AKA: Jynxie
Born and raised in a small town outside Dublin, our heroine was the youngest of six children, and the only girl. This of course explained why she was the way she was. Tomboy was not exactly sexy but still, she had curves and somehow managed the faked feminie charm. God only knew how, but she did have a way about her.
Just recently moved to the US for reasons that she'd only devulge under penatly of death, she started up her own business with a mysteriously large amount of cash. No questions asked, if you dealt with the right people. Her club was now just starting to creep into the limelight, if not for the guests that frequented the chic little pad, but for the lines that wound around corners and down entire city blocks.
Tired of living in the upstairs apartment of the building that housed "The Iceburg" she is now looking for something a bit more ..social. Maybe something less mundane than living alone and with that constant ringing in her ears from the damned speakers downstairs.
To the Ivory Towers. Bring on the sexy men, the cheap booze and the drama.
The brass tacks, no holds barred woman stalked down the stairwell that led from her office above the chic nightclub on the upper east side of Boston, to the dance floor where sweaty bodies undulated beneath the flashing of bright strobe lighting. One thing was on her mind. Theivery. She'd been watching the bartenders from the attempted silence of her office upstairs and while she may have blinked, the eye in the sky certainly had not. Some slick girl with big tits and one braincell was trying to hide money in her already too-tight bra. That was going to stop. In this club, it was Jynxie's way or the highway. She was half-way down the steps when her attention was diverted momentarily by some idiot who felt the urge to try and jump from the massive set of speakers down onto the crowd below. She wasn't going to catch him, oh hell no.. but she took delight in watching the man fall. Unfortunately her joy was cut short as she herself began to see a blur of stairs, ceiling, stairs, ceiling. Damn. She'd fallen down those bloody steps again. But to make matters worse, this time she was already in a good rage, and now she was on the floor. Yet another example of the grace and elegance that was Jynxie.
The tattoos meant something. Everything done was done with someone or something in mind. She was impulsive, but not about something so permanent. The celtic knots (Pictured Left) appear (4 inches tall) on each hip, respectively. Reminders of lessons in life, the words are done in Latin. (Not Pictured) The other Latin tattoo reads "Omes Unam Manet Nox" or "The Same Night (awaits) Us All." It's on her left inner wrist, and has a crescent moon and a few stars before and after the saying. The four-leafed-clover (Pictured Right) appears on her right inner thigh, just above the usual skirt-line. This is en memorium of someone special in her life. Someone she left back home, six feet under.
The piercings appear as follows: One sterling silver 18 gauge ring in each nipple, plus one of the same in her "hood." All newly done, each in memory of a landmark in her life.
The reasons for all of these, of course would be relevant to mention here. It is not that she did so love The States that she moved from her lovely homeland. Something terrible happened back in Ireland. Something she is not likely to discuss unless provoked or completely distressed. Things here are not peachy by any stretch but oh millions times better than being a fugitive and a disgrace. Here it was easy to hide. To get away. To be free from things that had bogged her down back home. Mostly, to be free from memories. The woman who likes to keep things as simple as possible has a reason for the tendency to do so. Her life is so complicated already, she fears that anything more might just push her over the edge and into oblivion.
(Left Hip)
(Right Hip)
