Hello! 8D This is ma' first Noir fanfic, hope it's not too horrible~ D: It's about when Kirika had to kill Nazarov in episode 6... I've only seen the first six episodes, so forgive any contradictions this story has to future plot points. :3 I thought this particular scene was really powerful, and I just had to write about it. :D So, enjoy! ^-^'' CC and/or reviews are appreciated~ :3
I do not own Noir~!
Little White Cat
This had rarely happened to her. Usually she would be able to lift her gun and quietly pull the trigger, always watching the body fall with the same, tiny frown on her face. It was true, she could kill... so easily. And it would be just as easy for her to calmly walk away, leaving not a clue that such a young "schoolgirl" had done it.
It made her think. Because now, she stood with her pistol pointed at his head, and all he could do was stare at her weakly. Their eyes met, and there was silence. It was snowing outside-- Mireille would be waiting out in the cold, which surely no one could desire on such a night. Kirika told herself to hurry up, but still, she hesitated. Was it because she, herself, had saved him? Took him home and called for a doctor? And the way that tiny old lady had clutched her hand and thanked her... Or was it just because of the simple fact that he fell ill only for putting others before himself? Even so, she couldn't let her feelings get in the way. She was an assassin now, and that was the cold, hard truth.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that little white cat staring at her, not moving a muscle. Maybe that was it. The cat. Prince Myshkin. Why had it been constantly appearing before Kirika to the point where she just had to take care of it? She knew what this man had done. He had ordered for the execution so many people, and yet... something inside her said that no truly evil person could ever own a fluffy white cat named Prince Myshkin.
And now this old man lay in bed and closed his eyes, as if accepting defeat. It was her job to kill him, and yet, seeing him submit so easily hurt her. She, in turn, closed her own eyes. It really was getting late. She could picture Mireille looking at her watch and shift uncomfortably in the snow.
She really should hurry up.
She slowly opened her eyes in what was practically reluctance... and pulled the trigger before could allow her dwindling thoughts to turn her intentions around. It was a clean blow to the head; he was dead within two seconds. The cat let out a startled mew as it darted off in alarm. Kirika stood still for just a moment before slipping a photo-- the photo-- that she had taken back into its frame. She placed it silently on the shelf where it belonged and took a small step back, bowing her head slightly as her narrowed eyes gazed at the ground. Mireille was at the doorway-- she could vaguely smell her perfume. The younger girl raised her head a few seconds later, following her out. Nobody spoke.
It was now snowier, colder, and darker. Mireille directed her a few quick glances, as if she actually understood what she was feeling. Kirika was glad that she stayed quiet, though.
And on the way back home, Kirika spotted the little white cat. She stopped in her tracks and watched it, her bottom jaw hanging open just a bit.
...It stared at her for only a matter of seconds before it turned and fled.