Mireille in Japan, Chapter 7
Kirika pushed open the door to the apartment building and closed it quietly behind her. Directly facing her was the staircase; to her left stood the mailboxes. Kirika pulled Mireille's mailbox open without thinking. There were no strange letters from Soldats. She shut the metal cover with a clang and ascended the stairs.
She had a key that she'd kept with her when she left France, and now Kirika slowly inserted it into the keyhole and turned. The door clicked and opened to reveal Mireille's apartment, exactly how she remembered it. Kirika stepped inside.
She marveled at the lack of change. The pool table, the lamps, the beds- everything was in its exact same location. Kirika felt as if she had stepped back into the past and Mireille would be walking in at any moment, back from shopping.
Mireille. . .
"Mireille?" called Kirika tentatively.
There was no answer. Kirika closed the door and turned the lights on. Three identical lights shone down on the pool table, creating three pools of light. The balls were scattered around in random locations, each quite stationary.
It was obvious that Mireille still lived here. For one thing, she'd left her computer here, the screen still open. The large leafy plant was gone, however, and had been replaced with a smaller plant that was weakly blooming soft pink blossoms. For a moment they reminded Kirika of the cherry blossoms in Japan, and she felt a twinge of homesickness.
Brushing that away, she stepped into the other room and sat down in one of the round, one-person sofas and sighed in delight. She had missed France, missed Mireille after all. The apartment was full of memories. Kirika had sat here in this same chair while studying Rosalie Hammond's profile all night; in the adjoining room, they had had a "moonlight tea party" with Chloe.
She noticed suddenly that Mireille's moped was leaning against the window and found it surprising that Mireille had not taken it with her, but then again, it was not unusual for the Corsican blonde to go shopping on foot. Many times Kirika had carried her packages for her while she stopped to examine a hat or pair of shoes.
Eventually Kirika grew tired of poking around the apartment and went to the kitchen. A small jar of tea leaves sat on the counter and Kirika smiled, remembering that her talents were much better than Mireille's when it came to making tea. She prepared a cup for herself, then pulled out pots and pans and ingredients to make a surprise meal for Mireille when she came home.
= = = = = = =
Mireille had cleaned out Kirika's entire apartment in the span of a week and in the process, inhaled more dust particles and sneezed more than she probably had in her entire life. Crystal didn't like it either, often choosing to hide in a room that had already been cleaned or had been left untouched for the moment. Mireille wasn't just cleaning to make it seem more like it had been when Kirika lived there; she was cleaning now to make it livable. She had slept in a bed of dust the first night and had not found it comforting.
She knew she couldn't stay much longer; in fact, she was due to return to France in just two days. Mireille had to admit that she had truly wanted to just find Kirika, make up with her, and bring her back to France. It hadn't worked out that way. It hadn't even come close. It seemed stupid, now that she thought about it.
And Crystal. . . She hugged the furry kitten to her cheek even as it mewed in protest. She couldn't bring her back to France with her; all foreign animals and agriculture were strictly prohibited. Mireille smiled, thinking of how she had yelled at the kitten to leave her alone, to stop reminding her of Kirika, before she had grown to love the little animal.
Mireille smiled. She would spend tomorrow exploring Kirika's school. It had seemed bigger than she remembered, although she wasn't quite sure why, and the warehouse beside it was gone, a department store in its place. Another smile worked its way into her facial muscles as she remembered the wild chase Kirika had led her on.
Outside, the sun began to slowly sink in the sky, casting rays of orange over Mireille and her kitten. Mireille propped her head up with one hand and used the other to stroke Crystal, both legs comfortably stretched out on the bed.
= = = = = = =
Kirika sipped another cup of tea, her third, and watched the French sunset. Mireille had been gone a long time, and Kirika was expecting to see her walk in at any time, her hands full of purchases.
The table was laden with various dishes of French, Japanese, and American cuisine. Kirika had been almost bouncing with excitement when she had turned off the stove for the last time and poured her food from the pot into one of Mireille's fancy dishes. Even setting the table had been a delight. No memories had come to mind when Kirika had set out the forks, only excitement and anticipation.
Even that had been nearly three hours ago. The food was growing cold on the plate, the top layer becoming dry and stiff. Kirika eyed the window anxiously, feeling the first worry that Mireille might not be coming back. She couldn't see why, though; the apartment was teeming with signs of life, except for the plant. Kirika poured a glass of water into the pot and sat down to wait. It felt much like that night five years ago. . .
= = = = = = =
Mireille stood at the edge of the woods, her little pink and white handbag in her left hand and Crystal tagging at her heels. She'd overcome the task of telling the apartment manager that she was living in the old Yuumura apartment (just for a few days, she had hastened to add upon seeing the couple's shocked faces) and was now on her way to Kirika's old school. She paused for a moment, then stepped boldly into the woods, pushing branches aside as she walked through the forest.
It was early morning, and the students were just beginning to arrive. Mireille watched from a distance as they strode up to the door, all wearing matching uniforms. Most of them were chatting and laughing with each other, each carrying their schoolbag. Mireille suddenly felt very out of place.
Most of them had come by bus, train, or simply walked by foot. One of the boys held a baseball in his hand, playfully tossing it up and catching it again while carrying on a conversation with his fellow classmates.
How had Kirika fit into this group of Japanese teenagers? Mireille wondered. She'd watched from the other side of the school that day, far away where Kirika would never notice her. The young Japanese girl had stood there silently, her head slightly lowered, not meeting the eyes of her schoolmates, until two girls had come over and eagerly begun a conversation with her. Mireille had not been able to see her face, but by her hand gestures and movements of her head, was able to deduce that Kirika was responding and seeming fairly normal, just shy. The two girls had smiled and waved amiably when they left. Only Kirika's hand had waved in a rather unsure manner before she turned and left.
Perhaps Kirika had not been all that different from how Mireille had once been. When her Uncle Claude had first brought her away from Corsica, Mireille had hardly spoken for days, only clutching her teddy bear close. Even when she had enrolled in school the following year, it took her months to open up and weeks afterwards to develop friendships. Girls and boys alike had tried to take to her, but Mireille hadn't known how to respond. It had been crucial that her friends and teachers not know of her past; therefore no one understood why she acted so and no one chose to help her. Mireille had been alone. For the first time, ironically six years after meeting the girl, Mireille understood how Kirika must have felt, reflecting on her own memories.
One girl stood alone in the midst of people, clutching her schoolbag tightly and keeping her head bowed. Only her eyes looked up timidly, observing the people around her. She shifted her feet uncomfortably and brushed her hair back. Her glance suddenly came to rest on Mireille.
Mireille's eyes widened in surprise, as did the girl's. Overcoming her initial shock, Mireille smiled. Blankly the Japanese girl stared, then smiled and managed a wave, though her fingers moved stiffly, separately, as if rusty from lack of use.
A sharp bell cut through the air and the students instantly scattered. The girl lagged behind for a moment, looking curiously at Mireille, then smiled and waved-truly waved in a single fluid movement-and hurried after her classmates. Mireille was left alone in the empty yard.
She truly understood how Kirika's life in those days had been.
= = = = = = =
Kirika could hardly see the food now, shrouded in darkness, and there was no sign of Mireille yet. Alone, quietly, Kirika began to eat.
Author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long. . . I feel like it lacks the Noir charm? I think I've worked out how it's going to end, but not quite how it's going to get there. Please leave me a review and tell me how I'm doing and what you think I should do with it; Thanks!
Kirika pushed open the door to the apartment building and closed it quietly behind her. Directly facing her was the staircase; to her left stood the mailboxes. Kirika pulled Mireille's mailbox open without thinking. There were no strange letters from Soldats. She shut the metal cover with a clang and ascended the stairs.
She had a key that she'd kept with her when she left France, and now Kirika slowly inserted it into the keyhole and turned. The door clicked and opened to reveal Mireille's apartment, exactly how she remembered it. Kirika stepped inside.
She marveled at the lack of change. The pool table, the lamps, the beds- everything was in its exact same location. Kirika felt as if she had stepped back into the past and Mireille would be walking in at any moment, back from shopping.
Mireille. . .
"Mireille?" called Kirika tentatively.
There was no answer. Kirika closed the door and turned the lights on. Three identical lights shone down on the pool table, creating three pools of light. The balls were scattered around in random locations, each quite stationary.
It was obvious that Mireille still lived here. For one thing, she'd left her computer here, the screen still open. The large leafy plant was gone, however, and had been replaced with a smaller plant that was weakly blooming soft pink blossoms. For a moment they reminded Kirika of the cherry blossoms in Japan, and she felt a twinge of homesickness.
Brushing that away, she stepped into the other room and sat down in one of the round, one-person sofas and sighed in delight. She had missed France, missed Mireille after all. The apartment was full of memories. Kirika had sat here in this same chair while studying Rosalie Hammond's profile all night; in the adjoining room, they had had a "moonlight tea party" with Chloe.
She noticed suddenly that Mireille's moped was leaning against the window and found it surprising that Mireille had not taken it with her, but then again, it was not unusual for the Corsican blonde to go shopping on foot. Many times Kirika had carried her packages for her while she stopped to examine a hat or pair of shoes.
Eventually Kirika grew tired of poking around the apartment and went to the kitchen. A small jar of tea leaves sat on the counter and Kirika smiled, remembering that her talents were much better than Mireille's when it came to making tea. She prepared a cup for herself, then pulled out pots and pans and ingredients to make a surprise meal for Mireille when she came home.
= = = = = = =
Mireille had cleaned out Kirika's entire apartment in the span of a week and in the process, inhaled more dust particles and sneezed more than she probably had in her entire life. Crystal didn't like it either, often choosing to hide in a room that had already been cleaned or had been left untouched for the moment. Mireille wasn't just cleaning to make it seem more like it had been when Kirika lived there; she was cleaning now to make it livable. She had slept in a bed of dust the first night and had not found it comforting.
She knew she couldn't stay much longer; in fact, she was due to return to France in just two days. Mireille had to admit that she had truly wanted to just find Kirika, make up with her, and bring her back to France. It hadn't worked out that way. It hadn't even come close. It seemed stupid, now that she thought about it.
And Crystal. . . She hugged the furry kitten to her cheek even as it mewed in protest. She couldn't bring her back to France with her; all foreign animals and agriculture were strictly prohibited. Mireille smiled, thinking of how she had yelled at the kitten to leave her alone, to stop reminding her of Kirika, before she had grown to love the little animal.
Mireille smiled. She would spend tomorrow exploring Kirika's school. It had seemed bigger than she remembered, although she wasn't quite sure why, and the warehouse beside it was gone, a department store in its place. Another smile worked its way into her facial muscles as she remembered the wild chase Kirika had led her on.
Outside, the sun began to slowly sink in the sky, casting rays of orange over Mireille and her kitten. Mireille propped her head up with one hand and used the other to stroke Crystal, both legs comfortably stretched out on the bed.
= = = = = = =
Kirika sipped another cup of tea, her third, and watched the French sunset. Mireille had been gone a long time, and Kirika was expecting to see her walk in at any time, her hands full of purchases.
The table was laden with various dishes of French, Japanese, and American cuisine. Kirika had been almost bouncing with excitement when she had turned off the stove for the last time and poured her food from the pot into one of Mireille's fancy dishes. Even setting the table had been a delight. No memories had come to mind when Kirika had set out the forks, only excitement and anticipation.
Even that had been nearly three hours ago. The food was growing cold on the plate, the top layer becoming dry and stiff. Kirika eyed the window anxiously, feeling the first worry that Mireille might not be coming back. She couldn't see why, though; the apartment was teeming with signs of life, except for the plant. Kirika poured a glass of water into the pot and sat down to wait. It felt much like that night five years ago. . .
= = = = = = =
Mireille stood at the edge of the woods, her little pink and white handbag in her left hand and Crystal tagging at her heels. She'd overcome the task of telling the apartment manager that she was living in the old Yuumura apartment (just for a few days, she had hastened to add upon seeing the couple's shocked faces) and was now on her way to Kirika's old school. She paused for a moment, then stepped boldly into the woods, pushing branches aside as she walked through the forest.
It was early morning, and the students were just beginning to arrive. Mireille watched from a distance as they strode up to the door, all wearing matching uniforms. Most of them were chatting and laughing with each other, each carrying their schoolbag. Mireille suddenly felt very out of place.
Most of them had come by bus, train, or simply walked by foot. One of the boys held a baseball in his hand, playfully tossing it up and catching it again while carrying on a conversation with his fellow classmates.
How had Kirika fit into this group of Japanese teenagers? Mireille wondered. She'd watched from the other side of the school that day, far away where Kirika would never notice her. The young Japanese girl had stood there silently, her head slightly lowered, not meeting the eyes of her schoolmates, until two girls had come over and eagerly begun a conversation with her. Mireille had not been able to see her face, but by her hand gestures and movements of her head, was able to deduce that Kirika was responding and seeming fairly normal, just shy. The two girls had smiled and waved amiably when they left. Only Kirika's hand had waved in a rather unsure manner before she turned and left.
Perhaps Kirika had not been all that different from how Mireille had once been. When her Uncle Claude had first brought her away from Corsica, Mireille had hardly spoken for days, only clutching her teddy bear close. Even when she had enrolled in school the following year, it took her months to open up and weeks afterwards to develop friendships. Girls and boys alike had tried to take to her, but Mireille hadn't known how to respond. It had been crucial that her friends and teachers not know of her past; therefore no one understood why she acted so and no one chose to help her. Mireille had been alone. For the first time, ironically six years after meeting the girl, Mireille understood how Kirika must have felt, reflecting on her own memories.
One girl stood alone in the midst of people, clutching her schoolbag tightly and keeping her head bowed. Only her eyes looked up timidly, observing the people around her. She shifted her feet uncomfortably and brushed her hair back. Her glance suddenly came to rest on Mireille.
Mireille's eyes widened in surprise, as did the girl's. Overcoming her initial shock, Mireille smiled. Blankly the Japanese girl stared, then smiled and managed a wave, though her fingers moved stiffly, separately, as if rusty from lack of use.
A sharp bell cut through the air and the students instantly scattered. The girl lagged behind for a moment, looking curiously at Mireille, then smiled and waved-truly waved in a single fluid movement-and hurried after her classmates. Mireille was left alone in the empty yard.
She truly understood how Kirika's life in those days had been.
= = = = = = =
Kirika could hardly see the food now, shrouded in darkness, and there was no sign of Mireille yet. Alone, quietly, Kirika began to eat.
Author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long. . . I feel like it lacks the Noir charm? I think I've worked out how it's going to end, but not quite how it's going to get there. Please leave me a review and tell me how I'm doing and what you think I should do with it; Thanks!