Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Scattered Shards ❯ A Game of You ( Chapter 3 )

Longer chapter this time, which is good in all it's lengthy glory, but also means that the wait for the next one will be longer. :p Life's little whims.

Oh well, with one prologue and 2 chapters down the hatch, I think it's more or less time to getting started on the story. Don't have to high expectations since I never started this with the intention of beating Noir's original splendour when it comes to plot, or even getting close to a quarter of it. Interaction between Mireille and Kirika is however always fun to write, and making one of them a little more alien will certainly prove a challenge.

I hope everyone is having a good read, on my part, I certainly am having a good write. Even if it takes up a lot of time….

Now, lets ignore me and see what the both of our ladies are up to. =)

Noir.

A name bestowed by ancient fate,

Sacrifice given in death by wish,

The blood of lambs forever protected,

By tears staining the blackened path.

Epitaph 3 - A Game of You

She had a lover.

A hint of a smile on rosy lips and a slow caressing hand against her bared shoulder blades; light, childish laughter filled with joy, filling her ears while they walked down a blackened path. The moon, a pale plate of frosty white upon the sky, was their only guide in the impenetrable darkness surrounding them, shedding them a ray of light to guide their steps on the uneven road.

She didn't want this.

The stone pebbles cut into her bare feet as they walked. There was wind, a warm caressing breeze that smelled of summer and berries, soothing her cold skin like the warm breath of a mother, comforting her in their seemingly aimless wander. But despite the comfort, her body was still shaking; shaking in the bitter coldness against her chest that seemed to emanate from nowhere but her own heart.

She never wanted this.

But despite all the doubtful feelings in her heart, despite the fear that was threatening to take over her trembling limbs, and despite the pain in her bleeding feet, she walked on, guided by the warm hand gripping her own, trusting a love she could not see.

They walked side by side, hand in hand, together like they should always be; like their fates were intertwined, like their souls were merged and like their hearts unified in a steady, comforting rhythm. The pain seemed to diminish as a warm shoulder nudged her own in a playful way, ensuring her of the other's presence despite the fact that their eyes could not meet. A flicker of silky hair touched her face, letting her take in the brief odour of ground roses before it disappeared back into the shadows, swallowed again by the empty dark.

She was scared.

Their pace picked up and she soon found herself settling into a wild sprint, flying over the rock filled ground and through, what seemed to be, an eternal night. Her lover's laughter filled her ear. It was a sound of joy, of happiness; a cry, of heartbroken sadness; and a scream, of despair, of deepest, utter anguish. She tried, but could not comprehend the chaotic emotions in the ear shattering sound, but it pained her to hear her lover's suffering. It pained her so yet she could do nothing.

Yet they ran, as fast as their legs would carry them, steered by the moon towards the dark field ahead.

This was true.

Lies.

This is real.

Fabrication.

This was meant to be.

No.

Kirika woke up with a gasp, her senses snapping back to reality and automatically focusing on her immediate surroundings in full alarm, stirred by the troublesome content of her dream. Contents she was no longer able to remember in any detail, but troublesome they indeed had been. Her forehead was bathed in cold sweat, a very unnatural reaction for her body to have in any kind of situation, which spoke volumes about whatever she had forcibly been confronted with during her sleep. It must have been highly unpleasant for her unguarded subconscious mind.

She seldom had dreams like most of her kind. Dreams were fragments of a mortal's life, where the body and the mind needed to reflect and consider the passing day on a level where the man was not able to interfere and disturb. She knew that some could attain the ability of dream visions when they reached a certain age; those were, however, a blunt handful of elders who all had long since retired from the world of the living. Age was a burden that none living could truly escape, mortal or not. Memories, like the mind, became easily tired from the passing of eons, and from what Kirika believed, you would simply lose interest when you could no longer remember even the smallest fragment of your living life.

Not an entirely cheery thought, if she considered her own semi-amnesiac situation.

The first morning light had broken already and was staring her straight in the eyes, making it rather hard to see for even her. Irritated over the rather painful position she was sitting in, she tried to lift her hand to block out the annoying light. A screaming bell of alarm, telling her that something was wrong, went off like a gunshot in her head when she noticed that she could not move her arm; even worse, she couldn't move either of her hands. The immediate feeling that shot down her spine was not fear, however, when all her senses finally settled from the unpleasant dream, unifying all the impressions they sent her into a whole, flawless picture. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

She was sitting with her back against some kind of wall, made out of steady, polished wood, the blank texture actually serving as a rather pleasant support to sleep against. She was looking at a certain window when lifting her head, though this had been rather normal since much of her recent occupation had consisted of doing just that. The disturbing thing she discovered was that this was exactly the same window belonging to the assassin's apartment, but from the wrong side.

She was in Mireille Bouquet's apartment, or more gravely, she had woken within it.

Now this would not entirely have been out of place either, since she had paid a few visits when the woman was sleeping. She had come to like the place quite a bit. Bouquet had furnished the small place in a stylish, but not extravagant way that spoke of a rational and practical mind. She did not bother with frilly details of "home feelings" but kept everything from her plants to her walls in a simple and tidy manner. She did not drown herself in richness and pleasantries as one would expect of someone who walked a road of such danger. A small but important aspect of her personality that raised her position in Kirika's immediate respect; materialism was clearly a concept that passed this woman by.

While the apartment was as clean and tidy as ever, there was one issue that hindered Kirika in fully enjoying her unwanted presence in the place.

She was unable to move her hands, or more correctly, she couldn't.

Her arms had been bent in a rather uncomfortable position behind her head, tied up judging by the feeling, in rough ropes that efficiently bent her hands out of reach from each other. It was a binding technique that would have left a human practically helpless towards whomever that was the aggressor. While not being afraid for her own safety, she could draw some obvious conclusion about her situation.

Bouquet knew she was here. Who else could have tied her up? The more curious thing was *how* the woman had managed to get her into this position with her life apparently intact. There were no signs of blood and struggle around the room; she could therefore, rather relieved, rule out the possibility that she had already fed on the woman. There was the possibility that the assassin had shot her again, though she could not recall going through such an event the previous night. There was, in either case, no reason for her to remain like this as her muscles were aching, protesting against the unnatural position they had been forced into.

But as she leaned forwards, straining her arms to break free from the ropes, she had to bite her lips hard to repress a pained scream. Hot, searing pain suddenly shot down her limbs in furious pulses as she tried to move; each of her staggering movements causing another wave of the torturous sensation to erupt within her like water bursting from a broken dam. Kirika threw her back against the wall, hitting her head against the wood behind with a thud as she steeled herself against the unknown source of torment.

Her muscles cramped, causing her to instinctually pull her limbs together into a crouched position. She closed her eyes to focus, trying to bring her mind back together to steel herself against the sudden shock. Resting her forehead against her knees for support, she regained her breath while trying to soothe the savage feeling of hot iron against her skin. She drew a few ragged breaths, vision going blurry for a few seconds while trying to calm down. Her mind worked furiously at the puzzle.

Not until then did she slowly notice the slight burden of an object hanging around her neck, resting heavily against her chest like a prisoner's nametag. A glimpse of silvery metal caught Kirika's eyes as she slowly began to recall the events of the previous night.

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Kirika had entered the apartment around midnight, having followed the blonde woman's day from a safe distance as usual. Acting like a flickering shadow in the periphery, she had observed her every motion out of surprisingly childish curiosity. She hadn't been wrong about her choice of prey; in the passing of her ten waking years, none of her humans had fascinated her like this one. Kirika found herself being completely absorbed and almost overly studious about every detail the woman put into her daily routines. No notion or task seemed trivial when it was performed by Bouquet; even the mundane job of cleaning could suddenly become a task of fascination when performed by her. She watched the blonde move about in her apartment, picking up various items and taking out the trash, as if she was a regular Parisian lady instead of the renowned hitwoman she was. While it had been the frozen eyes of a natural killer that drew her, she had to admit that she slowly came to appreciate the 'normal' side of the assassin even more.

Like any other woman her age, Mireille Bouquet held a rather - in Kirika's opinion - obsessive interest in fashion. While her sense of dressing resembled her way of furnishing in the manner of rationalism, it was by no means plain. Kirika found herself rather enjoying watching the blonde dressing up in one outfit after another, only giving herself a quick glance in the mirror before disregarding the clothes with a small smirk and a shake of head - to the store clerks' distress. The clothes she chose were always resourceful and simple, yet elegant and striking in a way that surpassed those typical extravagantly clad women Kirika had seen in the Parisian streets. This blonde was not about temptation but intelligence. She was a sharp, well-oiled edge against your throat; a smile that dared you to act, and eyes - frozen pools of sky, aiming their unsaid challenge at whoever was courageous enough to meet them.

The woman was a femme fatale to the core. Men and woman alike looked up when she passed in her stride. Maybe unaware of it, she was truly what humans meant with being one in a million. Men wanted her and women wanted to be her; desire and envy was evident in the many passing faces. Mireille paid it no heed however, to Kirika's surprise. She was with no doubt aware of the attention but simply passed it by, making it quite clear through her presence and pose that she was not, and wouldn't be, trifled with lightly. And luckily, people got that down.

She also noticed that the assassin held a fondness for walks, especially to the riverbank of the Seine. More than once a day had Kirika found herself watching the beautiful blonde staring off into the deep coloured water.

While she doubted that the woman had any kind of romanticized image of the river's heavily polluted water, it was easy to guess that she found the water relaxing in a meditating way. While the nightwalker could not get in close enough to catch the woman's mind, she could see that whenever those ice blue eyes were fixed on the water, her thoughts were clearly drifting along the waves. It was hard to guess her thoughts since this woman seemed to be an ice queen, one who never showed her true colours beyond her doors. But by the few expressions Kirika had managed to catch, it was evident that whatever path the woman's mind was taking during those moments, it was far from happy ones.

Yesterday had been another day of shopping after a quick visit to the library. The darkhaired nightwalker took that this was how the assassin spent her days between the jobs; in a rather relaxed, if not vacation-like way in the streets of Paris, enjoying the bustling metropolis like any other young, university-aged woman would. A complete contrast to the experienced shadow killer that had efficiently, and mercifully, taken Kirika down weeks ago.

Keeping her distance from the blonde and moving around during the day, she had changed her attire to something more fitting for her physical age. She wore the same dark coloured parka but now open in the front, ignoring the chilly spring air since the elements couldn't harm her more than they would a stone. A rather plain looking, high collared sweater in cornflower blue with a single white stripe across the abdomen covered her upper part while she-after doing some studying on what the girls around wore- settled for a pair of light beige jeans to match it. Looking around and finding herself blending easily into the groups of high school aged youngsters, to the extent where one boy actually flashed her a disarming smile which she did not return, she was rather pleased.

After returning to the apartment, Mireille had sat down to do her daily catch up on the news in front of her laptop, which Kirika guessed served as her link to her underworld connections. She herself returned to her regular spot on the roof of the apartment across the street where she had spent the afternoon in complete silence, hiding herself in the shadows to observe another evening in the blonde woman's life.

The clock had been a little after one in the morning when Kirika opened the apartment door and soundlessly glided into the darkened hall. The laptop was still on the pool table, papers and documents were strewn around in a chaotic order. It looked like if Mireille had underlined a few parts among the massive amount of text, probably some preparations done for another job; judging by the detailed research she was doing, the woman planned her hits well, as expected. She could hear the assassin's somewhat unsteady breath behind the half-wall that separated the living room from her sleeping area; the rhythm was a bit off compared to her regular pace, probably caused by an unpleasant dream.

While she never had seen the apartment in daylight, she certainly liked it at night. The light fragrance of tea mixed with the pleasant, flowery scent of Mireille herself covered every corner of the room. It was a smell Kirika had found intoxicating at first, but as the days passed and she got used to it, became strangely soothing instead of being the tempting lure that could trigger her thirst by mistake.

An orchid, the sole plant in the whole apartment, was nearly in its blooming stage where it was placed beside the window. She could already smell the sweet nectar that lay hidden among its purple shaded petals; if only it was watered properly, the flower would with no doubt flourish within days.A half eaten baguette with a few leafs of lettuce lay on her unfinished dinner plate on the rather Spartan looking table, accompanied by a, now lukewarm pot of tea, and an emptied cup. Dinner had been a hasty business this afternoon and been made up mostly by whatever her fridge had offered.

Kirika was lost in her own trail of thoughts as she made a small round in the apartment, taking in the small differences in the interior prior to yesterday. Some small corner of her mind that still possessed what was left of her humanity sent a small twinge of awkwardness down her spine, making her feel like the intruder she was. She ignored it, however, having done this countless of times before with her earlier victims; though this one felt special, it would be of little matter in the end. The blonde woman would die, and the nightwalker intended to affect her life as little as possible until then.

Kirika steered her steps towards the small stairs, that led to the apartment's sleeping area where the blonde now lay, by the sound of her happily snoozing off in dreamland. The dark haired girl could see a pair of slender, tanned legs from where she stood. Bouquet slept in her usual sleeping attire consisting of a loose fitting shirt, which - in Kirika's opinion - looked casual but good on her. Stopping for a brief moment at the wall to confirm the woman's slow, now steady breath, she stepped up. The bad dreams must have left her as she had made her round in the living room.

Eager to see the beautiful woman's sleeping features, she rounded the wall. While the girl was fascinated and drawn by the woman's azure eyes, she found by no means the face of a sleeping Mireille disappointing. Even in her most rested and relaxed state, the woman was an impressive sight to behold. Not until the closure of her eyes could one fully see the perfection of her long, delicate looking eyelashes; nor the almost sacred glory her face emitted, in a state when she let all the walls and shields down for the onlooker to see. It was not the face of the icy, sharp and potentially dangerous femme fatale, but a young woman - vulnerable and fragile amidst the darkness of the world. It was also then the nightwalker realized just how young the assassin was, barely a few years senior her physical body, yet already so painfully burdened.

A small twinge of something had fluttered in Kirika's heart the first time she had seen that sleeping face. Something that stirred among the sea of forgotten memories that leapt back at her from their banishment in the abyss. A voice of laughter, a plea and the taste of tears, so much did she make out before the memory had crumbled again, thrown back after hitting whatever wall that restrained them in the first place.

It had been a strong feeling, with an almost painful edge to it; and sometimes, Kirika thought that she could almost recall the blurry vision of an unfamiliar face before her memories diminished into nothingness again.

It was a curious emotion, so distant and far too human for her to place.

However, Kirika was immediately jolted out from her delusions when she rounded the wall. What met her was not the peaceful demeanour of the sleeping beauty as she expected, but wide-awake sky coloured orbs, filled with icy anger that stared directly at her. Not through her or past her but at her, directly into her eyes, despite that she was hiding herself in the shadows. The shocking realization made Kirika's mind go temporarily into limbo as her senses re-adjusted with the new situation she suddenly had at hand. This had never, ever happened before. Taken pessimistically, it was quite a blow to her skills; a mortal had just - for lack of better terms - busted her.

A metallic clicking sound snapped her out of the shocking surprise, however; her feet burst into an instinctual reflex, leaping towards the blonde at the same time as the first bullet struck her.

The assassin was out of the bed in the second when Kirika was thrown back by the bullet's impact, pain dazzled her mind. Luckily, it had not been a bull's-eye this time, the bullet had knocked a hole in one of her lungs and passed through under her right shoulder blade, spraying a gush of her blood against the assassin's white wall. While the damage would not hurt her, it did slow her down for just the one tiny second which was all the blonde seemed to need to re-coordinate her actions. Rolling over the bed and landing at the other end of it, the blonde fired another two shots at Kirika which she dodged, throwing herself flat on the bed.

Taking the opportunity at hand, Mireille made a dash for the living room. Kirika, still confused at how the events had turned and caught off guard by her failure in skill, threw out an arm to hinder the blonde in her path. Her confusion obviously affected her usual litheness, however; she only managed to graze the woman's nightshirt as Mireille dodged skilfully out of the way, sending another bullet in a mid-jump to where Kirika's head had been located a second prior.

The nightwalker followed only moments after, throwing her body forwards from the stairs and breaking the fall into a roll as another rapid series of gunshots raked the floor behind her. Desiring no second bullet to impale her body, she took the tactical decision to continue the rolling motion until she felt her body hit against the dining table, while sensing the blonde's never failing aim ripping up thumb sized holes in the wood behind, showering her hair with splinters.

Kicking out against the table legs, she overturned the whole table with the blonde's tea and dinner onto the floor with an unceremonious crash. She rolled under the falling furniture just in time before the table board crashed down vertically behind. The cover came just in time, as another bullet grazed her left shoulder, making her twinge in pain. There, behind the temporarily safe haven from the female sharpshooter's bullets, Kirika managed to catch her breath and reflect on one strange, if not terrifying notion she had noticed in the preceding chain of events.

Her powers were not responding.

Something was blocking them from her reach. It had first stricken her when being hit by the first bullet. Mireille had actually managed to escape, despite the fact that she had not been holding back in her speed; during normal circumstances, the blonde should not even have been able to see her coming. Something was causing her limbs and senses to act sluggishly, as if heavy weights had been attached to them, making it impossible for her to reach the blonde in any painless way she would have preferred. It was ridiculous, it was laughable, but she doubted she would even be able to make the dash towards the pool table which served as the blonde's cover. And it was probably the same something that had revealed her from the shadows, making her detectable to the human eye.

Frustrated at the turn of events, Kirika coughed and spat out a mouthful of her own blood that her body had rejected from her lung. The wound was already healing, but was still bleeding; the burnt tissue and torn veins were merging, and binding together again. She could almost feel how the wound was closing up on her back and chest as she took another pained breath. She was rather lucky that the bullet had missed her spine with a few inches in its path. Despite possessing an immortal body, the nightwalkers still had their own field of healing mechanisms like the human body, and the spine, together with her heart and head were among the places she knew she would rather not be hit in.

Another few bullets slammed into the table board behind her, one of them finally ripping a hole through the thin wooden material, passing by Kirika's ear by a hair and leaving her with a whistling sound in her ears. It was lucky that the assassin was the sole tenant of this apartment complex with her closest neighbour being in the next house, or someone would since long have alerted the police.

It had not been her intention to fight the woman, ever. This was supposed to have been like her other games, the same watch and feed procedure she always did now and then. She never wanted to meddle in the woman's life or get involved in anything at all in the human world, especially one which she had developed a surprising fondness for over those recent weeks. However, the current situation left her little choice. The Bouquet woman would have to die, far earlier than she had planned to feed on her but the task's needed immediacy was final. A mortal could not be permitted to know about her existence.

As if reacting to her own thoughts, the dark haired girl sprung into action. Waiting out another round of the frenzied gunfire that was aimed at her, she dived out from behind the cover, intending to give the woman no time to re-load or recover. As expected, Mireille reacted to the approaching steps immediately, leaning over the table just enough to take aim as she prepared to fire another round. But Kirika was prepared, her arm lashing out, hauling one of the blonde's simple chairs with her in the dash. At the first sight of the woman's head bobbing up over the pool table's edge, she flung the chair across the room towards the assassin with all her might and aim while pumping her legs even harder to increase her speed. She only had one chance at this in her weakened state; Bouquet would doubtfully be able to kill her under any circumstances but still, being outwitted by a human was unacceptable. The assassin could not be underestimated.

The chair had clearly not been what the blonde had been expecting as she reeled back, bringing up her other arm in defence from the flying weight of metal and plastic that was flung at her. A soft thud of metal against flesh told Kirika that her aim had been true.

A small hiss of pain slipped from the blonde's lips as she struggled to knock the chair off her instead of diving under the table. This little mistake bought Kirika the milliseconds she needed. Not trusting her legs to carry her over the table in one leap as they usually would, she took support from her arms against the green, now ripped, cloth of the table surface in a half-somersault.

With a swift kick in midair, the chair was gone, smashed into the outer wall with an ear-shattering clang, barely missing the orchid where it stood beside the window. Kirika landed with her both knees on either side of the blonde woman's midsection, slamming her body down onto the woman with her whole weight, finally gaining the closeness she needed to nullify the effectiveness of the gun.

Mireille let out a gasp at the quick and unexpected body slam that knocked most of the air out of her lungs. However, she proved herself to not be so easy, as another shot ran through the night. Kirika let out a small cry as her left shoulder was thrown out, the bullet having ripped through the bones that connected her skeleton together, leaving her left arm temporarily useless in the struggle.

With only one arm remaining, she managed to grab the gun arm of the frantic woman, earning her a blow in her solar plexus while using her weight to hold the woman down. Things were easier said than done, however, as Mireille was naturally a taller woman, making the girl nightwalker the lighter of the two. She managed to twist, with her reduced and quickly draining strength, the blonde's arm to such a uncomfortable degree that the woman cried out in pain, finally letting go of the gun, which fell to the floor with a metallic, empty clatter.

Droplets of the sky met crimson-brown, entailing the both of them in a silent understanding.

One of them would be killed, and the next set of minutes would decide whom.

Kirika had wrapped the fingers of her one functional arm around Mireille's throat, pressing down hard to close the air passage to render the woman unconscious. The blonde gasped under her, kicking her legs upwards, shoving her knees forcefully against her back to knock Kirika out of balance; this while clawing her fingers against the dark haired girl's arm, desperately trying to get free from the deadly lock Kirika had on her.

A shadow of desperation passed over the blonde's features. Her resistance did not decline despite her hopeless situation as she reached up and struck Kirika over the face with her longer arms. The darkhaired girl was not amused and winced slightly at the slap, wishing that her body would hurry with the healing process to restore her arm which still hung haphazardly limp by her side as the pain got the better of her. A flicker of regret and sadness touched her in the heart at the sight of the beautiful blonde's panicked struggle below her. Mireille's face had turned a slight shade of blue due to the lack of oxygen. She whimpered in pain at the iron grip around her throat that was slowly, but surely, crushing her windpipe.

Kirika had not wanted her like this. She never liked to take her victims by force but preferred to use the seduction of mind to gain what she wanted.

Still, her blood was racing. The touch of the struggling, warm body under her sent her mind into white anticipation of the sweet taste that soon would follow. Oh the temptation of drowning in the forbidden pleasure the woman's bodily blood offered her, how she longed for that. Her instincts screamed at her to act, to feed. Now. Here. With nothing to lose but the life of one mere mortal, another in the long line of souls used to vanquish her unearthly thirst.

Kirika leaned downwards, towards the neck of the still struggling blonde below her. Mireille's movements were less aggressive now and lacked the strength to properly cause the nightwalker any problems. Her blue, so blue, eyes were unfocused, probably due to the strangle hold that effectively hindered her from breathing. Intelligent, deep orbs of wonder, soon to be forever still by the misdeed of her hand. Her mouth hung open, spluttering strangled, dry noises, leaving her face in a panicked expression very unlike her usual cool demeanour.

A small part of her that had still not given in to the bloodrage screamed at Kirika to stop, that it was still not too late to get out of here, out of her life, and carry on like nothing ever happened. It was, however, quickly overpowered by the ludicrous craving that clouded the darkhaired girl's mind, the bloodlust naturally blocking out all sensible thoughts, leaving only the raging demon that lusted after its sacrifice. Drawing a deep breath of air, Kirika hissed, finally revealing the beastly fangs that now prodded out from her upper jaw.

The assassin's eyes snapped into attention again at the sight of horror above her, whatever cloudiness that had dimmed her eyes now thrown to the winds as she doubled her efforts and strength in pushing the darkhaired girl away. She gritted her teeth and let out a pained, gurgling chain of coughs as she shot out her left hand, catching Kirika in the face to hinder Kirika's descend towards her neck. Her right hand thrashed somewhat desperately among a pile of the documents and other items that had crashed down from the table in their struggle, looking after anything that could serve as a weapon. The nightwalker paid it no heed, biting into the palm that Mireille pressed against her mouth. The warm, crimson liquid seeped into her mouth from the wound, breaking her last restraints and sending her senses into a fog of reddish haze by its sweet taste.

Mireille let out a pained and furious cry, exhausting the last mouthful of air she still had in her lungs and slammed her right hand into the girl's temple, holding on for the dear life, onto an object she clutched spasmodically in her fingers. Kirika managed to catch, in the haze of her bloodrage, a glimpse of cold silvery metal coming towards her head, hitting her with an impact that sent her ears ringing before the world around her suddenly twisted, screamed and collapsed.

The bloodlust drained out of her like sand from a pair of hands, her mind and sense snapping back into her like a whip, almost knocking her off her feet. Someone was screaming; a horrible, yet childish scream of dread and agony as she tried to connect what was happening. It took some moments before she realized that the hoarse screams of utter, desperate pain came from her own mouth.

White blinding light of dancing spots covered her vision as she felt how her limbs went slack, her muscles giving out completely as her body convulsed in spasms. Pulse after pulse of black, suffocating pain shook her whole body, shooting from her temple through every fibre and cell of her being. Somewhere in a distant horizon, a million light-years away, she felt how the blonde woman untangled herself from her crippled body, heaving heavily after the precious air that she needed so badly.

Her stomach churned, as she tried to stand up, her sense of balance completely lost in the abyss of pain that shackled through her very soul. She cried out again as she hit against the pool table behind her, clutching her functional arm around her midsection while she tried to suppress the agony. It didn't work. Another pulse seized through her and she coughed a hacking, dried out series of coughs that sounded like if it had come from a grave. She lurched forwards, hitting her forehead against the cold, wooden floor as the taste of sour, soiled blood rose in her throat. Before she knew it, she had thrown up at her feet, a bodily function she thought her immortal body was no longer capable of.

She fell, and landed on her side, unable to move as the slightest motion could stir another round of the hellish pain. Whimpering slightly as she drew a few slow, rasped breaths, Kirika tried to collect her mind again. Beads of sweat ran into her eyes and blurred her sight; it was as if she had lost all connection to her body as she lay there, breathing shallowly like an old man instead of the nightwalker she was. The room had gone silent; the only thing she could hear was her own, agonized breathing as she did her best to make out the rest of the room, fighting to regain what was left of her shaken thoughts.

The blonde woman, Mireille, was sitting against the wall, staring at her with horrified eyes as she clutched the gun in her hand, aiming it directly at Kirika's head. Her other hand was massaging the angry red bruise that had formed around her throat. In a strange way, Kirika was actually relieved that the woman was there, alive and not critically wounded or worse. She could not make out the woman's expression, but she doubted that it would be a pleasant one. A silvery, round object hung from her wrist, probably being the same item she had hit Kirika with in that last desperate attempt to break free. The object swayed back and forth like a pendant from the assassin's wrist. It was ticking, a steady, hollow sound that suddenly seemed to echo between the dark apartment's walls.

Kirika narrowed her eyes as her body slowly seemed to shut down, locking out each and one of her senses one at a time. Her sight cleared temporarily at the effort and she focused on the carefully crafted object in the other woman's hand. The unfamiliar image of two women, dressed in what looked like togas from ancient Greece were engraved on the silvery surface. Facing each other they kneeled in an almost painfully straight pose, both of them wielding swords, which they held forwards in salute, as if honouring each other's presence. Kirika shuddered. The room suddenly grew very, very cold, as if all the warmth in there suddenly avoided her while she eyed the swaying, ticking object.

A pocket watch.

Something warm and wet rolled down her cheek. Salty liquid leaked from her eyes in slow, agonized droplets; she wasn't sure of the reason, or the cause. It seemed ridiculous but she lay helpless to stop it as the room went grey. The blonde before her disappeared from her vision, together with the haunting image of the two women that seemed to have burned itself into her conscious mind.

The last thing Kirika would remember before succumbing to the pressing darkness was a sweet whisper of girlish laughter, a motherly voice that gently caressed her face, and somewhere in a distant land and time, two young women walking hand in hand, down a blackened road.

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And that brought Kirika back to her present, rather miserable position. The images of the fight with the blonde now rested as a thin layer of unpleasant memories against her dizzy mind. Her wounds had healed since long, the muscles and body tissues in her shattered shoulder and chest functioned as they were supposed to; besides the stubborn stiffness in her bones, everything seemed to be fine. She winced as she remembered the severe pain of having her shoulder blown out, a first time experience for in her ten years and one which she had no intentions of trying again.

Yesterday night's unpredicted events were finally sinking in. She had been defeated, beaten, outplayed, and by a mortal. A mere human, indeed a skilled killer but still a warm-blooded woman with no skills or powers that even surpassed a fresh born sapling. It was ridiculous, it was unbelievable but she could not deny the truth. Mireille Bouquet had, by luck but no doubt, successfully captured her.

Her game had failed.

If it hadn't been for the heavy pain that constantly threatened to break through her body, it would almost have been amusing, almost.

She lowered her head and looked down, the feeling of a thin chain cutting into the flesh of her neck like a dull knife. Her heart sank at the sight, having already sensed the cold weight of metal against her chest. The pocket watch. The silvery surface glowed in the kiss of the morning light, giving the engraved picture of the both women an almost soft image at first glance. Kirika shivered. She did not know why or how but she was fairly sure, judging by her observations, that the watch was the object guilty of what affected, and pained her. And Bouquet had obviously figured out the same thing, if she didn't previously already know about it.

A rustle of sheets from behind, followed by soft steps down the stairs.

"It's best if you don't move, if you don't want to repeat what happened yesterday." Kirika's eyes shot open. The voice came from her right, behind the wall she was sitting against. Sounds of pats of naked feet against the wooden floor, and she was there, in front of her.

Having followed the woman from a distance, Kirika had actually never experienced the full impact of being basked in the blonde woman's attention. Now she was, and for the umpteenth time, she had to draw a deep breath at the sight.

Dressed in simple blue jeans, the long, white nightshirt and her hair still a bit dishevelled from whatever sleep she might have been able to get.Mireille Bouquet loomed over the darkhaired girl, her features framed by the golden rays of the morning sun, with her gun in hand and staring down at the intruder of her house. Like an angel of death she cast her merciless gaze at Kirika's face, the face of a demon that had entered the forbidden paradise. And to the nightwalker's surprise, she was futile to break the eye contact. For another first time since her waking, she was the one at another's mercy. The whole glory of the impressive visual was only ruined slightly by the pale blue bruise around her neck, a fresh testament of the violent events that had passed between the both of them the previous night.

Like two sapphires cut from the morning sky, Mireille's gaze locked her in place. Anger, curiosity and a slight hint of dread; the questions that was painted in them assaulted Kirika's mind with the impact of a tidal wave. The sheer flow of being so close to the woman's thoughts was overwhelming, and just for a little scaring. No one liked to be assaulted and almost strangled by a stranger to near death, and Mireille was no exception. The gun barrel she was pointing at Kirika's head was not only by the means of threat, the consideration of pulling the trigger was constantly present in her mind, and she found it tempting. While Kirika was not worried for her safety, being shot in the head was something she preferably avoided at all cost; she would have to be cooperative.

Having nothing whatsoever to respond to the blonde woman's statement, Kirika merely feigned and controlled her facial expression to one of indifference, mutely looking back at the assassin to let the woman lead the situation.

Understanding, after a few moments of silence, that her prisoner would not speak, Mireille gave her a slightly annoyed frown and sat down on the floor in front of her, way out of kicking range.

"So" Her eyes could have stared down a bear. "Who, and what are you?" She cocked the gun, releasing the safety with a switch of her thumb. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me."

And to her irritation, Kirika realized that the woman was right.

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FFnet'sformatting sure has gotten annoying…

Anyway, anything?Good? Bad? Horribly OOC? If you don't tell me, how am I gonna know?