glance offered, he begins to take her age into account. looking rather young, no more than twenty-one, twenty-two — possibly teens. alright, he’ll muster some sympathy. if only for the thought of being perpetually seventeen would’ve had him trying for death a second time.    “    why ? recent ?   ”    beat.    “    c’mon, must be the most interesting thing about you, so why not milk it ?    ” 

“My daughter lived to be seventy-five,” Cora said, much too casually for someone who looked so young. Since Stefan knew about her, though, she felt there was no need to keep up the pretense. “She died at home in her bed, her husband at her side,” she reminisced. She was glad that her daughter, lovingly named after her but called by her middle name, Josephine, had lived such a full life, but it never got easier to know that she could never talk to her. 

“Certainly was not recent...I died in 1899, giving birth to Josephine, I don’t know what happened, only that I was in so much pain,” Cora told him, “And then...I just wasn’t, but I also wasn’t in Heaven, so in my mind...well, it wasn’t much better. I can see you doing the math in your head. I’m one hundred and forty, I died when I was nineteen.” 

[mscora]

wniana‌:

 he yields some by the roll of his shoulder and a hand halfway raised,     teeth otherwise occupied cradling a tool he couldn’t bother to drop back in its case    ——-      not a withdrawal,    just an       ‘ alright     alright ’      gesture tossed while he finished up his bare fingered tinkering    &    knocked the lid of his tool box shut.     “    ‘s  secret or something   ?     you pretending you’re not a knock - off,    not  real  person.    ”      standing back,     a full inhale’s bubbled heavy in his lungs,      hollow,       dusty,         and it’s whistled out harsh when Sam’s turned finally to face her,    skin colored brighter now than it’d been before ;      a finger waved upward served explanation enough for a blank bulb now glowing overhead,    and he scooped his box up with a swift stoop.

Eyes wide, Cora took a step back, “Lower your voice,” Cora said in a hiss, though the man wasn’t even being loud. Her pleasantness finally dropping, how could he tell? Was she slipping? 

“A knock off? Not real? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, thinking perhaps denial was the best course of action. “I go to work every day and collect a paycheck, I’m standing here talking to you right now, what isn’t real about that?” 

[mscora]

hellrisen‌:

prior to moving to eden — stefan cowell was a realist. and realism laid in the knowledge of what reality was. but reality didn’t have shapeshifting weirdos working the gas pump up the road from mcdonald’s. reality also didn’t have ghosts waltzing into his bar. eden changed his perception of reality. thus making the notion of fact itself constantly up for debate. what was real, what wasn’t. what was socially acceptable in a society where freaks make open attempts at normalcy … well, he didn’t actually care much for the rules of conduct. evidently.    ‘    the one percent.    ,    a bragging right, perhaps, though not one he’d use up. his mother was high society—nowadays dead—and stefan was a bartender. he liked to think she’d be proud.    ‘    hence the blatant entitlement.    ,    at least he was self - aware.    ‘    right, so … lizzie borden gave her mother forty whacks — how many did you get ?    ,

Cora’s eyes widened. It was funny, she could actually remember seeing newspaper headlines about the now infamous Lizzie Borden of Massachusetts. The trial had happened only a few years before Cora’s own death - the fact that the details had become so sensationalized and lost in myth was laughable to her. “It wasn’t actually forty, and she was actually Lizzie’s step-mother,” she corrected, unable to help herself.

“I didn’t get any whacks - I mean, I wasn’t murdered...I don’t usually talk about what happened to me. At least not in depth,” Cora admitted, “I’d rather you treat me like any other person you come across in this place. I mean, death is a painful subject for most people, let alone people who don’t have the privilege to cross to the other side,” If there was one, Cora thought quietly to herself. “So don’t you think asking someone that is a little inappropriate?” 

[mscora]

diabhales‌:

   sienna hadn’t even realised she had stopped swiping through the dresses on the rack, attention entirely fixated on cora. she knew she’d been thinking about her, of course — she wasn’t THAT out of tune about herself or her surroundings. she was a good employee, nice enough, not entirely LAME … but most certainly strange. and while under usual circumstances, sienna could give less of a shit about the personal lives of her employees unless it was gossip she could hear about over lunch or sweater tagging … but cora didn’t feel like usual circumstances. something was off.   “ what ? no, yeah, you’re doing fine.   ”   a little disgruntled that cora would assume sienna was somehow dissatisfied with the MESS that was the attic, maybe. she was proud of it, if anything.   “   you’re weird, though   ”   she tells her plainly, after a moment of consideration.   “   not like, bad weird. cool weird. but i’m trying to figure out WHY.   ”   

Cora tilted her head and fiddled with the price tag on a sweater that was sticking out in a crooked manner. She didn’t really know what she meant by weird. Other than the way she dressed, she basically maneuvered through the world the same way anyone else would...with a little extra help. “Weird, ma’am?” Cora questioned. “I mean, I’m glad that it’s a good thing, but I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she said plainly. She kept her exterior cool, though on the inside, she was anxiously praying that Sienna wouldn’t notice anything, that she wouldn’t question her further, that she wouldn’t fire her or something. She just wanted to collect a paycheck and be a normal girl, never mind the fact that there was nothing normal about her. 

[mscora]

wniana‌:

dare to dream application’d carry over from stuff of wires and switches to people    .      .      .      to things stuck weird and chirpy  in  the  in - between,    dare to dream they’d burn themselves out on useless energy spilled at the wall of his own turned back     &    half hearted mumbling around incisors closing on spare pliers between uses.    maybe something in the tone,    the pantomime of it all,   the god awful   sugar   sweet   authority   that’s having him crane his head back to groan,     “    hey,      kid.     just       .        .       .       cut the bells and whistles,     alright   ?     you can save all that  acting  crap   for the next shmuck .     ”

“Acting...?” Cora asked, brow furrowed. “Firstly, pardon me, but I was only trying to help. Secondly, I am no kid, I’m a grown woman, and thirdly, I don’t know what your issue is, but it hasn’t anything to do with me,” she crossed her arms. How dare he? Who even was he, and what gave him the right to treat her like, to use his vernacular, crap?

“Now, if there is anything I can help you with, please let me know?” she asked, digging her heels in, standing her ground. She would not be disrespected - it didn’t matter that he was so much larger than her, it didn’t matter how rude he was, The Attic was her safe place, and no one could change that.

[mscora]

wniana‌:

indulgent thinking weighs more than it’s worth on a loathsomely fragile thread barring civil sense from some careless resting on unimpressive laurels;      animals don’t gotta make a living,      doing dumb shit like this,     why not be an animal ——-          and eyeing over when new words came cracking on the fog of preferable singular company,    it’s no god damn wonder.     the store’s door bell’s jingled    &    it’s just  him  here now.      or  something  next  to  it  . 

   .     .     .     it  offends.      if offends generally,  nothing to do with him where his shapeless words’ are scoffed rough beneath his breath by surveying eyes turned sidelong,   weighing options at a pace running hand - in - hand to a toolbox swaying in his grip,   jangling  somewhat against his side when he finally starts further towards the back.      “   just here about a screwy light,   ”     comes tossed lethargic over Sam’s shoulder,       an afterthought,   consideration more reserved for the clunks of his steps    &    the clump of dust - caked wiring seeming suddenly frail in his fiddling.

Cora didn’t really hear what the mysterious looking man said, initially, but from what she gathered, he’d been maybe...unhappy with an item he’d purchased? Fair enough, she thought. Everything here was probably much older than he was, and maybe even as old as her. 

“So you’re here for a return? A refund? ...Sir, could you look at me when you speak so it’s easier for me to hear you?” she asked, perfectly polite in her request. “I’d be so happy to help you, just eh hem - meet me halfway?” 

[mscora]

closed | @crookedmedias​

Cora had tired herself out, being corporeal for three days straight with barely any break took so much from her - her head throb, her limbs shake, sometimes even making her lose her feet or some other body part; something she never wanted anyone to see. She wasn’t entirely fond of the idea of people knowing she was a spirit When she began to feel fatigued, she tended to just turn into one of your classic floating orbs that are sometimes caught on camera, dismissed as specks of dust, when in reality they could be someone like Cora. 

She was in this form now as she made her way back to her home from work. The safety of not really having to be seen comforting her as she recharged and began to feel better felt like such a relief! However, it didn’t last too long. In the distance, outside of what she knew to be a bar, there was a fight going on. She saw a shock of blonde hair fighting someone she couldn’t make out, but the blonde girl seemed to be in distress, and not only that, fighting wasn’t something Cora could just let go.

She became alarmed, harnessing the energy from the streetlights to make herself “real” again, her head spinning when she came back to her human form. The street was pitch black, but she glided over to the scene of the scuffle and went to work at pulling the two apart. “That’s enough, that’s enough!” she shouted, using her body as a shield for the blonde girl, the other person trying to get around her but failing, “I’ll call the police!” she shouted. This, it turned out, was enough for the assailant to back off and take off running. 

Cora turned to the blonde girl and examined her, “Are you hurt, honey?” she said, “Come home with me, it’s too late for you to be out here. I’ll make you some tea. I’m Cora, and you are?” 

[mscora]

closed | @hellrisen​

“What did you just-” Cora asked, taken aback by Stefan’s question. This was a person she barely knew, and she didn’t even talk about her death at length with people she was close with. It was just too much. Asking her if she was murdered? Who does that? “Did you really just ask me that? Who raised you?” 

[mscora]

INTRODUCING CORA ADAMS …

NICKNAMES : Corey (by her mother)

GENDER : Cis woman, she/her

OCCUPATION : Sales associate

DATE OF BIRTH : 07/17/1880 (19)

SPECIES : Ghost

FACE CLAIM : Hailee Steinfeld

❝  I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.  ❞

PERSONALITY

AESTHETIC — red roses, red lipstick, victorian era dresses, laughing in the hallway that disappears, long, hardcover books, strong female characters, a perfectly kept garden. 

LIKES: not being confined to late 1800′s society anymore, the changes in fashion throughout the numerous decades, the smell of coffee and sometimes even drinking it (though she has no need to do so), gardening, flowers, music.

DISLIKES: misogyny (how tiresome it was in the society she once lived in), staying still, times where she’s too tired/in pain to maintain her corporeal form, corsets.  

BIOGRAPHY –

content warnings for arranged marriage, miscarriage and death in childbirth.

    Cora Josephine Adams was born to Eliza and Charlie Adams on July 17th, 1880. The family was based in Eden, Louisiana. They lived modestly, but her mother always wanted more while her father was content to work his job at an iron factory a few miles away. Cora had an older sister who was eighteen months her senior, Emma, who was quite a tomboy and enjoyed playing outside with the boys a lot more than spending time with their mother. However, Cora was just the opposite. She adored her mother and spent every waking moment with her and learning from her. She began picking up her mannerisms, learning how to care for the man in their home, how to grow the perfect rose garden, and of course, on Sundays, there was bible study.  

As she grew older, the differences between herself and her sister became much more pronounce. Emma would tease young Cora for being such a miniature version of their mother, and it caused a large rift between the sisters, Cora turning out to be the obvious favorite of both of their parents for the simple reason that she was willing to fit into the mold of what was expected from women in the day. Emma grew up rebellious, while Cora took lessons in etiquette that the family couldn’t really afford. Emma ran off with boys after dark, while Cora read books in her free time and went to bed at a reasonable hour. They had the same color hair and eyes, but that was where the similarities ended, and this was generally accepted, until the girls were older and it came time for Emma to marry someone their mother found suitable at age 18.  

Cora’s sister was meant to marry the owner of her father’s company’s son, Alexander Jamison. His father had recently died and he inherited the entire company and all of the fortune that came with it. He had taken an interest in Emma and happened to have enough dough that their mother was more than happy to marry her off. The family would be able to live comfortably, their mother would get the lavish life she craved, and their father probably wouldn’t have to work another day in his life. Needless to say, Eliza Adams was practically foaming at the mouth to have these two married.Things went awry, however, when Emma disappeared in the night mere weeks before the wedding. It was suspected that perhaps Emma had taken a lover and ran off with him. They would never get their answer, however, and the hearts of the Adams parents were crushed. Eliza really wanted that money! I mean - she missed her daughter terribly!  

With the eldest daughter gone, and the family grief stricken, Eliza went to her remaining daughter’s bedroom one night and brushed her long, brown hair as she talked to her about what a disappointment Emma had been to her, what a betrayal her departure had been, how she knew that Cora would never - could never do such a thing to them. Cora agreed - she genuinely felt such a sense of duty to her family, rarely ever thinking of herself, wanting to appease Eliza Adams as much as possible, be the perfect daughter that Emma could not and would not be. Cora’s mother revealed to her that while the young man, Alexander had been heartbroken over Emma’s flight, he was still in need of a wife, and was considering Cora. Cora, for her part, was shocked at this information. She was only 17 years old, and while she always knew that marriage was inevitable, she didn’t think it would be now and she certainly did not think it would be to the man her sister practically left at the altar.  

More than this, she simply felt too young. It didn’t matter that most women married young, she thought she’d have more time! The prospect frightened her, and she wondered if this was what Emma had felt when she’d run off. For the first time, she found herself understanding her older sister. Her duty to her mother, however, was so much stronger than her trepidation, and she agreed with her mother that if Alexander were to propose, she would accept. Over the next few weeks, Alexander began to court her much in the way that he courted Emma, which was very strange to Cora. Of course, he was handsome, with a large home in Eden with a beautiful yard for her to grow flowers, but something about it all felt so artificial.She would endure it, though. She must. When he did propose, she was not even a little surprised - only amazed at the size of the ring. He’d slid it on her finger and kissed her cheek with wet lips.  

They were married on an April afternoon in the church the Adams’ had gone to since she was a child and she and her parents were both set to move into Alexander’s homestead, it was everything that her mother dreamed of for her daughter…and mostly for herself. The absence of her sister was palpable, and she felt a profound sadness as she walked down the aisle. Her dress, though, was extremely elegant, and the man at the end of the altar was looking at her in such a warm way, that maybe, one day, she could fall in love with him the way she was meant to. She could raise children with him. Perhaps, it was a real possibility.  

This possibility was not meant to come to pass, though. The couple spent only two years together, and in that time, Cora suffered a miscarriage that caused her not only to think that something was inherently wrong with her, but for her husband to think so, too. Their relationship was fraught with tension, and though she tried her hardest to please him, the loss of the child was hard to come back from. Cora’s mother grew angry and would yell at her daughter that she was ruining their only shot at a good life, which made Cora only feel more shame. She tried every day to do better, to serve her husband better, to get pregnant, and things did get slightly better for a time. A few months after her miscarriage, when Cora was about to turn 19, the doctor informed her she was pregnant again.  

This baby was carried to term, and would be the baby who would change everything about Cora’s destiny, for better or for worse. During her pregnancy, unbeknownst to anyone else, Cora had developed Preclampsia, which resulted in her death while giving birth to her baby girl. The child survived, however, and her grief stricken father named the baby after her, and like everything else, would never be the same. Yes, Cora was dead. So…why did she wake up again in the home she grew up in? It’s a mystery that Cora herself still has not wrapped her mind around, but somehow, her spirit has been stuck on earth all this time. Physically, she was gone at only 19, but she lives on at the age of 140, and I’ve got to say, she looks good for her age, no?  

Throughout her confusion, her missteps, her anguish at not being able to be at peace, in heaven with God, she realized that she would have to navigate this new territory whether she liked it or not, whether it scared the life out of her - pun totally intended - or not, she knew she had to figure out how to live…well, not-live this new…not-life. Over the years, she has harnessed the ability to temporarily, on and off, make herself into a corporeal being - almost human, but not quite, and has learned to live a normal life undetected throughout the years. Strange things are always happening in Eden, so she goes mostly unnoticed. As the years have gone on and she has watched women’s rights increase more and more, she’s been inspired to be a “real girl” so much more often. To go out and make money, to live in the little house where she grew up and be content. In a way, her death is not even a death, it is a rebirth. It is freedom.  

CONNECTIONS –

tba –   

PENNED BY DEVON.

[mscora]

closed | @diabhales​

Cora liked her boss, Sienna, as much as she liked anyone else. Her hours were flexible, their rapport was friendly most of the time, however, today seemed strange. Sienna kept looking at her with confusion - was she doing something wrong? She was just giving change back to a customer. Was she counting it incorrectly? No, she’d been doing this longer than Sienna had been alive and long before The Attic showed up in town. It had to be something else. When her customer walked away, Cora stepped towards Sienna tentatively, “Is everything to your satisfaction?” she asked, adjusting a nearby object. 

[mscora]

closed | @wniana​

Cora was ringing up a guest swiftly, making light chatter with them about the vintage book they’d bought for a friend’s birthday gift, “I’m sure she’ll love this, the publication date is around....1930? This is a good find.” She wrapped the book in tissue paper and slid it into a shopping bag, glancing upward at the next customer, a tall and broad man who looked otherworldly, not in the sense that people like Ida did, but he seemed uncommon. A mane of thick, long hair, tan skin, a set of eyes that seemed wild, but wholly uninterested in The Attic as a whole. 

“Hello there, how may I help you?” Cora asked him as he got to the front of the line, no one behind him - or at least it seemed that way. She couldn’t exactly see behind him. “Would you like to hear about our discounts?” she asked, “A lot of items are practically a steal this week.” 

[mscora]

comethdeath‌:

Ida smirked at the other ghost. “Just go in, what’s the big deal? It’s just some dead bodies.” They tilted their head as they studied Cora. They’d known each other from before they both died. Cora was their elder both physically and spiritually and someone who Ida confided in from time to time. They were the only one who could really get the whole being dead thing. “Also, as much fun as it is to give humans the chills when I pass through them, I don’t think it’ll have the same effect for you so what’s the point?”

Cora rolled her eyes playfully and smiled at Ida, glancing down at her dress briefly before turning to her, “You have a point, I know you do enjoy a good scare more than I ever will,” she said agreeably. Her face grew more forlorn, though, as she ruminated over the truth of what was behind those gates. 

“They’re not just any dead bodies. My body is in there. The bodies of my parents, my husband...my...my little girl...” she trailed off, biting her lip. “I try to visit them every ten years - any more than that is too much for me, I don’t understand why they’re not like me, or if they are, why haven’t they showed themselves?” She thought back to the time when her afterlife began, unable to be seen, she would spend years perfecting herself to make herself into the corporeal girl that stood before Ida. Maybe that’s what her family was doing...just...honing their skills. 

Or maybe they were gone forever. 

“Could you come with me?” she asked Ida, her tone nervous. If she had a beating heart, she knew it would be pounding.