Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Red and Black ❯ First Contact ( Chapter 4 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Kirika 
Anime/Manga: Noir Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Romance / Psychological / Martial Arts / Hentai / Drama / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.10.2004 | Updated On: 12.06.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.3K | Visits: 984 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Noir Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Romance / Psychological / Martial Arts / Hentai / Drama / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.10.2004 | Updated On: 12.06.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.3K | Visits: 984 | Status: Work In Progress
Red And Black - By Kirika
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The fourth chapter. Or what I like to call 'Mireille's Guide to Being a Professional Assassin'. ^_^
- Kirika
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Chapter 4 - First Contact
Mireille picked up her strawberry flavoured club soda and took a long draft from it through the black plastic straw resting against the glass's rim, next to where the slices of lemon and lime were wedged solely for aesthetic reasons rather than for enhancing the taste of the drink. She was sitting at the bar in a small ritzy cocktail lounge found in Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental in Paris' 9th district, simply nursing her drink, as she had been doing for the last two hours. The greying bartender didn't seem to mind, though, appearing to be wholly occupied with polishing glasses and generally looking bored. That was, when he wasn't ogling Mireille appreciatively out of the corner of his eye or fixing her a fresh drink. He had attempted to engage her in conversation a couple of times, but Mireille was not one for idle small talk with strangers, even if the stranger happened to be a bartender with a sympathetic ear. Moreover, Mireille was playing the waiting game, an inevitable part of being a professional assassin, and it required all of her attention. Sometimes the woman found such a task wearying on her mind… but patience brought safety and efficiency.
It was late morning, and the lounge was understandably nearly empty of patrons, save for a trio of men in business suits sipping mineral waters while they chatted quietly amongst themselves, apparently going over the several documents that were spread out on the dark, buffed wooden surface of the circular table they were seated around. But that was one of the main reasons why Mireille had chosen this place to wait, or rather, spy from. That, and because the cocktail lounge opened out into the busy lobby of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental, acting as a tranquil cove in a roiling sea of bustling people, and consequently providing a relatively clear view of the comings and goings of all the hotel's visitors; guests and otherwise. However, the blonde was only interested in two particular guests… two very dangerous guests.
Simon had emailed Mireille earlier in the morning with the information on Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu she had requested of him, one full day after she and Kirika had visited the uncouth hacker to make use of his talents. Mireille dreaded having to go back to the hormonal teen's basement hideaway to pay him the rest of his due fee, but for the moment that was the last thing on her mind. Through his meticulous--and illegal--scouring of every five star lodging's guest list across the city of Paris, Simon had discovered that Ryosuke and Vincent were staying at this very place, Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental, a quite lavish hotel that catered to prestigious clientele ranging from foreign diplomats to wealthy and distinguished overseas visitors; the majority of which having ties to prominent corporations. Kaede Ishinomori clearly preferred her older brother and his companion to reside in the lap of luxury whilst away from Japan.
Mireille had phoned the hotel from her apartment to check if Ryosuke and Vincent were within their suite before coming to the building with Kirika, but the member of staff she had spoken to informed her that the pair were not answering their telephone--they were seemingly out for the morning and he didn't know when they would return. That had been fine with Mireille, however. It gave her and Kirika the chance to visually confirm that the two men were in fact the ones they were looking for before committing themselves to some sort of decisive action, for instance laying in wait in their quarry's alleged room to ambush them, as the Corsican assassin had been tempted to do. Thus, here Mireille was, seated on a bar stool and sampling her fourth club soda of the morning, while patiently staking out the hotel's lobby.
Mireille replaced her half-finished drink on the bar beside her handbag, where it rested with its deadly payload contained inside, and looked up into the wide mirror mounted on the dusky wood wall panels on the other side of the bar, behind a series of shelves lined with bottles of expensive liquor and other potent yet pricey alcoholic beverages. The angle of the mirror bestowed the woman with a more or less unrestricted line of sight through the milling guests in the foyer--some of whom accompanied by bellhops wheeling brass luggage carts back and forth--to the hotel's front entrance, allowing her to monitor the throngs of people who entered the building, and to verify if Ryosuke and Vincent were among them. The position of the bar also meant that Mireille's back was facing the main entrance, offering her some welcome concealment from Ryosuke and Vincent's eyes when they happened by while still letting her perform her surveillance. The blonde wasn't sure whether or not the duo was aware of her and Kirika's true identity as once being the genuine Noir, or what they looked like even if the men were aware, but she wasn't taking any chances.
Mireille shifted her wary blue gaze to the reflection in the mirror of the small group of men dressed in bland suits of three different shades of grey respectively sitting at the table a few feet to her rear. They looked like typical corporate slaves, their lacklustre ties hanging like nooses around their necks. Nevertheless, the assassin tired to look beyond the men's mediocre exteriors, noting their mannerisms and exactly how attentive they really were to the papers laid out before them on their table. While Mireille didn't truly expect any Soldats minions to be involved with watching Ryosuke and Vincent anymore after she and Kirika had agreed to assist Breffort--if the man's words could be trusted by even the slightest degree--it would simply be foolish to ignore her surroundings just because she was looking out solely for two specific individuals. Still, despite Breffort's assurances that there would be no support from him to aid Mireille and Kirika in their mission to deal with Kaede's false Noir beyond intelligence, it did not rule out the possibility that agents loyal to the high-ranking Soldats member could be observing the Corsican and her Japanese counterpart without their knowledge. Certainly, Mireille wouldn't put it past Breffort to keep an eye on his little 'investment'. The prospect made her somewhat edgy. It would be best not to think about it--it might facilitate to relax her already stressed nerves--but unfortunately that wasn't an option for Mireille. She had to stay sharp; her and Kirika's confidential benefactor could be just as dangerous as Kaede's Black Hands…if not more so.
Mireille's eyes unconsciously drifted away from the cluster of men and up to the image of her diminutive partner near the top of mirror, as if they were inescapably attracted to it like a moth to flame. Kirika was sitting alone in a corner booth at the back of the cocktail lounge with a glass of barely touched orange juice on the table in front of her. Mireille had instructed the darkhaired girl to situate herself there, as it would permit her to survey the rest of the hotel's lobby that was out of the Corsican's field of vision; the section stretching from the middle of foyer all the way to the front desk and the concierge's desk a few feet to the left of it. Between the two of them they had maximum coverage of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental's lobby, and in turn virtually all of the ground-level entryways into the hotel. They would not let Ryosuke and Vincent slip by them.
But Mireille had not separated from Kirika purely for that reason. It was also another defence against the likelihood that Ryosuke and Vincent knew of their identity. If they did, then they would no doubt be on guard for two young women travelling together--not alone. It was a trifling precaution in retrospect, but every little bit that would mask Mireille and Kirika's presence from their targets' view helped to bolster the pair's sense of security… well, in the Corsican's case at any rate.
Mireille released a soft breath as she saw Kirika's eyes once again negligently turn astray from the hotel lobby and focus on her instead. That had to be the twentieth time now, the blonde thought with some exasperation. The quiet girl had been alternating between scrutinising the lobby--like she was *supposed* to be doing--and staring at Mireille's back for most of the time they had been here. Her wavering focus was starting to chafe the woman's nerves, more so than they already were. Kirika was always meant to watch her back--it went without saying--but not literally… at least not in this instance, anyway.
Kirika hadn't been very amiable to the idea of splitting up when Mireille had introduced it to her. While the introverted girl had outwardly appeared her customary reserved self, inwardly Mireille had been able to tell that she was not content with the situation. But it had mattered not. It was unavoidable; safety came first. In actual fact Mireille wouldn't have minded Kirika to be sitting on a barstool by her side at this very moment. But that was a self-centred desire, one that stemmed from her heart, and it had no room in the mindset of an assassin.
Mireille crossed her legs and retrieved her half-full club soda from the bar in one hand, at the same moment she dropped her gaze from the reflection of her partner in the mirror, now only able to make out the petite form on the very edge of her vision. In truth, Mireille herself shouldn't be affording Kirika so much of her own attention either. But for some reason she couldn't seem to help it. She knew why, of course. She wasn't that self-deluding. But she favoured not to address the reasons why, not directly in any event. It was best not to. Not now, not when she was on an exceedingly important and indisputably soon to be perilous assignment with her counterpart. Mireille couldn't let those kinds of thoughts cloud her mind. She needed to concentrate on the mission.
Nevertheless, Mireille's thoughts quickly strayed to Kirika despite her--admittedly rather half-hearted--efforts to the contrary. Or more accurately, strayed to the memories of her and Kirika's final peaceful time together spent the day before yesterday, a last farewell to living in the light of the world before returning to the dark. The pair had had lunch together in Kirika's favourite café as promised after their meeting with Simon in his basement abode, and later during the evening they'd had a quiet candlelit dinner in a low lighted restaurant situated in the vicinity of the Seine River. Mireille had enjoyed both meals immensely, but there had been an unspoken subdued air cloistering the pleasurable atmosphere that would have otherwise enveloped them comfortingly in its pleasant embrace, allowing them to forget what path lay ahead for a time and instead simply relish the here and now.
But there could be no forgetting. Indeed, the precise knowledge of exactly what dark path lay ahead of them had caused Mireille and Kirika's last peaceful outing to be hampered by bleak thoughts and little conversation, especially on the lithe girl's part. It was as if growth in Mireille and Kirika's relationship was proceeding in reverse now, slowly but surely shrivelling, the expansive wall of silence intermingled with detachment that had existed once before between the two rebuilding itself gradually brick by brick. Kirika was starting to clam up again, hardly even voicing so much as a hint of what was on her mind anymore--whatever progress Mireille had made with drawing the girl out of her shell was deteriorating bit by bit in concord with the reconstructing wall. The woman had tried to rekindle the usual ambiance between herself and her partner, but all her labours had fallen flat, met with only an absent nod or restrained mumble. It was frustrating and at the same time disheartening. Mireille wasn't sure what to do… except carry out Breffort's assignment. She hoped that after Kaede's false Noir had departed from this world--their passage hastened by her and Kirika's hands--that everything would return to the way it had been before. Mireille didn't want to think what she would do if she and her diffident counterpart failed to fully recapture their slightly more than friendly appreciation of one another.
Mireille took a deep swig of her soda--not even bothering to use the straw--tilting her head back and swallowing a series of mouthfuls of the sweet beverage in quick succession, polishing off her drink. She put down her now empty glass on the bar with a disenchanted sigh, the pillar of ice cubes remaining inside emitting a faint clinking noise. She wished she had been quaffing something with more kick, no matter the time of day--a vodka and lemonade for instance, or at the very least a white wine. Basically anything that would help to loosen the tension in her muscles and alleviate the strain on her mind.
Mireille sighed once more. She didn't need the mirror to know that Kirika was still looking in her direction; she could practically feel the darkhaired girl's eyes roving her back. Mireille was starting to think that Kirika had become too adjusted to the quiet life, in spite of her prior performance in their sewer tunnel shooting range the day before last. Neither of them could afford to get sloppy, especially now. Kirika's discontent on the state of affairs would just have to be ignored for the time being. Still, a part of Mireille wondered if becoming accustomed to a lifestyle free of violence and death was such a bad thing.
******
Kirika was seated sedately on the curved, lush couch of a snug booth in the corner of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental's cosy lobby cocktail lounge, her waiflike frame dwarfed by the large compartment enclosing her, further emphasised by they way she sank into its puffy burgundy-coloured cushions. A tall, slender glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sat in front of her on a small round table. It tasted good and was refreshing, but Kirika had hardly taken more than a few sips. She didn't have much of a thirst this morning. But she supposed that wasn't very surprising, all things considered. This was it. The hunt--it had begun. And soon after, so would the violence. And the killing.
While a part of Kirika was dreading her and Mireille's impending showdown with Ryosuke and Vincent, another part of her was eager to get it over with as quickly as possible, almost fervently so. She wanted her and her partner's return to a life of murder to be but the briefest of tastes, a mere brush of bloodshed. Truly, it should be a simple brush. Two bullets fired for two lives taken. Just two. It would not only be efficient, but it would be exceptionally swift. What was one or two shots fired from her gun, after all? What was the blood of one or two more people on her hands? One or two more sins added to the long list already scrawled in black under her name? What difference would those minor misdeeds compared to the weight of her countless other crimes make in her struggle for her very being against the dark, heartless presence that skulked inside of herself? In all honesty, did any of it really matter in the slightest after all the atrocities she had done during her years of life?
Kirika eyelids suddenly grew heavy, her gentle brown eyes turning even more sombre than normal. Yes, it did. It mattered to *her*. And for that precise reason it mattered to the darkness also. Kirika had read once that violence begets violence, and her darkness thrived on it in a similar fashion. Any form or degree of violent behaviour on Kirika's part would foster its emergence on the surface of her heart and mind, enticing it ever more to engulf the girl and take her body as its own vessel of destruction. It was something Kirika must prevent from happening at all costs. If her will was overpowered, all of her qualms about killing would vanish like snuffed candlelight, and the slayings that would be committed with her as a powerless puppet would most likely be considerable and horrific. And Mireille would be placed in danger too. No, Kirika *must* remain steadfast; her determination to stay in control must never falter. And certainly not now, not when she would once again be entering a life where ending them was a common occurrence.
Kirika's solemn but alert gaze wandered away from the far end of the hotel's lobby that she was meant to be watching for any signs of the false Noir, and focused on Mireille's back instead, only the slim woman's rear visible to her from where the blonde was seated at the bar. Kirika knew she should be assiduous to her assigned duty--she and Mireille were hunting formidable foes, after all--but her eyes just weren't able to stay fixed on one spot for more than a handful of minutes without returning to the sight of her older partner, hunched slightly over her drink with her striking but dour blue gaze lowered to the bar's surface.
Kirika watched Mireille impassively as the woman lifted her drink to her mouth and tilted back her head, draining what remained of the beverage in a small number of abrupt mouthfuls, before she resumed her former despondent posture on her barstool. Mireille didn't look to be in very good spirits. Her slouched bearing gave off a nearly visible aura of gloom to Kirika, and what the girl could make out of her expression in the mirror on the other side of the bar was positively grim. And cold.
Kirika's own shoulders slumped dejectedly, as if a sudden weight had been draped around them, matching her partner's own. She wondered how Mireille felt about the change in their lives, or more accurately the imminent change. Would she miss the peace that had existed in their daily lives? Would she miss living each day as an average person would, void of atrocious violence and vicious murder? Initially Kirika had believed so, but now she wasn't so sure. She had thought Mireille had liked living a simple life with her, a normal lifestyle, but in hindsight she had just been hoping as much. Certainly Mireille appeared to enjoy the peace, but Kirika had seen her when she checked her email for new contracts on her computer. The woman's visage had always looked… patient, and yet somewhat forlorn, too. Mireille didn't possess the same misgivings about being an assassin--a killer--as Kirika did. The blonde had just abstained from performing such nefarious deeds for her sake, while she recovered from her injuries received at the Manor and, unknowingly to Mireille, from the psychological trauma of losing herself to the darkness. The first weeks back in Paris had been difficult for Kirika, but knowing that Mireille felt the same way about her as she did for the woman had aided in lessening the impact of having regressed to the sinister persona that had ruled her for most of her young life.
But now that recuperation period was over--Kirika's mind and body had mended all but fully. Kirika no longer needed to be coddled. And with the emergence of another potential enemy--originating once again from Soldats no less--it was a harsh prompt to return to their previous way of life; the life of murderers. Already Mireille seemed to be lapsing back into her old manner.
Yesterday and for half the day before Kirika had spent all of her time with Mireille, doing activities they had normally indulged in after returning home to Paris; ones that ordinary people do and take for granted. But while they had all been pleasant and enjoyable--all time spent with Mireille was--Kirika had sensed that the woman was a little distracted, distant even, her customary mask of aloofness slipping over her features slightly and furthermore affecting her behaviour. Her partner's detached mood had impinged on Kirika's own, smothering it until the quiet girl could scarcely raise her head or utter more than two words. As a result, a damper had been put on the general atmosphere between her and Mireille; one Kirika had been acutely aware of and still was.
Kirika's saddened brown eyes fell away from Mireille to the tabletop where her orange juice sat, observing the trickles of condensation roll down the outside of the clear glass to pool around its base. She wondered if Mireille actually liked the life of a professional killer… and if the woman liked it more than a peaceful life with her.
Suddenly Kirika felt very lonely sitting in the corner booth all by herself. It no longer seemed cosy, but rather stifling. Picking up her still near full glass of juice, Kirika guzzled down the cool liquid in rapid gulps, consuming the drink completely… and giving her an excuse to leave her post to seek another from the bar, where a certain blonde woman was currently seated.
Kirika scooted out from the booth and, with her empty glass in hand, approached the cocktail lounge's bar. Mireille's head moved a margin at Kirika's movement, and her shoulders tensed a little, but otherwise the blonde did not react, not even to the girl's proximity when she stood adjacent to her, closer than a mere stranger would, as they were expected to be.
Kirika placed her glass on the bar and motioned to the lethargic bartender to get his attention, her bare arm almost brushing Mireille's equally uncovered one with the action, the minute, imperceptible hairs on their skin catching each other's and causing an electric sensation.
Mireille shifted her weight on her stool and edged a fraction away from Kirika before resettling herself, still not looking in the darkhaired girl's direction.
Kirika ordered another fruit juice; a pineapple one this time. As the bartender shuffled behind the bar, busying himself with fetching her drink--and in obviously no hurry--Kirika turned to Mireille, actually glad that the man's laziness would give her a chance to perhaps speak to her partner for a moment or two.
"Mirei--" she started, but to her surprise, was immediately cut off by the blonde assassin.
"You're rusty," Mireille said in a low murmur--her lips barely moving--while she used her straw grasped delicately in between her thumb and forefinger to idly swirl around the remains of the melting ice cubes in her glass in front of her. But Kirika heard the words perfectly--loud as if the woman were shouting them and clear as if she had articulated every syllable. And they cut like a knife.
Kirika closed her mouth and her head sank, suddenly having trouble keeping her chin up. She was thankful when her pineapple juice was ready in the subsequent minute; it meant she could go back to her seat and escape the upsetting situation she had naively walked into. After paying for the beverage with some of the money Mireille had given her for that specific purpose, Kirika returned with it and crestfallen steps to the sanctuary of the booth.
Maybe it was in Mireille's very nature to be an assassin, a part of who she was. Maybe it was in Kirika's too. But the girl certainly didn't feel that it was, despite the lethal skills she possessed. Perhaps the notion of a quiet, peaceful life for the rest of her and her partner's days had been but a fantasy. Nevertheless, whatever Mireille's outlook of the future, Kirika would respect it and the blonde assassin's wishes and stick by her no matter what. Mireille was the woman she loved; she could *not* and would *not* be parted from her, not again, even if it meant living a life bloated and corrupt with sin.
Still.... Kirika hoped that Ryosuke and Vincent would show up soon.
******
Mireille stared hard into her glass as she stirred the now deformed ice cubes inside with her straw, the blocks slowly liquefying in the temperature of the lounge. She looked at the thawing remnants of the ice cubes and the shallow pool of water they dwelled in as if the sight held the answers to all of the mysteries of the universe. Or at the very least, the knowledge of how to properly handle Kirika.
Mireille scowled in irritation, her annoyance directed squarely at herself. She shouldn't have been so abrasive to Kirika, even if the girl did seem to be somewhat out of form. But in this unforgiving business, it was better if one put their personal feelings aside until an assignment was finished. A soft heart had no place on the black path. But even so, Mireille could have at least paid for Kirika's drink--just a small gesture to appease the girl and silently indicate that she was aware of and sympathised with her apprehension regarding their transition from the light to the dark.
Just as Mireille was debating whether or not she should throw caution into the wind and take a breather from surveying the front part of the hotel's lobby to join Kirika, even if for but a moment--she was looking quite downcast sitting all alone in the corner of the lounge, more so than normal--in the reflection of the wall mirror the woman spotted their targets finally returning to Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental.
While looking much like they had in their photos included in Breffort's intelligence report, Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu both entered the hotel's foyer in entirely dissimilar manners. Ryosuke strode into the building with long, sure strides as was befitting a man of his tall physique, dressed almost exactly how he had appeared in each and every surveillance snapshot Mireille had studied diligently the day before last. Oddly, in spite of his brisk movement, the broad twin tails of the man's jet-black coat did not flutter or even so much as quiver in the slightest. Instead the entire glossy garment hung rigidly on his slender frame, all but totally immobile. It made for a peculiar spectacle.
Conversely, Vincent practically waltzed into Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental with a swaggering gait and his hands stuffed in his pants' pockets, smiling brightly, and shamelessly turning his head to follow the path of every pretty woman who walked by, his smile widening and becoming all the more dazzling in relation to the passer-by's level of beauty. Whereas his companion nearly resembled all of his photographs down to a tee, Vincent did apparently have a fashion sense beyond the lone colour black. Garbed in a dark purple suit, a lavender satin shirt, and a pale yellow tie decorated with a black, spiralling pattern, Vincent's flashy exterior and flamboyant demeanour certainly drew one's eye, be it appreciative or appalled. The majority of the admiring gazes originated from the female onlookers, and Mireille had no doubt that the fair skinned man's gorgeous looks had more than a little something to do with that.
The flocks of people rushing around the foyer parted before Ryosuke and Vincent, either intimidated by the statuesque white-haired and black-clad hitman, or in an effort to shun his garishly clothed and showy partner. Or perhaps a combination of the two. However, Mireille was another case completely. She and her own partner had a job to do and an urgent objective to accomplish, the result of the latter shaping how their lives would be lived for the foreseeable future. Mireille earnestly prayed that everything would go smoothly… for Kirika's sake.
Mireille grabbed her handbag from the bar and then slid off her stool to the floor, before casually yet smartly making her way out of the cocktail lounge, her high-heeled boots clicking sharply with her hurried pace. Her blue gaze snapped to her right to ensure that Kirika was moving too--the girl had to have noticed Ryosuke and his comrade's arrival, even if she was somewhat distracted--and after confirming that fact to be true, she began to tail the false Noir, making sure that she kept a prudent distance between herself and her prey, along with a screen of flowing people for additional protection. Kirika would be traversing her own route after the two men separate from Mireille--the blonde had thought it wise to maintain the charade of being strangers to one another until the hostilities started; at that point there would be no question that they were affiliated.
Mireille lost Kirika in the crowd while she kept her attention on their targets, but she was not worried. They had a plan, after all. The Corsican paused nonchalantly by a vacant payphone at the same time Ryosuke and Vincent stopped at the hotel's front desk. The Chinese man chatted sociably to the female receptionist there for a couple of minutes--saying something that made her noticeably blush and smile prettily--before the pair set off once again, this time heading for the row of silver elevators inlaid in a brass-coloured solid marble wall festooned with chaotic whorls of white, black and grey engrained within the stone.
Mireille resumed shadowing Kaede's Black Hands at the same instant the men themselves started moving again, weaving gracefully amid lavishly dressed guests and crisply uniformed staff alike, carefully making certain to have significant cover in the form of people in the event Ryosuke or Vincent happened to look over their shoulders. She saw the duo step into one empty elevator, closing the shiny doors quickly to block out any others from riding it. They must like their privacy.
Mireille took a second to look up at the elevator's floor indicator mounted above its shut doors as the golden and ornate arrow ticked upwards. She couldn't be absolutely certain her targets were returning directly to their suite--she would just have to take a gamble. If she waited to see what level the pair's elevator actually stopped on they would end up leaving her behind and subsequently elude her, and Kirika to boot.
Mireille hurriedly entered a different elevator that's doors were just slipping closed, and pressed the button for the floor Ryosuke and Vincent's room was on. After waiting for what felt like hours but in reality was less than a minute, the elevator arrived at level five and the blonde disembarked swiftly, her eyes discreetly but feverishly darting this way and that to sight her prey once again. She caught a brief flicker of a black ponytail bobbing around a corner of an adjoining hallway to her left, and then quickly chased after it, trotting the few metres to the intersection to narrow the escalating gap between herself and the men.
Mireille trailed behind Ryosuke and Vincent as all three travelled down a red-carpeted corridor devoid of other people, dark and varnished wooden doors that led to guestrooms arranged periodically on either side. She recognised the course they were taking. It appeared that the false Noir were returning to their shared suite as predicted. Perfect. It was all going according to plan.
Mireille and Kirika had taken the opportunity to learn the basic layout of the fifth floor of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental while they were waiting for Ryosuke and Vincent to arrive. Knowing the environment where the inevitable hit was to take place in advance was a judicious practice for a professional assassin, and one that Mireille adhered to when the chance or resources were available. It allowed for more detailed preparation, and hence a more neat operation, which the Corsican preferred--equally so for this assignment also.
Ryosuke and Vincent rounded another corner that led to the hallway where their room was to be found, leaving Mireille's line of sight. The woman tried not to increase her step to catch up. The moment was looming; she could not jeopardise the plan's success now.
Mireille followed after the two men, and saw that they had arrived at the white double doors to their expensive suite; still evidently oblivious to the threat she posed. The moment had come, or at least was about to. Kirika should be hiding at the other end of the hall, out of sight for now, but would soon be approaching the enemy as Mireille was continuing to do unabated. The plan was to sandwich Ryosuke and Vincent from opposite sides, and, at the precise second when the pair crossed the threshold to their hotel room, Mireille would execute the man closest to her at the same instant Kirika would do likewise, before dumping the bodies in the privacy of the suite and leaving them to be discovered by housekeeping. And of course by then, the culprits for the mysterious murders would have been long gone. Clean and efficient, just how Mireille liked it.
Suddenly, to Mireille's alarm, Ryosuke and Vincent paused in opening the doors to their room and appeared to discuss something, before proceeding to look back the way they had come… right in her direction.
Mireille, an experienced and highly skilled assassin, did not react in the least to their scrutiny, easily curbing the urge to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, she kept on walking at a steady pace as to not arouse their suspicion, even when Ryosuke and Vincent started retracing their steps, coming ever closer towards her. It looked like they did not recognise her, however, or without a doubt they would have been drawing weapons at that very moment… unless they wanted her to believe that and lure her in into an ambush. A trickle of perspiration ran down the middle of the woman's back at the dire concept.
As Mireille passed by the duo on Vincent's left, she couldn't prevent her eyes from shifting circumspectly to look at the attractive man; out of caution or trepidation, she wasn't certain which. To her surprise and disquiet, she was met with the twin amber halos of Vincent's soft yet stunning eyes accompanied by a small, enticing smile on his features; one he most likely used to charm many a woman while his gentle gaze put his 'victim' at ease. The combination held little sway over Mireille, though, no matter how especially gorgeous it made the man appear. She was more worried about the actual motivation behind the expression. Did Vincent--and therefore his partner, too--know her? Did he know the identities of the ones who rightfully held the title of Noir? Was it a smug smile that spelled impending doom for her? Or was it honestly just a pleasant one made to a beautiful woman who was walking by?
The muscles in Mireille's shoulders knotted anxiously. If she acted now, then she would definitely incur Vincent and Ryosuke's aggression, regardless of whether they really knew her or not. But if she didn't and the men did truly recognise her, then her hesitation would grant them an opening to strike first… a strike that Mireille doubted she would survive through.
After what felt like an eternity to Mireille, she at last progressed past Vincent and Ryosuke and then continued walking down the corridor, this time away from the men, but now with her vulnerable back to them…. A tempting target if they did know her face. But Kirika was still concealed around the corner ahead of her, a comforting--if unseen--presence. The blonde's dependable partner had evidently astutely decided to remain behind cover in the safety of the bordering hallway when she had seen the false Noir begin backtracking.
Mireille felt the tightness diminish in her shoulders. Good girl. Kirika would guard her back. And it also meant that they could salvage their plan with a few alterations, even if it would now be a little slapdash. Traces of blood would be left on the hallway's carpet after the modified plan was implemented, and the resulting pair of corpses would have to be dragged hastily into hiding before any witnesses happened by. Mireille disliked hauling dead bodies around, but there would be no other choice--she and Kirika would need time to make their escape without an alarm being sounded before they'd had a chance to evacuate the building.
As Mireille crossed into the adjoining corridor, she turned her head a fraction to the left and made eye contact with Kirika who was positioned with her back against the wall just by the T-junction, her silenced Beretta held in both her hands, its extended barrel directed up to the ceiling. There were no other people in sight, but the blonde had expected as much as soon as she had seen her partner armed--the girl would not have revealed her weapon otherwise.
Mireille met Kirika's gaze for but a split second, yet it was enough time to convene her intentions with a mixture of a hard look and slight swing of her head back down the hallway she had just navigated. The woman knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her counterpart would understand totally. Mireille and Kirika could tell what the other was thinking--within reasonable limits--mostly through each other's eyes. It was something that the two had been able to do from quite early in their association, and it had been a useful ability on several occasions, especially when on assignment, allowing them to predict each other's moves and subsequently work in harmony. Mireille had never given it much consideration; it had always transpired intuitively between her and Kirika, without so much as a hint of conscious effort. As if it were… natural for them.
Suddenly, with her long blonde locks fanning out widely behind her, Mireille broke the look with Kirika and spun around back the way she had come, pulling out her fully loaded Walther P99 from her handbag in one hand in the same fluid motion; a silencer attached to the gun. In perfect sync with the blonde assassin, Kirika made her move also, darting out from behind the wall with her Beretta M1934 raised in her hands, and placing herself in a ready stance beside her equally primed partner.
However, much to Mireille's horror, what greeted her and Kirika were not the defenceless backs of their oblivious targets, but rather a happily smiling Vincent brandishing dual Beretta Elites, one wielded in each hand, and both pointing straight at them. Ryosuke stood stationary a step behind his comrade, his back still to Mireille and Kirika, but now looking slightly over his left shoulder at the duo, a single violet eye able to be made out through his dangling white bangs a head above Vincent, watching the unfolding scene with languid interest.
Mireille registered this information in a tenth of a second before instinctively throwing herself behind the cover of the wall to her left, Kirika doing likewise opposite to her, just as Vincent began unloading steaming lead her and her partner's way with no regard to the glaring and undesirable attention the loud gunfire would attract.
Bullets pounded into the wall at the end of the corridor near to Mireille, tearing shards of wood and plaster free to rain down to the floor, before Vincent shifted his aim, directing fire at the woman's position. The Corsican assassin could hear the rounds hammering close to the edge of the wall she was hiding behind and could also detect a hint of the acrid smoke produced by their prior discharge from the firing chamber of one of the two Elites. The barrage effectively pinned her in place, unable to return fire without putting herself in Vincent's sure sights.
While the onslaught continued relentlessly, Mireille took the opportunity to spare a glance to her partner where the girl was taking cover on the other side of the T-junction across from her. Kirika was leaning with her back up against the wall and with her eyes tightly shut, while the top of her gun touched perpendicularly against her forehead, the darkhaired girl looking as if she were in deep meditation. Indeed, she appeared wholly undisturbed by the hail of bullets riddling the wall just around the corner from her, a multitude of holes now defacing its surface. It was as if Kirika was in another place entirely, but where, Mireille could not say.
Abruptly, Mireille heard the shooting gradually ease, and she transferred her focus from her partner's peculiar quirks to the peril at hand. Knowing that this was the moment she had been waiting for, she dropped to one knee into a crouch, letting go of her handbag in the same motion, then leaned out from around the bullet-ravaged corner, holding her Walther in a secure grip with two hands.
As the blonde did so, she saw that the cause of the ebbing gunfire was that Vincent had emptied one of his Elites, and was now dividing his remaining shots between Mireille and Kirika's locations, seeking to still keep them at bay albeit with his halved firepower. The gaudily dressed man steadily retreated all the while he maintained his vigilant, if somewhat manic, gaze on his would-be killers' positions, his smile no longer happy but seeming forced, now a rather nasty rictus marring his once attractive features. Ryosuke on the other hand walked down the hallway with apparent calm, not so much as even looking in his assailants' directions. He was either extremely brave or extremely arrogant. Perhaps both.
Mireille squeezed the trigger of her weapon in rapid succession, firing a trio of muted rounds at the pair of withdrawing men, hoping to put down at least one of them before they made it to the shelter of the intersection at the end of the hall… and before anybody came to investigate the racket of the gunfight.
But, to her dismay, her shots hit nothing but wood and plaster. Vincent had stooped low as soon as Mireille appeared from cover, and then scurried with alacrity behind Ryosuke, as if wishing to use the tall man as an impromptu shield. His fast and quite unexpected manoeuvre had been enough to throw off the Corsican's concentration and hence her aim, however, sparing him from kissing lead, much to the blonde's displeasure.
Desperately questing to remedy that fact at least in the case of one of the false Black Hands, Mireille shifted her attention to Ryosuke, just as he was about to disappear behind the protection of the far neighbouring corridor; his partner already having taken advantage of his screening body to do as much. She fired a short series of rounds at the white-haired man as he began rounding the corner after a scampering Vincent, all but one connecting with their target's exposed back. Mireille felt grim satisfaction start to rise up inside her at her success but it was rudely dashed aside as she saw, to her shock, Ryosuke react as if nothing had struck him at all, the man continuing to walk along placidly until he vanished down the other hallway. She had been certain she'd hit him, willing to swear on it even, but evidently she had been mistaken or Ryosuke would be lying in a growing pool of his own blood and not escaping instead. Mireille must really be getting careless to miss such a clear shot.
Mireille shook her head in frustration and lowered her gun a fraction, inwardly cursing at how things had played out. While she was debating on whether or not to pursue Ryosuke and Vincent, she looked over to where Kirika was. The girl had slid down the wall and was now sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes remaining shut and her firearm still resting against her forehead. She appeared more like a frail young girl than ever, albeit one armed with a gun. Mireille couldn't remember hearing the sound of a Beretta M1934 joining her Walther P99 and Vincent's two M92F Elites during the firefight--Kirika hadn't fired a single round.
Mireille stared at Kirika expressionlessly for a few moments, and then suddenly grabbed her discarded handbag and angrily shoved her Walther back into its confines. The woman knew their opportunity was lost. Someone would have heard all of the fierce gunfire. People were probably rushing to this very spot right this second, security personnel--or worse, the police--with them. Mireille could already hear faint shouts echoing down the hallways. She and Kirika had better simply run. They had failed.
******
Kirika watched emotionlessly as Mireille stormed into the living room of their apartment and hurled her handbag on the billiard table, sending several pool balls careering away atop Breffort's documents to ricochet wildly off the rubber sides. The blonde started to pace heatedly back and forth beside the green table, her heels beating a tattoo on the floor and her countenance one of acute distaste, while Kirika settled herself back against a wall and continued to stoically observe her partner's tirade.
"We've blown our best chance to end this," Mireille spat furiously, glaring hard at the wooden floorboards. "If they didn't know what we looked like before, they certainly do now!" She halted her agitated march, still frowning at the floor. "They still might not be aware that we were once the true Noir, however," the woman went on in a quieter tone, more to herself than to Kirika. "Small comfort, but it's something."
Mireille resumed her pacing, muttering to herself in a low voice below Kirika's threshold of hearing, before stopping at the end of the billiard table, leaning on it with her hands gripping either side tightly, her knuckles white. Mireille stared down at its felt surface with unseeing blue eyes, as if looking through the documents and pool balls scattered haphazardly on it. She then paused in her private rant and turned her head to Kirika, her expression seeming lost somewhere between anxiousness and sadness. But the look lasted only a brief instant before it vanished as she turned back to the billiard table to scowl at Breffort's papers, fuming silently.
With Mireille's outburst apparently out of steam for the time being, Kirika pushed off the wall, deciding to leave the blonde alone for a bit and brew some tea to help soothe her temper. "I'll make some tea," she declared softly, before walking past Mireille, heading for the kitchen.
Mireille merely nodded absently and mumbled an acknowledgement, not moving from her position.
As Kirika went about filling the kettle with water in the kitchen, she thought back to today's earlier events. She couldn't help but be relieved at what had happened. She was glad Mireille had not been harmed, but she was also glad she hadn't needed to fire her gun at someone. Kirika had hesitated when the shooting started, loath to touch the darkness inside of herself. But in truth, she had touched it when she had burst out of cover with Mireille to confront Ryosuke and Vincent… but only fleetingly. She had recoiled after that first contact, her will to fight abandoning her outright as a result. Kirika didn't know whether Mireille had noticed her reluctance, but she hoped the blonde had not--she didn't want her partner to think she had let her down by not supporting her. She never wanted to disappoint Mireille.
Nevertheless, Kirika was conscious that this was only a temporary reprieve. She would have to fight eventually; sooner now, with Ryosuke and Vincent aware of her and Mireille. Dealing with the two men would be even more difficult and in turn more dangerous in the future. Ultimately, Kirika's resistance would not be able to last forever… it would be kill or be killed.
******
To be continued….
Author's ramblings:
Only some very mild action and angsty stuff in this chapter. I debated whether Mireille would be motivated enough to do a bit of pacing and fuming, and in front of Kirika, but after considering it for a while I figured her frustration of failing to kill R+V (and how much was riding on that she succeed) would cause her to lose herself for a moment or two.
******
The fourth chapter. Or what I like to call 'Mireille's Guide to Being a Professional Assassin'. ^_^
- Kirika
******
Chapter 4 - First Contact
Mireille picked up her strawberry flavoured club soda and took a long draft from it through the black plastic straw resting against the glass's rim, next to where the slices of lemon and lime were wedged solely for aesthetic reasons rather than for enhancing the taste of the drink. She was sitting at the bar in a small ritzy cocktail lounge found in Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental in Paris' 9th district, simply nursing her drink, as she had been doing for the last two hours. The greying bartender didn't seem to mind, though, appearing to be wholly occupied with polishing glasses and generally looking bored. That was, when he wasn't ogling Mireille appreciatively out of the corner of his eye or fixing her a fresh drink. He had attempted to engage her in conversation a couple of times, but Mireille was not one for idle small talk with strangers, even if the stranger happened to be a bartender with a sympathetic ear. Moreover, Mireille was playing the waiting game, an inevitable part of being a professional assassin, and it required all of her attention. Sometimes the woman found such a task wearying on her mind… but patience brought safety and efficiency.
It was late morning, and the lounge was understandably nearly empty of patrons, save for a trio of men in business suits sipping mineral waters while they chatted quietly amongst themselves, apparently going over the several documents that were spread out on the dark, buffed wooden surface of the circular table they were seated around. But that was one of the main reasons why Mireille had chosen this place to wait, or rather, spy from. That, and because the cocktail lounge opened out into the busy lobby of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental, acting as a tranquil cove in a roiling sea of bustling people, and consequently providing a relatively clear view of the comings and goings of all the hotel's visitors; guests and otherwise. However, the blonde was only interested in two particular guests… two very dangerous guests.
Simon had emailed Mireille earlier in the morning with the information on Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu she had requested of him, one full day after she and Kirika had visited the uncouth hacker to make use of his talents. Mireille dreaded having to go back to the hormonal teen's basement hideaway to pay him the rest of his due fee, but for the moment that was the last thing on her mind. Through his meticulous--and illegal--scouring of every five star lodging's guest list across the city of Paris, Simon had discovered that Ryosuke and Vincent were staying at this very place, Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental, a quite lavish hotel that catered to prestigious clientele ranging from foreign diplomats to wealthy and distinguished overseas visitors; the majority of which having ties to prominent corporations. Kaede Ishinomori clearly preferred her older brother and his companion to reside in the lap of luxury whilst away from Japan.
Mireille had phoned the hotel from her apartment to check if Ryosuke and Vincent were within their suite before coming to the building with Kirika, but the member of staff she had spoken to informed her that the pair were not answering their telephone--they were seemingly out for the morning and he didn't know when they would return. That had been fine with Mireille, however. It gave her and Kirika the chance to visually confirm that the two men were in fact the ones they were looking for before committing themselves to some sort of decisive action, for instance laying in wait in their quarry's alleged room to ambush them, as the Corsican assassin had been tempted to do. Thus, here Mireille was, seated on a bar stool and sampling her fourth club soda of the morning, while patiently staking out the hotel's lobby.
Mireille replaced her half-finished drink on the bar beside her handbag, where it rested with its deadly payload contained inside, and looked up into the wide mirror mounted on the dusky wood wall panels on the other side of the bar, behind a series of shelves lined with bottles of expensive liquor and other potent yet pricey alcoholic beverages. The angle of the mirror bestowed the woman with a more or less unrestricted line of sight through the milling guests in the foyer--some of whom accompanied by bellhops wheeling brass luggage carts back and forth--to the hotel's front entrance, allowing her to monitor the throngs of people who entered the building, and to verify if Ryosuke and Vincent were among them. The position of the bar also meant that Mireille's back was facing the main entrance, offering her some welcome concealment from Ryosuke and Vincent's eyes when they happened by while still letting her perform her surveillance. The blonde wasn't sure whether or not the duo was aware of her and Kirika's true identity as once being the genuine Noir, or what they looked like even if the men were aware, but she wasn't taking any chances.
Mireille shifted her wary blue gaze to the reflection in the mirror of the small group of men dressed in bland suits of three different shades of grey respectively sitting at the table a few feet to her rear. They looked like typical corporate slaves, their lacklustre ties hanging like nooses around their necks. Nevertheless, the assassin tired to look beyond the men's mediocre exteriors, noting their mannerisms and exactly how attentive they really were to the papers laid out before them on their table. While Mireille didn't truly expect any Soldats minions to be involved with watching Ryosuke and Vincent anymore after she and Kirika had agreed to assist Breffort--if the man's words could be trusted by even the slightest degree--it would simply be foolish to ignore her surroundings just because she was looking out solely for two specific individuals. Still, despite Breffort's assurances that there would be no support from him to aid Mireille and Kirika in their mission to deal with Kaede's false Noir beyond intelligence, it did not rule out the possibility that agents loyal to the high-ranking Soldats member could be observing the Corsican and her Japanese counterpart without their knowledge. Certainly, Mireille wouldn't put it past Breffort to keep an eye on his little 'investment'. The prospect made her somewhat edgy. It would be best not to think about it--it might facilitate to relax her already stressed nerves--but unfortunately that wasn't an option for Mireille. She had to stay sharp; her and Kirika's confidential benefactor could be just as dangerous as Kaede's Black Hands…if not more so.
Mireille's eyes unconsciously drifted away from the cluster of men and up to the image of her diminutive partner near the top of mirror, as if they were inescapably attracted to it like a moth to flame. Kirika was sitting alone in a corner booth at the back of the cocktail lounge with a glass of barely touched orange juice on the table in front of her. Mireille had instructed the darkhaired girl to situate herself there, as it would permit her to survey the rest of the hotel's lobby that was out of the Corsican's field of vision; the section stretching from the middle of foyer all the way to the front desk and the concierge's desk a few feet to the left of it. Between the two of them they had maximum coverage of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental's lobby, and in turn virtually all of the ground-level entryways into the hotel. They would not let Ryosuke and Vincent slip by them.
But Mireille had not separated from Kirika purely for that reason. It was also another defence against the likelihood that Ryosuke and Vincent knew of their identity. If they did, then they would no doubt be on guard for two young women travelling together--not alone. It was a trifling precaution in retrospect, but every little bit that would mask Mireille and Kirika's presence from their targets' view helped to bolster the pair's sense of security… well, in the Corsican's case at any rate.
Mireille released a soft breath as she saw Kirika's eyes once again negligently turn astray from the hotel lobby and focus on her instead. That had to be the twentieth time now, the blonde thought with some exasperation. The quiet girl had been alternating between scrutinising the lobby--like she was *supposed* to be doing--and staring at Mireille's back for most of the time they had been here. Her wavering focus was starting to chafe the woman's nerves, more so than they already were. Kirika was always meant to watch her back--it went without saying--but not literally… at least not in this instance, anyway.
Kirika hadn't been very amiable to the idea of splitting up when Mireille had introduced it to her. While the introverted girl had outwardly appeared her customary reserved self, inwardly Mireille had been able to tell that she was not content with the situation. But it had mattered not. It was unavoidable; safety came first. In actual fact Mireille wouldn't have minded Kirika to be sitting on a barstool by her side at this very moment. But that was a self-centred desire, one that stemmed from her heart, and it had no room in the mindset of an assassin.
Mireille crossed her legs and retrieved her half-full club soda from the bar in one hand, at the same moment she dropped her gaze from the reflection of her partner in the mirror, now only able to make out the petite form on the very edge of her vision. In truth, Mireille herself shouldn't be affording Kirika so much of her own attention either. But for some reason she couldn't seem to help it. She knew why, of course. She wasn't that self-deluding. But she favoured not to address the reasons why, not directly in any event. It was best not to. Not now, not when she was on an exceedingly important and indisputably soon to be perilous assignment with her counterpart. Mireille couldn't let those kinds of thoughts cloud her mind. She needed to concentrate on the mission.
Nevertheless, Mireille's thoughts quickly strayed to Kirika despite her--admittedly rather half-hearted--efforts to the contrary. Or more accurately, strayed to the memories of her and Kirika's final peaceful time together spent the day before yesterday, a last farewell to living in the light of the world before returning to the dark. The pair had had lunch together in Kirika's favourite café as promised after their meeting with Simon in his basement abode, and later during the evening they'd had a quiet candlelit dinner in a low lighted restaurant situated in the vicinity of the Seine River. Mireille had enjoyed both meals immensely, but there had been an unspoken subdued air cloistering the pleasurable atmosphere that would have otherwise enveloped them comfortingly in its pleasant embrace, allowing them to forget what path lay ahead for a time and instead simply relish the here and now.
But there could be no forgetting. Indeed, the precise knowledge of exactly what dark path lay ahead of them had caused Mireille and Kirika's last peaceful outing to be hampered by bleak thoughts and little conversation, especially on the lithe girl's part. It was as if growth in Mireille and Kirika's relationship was proceeding in reverse now, slowly but surely shrivelling, the expansive wall of silence intermingled with detachment that had existed once before between the two rebuilding itself gradually brick by brick. Kirika was starting to clam up again, hardly even voicing so much as a hint of what was on her mind anymore--whatever progress Mireille had made with drawing the girl out of her shell was deteriorating bit by bit in concord with the reconstructing wall. The woman had tried to rekindle the usual ambiance between herself and her partner, but all her labours had fallen flat, met with only an absent nod or restrained mumble. It was frustrating and at the same time disheartening. Mireille wasn't sure what to do… except carry out Breffort's assignment. She hoped that after Kaede's false Noir had departed from this world--their passage hastened by her and Kirika's hands--that everything would return to the way it had been before. Mireille didn't want to think what she would do if she and her diffident counterpart failed to fully recapture their slightly more than friendly appreciation of one another.
Mireille took a deep swig of her soda--not even bothering to use the straw--tilting her head back and swallowing a series of mouthfuls of the sweet beverage in quick succession, polishing off her drink. She put down her now empty glass on the bar with a disenchanted sigh, the pillar of ice cubes remaining inside emitting a faint clinking noise. She wished she had been quaffing something with more kick, no matter the time of day--a vodka and lemonade for instance, or at the very least a white wine. Basically anything that would help to loosen the tension in her muscles and alleviate the strain on her mind.
Mireille sighed once more. She didn't need the mirror to know that Kirika was still looking in her direction; she could practically feel the darkhaired girl's eyes roving her back. Mireille was starting to think that Kirika had become too adjusted to the quiet life, in spite of her prior performance in their sewer tunnel shooting range the day before last. Neither of them could afford to get sloppy, especially now. Kirika's discontent on the state of affairs would just have to be ignored for the time being. Still, a part of Mireille wondered if becoming accustomed to a lifestyle free of violence and death was such a bad thing.
******
Kirika was seated sedately on the curved, lush couch of a snug booth in the corner of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental's cosy lobby cocktail lounge, her waiflike frame dwarfed by the large compartment enclosing her, further emphasised by they way she sank into its puffy burgundy-coloured cushions. A tall, slender glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sat in front of her on a small round table. It tasted good and was refreshing, but Kirika had hardly taken more than a few sips. She didn't have much of a thirst this morning. But she supposed that wasn't very surprising, all things considered. This was it. The hunt--it had begun. And soon after, so would the violence. And the killing.
While a part of Kirika was dreading her and Mireille's impending showdown with Ryosuke and Vincent, another part of her was eager to get it over with as quickly as possible, almost fervently so. She wanted her and her partner's return to a life of murder to be but the briefest of tastes, a mere brush of bloodshed. Truly, it should be a simple brush. Two bullets fired for two lives taken. Just two. It would not only be efficient, but it would be exceptionally swift. What was one or two shots fired from her gun, after all? What was the blood of one or two more people on her hands? One or two more sins added to the long list already scrawled in black under her name? What difference would those minor misdeeds compared to the weight of her countless other crimes make in her struggle for her very being against the dark, heartless presence that skulked inside of herself? In all honesty, did any of it really matter in the slightest after all the atrocities she had done during her years of life?
Kirika eyelids suddenly grew heavy, her gentle brown eyes turning even more sombre than normal. Yes, it did. It mattered to *her*. And for that precise reason it mattered to the darkness also. Kirika had read once that violence begets violence, and her darkness thrived on it in a similar fashion. Any form or degree of violent behaviour on Kirika's part would foster its emergence on the surface of her heart and mind, enticing it ever more to engulf the girl and take her body as its own vessel of destruction. It was something Kirika must prevent from happening at all costs. If her will was overpowered, all of her qualms about killing would vanish like snuffed candlelight, and the slayings that would be committed with her as a powerless puppet would most likely be considerable and horrific. And Mireille would be placed in danger too. No, Kirika *must* remain steadfast; her determination to stay in control must never falter. And certainly not now, not when she would once again be entering a life where ending them was a common occurrence.
Kirika's solemn but alert gaze wandered away from the far end of the hotel's lobby that she was meant to be watching for any signs of the false Noir, and focused on Mireille's back instead, only the slim woman's rear visible to her from where the blonde was seated at the bar. Kirika knew she should be assiduous to her assigned duty--she and Mireille were hunting formidable foes, after all--but her eyes just weren't able to stay fixed on one spot for more than a handful of minutes without returning to the sight of her older partner, hunched slightly over her drink with her striking but dour blue gaze lowered to the bar's surface.
Kirika watched Mireille impassively as the woman lifted her drink to her mouth and tilted back her head, draining what remained of the beverage in a small number of abrupt mouthfuls, before she resumed her former despondent posture on her barstool. Mireille didn't look to be in very good spirits. Her slouched bearing gave off a nearly visible aura of gloom to Kirika, and what the girl could make out of her expression in the mirror on the other side of the bar was positively grim. And cold.
Kirika's own shoulders slumped dejectedly, as if a sudden weight had been draped around them, matching her partner's own. She wondered how Mireille felt about the change in their lives, or more accurately the imminent change. Would she miss the peace that had existed in their daily lives? Would she miss living each day as an average person would, void of atrocious violence and vicious murder? Initially Kirika had believed so, but now she wasn't so sure. She had thought Mireille had liked living a simple life with her, a normal lifestyle, but in hindsight she had just been hoping as much. Certainly Mireille appeared to enjoy the peace, but Kirika had seen her when she checked her email for new contracts on her computer. The woman's visage had always looked… patient, and yet somewhat forlorn, too. Mireille didn't possess the same misgivings about being an assassin--a killer--as Kirika did. The blonde had just abstained from performing such nefarious deeds for her sake, while she recovered from her injuries received at the Manor and, unknowingly to Mireille, from the psychological trauma of losing herself to the darkness. The first weeks back in Paris had been difficult for Kirika, but knowing that Mireille felt the same way about her as she did for the woman had aided in lessening the impact of having regressed to the sinister persona that had ruled her for most of her young life.
But now that recuperation period was over--Kirika's mind and body had mended all but fully. Kirika no longer needed to be coddled. And with the emergence of another potential enemy--originating once again from Soldats no less--it was a harsh prompt to return to their previous way of life; the life of murderers. Already Mireille seemed to be lapsing back into her old manner.
Yesterday and for half the day before Kirika had spent all of her time with Mireille, doing activities they had normally indulged in after returning home to Paris; ones that ordinary people do and take for granted. But while they had all been pleasant and enjoyable--all time spent with Mireille was--Kirika had sensed that the woman was a little distracted, distant even, her customary mask of aloofness slipping over her features slightly and furthermore affecting her behaviour. Her partner's detached mood had impinged on Kirika's own, smothering it until the quiet girl could scarcely raise her head or utter more than two words. As a result, a damper had been put on the general atmosphere between her and Mireille; one Kirika had been acutely aware of and still was.
Kirika's saddened brown eyes fell away from Mireille to the tabletop where her orange juice sat, observing the trickles of condensation roll down the outside of the clear glass to pool around its base. She wondered if Mireille actually liked the life of a professional killer… and if the woman liked it more than a peaceful life with her.
Suddenly Kirika felt very lonely sitting in the corner booth all by herself. It no longer seemed cosy, but rather stifling. Picking up her still near full glass of juice, Kirika guzzled down the cool liquid in rapid gulps, consuming the drink completely… and giving her an excuse to leave her post to seek another from the bar, where a certain blonde woman was currently seated.
Kirika scooted out from the booth and, with her empty glass in hand, approached the cocktail lounge's bar. Mireille's head moved a margin at Kirika's movement, and her shoulders tensed a little, but otherwise the blonde did not react, not even to the girl's proximity when she stood adjacent to her, closer than a mere stranger would, as they were expected to be.
Kirika placed her glass on the bar and motioned to the lethargic bartender to get his attention, her bare arm almost brushing Mireille's equally uncovered one with the action, the minute, imperceptible hairs on their skin catching each other's and causing an electric sensation.
Mireille shifted her weight on her stool and edged a fraction away from Kirika before resettling herself, still not looking in the darkhaired girl's direction.
Kirika ordered another fruit juice; a pineapple one this time. As the bartender shuffled behind the bar, busying himself with fetching her drink--and in obviously no hurry--Kirika turned to Mireille, actually glad that the man's laziness would give her a chance to perhaps speak to her partner for a moment or two.
"Mirei--" she started, but to her surprise, was immediately cut off by the blonde assassin.
"You're rusty," Mireille said in a low murmur--her lips barely moving--while she used her straw grasped delicately in between her thumb and forefinger to idly swirl around the remains of the melting ice cubes in her glass in front of her. But Kirika heard the words perfectly--loud as if the woman were shouting them and clear as if she had articulated every syllable. And they cut like a knife.
Kirika closed her mouth and her head sank, suddenly having trouble keeping her chin up. She was thankful when her pineapple juice was ready in the subsequent minute; it meant she could go back to her seat and escape the upsetting situation she had naively walked into. After paying for the beverage with some of the money Mireille had given her for that specific purpose, Kirika returned with it and crestfallen steps to the sanctuary of the booth.
Maybe it was in Mireille's very nature to be an assassin, a part of who she was. Maybe it was in Kirika's too. But the girl certainly didn't feel that it was, despite the lethal skills she possessed. Perhaps the notion of a quiet, peaceful life for the rest of her and her partner's days had been but a fantasy. Nevertheless, whatever Mireille's outlook of the future, Kirika would respect it and the blonde assassin's wishes and stick by her no matter what. Mireille was the woman she loved; she could *not* and would *not* be parted from her, not again, even if it meant living a life bloated and corrupt with sin.
Still.... Kirika hoped that Ryosuke and Vincent would show up soon.
******
Mireille stared hard into her glass as she stirred the now deformed ice cubes inside with her straw, the blocks slowly liquefying in the temperature of the lounge. She looked at the thawing remnants of the ice cubes and the shallow pool of water they dwelled in as if the sight held the answers to all of the mysteries of the universe. Or at the very least, the knowledge of how to properly handle Kirika.
Mireille scowled in irritation, her annoyance directed squarely at herself. She shouldn't have been so abrasive to Kirika, even if the girl did seem to be somewhat out of form. But in this unforgiving business, it was better if one put their personal feelings aside until an assignment was finished. A soft heart had no place on the black path. But even so, Mireille could have at least paid for Kirika's drink--just a small gesture to appease the girl and silently indicate that she was aware of and sympathised with her apprehension regarding their transition from the light to the dark.
Just as Mireille was debating whether or not she should throw caution into the wind and take a breather from surveying the front part of the hotel's lobby to join Kirika, even if for but a moment--she was looking quite downcast sitting all alone in the corner of the lounge, more so than normal--in the reflection of the wall mirror the woman spotted their targets finally returning to Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental.
While looking much like they had in their photos included in Breffort's intelligence report, Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu both entered the hotel's foyer in entirely dissimilar manners. Ryosuke strode into the building with long, sure strides as was befitting a man of his tall physique, dressed almost exactly how he had appeared in each and every surveillance snapshot Mireille had studied diligently the day before last. Oddly, in spite of his brisk movement, the broad twin tails of the man's jet-black coat did not flutter or even so much as quiver in the slightest. Instead the entire glossy garment hung rigidly on his slender frame, all but totally immobile. It made for a peculiar spectacle.
Conversely, Vincent practically waltzed into Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental with a swaggering gait and his hands stuffed in his pants' pockets, smiling brightly, and shamelessly turning his head to follow the path of every pretty woman who walked by, his smile widening and becoming all the more dazzling in relation to the passer-by's level of beauty. Whereas his companion nearly resembled all of his photographs down to a tee, Vincent did apparently have a fashion sense beyond the lone colour black. Garbed in a dark purple suit, a lavender satin shirt, and a pale yellow tie decorated with a black, spiralling pattern, Vincent's flashy exterior and flamboyant demeanour certainly drew one's eye, be it appreciative or appalled. The majority of the admiring gazes originated from the female onlookers, and Mireille had no doubt that the fair skinned man's gorgeous looks had more than a little something to do with that.
The flocks of people rushing around the foyer parted before Ryosuke and Vincent, either intimidated by the statuesque white-haired and black-clad hitman, or in an effort to shun his garishly clothed and showy partner. Or perhaps a combination of the two. However, Mireille was another case completely. She and her own partner had a job to do and an urgent objective to accomplish, the result of the latter shaping how their lives would be lived for the foreseeable future. Mireille earnestly prayed that everything would go smoothly… for Kirika's sake.
Mireille grabbed her handbag from the bar and then slid off her stool to the floor, before casually yet smartly making her way out of the cocktail lounge, her high-heeled boots clicking sharply with her hurried pace. Her blue gaze snapped to her right to ensure that Kirika was moving too--the girl had to have noticed Ryosuke and his comrade's arrival, even if she was somewhat distracted--and after confirming that fact to be true, she began to tail the false Noir, making sure that she kept a prudent distance between herself and her prey, along with a screen of flowing people for additional protection. Kirika would be traversing her own route after the two men separate from Mireille--the blonde had thought it wise to maintain the charade of being strangers to one another until the hostilities started; at that point there would be no question that they were affiliated.
Mireille lost Kirika in the crowd while she kept her attention on their targets, but she was not worried. They had a plan, after all. The Corsican paused nonchalantly by a vacant payphone at the same time Ryosuke and Vincent stopped at the hotel's front desk. The Chinese man chatted sociably to the female receptionist there for a couple of minutes--saying something that made her noticeably blush and smile prettily--before the pair set off once again, this time heading for the row of silver elevators inlaid in a brass-coloured solid marble wall festooned with chaotic whorls of white, black and grey engrained within the stone.
Mireille resumed shadowing Kaede's Black Hands at the same instant the men themselves started moving again, weaving gracefully amid lavishly dressed guests and crisply uniformed staff alike, carefully making certain to have significant cover in the form of people in the event Ryosuke or Vincent happened to look over their shoulders. She saw the duo step into one empty elevator, closing the shiny doors quickly to block out any others from riding it. They must like their privacy.
Mireille took a second to look up at the elevator's floor indicator mounted above its shut doors as the golden and ornate arrow ticked upwards. She couldn't be absolutely certain her targets were returning directly to their suite--she would just have to take a gamble. If she waited to see what level the pair's elevator actually stopped on they would end up leaving her behind and subsequently elude her, and Kirika to boot.
Mireille hurriedly entered a different elevator that's doors were just slipping closed, and pressed the button for the floor Ryosuke and Vincent's room was on. After waiting for what felt like hours but in reality was less than a minute, the elevator arrived at level five and the blonde disembarked swiftly, her eyes discreetly but feverishly darting this way and that to sight her prey once again. She caught a brief flicker of a black ponytail bobbing around a corner of an adjoining hallway to her left, and then quickly chased after it, trotting the few metres to the intersection to narrow the escalating gap between herself and the men.
Mireille trailed behind Ryosuke and Vincent as all three travelled down a red-carpeted corridor devoid of other people, dark and varnished wooden doors that led to guestrooms arranged periodically on either side. She recognised the course they were taking. It appeared that the false Noir were returning to their shared suite as predicted. Perfect. It was all going according to plan.
Mireille and Kirika had taken the opportunity to learn the basic layout of the fifth floor of Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental while they were waiting for Ryosuke and Vincent to arrive. Knowing the environment where the inevitable hit was to take place in advance was a judicious practice for a professional assassin, and one that Mireille adhered to when the chance or resources were available. It allowed for more detailed preparation, and hence a more neat operation, which the Corsican preferred--equally so for this assignment also.
Ryosuke and Vincent rounded another corner that led to the hallway where their room was to be found, leaving Mireille's line of sight. The woman tried not to increase her step to catch up. The moment was looming; she could not jeopardise the plan's success now.
Mireille followed after the two men, and saw that they had arrived at the white double doors to their expensive suite; still evidently oblivious to the threat she posed. The moment had come, or at least was about to. Kirika should be hiding at the other end of the hall, out of sight for now, but would soon be approaching the enemy as Mireille was continuing to do unabated. The plan was to sandwich Ryosuke and Vincent from opposite sides, and, at the precise second when the pair crossed the threshold to their hotel room, Mireille would execute the man closest to her at the same instant Kirika would do likewise, before dumping the bodies in the privacy of the suite and leaving them to be discovered by housekeeping. And of course by then, the culprits for the mysterious murders would have been long gone. Clean and efficient, just how Mireille liked it.
Suddenly, to Mireille's alarm, Ryosuke and Vincent paused in opening the doors to their room and appeared to discuss something, before proceeding to look back the way they had come… right in her direction.
Mireille, an experienced and highly skilled assassin, did not react in the least to their scrutiny, easily curbing the urge to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, she kept on walking at a steady pace as to not arouse their suspicion, even when Ryosuke and Vincent started retracing their steps, coming ever closer towards her. It looked like they did not recognise her, however, or without a doubt they would have been drawing weapons at that very moment… unless they wanted her to believe that and lure her in into an ambush. A trickle of perspiration ran down the middle of the woman's back at the dire concept.
As Mireille passed by the duo on Vincent's left, she couldn't prevent her eyes from shifting circumspectly to look at the attractive man; out of caution or trepidation, she wasn't certain which. To her surprise and disquiet, she was met with the twin amber halos of Vincent's soft yet stunning eyes accompanied by a small, enticing smile on his features; one he most likely used to charm many a woman while his gentle gaze put his 'victim' at ease. The combination held little sway over Mireille, though, no matter how especially gorgeous it made the man appear. She was more worried about the actual motivation behind the expression. Did Vincent--and therefore his partner, too--know her? Did he know the identities of the ones who rightfully held the title of Noir? Was it a smug smile that spelled impending doom for her? Or was it honestly just a pleasant one made to a beautiful woman who was walking by?
The muscles in Mireille's shoulders knotted anxiously. If she acted now, then she would definitely incur Vincent and Ryosuke's aggression, regardless of whether they really knew her or not. But if she didn't and the men did truly recognise her, then her hesitation would grant them an opening to strike first… a strike that Mireille doubted she would survive through.
After what felt like an eternity to Mireille, she at last progressed past Vincent and Ryosuke and then continued walking down the corridor, this time away from the men, but now with her vulnerable back to them…. A tempting target if they did know her face. But Kirika was still concealed around the corner ahead of her, a comforting--if unseen--presence. The blonde's dependable partner had evidently astutely decided to remain behind cover in the safety of the bordering hallway when she had seen the false Noir begin backtracking.
Mireille felt the tightness diminish in her shoulders. Good girl. Kirika would guard her back. And it also meant that they could salvage their plan with a few alterations, even if it would now be a little slapdash. Traces of blood would be left on the hallway's carpet after the modified plan was implemented, and the resulting pair of corpses would have to be dragged hastily into hiding before any witnesses happened by. Mireille disliked hauling dead bodies around, but there would be no other choice--she and Kirika would need time to make their escape without an alarm being sounded before they'd had a chance to evacuate the building.
As Mireille crossed into the adjoining corridor, she turned her head a fraction to the left and made eye contact with Kirika who was positioned with her back against the wall just by the T-junction, her silenced Beretta held in both her hands, its extended barrel directed up to the ceiling. There were no other people in sight, but the blonde had expected as much as soon as she had seen her partner armed--the girl would not have revealed her weapon otherwise.
Mireille met Kirika's gaze for but a split second, yet it was enough time to convene her intentions with a mixture of a hard look and slight swing of her head back down the hallway she had just navigated. The woman knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her counterpart would understand totally. Mireille and Kirika could tell what the other was thinking--within reasonable limits--mostly through each other's eyes. It was something that the two had been able to do from quite early in their association, and it had been a useful ability on several occasions, especially when on assignment, allowing them to predict each other's moves and subsequently work in harmony. Mireille had never given it much consideration; it had always transpired intuitively between her and Kirika, without so much as a hint of conscious effort. As if it were… natural for them.
Suddenly, with her long blonde locks fanning out widely behind her, Mireille broke the look with Kirika and spun around back the way she had come, pulling out her fully loaded Walther P99 from her handbag in one hand in the same fluid motion; a silencer attached to the gun. In perfect sync with the blonde assassin, Kirika made her move also, darting out from behind the wall with her Beretta M1934 raised in her hands, and placing herself in a ready stance beside her equally primed partner.
However, much to Mireille's horror, what greeted her and Kirika were not the defenceless backs of their oblivious targets, but rather a happily smiling Vincent brandishing dual Beretta Elites, one wielded in each hand, and both pointing straight at them. Ryosuke stood stationary a step behind his comrade, his back still to Mireille and Kirika, but now looking slightly over his left shoulder at the duo, a single violet eye able to be made out through his dangling white bangs a head above Vincent, watching the unfolding scene with languid interest.
Mireille registered this information in a tenth of a second before instinctively throwing herself behind the cover of the wall to her left, Kirika doing likewise opposite to her, just as Vincent began unloading steaming lead her and her partner's way with no regard to the glaring and undesirable attention the loud gunfire would attract.
Bullets pounded into the wall at the end of the corridor near to Mireille, tearing shards of wood and plaster free to rain down to the floor, before Vincent shifted his aim, directing fire at the woman's position. The Corsican assassin could hear the rounds hammering close to the edge of the wall she was hiding behind and could also detect a hint of the acrid smoke produced by their prior discharge from the firing chamber of one of the two Elites. The barrage effectively pinned her in place, unable to return fire without putting herself in Vincent's sure sights.
While the onslaught continued relentlessly, Mireille took the opportunity to spare a glance to her partner where the girl was taking cover on the other side of the T-junction across from her. Kirika was leaning with her back up against the wall and with her eyes tightly shut, while the top of her gun touched perpendicularly against her forehead, the darkhaired girl looking as if she were in deep meditation. Indeed, she appeared wholly undisturbed by the hail of bullets riddling the wall just around the corner from her, a multitude of holes now defacing its surface. It was as if Kirika was in another place entirely, but where, Mireille could not say.
Abruptly, Mireille heard the shooting gradually ease, and she transferred her focus from her partner's peculiar quirks to the peril at hand. Knowing that this was the moment she had been waiting for, she dropped to one knee into a crouch, letting go of her handbag in the same motion, then leaned out from around the bullet-ravaged corner, holding her Walther in a secure grip with two hands.
As the blonde did so, she saw that the cause of the ebbing gunfire was that Vincent had emptied one of his Elites, and was now dividing his remaining shots between Mireille and Kirika's locations, seeking to still keep them at bay albeit with his halved firepower. The gaudily dressed man steadily retreated all the while he maintained his vigilant, if somewhat manic, gaze on his would-be killers' positions, his smile no longer happy but seeming forced, now a rather nasty rictus marring his once attractive features. Ryosuke on the other hand walked down the hallway with apparent calm, not so much as even looking in his assailants' directions. He was either extremely brave or extremely arrogant. Perhaps both.
Mireille squeezed the trigger of her weapon in rapid succession, firing a trio of muted rounds at the pair of withdrawing men, hoping to put down at least one of them before they made it to the shelter of the intersection at the end of the hall… and before anybody came to investigate the racket of the gunfight.
But, to her dismay, her shots hit nothing but wood and plaster. Vincent had stooped low as soon as Mireille appeared from cover, and then scurried with alacrity behind Ryosuke, as if wishing to use the tall man as an impromptu shield. His fast and quite unexpected manoeuvre had been enough to throw off the Corsican's concentration and hence her aim, however, sparing him from kissing lead, much to the blonde's displeasure.
Desperately questing to remedy that fact at least in the case of one of the false Black Hands, Mireille shifted her attention to Ryosuke, just as he was about to disappear behind the protection of the far neighbouring corridor; his partner already having taken advantage of his screening body to do as much. She fired a short series of rounds at the white-haired man as he began rounding the corner after a scampering Vincent, all but one connecting with their target's exposed back. Mireille felt grim satisfaction start to rise up inside her at her success but it was rudely dashed aside as she saw, to her shock, Ryosuke react as if nothing had struck him at all, the man continuing to walk along placidly until he vanished down the other hallway. She had been certain she'd hit him, willing to swear on it even, but evidently she had been mistaken or Ryosuke would be lying in a growing pool of his own blood and not escaping instead. Mireille must really be getting careless to miss such a clear shot.
Mireille shook her head in frustration and lowered her gun a fraction, inwardly cursing at how things had played out. While she was debating on whether or not to pursue Ryosuke and Vincent, she looked over to where Kirika was. The girl had slid down the wall and was now sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes remaining shut and her firearm still resting against her forehead. She appeared more like a frail young girl than ever, albeit one armed with a gun. Mireille couldn't remember hearing the sound of a Beretta M1934 joining her Walther P99 and Vincent's two M92F Elites during the firefight--Kirika hadn't fired a single round.
Mireille stared at Kirika expressionlessly for a few moments, and then suddenly grabbed her discarded handbag and angrily shoved her Walther back into its confines. The woman knew their opportunity was lost. Someone would have heard all of the fierce gunfire. People were probably rushing to this very spot right this second, security personnel--or worse, the police--with them. Mireille could already hear faint shouts echoing down the hallways. She and Kirika had better simply run. They had failed.
******
Kirika watched emotionlessly as Mireille stormed into the living room of their apartment and hurled her handbag on the billiard table, sending several pool balls careering away atop Breffort's documents to ricochet wildly off the rubber sides. The blonde started to pace heatedly back and forth beside the green table, her heels beating a tattoo on the floor and her countenance one of acute distaste, while Kirika settled herself back against a wall and continued to stoically observe her partner's tirade.
"We've blown our best chance to end this," Mireille spat furiously, glaring hard at the wooden floorboards. "If they didn't know what we looked like before, they certainly do now!" She halted her agitated march, still frowning at the floor. "They still might not be aware that we were once the true Noir, however," the woman went on in a quieter tone, more to herself than to Kirika. "Small comfort, but it's something."
Mireille resumed her pacing, muttering to herself in a low voice below Kirika's threshold of hearing, before stopping at the end of the billiard table, leaning on it with her hands gripping either side tightly, her knuckles white. Mireille stared down at its felt surface with unseeing blue eyes, as if looking through the documents and pool balls scattered haphazardly on it. She then paused in her private rant and turned her head to Kirika, her expression seeming lost somewhere between anxiousness and sadness. But the look lasted only a brief instant before it vanished as she turned back to the billiard table to scowl at Breffort's papers, fuming silently.
With Mireille's outburst apparently out of steam for the time being, Kirika pushed off the wall, deciding to leave the blonde alone for a bit and brew some tea to help soothe her temper. "I'll make some tea," she declared softly, before walking past Mireille, heading for the kitchen.
Mireille merely nodded absently and mumbled an acknowledgement, not moving from her position.
As Kirika went about filling the kettle with water in the kitchen, she thought back to today's earlier events. She couldn't help but be relieved at what had happened. She was glad Mireille had not been harmed, but she was also glad she hadn't needed to fire her gun at someone. Kirika had hesitated when the shooting started, loath to touch the darkness inside of herself. But in truth, she had touched it when she had burst out of cover with Mireille to confront Ryosuke and Vincent… but only fleetingly. She had recoiled after that first contact, her will to fight abandoning her outright as a result. Kirika didn't know whether Mireille had noticed her reluctance, but she hoped the blonde had not--she didn't want her partner to think she had let her down by not supporting her. She never wanted to disappoint Mireille.
Nevertheless, Kirika was conscious that this was only a temporary reprieve. She would have to fight eventually; sooner now, with Ryosuke and Vincent aware of her and Mireille. Dealing with the two men would be even more difficult and in turn more dangerous in the future. Ultimately, Kirika's resistance would not be able to last forever… it would be kill or be killed.
******
To be continued….
Author's ramblings:
Only some very mild action and angsty stuff in this chapter. I debated whether Mireille would be motivated enough to do a bit of pacing and fuming, and in front of Kirika, but after considering it for a while I figured her frustration of failing to kill R+V (and how much was riding on that she succeed) would cause her to lose herself for a moment or two.