Mia Wallace Pulp Fiction Costume Novels & Stories

Shooting Chris one last dazed look, to which he smirked, I followed her clicking heels toward a room off the main foyer. “Take a look for yourself, darling,” she said, gesturing to a framed photograph on the wall, right above a vintage velvet settee. It was one of those stylized, pin-up style photographs that were so popular in old human magazines. Ophelia was lounging provocatively across the gleaming hood of what I immediately recognized as Chris’s racecar, wearing a Rockabilly getup—a red and black polka dot corset with blue denim shorts that left very little to the imagination, along with a pair of black pumps that made her calves look toned as hell.

Moss walked in, adjusting the collar of her jacket. She stopped right in front of the records bullpen. Wallace was hunched over a mountain of manila folders, hair a mess, frantically stamping incident slips with bloodshot eyes. Wallace glanced up, froze, and let out a long, ragged breath. "Moss. Holy shit. You're back." "Just got signed back in five minutes ago," Moss said, pulling a chair over. "What's going on with the board? You look like you haven't slept in three days."

Gunner shakes his head, smiling, while he takes a few seconds to mind-link his trackers. “The ladies just left the wolf-witch’s cottage. I’m guessing, they’re heading to their spa appointment. The wolf-witch’s assistant carried two dresses to their car. Blue and gold dresses. I’m a hundred percent sure Gisella is wearing the gold one. Fuck. I’m going to look stupid in a gold suit. Fuck this matching their dresses shit.” He grimaces, imagining how he’d look like tonight, all glitzy and shiny.

The paint of the wall was peeled off. She exhaled when saw a door and before opened the door, she said, "Well, here goes nothing." "Oh, a guest?" Said someone in that room. In the contrary, the room was beautiful and have same vibe with Duke's study room. The wall was painted in lightning blue. It was same colour with the carpet. The room only have a large black wooden cupboard, shining oak desk and light brown couches which made with the finest leather. The man who greet her is not Hugo. Cecilia knew it even that man was wear a black crow mask.

Her neck was adorned with a heavy and pretty sea coloured choker, her hair fell down her shoulders in curly full waves and her lips were painted red. Damn. She was sexy. Shawn whistled and even if he trusted Shawn and knew he was loyal, he still felt like punching at Shawn’s pretty face. She held a tiny purse which was silver in colour, the purse couldn’t even hold a pen, Xavier wondered why girls carried such tiny purses, though with Amelia, it looked perfect. The dress and her eyes were of the exact same colour, she was enchanting like a goddess in werewolf stories with a gift of seduction- yes, the big bad Mafia read stories.

She looked sweet, though obviously cowed by Myrna. “Excuse me Ms. Wallace,” the woman gave Poppy a half bow, almost like Poppy was royalty or something, “But Mr. Murray was wondering if you were feeling up to joining him for dinner?” Poppy swallowed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the same room with him again. They always started off OK, but then somehow he got her naked and it all went downhill from there. “Ms. Wallace would be delighted, Michelle.” Myrna gave the woman a gracious smile and Michelle nodded and scurried away.

I say aloud. The walls used to have a floral wallpaper but now that has worn away and only displays the old wood panels. My once pink floral comforter is faded and drenched in dust. The vanity where I did my hair is cracked with a broken leg. I take a seat on the bed, and a cloud of dust surrounds me. “Damn” Unable to hold a cough back, I wheeze from the dust while using my hand to fan the cloud away. Once the dust settles Maverick's sculpted body stands in the doorway shirtless wearing only a pair of black dress slacks from the 1950s and I can’t help but giggle covering my mouth.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SURVEILLANCE "You're not wearing that." Elena paused, looking down at her black pants and the crisp white blouse. It was essentially the uniform of a prisoner trying her best to pass as a secretary. Then she looked up at Martha. The older woman stood framed in the closet doorway, holding a silk dress the exact color of bruised wine and heavy smoke.

I almost ran out of oxygen when I was with them, it was as if they had emptied it without leaving me to die. I went into my room to clean myself before the sun went down. The maid said that all the clothes for me were available in the wardrobe and I was free to choose whatever I wanted. After I checked what the clothing models were, my eyes wanted to fall out to see a row of sleeveless mini-dresses. There are no ordinary clothes such as T-shirts and trousers. This is too feminine when dealing with a mafia-like him. I stood in front of the wardrobe with my body wrapped in a towel, choosing which dress was suitable to wear at night.

"Let's give this one to my grandma to try on." The shop assistant hurriedly picked the outfit up and helped Grandma to put it on her. "You look so spirited in it. Miss Riddle, what do you think?" Nicole looked at Mrs. Wallace Sr. It was really a matter of dressing up and dressing down; Mrs. Wallace Sr. looked much more refreshed in her new clothes, and her entire temperament was elevated. "Nice, it fits." "How do you feel, Grandma?" Nicole asked. Mrs. Wallace Sr. looked happy in the mirror. "It looks good."