Fall to Innocence.
Les Noir, ce mot designe depuis une
epoque lointaine le nom du destin.
Les deux vierges regnent sur la mort.
Les mains noires protegent
la paix des nouveaux-nes.
prologue.
Erroneous thoughts strayed across her mind as she stared down at her now cold cup of tea. Paris was painfully bright today, as if the sun was amending for years of tempests and storms. Not that she noticed, or cared, underneath her baggy straw hat. Every now and then she would raise her eyes and take note of her surroundings: The suited man sitting three tables away reading a newspaper, the waiter, obviously bored at the slow business of the cafe, the stray cat partaking of leftovers on the floor.
Washed under the sun, everything seemed faded, as if taken from a scene in an 8mm film. The light and shadows splashed like waves against each other, vague and transluscent in the unhindered sun. The mind played tricks on the eyes, the delicate white of the cafe chairs glowed brighter than the stars in the sky, blanketing the earth in a cold sterile nothingness. The sounds of the city dimmed until only a breathless void remained. She could still smell the cofee, as she laid her head on the table. Two hours of waiting had taken their toll, and patience gave way to the rising tiredness of sleep. To sleep - perchance to dream.
Kirika opened her eyes to grapes. An endless row of grapes stretching past the horizon. She stood to get a better view and felt cloth rustling against her legs. Examining herself, she was bearfoot and wearing a light blue sundress. A basket, half-filled lay next to her. She reached into a bushel and plucked a grape, tossing it in her mouth. She cringed at the sour taste assaulting her mouth. Not quite ripe. Sighing, she gathered the basket and walked west, along the endless groves that lay before her.
...Okaerinasai
Kirika stopped in her tracks, dropping the basket and sending a few grapes to the earth. The Manor lay ahead of her, it's tall pillars and romanesque architecture reduced to a pitiful state of ashes and debris. Tendrils of smoke wafted lazily into the air, disappearing from sight. Leaving the basket where it was, she quickened her pace towards the charred remains, and stood impassive infront of the burnt doors, still standing despite the building's desolation.
...Tadaima
A gunshot, muffled from the thick wood, erupted from within the Manor, the harsh note still ringing in her ear as an encore sounded, and another, and finally silence. Her hands unknowingly clenched into fists and her body heaved, she stepped forward to open the doors. What she did not expect were the strong, forceful arms that held her back in a firm embrace pinning her arms uselessly to her sides. She felt a short, ticklish breath on her ear then the familiar sound of a melodious, childlike giggle. Struggle was useless, and instead of her natural response of aggression, she simply melted into the body, hard and lean, behind her.
Chloe's eyes were closed as she pressed closer into Kirika, cheek to cheek, a sad smile on her face. The hunter green cloak fluttered in the wind, covering them both and almost mixing with the light blue of the sundress. All Kirika could see was the vague outline of her face, and the thin wisps of violet hair that rustled in the breeze and tickled ever so slightly. She found herself crying, the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, causing strands of Chloe's hair to cling to her face.
"Chloe..." The words caused the embrace to tighten, and lips to press once again in her ear. The wind rose higher, deafening her, drowning the world in its cacaphony. All Kirika could see of Chloe was her lips, set in a half smirk, hovering close to her ear. She heard nothing as Chloe spoke, the flowing of air the only thing audible, and the movements of her lips indecipherable. The only recognizable word was one she heard all too often, still terrifying in its intensity.
"...noir"
Yes, enough people had died for her sake, for Noir's sake. Nameless soldiers and assassins, Mireille's family, Chloe. This was Artena's legacy, to carry a pure blade to the world. In remembrance she had learned regret, regret for the countless dead. The heavy burden of guilt almost too much to uphold. But she was Noir...and Noir was a name for two.
Mireille. Yes, Mireille. She did not know when Mireille had become her reason for existing. It was Mireille who had saved her, begged her to live, pleaded with an unspoken promise. A promise to experience life together, to seek light in the darkness of the world, and in the darkness of their own hearts. And she had accepted.
Right now that promise was two hours late. Kirika once again found herself sitting in the trendy outdoors cafe. Two hours. They had agreed to meet here after Mireille had finished her weekly forays into the boutiques and shops that littered Paris like a disease. Perhaps Kirika should have gone with her, should have conceded to being Mireille's dress-up doll, at least then she would be aware of Mireailles position. Despite Kirika's rather dull response to the world of fashion, she did not find it unappealing to be noticed, pampered even, by the older woman. Not that she'd actually go out and buy all those trendy parisian clothes herself.
The waft of flowers filled her nose, overpowering the dry still air of Paris. Raising her head from out of her arms, Kirika chided herself for her absentmindedness. Too close, the smell. Maybe a block away. The wind carried the faded smell of roses, lillies, orchids, down towards her from some yet unseen person. Tensing slightly, eyes straight ahead, yet focused on her right, she awaited the flower-bearing messenger. Where was her gun...ah yes, she did not carry it around any more. Footsteps now, audible, the heavy click of womens shoes on the cobble stones, and from the corner, at last, the woman with the flowers, and an obnoxious, loud arrangement of every seemingly possible flower in existence. This being carried by a tired, yet smiling Mireille Bouquet.
Mireille. Tension left Kirika's body, replaced by warmth and subdued happiness. She allowed herself a slight smile, imperceptable to all but the most observant. Mireille smiled back. And sat down, laying the bouquet between them.
I'm sorry for being late.
It's okay.
Brought flowers for the apartment...and for you.
Silent they sat, and silent they left, never once uttering a word to each other.
end prologue.
Noir is copyright to whom ever owns this show. It's not mine, and I make no claim to this.
Anyway...nothing much has happened. This was written mainly as an exercise in writing. I had a few scenes stuck in my head, and I wanted to see if I could get them down in words. I'm not too unwholy unsatisfied, although it could still use alot of work.
As for the plot (yes, there is a plot) I was planning on making it character-centric, focusing on - but not necessarily narrated by - Kirika. Action will be few and far between. I dislike placing fight scenes for the sake of action, and in this story fights will have serious impact on our two heroines. So if you were looking for something where Kirika and Mireille shoot an entire army...sorry to dissapoint.
Anyway, the rest of the chapters are being done slowly. Veeeeerrrrry slowly. I'm graduating highschool and the time I have to spend on activities is limited...but you didn't really need to know that.
fufufufu.
Les Noir, ce mot designe depuis une
epoque lointaine le nom du destin.
Les deux vierges regnent sur la mort.
Les mains noires protegent
la paix des nouveaux-nes.
prologue.
Erroneous thoughts strayed across her mind as she stared down at her now cold cup of tea. Paris was painfully bright today, as if the sun was amending for years of tempests and storms. Not that she noticed, or cared, underneath her baggy straw hat. Every now and then she would raise her eyes and take note of her surroundings: The suited man sitting three tables away reading a newspaper, the waiter, obviously bored at the slow business of the cafe, the stray cat partaking of leftovers on the floor.
Washed under the sun, everything seemed faded, as if taken from a scene in an 8mm film. The light and shadows splashed like waves against each other, vague and transluscent in the unhindered sun. The mind played tricks on the eyes, the delicate white of the cafe chairs glowed brighter than the stars in the sky, blanketing the earth in a cold sterile nothingness. The sounds of the city dimmed until only a breathless void remained. She could still smell the cofee, as she laid her head on the table. Two hours of waiting had taken their toll, and patience gave way to the rising tiredness of sleep. To sleep - perchance to dream.
Kirika opened her eyes to grapes. An endless row of grapes stretching past the horizon. She stood to get a better view and felt cloth rustling against her legs. Examining herself, she was bearfoot and wearing a light blue sundress. A basket, half-filled lay next to her. She reached into a bushel and plucked a grape, tossing it in her mouth. She cringed at the sour taste assaulting her mouth. Not quite ripe. Sighing, she gathered the basket and walked west, along the endless groves that lay before her.
...Okaerinasai
Kirika stopped in her tracks, dropping the basket and sending a few grapes to the earth. The Manor lay ahead of her, it's tall pillars and romanesque architecture reduced to a pitiful state of ashes and debris. Tendrils of smoke wafted lazily into the air, disappearing from sight. Leaving the basket where it was, she quickened her pace towards the charred remains, and stood impassive infront of the burnt doors, still standing despite the building's desolation.
...Tadaima
A gunshot, muffled from the thick wood, erupted from within the Manor, the harsh note still ringing in her ear as an encore sounded, and another, and finally silence. Her hands unknowingly clenched into fists and her body heaved, she stepped forward to open the doors. What she did not expect were the strong, forceful arms that held her back in a firm embrace pinning her arms uselessly to her sides. She felt a short, ticklish breath on her ear then the familiar sound of a melodious, childlike giggle. Struggle was useless, and instead of her natural response of aggression, she simply melted into the body, hard and lean, behind her.
Chloe's eyes were closed as she pressed closer into Kirika, cheek to cheek, a sad smile on her face. The hunter green cloak fluttered in the wind, covering them both and almost mixing with the light blue of the sundress. All Kirika could see was the vague outline of her face, and the thin wisps of violet hair that rustled in the breeze and tickled ever so slightly. She found herself crying, the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, causing strands of Chloe's hair to cling to her face.
"Chloe..." The words caused the embrace to tighten, and lips to press once again in her ear. The wind rose higher, deafening her, drowning the world in its cacaphony. All Kirika could see of Chloe was her lips, set in a half smirk, hovering close to her ear. She heard nothing as Chloe spoke, the flowing of air the only thing audible, and the movements of her lips indecipherable. The only recognizable word was one she heard all too often, still terrifying in its intensity.
"...noir"
Yes, enough people had died for her sake, for Noir's sake. Nameless soldiers and assassins, Mireille's family, Chloe. This was Artena's legacy, to carry a pure blade to the world. In remembrance she had learned regret, regret for the countless dead. The heavy burden of guilt almost too much to uphold. But she was Noir...and Noir was a name for two.
Mireille. Yes, Mireille. She did not know when Mireille had become her reason for existing. It was Mireille who had saved her, begged her to live, pleaded with an unspoken promise. A promise to experience life together, to seek light in the darkness of the world, and in the darkness of their own hearts. And she had accepted.
Right now that promise was two hours late. Kirika once again found herself sitting in the trendy outdoors cafe. Two hours. They had agreed to meet here after Mireille had finished her weekly forays into the boutiques and shops that littered Paris like a disease. Perhaps Kirika should have gone with her, should have conceded to being Mireille's dress-up doll, at least then she would be aware of Mireailles position. Despite Kirika's rather dull response to the world of fashion, she did not find it unappealing to be noticed, pampered even, by the older woman. Not that she'd actually go out and buy all those trendy parisian clothes herself.
The waft of flowers filled her nose, overpowering the dry still air of Paris. Raising her head from out of her arms, Kirika chided herself for her absentmindedness. Too close, the smell. Maybe a block away. The wind carried the faded smell of roses, lillies, orchids, down towards her from some yet unseen person. Tensing slightly, eyes straight ahead, yet focused on her right, she awaited the flower-bearing messenger. Where was her gun...ah yes, she did not carry it around any more. Footsteps now, audible, the heavy click of womens shoes on the cobble stones, and from the corner, at last, the woman with the flowers, and an obnoxious, loud arrangement of every seemingly possible flower in existence. This being carried by a tired, yet smiling Mireille Bouquet.
Mireille. Tension left Kirika's body, replaced by warmth and subdued happiness. She allowed herself a slight smile, imperceptable to all but the most observant. Mireille smiled back. And sat down, laying the bouquet between them.
I'm sorry for being late.
It's okay.
Brought flowers for the apartment...and for you.
Silent they sat, and silent they left, never once uttering a word to each other.
end prologue.
Noir is copyright to whom ever owns this show. It's not mine, and I make no claim to this.
Anyway...nothing much has happened. This was written mainly as an exercise in writing. I had a few scenes stuck in my head, and I wanted to see if I could get them down in words. I'm not too unwholy unsatisfied, although it could still use alot of work.
As for the plot (yes, there is a plot) I was planning on making it character-centric, focusing on - but not necessarily narrated by - Kirika. Action will be few and far between. I dislike placing fight scenes for the sake of action, and in this story fights will have serious impact on our two heroines. So if you were looking for something where Kirika and Mireille shoot an entire army...sorry to dissapoint.
Anyway, the rest of the chapters are being done slowly. Veeeeerrrrry slowly. I'm graduating highschool and the time I have to spend on activities is limited...but you didn't really need to know that.
fufufufu.