DOMINUS DEUS
Lord GodPrologue
Silence creaked throughout their sizable apartment in the heart of Paris. The green plant of life was flourishing as it once did before the pilgrimage was done, sitting as it once had in the corner near the window, The rays of the warm afternoon Parisian sun streaked in through the exposed windows, the curtains gently tied to the side. A gentle breeze moved the trees outside and played with their branches, softly cuddling and wrapping its cool tendrils around young and old leaves.
As usual, a young woman with a slight childlike figure sat rooted on the sill by the window, staring at lord knows what. Often, she wasn't looking at anything at all, but just thinking and wondering like a great philosopher but rarely coming to a conclusion that she would find feasible. But she would sit there everyday nonetheless.
As usual, a daughter of Corsica with a past horribly connected with the young sat in front of the computer, a cup of English tea in her hands quietly sipping from it, and quietly reviewing her latest job…her latest victims, her latest paycheck. Most other days, her email would be empty,
Often, it was like this.
Mireille Bouquet, the most reliable contract assassin, set down her afternoon cup of tea and turned to her partner at the window. "Kirika," The smaller woman turned her head in Mireille's direction. "It's a nice day today. Let's say we go out instead of staying here."
Kirika gave her usual answer of monotonous enthusiasm. She followed Mireille as the Corsican slung on her purse, and silently followed her footsteps out the door. Kirika went on ahead down the stairs and waited at the bottom while Mireille locked the door.
On outings such as this, as usual Kirika followed silently as Mireille perused the shops commenting on the color of this purse or the look of that sweater. An hour later Mireille held in her hands a new pair of shoes. It was nearing late afternoon when they settled themselves in a dainty café just in the quieter side of Paris. Mireille had a cup of steaming coffee sitting in front of her. She absently swirled a small spoon around, watching the steam rise and the colors of the coffee mix with the cream. "Bored?" she asked, slightly amused, when she noticed her partner looking around dully at the scenery. Kirika shook her head.
A waiter, neatly dressed with an apron around his waist, He tripped over a leg of their table thus successfully resulting in two sullied orders and one very unhappy Corsican with coffee spilled onto her skirt. Mireille stood up as calmly as she could and asked for towel, which was quickly placed in her hands. She opened her mouth to reprimand the young waiter but was interrupted by Kirika. "Mireille." Kirika gave her a glance that told Mireille to remain calm. The café manager came out and started apologizing for the waiter. He was young and new.
Mireille managed to shrug the manager off and payed the bill. She gave Kirika a cursory glance, a question already forming on her lips. Kirika answered her unspoken question.
"The waiter ran off." Mireille raised an eyebrow. "La Renaissance de Noir," Kirika quoted in French as best she could. Mireille's eyes narrowed, pondering over the words. "He slipped this on my lap as he fell." Kirika handed a piece of paper folded in quarters.
Mireille opened it and read the words written in neat script handwriting. It read: La Renaissance de Noir.
The Rebirth of Noir.
||Part I end||
23 August 2002
Hokushin
Rather short, don't you think? It's just a prologue.