Hey party people, finals are over and I am officially on break! The writing shall officially commence again! I hope you enjoy, I am so happy to be back This chapter will paint a little picture of the first villain is going to encounter. Please review!
Josette Obier loved tattoos. She loved everything about them; the gloss of the fresh ink on her milky white skin, the deep, scorching burn of the needle over her nerves, the angry red skirting the design after its completion. She loved them so much that she had given herself her first one at the age of 15, much to her mother's dismay. She had sat at her desk with the old ink gun she bot from a run down tattoo parlor, sweating and grinning over the palm of her left hand and then over the palm of her right. When she was done, shining obsidian back at her from across her palms, right to left, so when she turned her palms outward they could be properly read, in flowing black cursive was written, "Fuck Off". Her mother had screamed and stomped when she saw the permanent expletive, and Josette, had simply waved palms out with both hands to her as she packed her things and moved out. The next tattoo came on her 21st birthday. This one, a detailed likeness of the Eifel Tower stretched from just under the right side her jaw, down her neck and over the top of her shoulder. The third and final tattoo, cam at 23; this one formed an arch from the tip of one hit bone to another, dipping low over the top of her pelvic bone and it read, "Bienvenue à Paris". She was proud of each and every one of them, and planned to add to her flesh gallery whenever possible. In the mean time, she was perfecting her own skills in tattooing.
Currently, her practice was trained on the sweating, crinkling forehead of the middle aged man bound to the wood slotted chair in her office. She gave the last sweeping strokes of the gun over his tensed skin and wiped away the remaining droplets of blood and excess ink before stepping back and proudly observing her work. The man blinked furiously, the sweat dripping from his eyelids, and he could just make out her deceptively waifish figure, garbed in a form fitting, strapless cream dress that had a bold band of black fabric belted about her slender waist. Her hair, short, platinum blonde, and gelled to standing into static points that reminded him achingly of the torturous needle that had finally relented its assault on his skin.
"Oui," she smiled, walking towards him once again, her high heels clicking on the hard wood floor of her 15th floor office. "It eez done. Do you like it Monsieur Allard? Ere, you can see for yourself." She grabbed a hand held mirror off of her stainless steel desk and held it, grinning a startlingly white smile, over him so he might see her handiwork. He simply closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, as a painful mix of sweat, blood, and running jet black ink trickled into his eyes. Her smile vanished and the corners of her mouth careened downward in disappointment. "Hé!" she slapped his cheek sharply, "look at eet!" His eyes fluttered open and a groan escaped his lips as he saw the thick, block numbers staining his brow. "You like eet, n'est-ce pas? You see, Monsieur Allard, these numbers, they are not just a random date. Today eez, what, eet's the fifteenth of January, 2013? Well, than that gives you approximately, oh, seventh months? Because, you see, Monsieur Allard, this date? Yes, this date right here on your sweaty old front," she emphasized the word with a sharp flick of her fingers to the center of his brow, and he hissed sharply, wincing under the touch, "this date, eet eez the day that you die." The man's grey eyes flew open and they were absolutely frozen with fear.
"Wha…what?" he stammered.
"Oh, oui, Monsieur Allard, eet eez the day you die. You know, as well as I do, that in my business, I cannot afford to give people faulty information. You see, eet makes me look very bad." She set the mirror down and walked slowly around the back of her deck, opening the top drawer, from which she pulled a cigarette, the casing died jet black, and placed the ebony stock between her lips. She plucked a match from a box in the drawer, and closing it, sauntered back towards a paralyzed Allard.
"And you, vous, you gave me bad information. And this information, it nearly got one of my clients killed. And, reasonably, he has dropped my services. When I lose a client, I look a fool." She bent so close to his face that he could smell the sweet, unlit tobacco in her cigarette. She toyingly rolled the match between the fingers of her right hand, twirling it right in front of his eyes. "I may be many things, Monsieur Allard, but a fool I am not!" She spat into his face, and sweeping the cupped fingers of her right hand across his stubbled cheek, she slapped him, and the match, tucked neatly against her fingers, struck against the friction of his stubble. Smirking at the stunned look on his face, she lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply before flicking the match out and discarding it in the trash can next to her desk.
"Eet eez a neat trick, non?" She smiled at him and removed the cigarette from between her lips, straightening herself and looked down her fine, sharp nose at him. "Eet eez not my only trick though. I have many tricks, it is important, in my business. I have tricks that let me see everyone, but they never see me. That goes for you too, Monsieur. I've been to your house before. Do you know that? Eet eez lovely, really. Although, I don't care for the blue paint in your sitting room." Josette smiled gratefully and took a long drag of her cigarette as she saw Allard's brow crease and his lower lip tremble in astonished fear. "Ah, but that eez not all, Monsieur!" She exclaimed happily, prancing over to her desk and sitting down on it. "I have much more for you, oui! While I don't care for the color of your sitting room, I do think that your dog, Margot, she is rather adorable. Oui, très mignon. She has a wheat allergy, non? That must be very expensive to feed her."
"How do you…?" Allard stammered, his eyes flashing over her delighted face.
"Eet eez all in a days work, you see. Eet eez my job to be well informed. And people like you, people who give me bad information, they just make my job harder than eet already eez. That is why I cannot let you live. Well, at least not past August 23rd." She hopped sprightly off her desk, snubbing out her cigarette in the large crystal ashtray on her desk, then walked over to the chair and began neatly undoing Allard's restraints.
"Until then, however, you are free. Free to know, every time you look in the mirror, that those numbers, reflected back at you, are the day you die. Free to tell everyone who enquires about your tattoo that that, eez the day you die." As the last of his restraints came undone, Allard sprang to his feet, and Josette smiled sweetly up at him from her diminutive five feet three inches.
"If you will just hold on one second, Monsieur Allard." She skipped lightly around her desk and pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Rachel, vous venez ici s'ill vous plaît?"
"Oui!" An exceptionally bubbly voice chirped over the intercom. Seconds later, a petite brunette with big, brown, bedroom eyes entered through the large wooden door.
"Rachel, would you please validate Monsieur Allard's parking?"