Note: When I watched Noir for the first time - about a year and a half ago - I ended up writing 'Black Rain' after episode 13...then nothing for the fandom since. So, while revisiting this astonishing series for the umpteenth time (and just having watched The Assassination Play), I came up with this; which I hope you enjoy.
A w a k e n i n g s
part one by JetNoir
Paris in autumn is a beautiful time in the city. The ancient stones cluttered by windswept leaves, a cacophony of gold and green and red.
But sometimes red can mean blood. Paris in autumn can be very, very beautiful…but it can also be extremely dangerous.
--
Mireille Bouquet would have cried if she had thought it would make any difference, but she knew it was pointless. She must remain calm…there would be a way out. She had gotten out of tighter situations than this.
Her view was obscured by an extremely bright light, and so she was resigned to keeping her eyes closed. Yet she listened.
There was only one person in the room with her…simple enough to take out; if she could only get the damn restraints off first!
"You have been most rude, child," said the figure, in a distinctly feminine voice; despite it's deep tone. It would be best described as a whisky voice, and Mireille attributed it to an older - but not old - woman. It had to be the target, and she listened to see what else she might pick up. "You do not tell me your name, and I only know that you are Noir. You have been sent to kill me, and you do not tell me by whom. I am loathe to resort to torture, but you leave me with little choice. Who are you, and whom do you work for?"
There was a long pause, and Mireille waited, hoping, even daring for her partner to find her.
Before the figure grew bored of waiting.
--
Kirika Yumura was lost.
Normally understandable, but for one of her mindset, she found it puzzling. The house she was exploring was huge, easily one of the largest in Paris, owned by a rich recluse. It was that recluse who she was trying to find and murder.
--
Seven hours ago, rain had swept through Paris's leaf-strewn streets, the pounding sound comfortable as it crashed down on the roof; loud and uncompromising. Kirika loved the contradiction, as she stood gazing out the window.
"So?" asked Mireille, elegantly placing an errant strand of thick blonde hair behind her ear, her tone soft, one eye on the computer screen, the other on her partner, "Are we taking the job?"
"It seems strange," replied Kirika.
"Many of our job's are strange."
"There's strange…and then there's strange. This is the latter. Mireille, we nothing about the target. Just a name, and a bizarre reputation."
"Deborah Conroy, rich, English, agoraphobic recluse. Nothing bizarre there."
Kirika turned to look at Mireille: "Just think about it. Agoraphobic. What could she have done to deserve such attention?"
Mireille sighed impatiently: "Kirika…if you start thinking about every job…No, let me rephrase. Kirika, you can't worry about the job. Yes, we'll have to be careful, but we always are anyway. We sweep away whatever our clients want. And if we refuse, another assassin will be assigned."
"So you want it to be us?"
"Why not us?"
"Why not?" said Kirika, "It just seems wrong." She shook her head: "But you're right, Mireille. We'll take the job."
Mireille smiled pleasantly: "Well then, I'll inform our client. Do you want a short visit to the sewer? Some training?"
"No, thank you. Let's just do it."
"Alright, then."
--
Six hours later, the two assassins infiltrated Ms Conroy's house, finding it to be deserted…and huge.
"Well," said Mireille, "considering what we know of Ms Conroy, I assume she is here somewhere. I think we'd better split up."
"All right," said Kirika quietly, "I'll take left."
--
An hour ago they had gone separate ways, and Kirika couldn't find her partner, or the target. She was worried, and unhappy. It shouldn't be going like this.
Holding her pistol tightly, she slid round another corner…to a dead end. Where was Mireille?
--
The answer to that question could only be answered by the two people, Ms Conroy, and Mireille, bound tightly - a captive.
"No answers?" said the deep voice of Ms Conroy, "Very well, little girl."
Mireille heard a metallic clang, and she knew what was coming next. Deborah had picked up a knife. Dull footsteps sounded on a stone floor.
They were coming closer.
end of part one
Note: Apologies for the many uses of 'sweep' et al, but I wasn't able to find a satisfactory replacement. Apart from that, it's lovely to be writing about Noir again. I don't know when the next chapter will be ready, so it could be any time from a week to the new year. Just hopefully not longer…Finally, reviews are greatly, and deeply appreciated.
Disclaimer: Noir is copyright to ADV Films; and the story to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page (this includes links) without my express written permission. Thankyou!
JetNoir