Margarite was stood there, her small hands poised either side of the doorframe, one leg bent so that her large hips shifted beneath the scarlet dress that trickled down over her voluptuous figure. Her face came straight from a movie theatre poster, heart shaped with lips like a bow and arrow, nose like a sculptor's greatest work and big blue eyes that belonged to a doll. Her hair fell all about her face in large bouncing curls. She was to Axel as a Cuban cigar was to a man who smoked them every day. He made a movement as to walk over to her and a simple tilting of her head away from him was enough to keep him stationed firmly where he was.
"Axel" she greeted, her voice bred from the ditty of the beautiful and the common. He nodded to her and flashed a tired smile.
"It's been quiet around here, right?"
"Not quite as silent as the grave. The dead don't complain when their dirty work doesn't get done."
A roll of her eyes. That old fiery contempt gave him flashes of days gone by, days when the music drifting up to the cold office had meant something. His fingertips moved over the rough bobbles in the paint of the windowsill as she shook her hair away from her face and pinned it there. Her makeup had melted from the day and black smears lay at rest beneath her eyes. He would have swiped at it but the distance kept him with simply the thought for company instead.
"There's a job for you" she replied bluntly, unfeelingly "Got the details right... here" she pulled a note from her vast cleavage and took a few steps in to the room, laying it down on the mattress. His eyes followed the shape of her breasts as she lent over, the paleness of her skin in the eerie evening light. Her legs were round and full, ended in two dainty feet encased in small red heels. Every move she made was filled with grace. He shook his head and his eyes drifted off to the window. The click of the door signified her leaving.