Mireille in Japan, Chapter 9
To all my reviewers: Thank you all so much!!! I didn't realize you all liked this story so much : )
"Arigatoo."
Mireille stepped out of the taxi and brushed her hair back. After paying him, she picked up her bag and onto the sidewalk. Behind her, the taxi pulled away. He'd offered her plenty of sympathy and tried to comfort her on the way, but it hadn't helped as she couldn't understand much of what he was saying, nor could she understand her own feelings.
She was back at Narita airport and didn't want to leave, didn't want to accept that Kirika wasn't here-wasn't even in this country. Mireille took a deep breath and actually had to keep herself from looking behind her to see if Crystal had followed her. She knew she hadn't.
A Japanese family walked by, chatting and laughing, the youngest child reaching for a strap on the family suitcase and receiving only a scolding from his mother. Mireille watched them walk by, wondering what it would like to have a family of her own. The father was clearly a businessman, dressed smartly in a suit and talking rapidly in Japanese on a cell phone, paying no attention to his family. The mother, on the other hand, was consumed in keeping her two littlest ones' hands away from their bags while the older daughter looked as if she would have liked to proclaim that she was not related to these people.
Mireille wondered if Kirika had a family yet.
A car honked behind her and startled her. Mireille turned around and quickly made a gesture of apologizing, moving aside. Yet another family began to unload their bags. Mireille sighed and started towards security, her head bent low.
She paid very little attention to what they were asking her. No, she was not bringing anything flammable; no, she had not been asked by anyone to watch their bags for them; no, she had not brought any souvenirs worth over $10,000. She had not brought any at all.
Mireille came to her gate earlier than she'd expected. With thirty minutes to go until boarding, she decided to take a stroll around the airport and perhaps check out some of the shops.
There was a florist nearby, and Mireille spotted a pretty potted plant that resembled the pink flowered one she had at home. It would be nice to be home in France. She missed her job at the library, riding around on her moped, just enjoying herself. Until she began to live as a normal young woman, she hadn't felt truly relaxed. There had always been the threat of danger, betrayal, and the like. The only time she had truly relaxed was when she and Kirika had visited the beach years ago-and then, they had been thinking only of their next targets.
She didn't want to think of Kirika and turned to leave the florist, but turned so sharply that she crashed into another Japanese woman and knocked both of them over.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mireille. "Go-Gomen nasai!"
The woman laughed and picked herself up, saying something along the lines of "Oh no, it's all right," but Mireille wasn't paying attention anymore. She stared, transfixed at what was in the woman's hand.
Her left hand was up by her mouth, her eyes semi-closed in a smile, but Mireille noticed none of that. The woman did not have long gray hair; she had short, carefully curled ebony black hair. In her right hand she held a bouquet of belladonna lilies, something Mireille had not seen-had rather avoided-in five years.
The belladonna lilies. Dux. Noir. Kirika throwing the popcorn on the casino floor.
The storeowner hurried to give her a hand up, asking her if she was okay. Still dazed, Mireille realized she was still sitting on the floor, and hurried to get back on her feet. She was attracting a lot of attention. Blushing, the Corsican blonde murmured her thanks and apologies, and hurried off.
She was annoyed at herself for letting a flower bother her so much. Mireille stopped to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt and take a deep breath. She didn't realize that many at the florist were still staring after her.
Mireille checked out a few more shops but purchased nothing, then returned to the appropriate gate. If only she'd brought a book or something to occupy her hands. . . Mireille closed her eyes and tipped her head back, ignoring the stares she was attracting from other Japanese people. She was beginning to get used to it.
They were boarding before she knew it. Mireille opened her little red and white bag and pulled out her boarding pass.
Just the sight of planes always made her tired, which was why she preferred to avoid them. It was much more comforting to drive along in her own car, where she could stay fully awake and observe the infrastructure around her. That had always come in handy when she had been one of Noir, but now it was purely for enjoyment. Mireille found her window seat and sat down, closing her eyes immediately. She had slept on the way to Austria, while looking for Langon's Manuscript, and she intended to sleep all the way home to France. Nine long hours before she would be back in Paris.
It was several minutes later when she sensed someone was nearer than the aisle, her assassin instincts kicking in. Mireille opened her eyes and sat up. Her seating companion was a little girl of roughly four or five years old, accompanied by her mother. Her hair was short and spiky and reminded Mireille of someone she did not wish to think about. The Corsican blonde closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat as far as possible.
"Hello!" the little girl exclaimed brightly. "My name's Anna! What's yours?"
Mireille was taken aback by the girl's openness and her accent-less English, for she appeared to be Japanese in all aspects.
The mother apologized profusely for her daughter's rude outburst, but Mireille only smiled and made direct eye contact with the girl. "My name is Mireille."
"Are you French?" asked the girl out of pure curiosity.
Perhaps this was how Kirika looked when she. . . no, thought Mireille, pushing the thought away. This child was so cute and full of playfulness. By the time Kirika completed the mission to Corsica, she was almost certainly a puppet of Soldats. The thought brought tears to Mireille's eyes.
"Miss Mireille?"
"Oh. . . no, I'm from Corsica," she said, suddenly wishing the child would stop. Everything here brought back memories of Kirika, she suddenly thought angrily. Only in France, in my new life, can I be free from the past, from Noir. Why did I even make this trip to Japan?
"Where is Corsica? Why are you going to France?" asked the little girl, turning around so she could face the Corsican blonde. "Mommy! My seat belt is too tight!"
The embarrassed mother ordered her child to face the front and stop bothering "the nice lady". "I'm so sorry," she apologized again.
"It's all right," said Mireille, and pulled a blanket up over her shoulders, turning so that she faced the window. Behind her the little girl jabbered on about other things, her flow of words not at all stemmed by her mother's order. Mireille's eyes were almost closed when she saw movement- something else that had come from years of training to become the perfect assassin. Sleepily, half-annoyed, she opened her eyes a little more, then sat up straight with a gasp.
"Crystal!"
"What is it, Miss Mireille? What is Crystal?"
Mireille ignored her. It was raining outside and the poor little kitten stood not fifty feet from the plane, lifting its head to look up at the passengers inside. There were probably several hundred golden-furred kittens in Tokyo alone, but Mireille knew-just knew in her heart-that it was her precious kitten Crystal.
The rain was batting down viciously and the kitten's fur was matted and thick around its crystal blue eyes; yet to Mireille they seemed to emit an aura of despair and hurt. It struck her that she had seen that look in Kirika's eyes many times during their days as Noir and before.
She extended her fingers out towards the kitten, knowing that the glass would stop her, but did so anyway. Mireille saw the kitten's lower jaw drop in the motion of making a mewing sound though no sound came to her. Then, without warning, the cat turned and ran away at top speed, never looking back.
Mireille's hand was still on the glass window. Part of her wanted to call out to the pilot to stop so she could run out and hold her kitten close, but she knew it was hopeless.
"Oh, a kitten!" exclaimed Anna. "Is that your cat?"
Mireille turned to look at her in shock. It was a stupid question, but the girl had no idea how close she had hit. Extremely ashamed and embarrassed now, the mother subjected Anna to an extreme scolding and saved Mireille from answering the question.
The plane began backing out onto the runway.
To all my reviewers: Thank you all so much!!! I didn't realize you all liked this story so much : )
"Arigatoo."
Mireille stepped out of the taxi and brushed her hair back. After paying him, she picked up her bag and onto the sidewalk. Behind her, the taxi pulled away. He'd offered her plenty of sympathy and tried to comfort her on the way, but it hadn't helped as she couldn't understand much of what he was saying, nor could she understand her own feelings.
She was back at Narita airport and didn't want to leave, didn't want to accept that Kirika wasn't here-wasn't even in this country. Mireille took a deep breath and actually had to keep herself from looking behind her to see if Crystal had followed her. She knew she hadn't.
A Japanese family walked by, chatting and laughing, the youngest child reaching for a strap on the family suitcase and receiving only a scolding from his mother. Mireille watched them walk by, wondering what it would like to have a family of her own. The father was clearly a businessman, dressed smartly in a suit and talking rapidly in Japanese on a cell phone, paying no attention to his family. The mother, on the other hand, was consumed in keeping her two littlest ones' hands away from their bags while the older daughter looked as if she would have liked to proclaim that she was not related to these people.
Mireille wondered if Kirika had a family yet.
A car honked behind her and startled her. Mireille turned around and quickly made a gesture of apologizing, moving aside. Yet another family began to unload their bags. Mireille sighed and started towards security, her head bent low.
She paid very little attention to what they were asking her. No, she was not bringing anything flammable; no, she had not been asked by anyone to watch their bags for them; no, she had not brought any souvenirs worth over $10,000. She had not brought any at all.
Mireille came to her gate earlier than she'd expected. With thirty minutes to go until boarding, she decided to take a stroll around the airport and perhaps check out some of the shops.
There was a florist nearby, and Mireille spotted a pretty potted plant that resembled the pink flowered one she had at home. It would be nice to be home in France. She missed her job at the library, riding around on her moped, just enjoying herself. Until she began to live as a normal young woman, she hadn't felt truly relaxed. There had always been the threat of danger, betrayal, and the like. The only time she had truly relaxed was when she and Kirika had visited the beach years ago-and then, they had been thinking only of their next targets.
She didn't want to think of Kirika and turned to leave the florist, but turned so sharply that she crashed into another Japanese woman and knocked both of them over.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mireille. "Go-Gomen nasai!"
The woman laughed and picked herself up, saying something along the lines of "Oh no, it's all right," but Mireille wasn't paying attention anymore. She stared, transfixed at what was in the woman's hand.
Her left hand was up by her mouth, her eyes semi-closed in a smile, but Mireille noticed none of that. The woman did not have long gray hair; she had short, carefully curled ebony black hair. In her right hand she held a bouquet of belladonna lilies, something Mireille had not seen-had rather avoided-in five years.
The belladonna lilies. Dux. Noir. Kirika throwing the popcorn on the casino floor.
The storeowner hurried to give her a hand up, asking her if she was okay. Still dazed, Mireille realized she was still sitting on the floor, and hurried to get back on her feet. She was attracting a lot of attention. Blushing, the Corsican blonde murmured her thanks and apologies, and hurried off.
She was annoyed at herself for letting a flower bother her so much. Mireille stopped to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt and take a deep breath. She didn't realize that many at the florist were still staring after her.
Mireille checked out a few more shops but purchased nothing, then returned to the appropriate gate. If only she'd brought a book or something to occupy her hands. . . Mireille closed her eyes and tipped her head back, ignoring the stares she was attracting from other Japanese people. She was beginning to get used to it.
They were boarding before she knew it. Mireille opened her little red and white bag and pulled out her boarding pass.
Just the sight of planes always made her tired, which was why she preferred to avoid them. It was much more comforting to drive along in her own car, where she could stay fully awake and observe the infrastructure around her. That had always come in handy when she had been one of Noir, but now it was purely for enjoyment. Mireille found her window seat and sat down, closing her eyes immediately. She had slept on the way to Austria, while looking for Langon's Manuscript, and she intended to sleep all the way home to France. Nine long hours before she would be back in Paris.
It was several minutes later when she sensed someone was nearer than the aisle, her assassin instincts kicking in. Mireille opened her eyes and sat up. Her seating companion was a little girl of roughly four or five years old, accompanied by her mother. Her hair was short and spiky and reminded Mireille of someone she did not wish to think about. The Corsican blonde closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat as far as possible.
"Hello!" the little girl exclaimed brightly. "My name's Anna! What's yours?"
Mireille was taken aback by the girl's openness and her accent-less English, for she appeared to be Japanese in all aspects.
The mother apologized profusely for her daughter's rude outburst, but Mireille only smiled and made direct eye contact with the girl. "My name is Mireille."
"Are you French?" asked the girl out of pure curiosity.
Perhaps this was how Kirika looked when she. . . no, thought Mireille, pushing the thought away. This child was so cute and full of playfulness. By the time Kirika completed the mission to Corsica, she was almost certainly a puppet of Soldats. The thought brought tears to Mireille's eyes.
"Miss Mireille?"
"Oh. . . no, I'm from Corsica," she said, suddenly wishing the child would stop. Everything here brought back memories of Kirika, she suddenly thought angrily. Only in France, in my new life, can I be free from the past, from Noir. Why did I even make this trip to Japan?
"Where is Corsica? Why are you going to France?" asked the little girl, turning around so she could face the Corsican blonde. "Mommy! My seat belt is too tight!"
The embarrassed mother ordered her child to face the front and stop bothering "the nice lady". "I'm so sorry," she apologized again.
"It's all right," said Mireille, and pulled a blanket up over her shoulders, turning so that she faced the window. Behind her the little girl jabbered on about other things, her flow of words not at all stemmed by her mother's order. Mireille's eyes were almost closed when she saw movement- something else that had come from years of training to become the perfect assassin. Sleepily, half-annoyed, she opened her eyes a little more, then sat up straight with a gasp.
"Crystal!"
"What is it, Miss Mireille? What is Crystal?"
Mireille ignored her. It was raining outside and the poor little kitten stood not fifty feet from the plane, lifting its head to look up at the passengers inside. There were probably several hundred golden-furred kittens in Tokyo alone, but Mireille knew-just knew in her heart-that it was her precious kitten Crystal.
The rain was batting down viciously and the kitten's fur was matted and thick around its crystal blue eyes; yet to Mireille they seemed to emit an aura of despair and hurt. It struck her that she had seen that look in Kirika's eyes many times during their days as Noir and before.
She extended her fingers out towards the kitten, knowing that the glass would stop her, but did so anyway. Mireille saw the kitten's lower jaw drop in the motion of making a mewing sound though no sound came to her. Then, without warning, the cat turned and ran away at top speed, never looking back.
Mireille's hand was still on the glass window. Part of her wanted to call out to the pilot to stop so she could run out and hold her kitten close, but she knew it was hopeless.
"Oh, a kitten!" exclaimed Anna. "Is that your cat?"
Mireille turned to look at her in shock. It was a stupid question, but the girl had no idea how close she had hit. Extremely ashamed and embarrassed now, the mother subjected Anna to an extreme scolding and saved Mireille from answering the question.
The plane began backing out onto the runway.