Rachelle Tate

Age: 23

Likes: cigarettes, being in control, being seductive, torture, red lipstick, leather, vodka, messy hair, heels, disguises , large cities, dark colors, nail polish

Dislikes: when people cry, her dad, people that get overly attached, being soft and vulnerable, cheap liquor, whores, fire

Bio: Rachelle’s life was never easy. After the tragic fire that burnt down their once beautiful estate, her life was never the same. She lost both her mother and her little brother that day and ever since, she’s been trying to get revenge on the convicted man, an arsonist and a rapist. They bought a tiny dirty apartment in the city with whatever he had in his savings and from then on, it was nothing but working her ass off scavenging or stealing just to have enough for dinner. By age 16, she could pick any lock, steal from every store, shoot a gun, and make it back in time for curfew, which she never followed anyways. Rachelle’s favorite pastime was none other than flirting. With good looks and an irresistible charm, she had everyone wrapped around her pinky. Everyone…except her father of course. On her 18th birthday, Rachelle’s father told her it was her turn to take on the struggling family business. Naturally, she ran away. Ever since, she’s been on the run and her stealing and seducing skills have only gotten much much better. Watch out, because once Rachelle’s got you in her grip, the only way you’re leaving is with a broken neck. 

 model: Leighton Meester

Based on: Ra’s al Gul

taken by: @thatsstellar (hopefully!)

collection: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=1688767

top 3: rachelle tate
1. Wendy Lee
2. Georgia Lyons
3. Quin Harper

“You know what to do,” the deep voice on the other end of the line confirmed.

“Of course. I expect my pay promptly,” I replied back quietly into my cellphone.

“You’ll get your share, sugar, but only once your mission’s success is confirmed,” I could hear him grin and laugh softly.

“Don’t. Call. Me. Sugar.” I hung up and put the phone back into my garter.

 I slink into the dark bar and look around for my victim. I see him sitting in front of the bar. Target locked. I slide into a stool next to him and call over the bartender.
 
“A vodka on the rocks,” the victim next to me looked up from the wooden counter he was staring at and looked up at me. I didn’t acknowledge him. The bartender slid my glass over and I chugged it down in one sip. I needed to get a little numb for this to work. 

 “Damn. Never seen a girl drink hardcore liquor like that. Especially a girl who leaves such a bright lipstick stain on the cup.” I turned towards him and stared into his eyes, trying not to imagine the lifeless look they would soon hold. His eyes were brown with specks of gold and he had perfect full lips. At least I would get to kiss them soon. 

 “Well,” I said looking up through my eyelashes, “maybe I’m a hardcore girl. And maybe, this is my favorite lipstick.” I bit my lip. That always got them hooked. I saw his eyes light up. Checkmate.

 “You’re going to have to prove that to me,” he grabbed my hand and started to get up. “Let’s go to my place…” he started leading me out of the door. Pretend to be drunk, I thought. Be a bit ditzy. 

 As we pulled up to his apartment, I lit a Marlboro. I used to smoke to keep calm because my job is just a teensy bit stressful but now, it’s a habit that I just don’t care enough to break. He helped me out of the car and I made sure I made eye contact. The more eye contact, the more they trust for you. 

 I feel my thigh to make sure my phone is still in place. Check. Lipstick, check. Weapon of choice, of course, check. I lay on the bed still in my dress as he undresses. What a perverted fool. 

He lays down and I climb on top of him and run my hands down his chest. He smiles and so do I, but not for the same reason. I take out my lipstick and open it. I apply it onto my lips, pucker, and kiss his cheek. Next, a long line of Chanel Rouge from his neck to just above the hips. I lean down and kiss him on the lips. They really were soft; too bad they would soon be stone cold. 

I lean down and whisper into his ear, “Close your eyes.” He does.

I take out my favorite knife and switch it open. The gleam catches in the moonlight that shines from somewhere outside the window. I place it down where the lipstick on his chest starts.

“What is that?” he asks flirtatiously. 

“Shhhhh, don’t worry. It’s a surprise.” I press down and he flinches but it isn’t until I start to slice my way down his chest that he starts to have a panic attack.

“Stop! Stop! What are you doing?! Stop that!” he tries to get up but I cover his eyes and lean over to kiss him. 

“It’s nothing, babe,” I say holding his cheek. “It’s supposed to hurt. You don’t mind…do you?” I ask in a girlish tone.

“No…” he gasps in pain. “ Of course not.”

“Just keep your eyes closed.”
I step off the bed to see the damage I’d done so far. A beautiful red line dividing him in half. Not deep enough to kill, just enough to make a scratch. Let them get used to the pain. 

 I lean over and kiss him on the lips for a long time until we both gasp for air. Now’s my chance.

 I ready my knife and place it right on his neck. He feels the cold metal and frantically looks for my eyes. He’s scared, confused, distraught. His life is flashing right before his eyes.
“Any last words?” I whisper right into his ear.

“Why?”

“Think about it. You’ll have plenty of time.” I press down and blood flows from his neck. He tries to say something. Useless pleads of remorse. Crying for mercy. I reapply my lipstick and kiss him on the cheek. A perfect signature. 

I grab my bad and start to turn away, ignoring the choking of blood. I look back one last time and immediately regret it. Those once beautiful brown eyes, now empty; his once soft warm lips are now cold. Get over it, Rachelle. He’s just another victim to add to your resume. I fix my hair and close the door to his house, grabbing his car keys and heading back to the club. For all anyone knows, he was just some man sitting at the bar and I was just the girl with the lipstick.
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