Rosebuds
Disclaimer: I don't own Noir, as much as I would like to play Mireille. . .
"I'm going to shower, Kirika."
"Un."
She'd never lost that part of her Japanese heritage, thought Mireille, as she entered the bathroom. Just that one word. It wasn't even a word-just a mere sound. She closed the door.
Moments later Kirika heard the muffled sound of rushing water. The young brunette looked nothing like the silent killer she had once been as she delicately gathered her skirts in her hands and stepped up to the window. There, having no need to keep walking, she let them fall to the floor in a cascade of pink.
It was still dark outside and the familiar temple just outside their window formed a looming silhouette in the blue-gray sky of the morning. Kirika placed her elbows on the windowsill and leaned outside, looking down at the empty sidewalk. Normally there would be plenty of French people walking- mostly people who lived in the same apartment as she did. She'd never spoken to any of them.
The doorbell rang, drawing Kirika away from the window. With a hurried "Hai", she rushed to answer it. She hadn't thought doing the preparations so early in the morning would be fun, but a smile worked itself onto her face as she and the deliveryman carried boxes and boxes of flowers inside. Excitement bubbled inside her and she couldn't wait to open them. To see how beautiful Mireille would look, wearing them. Even before the last box was inside, Kirika was already opening them in delight.
"Have a good day, ma'am." He touched his hand to his hat. "Best of wishes for the future."
"Oh, it's not me," Kirika turned, a pink rosebud in her hand, "but I'll tell her. Thank you."
Perhaps it had been a mistake to get dressed up so early, thought Kirika, but it had saved her the trouble of having to change again later. Still, it was a pain having to walk in long skirts that swished about her legs with every movement. Kirika put the blossom back in its box with the others and suddenly caught sight of herself in the mirror. She smiled, feeling like a fairy princess in the dress, although it wasn't her special day.
Mireille had tacked up the mirror on the wall between the beds and her pool table, complaining that she was always in a rush and it took too long to run from the door to the bathroom mirror and back. Kirika hadn't minded. Surprisingly, she'd found herself using it a lot more than she had thought she would. Mirrors, makeup, and hair-these things had always belonged to Mireille's world, but Kirika had changed during those five years she'd spent in Rhode Island.
In the bathroom, Mireille turned off the faucet and stepped slowly out of the bathroom, reaching for the towel. She hated hairdryers for the way they left her hair temporarily feeling stiff and unnatural, but today she had to use them. Besides, by the time she got there, she consoled herself, it would be soft around her shoulders as it usually was.
Mireille found her favorite brush and pulled it through her hair, being extra careful not to rip out any more locks than necessary. Bottles and brushes of makeup sat on the counter in front of her. She would wait to use those until the last minute, so that they lasted as long as possible. She didn't fancy being makeup-less halfway through her special day.
With just a towel wrapped around her, Mireille opened the bathroom door and stepped outside into the cold air. Kirika looked up and guiltily smiled, placing the cover back on the box whose contents she had been fiddling with.
"The flowers are here," she said excitedly.
"I can't wait." Mireille threw open her closet doors and selected some simple clothes. Wisely she had thought everything out the night before and figured that it would be best to put on her dress at the very last moment, along with makeup.
Kirika watched her dress. There was nothing unusual about this routine; almost every morning one or the other would decide to be lazy and stay in bed while the other would get up first to dress. Neither had minded. Everything had fallen neatly into place after Kirika's return to France. If anything, the long separation had made the girls closer than ever.
"I want to see the flowers," came Mireille's muffled voice under the T- shirt. She pulled her head through the correct opening and turned around, observing Kirika's hesitant expression. "I don't care if it's not time yet, Kirika. They're just for you and me, anyway. And besides," she added, a grin on her face, "you've poked through them already."
"Just a few!" contradicted Kirika, and they burst into giggles like the carefree girls they should have been.
Mireille stepped barefoot over to the largest box and opened it. It was a long, rectangular white box that held the beautiful spray of pink roses and ferns, exactly as they had ordered. The stems were tied together with a wide matching pink ribbon.
"It's beautiful," said Kirika in awe.
"This one's yours."
Kirika turned to see that Mireille had already started opening other boxes. She placed the cover back on the box of the gorgeous bouquet and walked to Mireille's side.
"I don't remember ordering that." Kirika extended her hand and touched the soft, silky petals of the pink rosebuds. "And what do we need a wreath for?"
"For you. I thought it would look nice in your dark hair," mused Mireille dreamily, lifting the wreath out of the box. Branches of soft, fresh new ivy and rose leaves were intertwined with the flowers. "Let's see how it looks on you."
"No," said Kirika, "not yet, I don't want to wear it just yet."
Mireille shrugged and put it back inside the box. Once again, Kirika found herself with the responsibility of replacing the cover. "Here are the rose petals for your basket. Shall we put them in now?"
"Un." Kirika promptly fetched the basket-adorned with a matching ribbon-and Mireille plunged both hands into the deep box, bringing out handfuls of large pink and white and red rose petals. Kirika cupped her hands inside the basket, feeling them fall softly over her skin. Mireille laughed.
"I suppose the rest are for decorations," she said, eyeing the five or six boxes that were still unopened. "No-there should be one more."
"It's this one," said Kirika rather guiltily, who had moved back to the original box. "I opened it already."
Mireille came to her side and together they lifted off the cover. Mireille gasped in delight and Kirika simply smiled, having already seen them.
"They're so pretty," she breathed, picking them up. "Kirika, I-Kirika?"
"Hai." Kirika was back within a moment with a package of hairclips. "Let's start putting them in your hair, Mireiyu."
Mireille made a sound that was something between a sigh and a laugh, and Kirika detected a trace of dampness in her eyes. "They remind me of Uncle Claude's flowers. He used to grow so many beautiful ones-and he let me-help him-"
Mireille did not go on. Kirika put her arms around the Corsican blonde, feeling her pain. "Don't think about that, Mireiyu," she ordered in her quiet voice. "Think about all the fun you're going to have today. Starting with these flowers."
Kirika picked up a rosebud and proceeded to clip it to Mireille's temple. Mireille sniffed and smiled. "Thank you, Kirika," she said, holding out her arms. Kirika stepped into her warm embrace and for a long time they stayed like that.
"I'm so glad you came home," Mireille whispered. "I'm so glad you're here to celebrate my special day with me."
"I am too," Kirika said softly, though she was close to bursting with happiness. "I love you, Mireiyu."
"I love you too, Kirika."
It was certainly a very special day-and Kirika was determined to make it the happiest day of Mireille's life.
Disclaimer: I don't own Noir, as much as I would like to play Mireille. . .
"I'm going to shower, Kirika."
"Un."
She'd never lost that part of her Japanese heritage, thought Mireille, as she entered the bathroom. Just that one word. It wasn't even a word-just a mere sound. She closed the door.
Moments later Kirika heard the muffled sound of rushing water. The young brunette looked nothing like the silent killer she had once been as she delicately gathered her skirts in her hands and stepped up to the window. There, having no need to keep walking, she let them fall to the floor in a cascade of pink.
It was still dark outside and the familiar temple just outside their window formed a looming silhouette in the blue-gray sky of the morning. Kirika placed her elbows on the windowsill and leaned outside, looking down at the empty sidewalk. Normally there would be plenty of French people walking- mostly people who lived in the same apartment as she did. She'd never spoken to any of them.
The doorbell rang, drawing Kirika away from the window. With a hurried "Hai", she rushed to answer it. She hadn't thought doing the preparations so early in the morning would be fun, but a smile worked itself onto her face as she and the deliveryman carried boxes and boxes of flowers inside. Excitement bubbled inside her and she couldn't wait to open them. To see how beautiful Mireille would look, wearing them. Even before the last box was inside, Kirika was already opening them in delight.
"Have a good day, ma'am." He touched his hand to his hat. "Best of wishes for the future."
"Oh, it's not me," Kirika turned, a pink rosebud in her hand, "but I'll tell her. Thank you."
Perhaps it had been a mistake to get dressed up so early, thought Kirika, but it had saved her the trouble of having to change again later. Still, it was a pain having to walk in long skirts that swished about her legs with every movement. Kirika put the blossom back in its box with the others and suddenly caught sight of herself in the mirror. She smiled, feeling like a fairy princess in the dress, although it wasn't her special day.
Mireille had tacked up the mirror on the wall between the beds and her pool table, complaining that she was always in a rush and it took too long to run from the door to the bathroom mirror and back. Kirika hadn't minded. Surprisingly, she'd found herself using it a lot more than she had thought she would. Mirrors, makeup, and hair-these things had always belonged to Mireille's world, but Kirika had changed during those five years she'd spent in Rhode Island.
In the bathroom, Mireille turned off the faucet and stepped slowly out of the bathroom, reaching for the towel. She hated hairdryers for the way they left her hair temporarily feeling stiff and unnatural, but today she had to use them. Besides, by the time she got there, she consoled herself, it would be soft around her shoulders as it usually was.
Mireille found her favorite brush and pulled it through her hair, being extra careful not to rip out any more locks than necessary. Bottles and brushes of makeup sat on the counter in front of her. She would wait to use those until the last minute, so that they lasted as long as possible. She didn't fancy being makeup-less halfway through her special day.
With just a towel wrapped around her, Mireille opened the bathroom door and stepped outside into the cold air. Kirika looked up and guiltily smiled, placing the cover back on the box whose contents she had been fiddling with.
"The flowers are here," she said excitedly.
"I can't wait." Mireille threw open her closet doors and selected some simple clothes. Wisely she had thought everything out the night before and figured that it would be best to put on her dress at the very last moment, along with makeup.
Kirika watched her dress. There was nothing unusual about this routine; almost every morning one or the other would decide to be lazy and stay in bed while the other would get up first to dress. Neither had minded. Everything had fallen neatly into place after Kirika's return to France. If anything, the long separation had made the girls closer than ever.
"I want to see the flowers," came Mireille's muffled voice under the T- shirt. She pulled her head through the correct opening and turned around, observing Kirika's hesitant expression. "I don't care if it's not time yet, Kirika. They're just for you and me, anyway. And besides," she added, a grin on her face, "you've poked through them already."
"Just a few!" contradicted Kirika, and they burst into giggles like the carefree girls they should have been.
Mireille stepped barefoot over to the largest box and opened it. It was a long, rectangular white box that held the beautiful spray of pink roses and ferns, exactly as they had ordered. The stems were tied together with a wide matching pink ribbon.
"It's beautiful," said Kirika in awe.
"This one's yours."
Kirika turned to see that Mireille had already started opening other boxes. She placed the cover back on the box of the gorgeous bouquet and walked to Mireille's side.
"I don't remember ordering that." Kirika extended her hand and touched the soft, silky petals of the pink rosebuds. "And what do we need a wreath for?"
"For you. I thought it would look nice in your dark hair," mused Mireille dreamily, lifting the wreath out of the box. Branches of soft, fresh new ivy and rose leaves were intertwined with the flowers. "Let's see how it looks on you."
"No," said Kirika, "not yet, I don't want to wear it just yet."
Mireille shrugged and put it back inside the box. Once again, Kirika found herself with the responsibility of replacing the cover. "Here are the rose petals for your basket. Shall we put them in now?"
"Un." Kirika promptly fetched the basket-adorned with a matching ribbon-and Mireille plunged both hands into the deep box, bringing out handfuls of large pink and white and red rose petals. Kirika cupped her hands inside the basket, feeling them fall softly over her skin. Mireille laughed.
"I suppose the rest are for decorations," she said, eyeing the five or six boxes that were still unopened. "No-there should be one more."
"It's this one," said Kirika rather guiltily, who had moved back to the original box. "I opened it already."
Mireille came to her side and together they lifted off the cover. Mireille gasped in delight and Kirika simply smiled, having already seen them.
"They're so pretty," she breathed, picking them up. "Kirika, I-Kirika?"
"Hai." Kirika was back within a moment with a package of hairclips. "Let's start putting them in your hair, Mireiyu."
Mireille made a sound that was something between a sigh and a laugh, and Kirika detected a trace of dampness in her eyes. "They remind me of Uncle Claude's flowers. He used to grow so many beautiful ones-and he let me-help him-"
Mireille did not go on. Kirika put her arms around the Corsican blonde, feeling her pain. "Don't think about that, Mireiyu," she ordered in her quiet voice. "Think about all the fun you're going to have today. Starting with these flowers."
Kirika picked up a rosebud and proceeded to clip it to Mireille's temple. Mireille sniffed and smiled. "Thank you, Kirika," she said, holding out her arms. Kirika stepped into her warm embrace and for a long time they stayed like that.
"I'm so glad you came home," Mireille whispered. "I'm so glad you're here to celebrate my special day with me."
"I am too," Kirika said softly, though she was close to bursting with happiness. "I love you, Mireiyu."
"I love you too, Kirika."
It was certainly a very special day-and Kirika was determined to make it the happiest day of Mireille's life.
