Rosebuds, Chapter 4
Spritedust: Fortunately, Mireille and Kirika aren't getting married (I actually never thought of that, lol) I tried to make it a girlish friendship sort of thing (such as the way "LYLAS" is commonly used, etc)- not in a lesbian sort of love, and there probably will be a bit of romance in this story (not between Kirika and Mireille), but I'll try to keep it down to a minimum. Sorry-I didn't realize the first chapter was sort of implying this. Thanks for reviewing!
"Mireiyu, you've got mail."
With one foot on the staircase already, Mireille turned to look at her mailbox. There was a large pale blue envelope that had been roughly shoved inside. The sheer size of it had prevented the sender from being able to shut the mailbox properly.
Mireille came back to Kirika's side and drew out the envelope. To her surprise, everything on it was written in Japanese. She sighed, annoyed with her weak Japanese skills.
"I never did learn to read Japanese properly. You'll have to translate for me."
Kirika took the packet from Mireille's hands and studied it. "It's addressed to both of us," she said quietly, her eyes still scanning the characters. "Whoever it is, they already know I'm here."
" 'Whoever it is'? Who's the sender? And does it actually have both of our names on it?" Mireille asked, impatiently waiting for details. She was used to dealing with such things herself and wanted to know exactly what the envelope said. During her career she had soon learned that a simple difference in wording could be a big difference in the long run.
"Both of us. 'Mireille Bouquet and Yuumura Kirika.' " Kirika looked up to meet Mireille's edgy blue eyes. "The sender's name is blurred." She handed the envelope back to Mireille. The Corsican blonde took it into her hands and saw that the sender had never completed the task of writing his or her name. It seemed as though after only a few characters, he or she had swept his or her hand across it, destroying the words and leaving only a black blemish on the pale blue paper.
"I see."
Wary now, Mireille tucked the envelope into one of her bags and ascended the stairs without another word. Quite used to this demeanor, Kirika followed.
Mireille's hand hardly quivered as she stabbed the key into its keyhole and turned the doorknob. Sunshine from the opposing windows poured into the dark hallway. She waited for Kirika to enter, then closed the door.
"Why don't you go hang up your new clothes?" asked Mireille, trying to keep a cheery tone. This situation was making her jumpy and reminding her of days she didn't want to remember. Days of Noir and Soldats, of Intoccable and Shaoli. She wanted a moment alone, to read over what was inside, before she could decide what to do.
I can always hope it's just a magazine or an advertisement, thought Mireille, then bleakly remembered that Kirika's name had been on it as well.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Kirika's voice cut into her thoughts. "You might need me to translate."
Mireille was silent for a moment. "So I might," she admitted, and set her bags on the floor. Kirika did the same. Mireille drew the envelope out of the bag and they walked over to the pool table to read it.
The three or four Japanese characters that had once been the sender's identity had been reduced to an undistinguishable stain of black. Nevertheless, the Corsican blonde pushed the envelope towards her old partner. "Can you read what it says?"
"No," Kirika replied, after a moment of deep studying.
Mireille pulled the envelope back towards her and slit it open. Deciding that she might as well get this over with, she turned the envelope upside down and let everything inside spill onto the soft felt of the pool table.
Her first impression was that whoever the sender might be, they were certainly not a well-organized person. Photographs and handwritten letters and typed correspondences floated to every corner of the pool table. Confused, Mireille put the now-empty envelope down and picked up a photograph.
It was a picture of a playground, with little children running and playing about. Mireille gave a weak sound of surprise, then flipped it over. The backside was blank. She turned it back to the front again, and upon closer inspection saw that there was a man in the background. She held the picture closer to her face.
He was sitting on a bench, facing sideways, so that she could only see his profile. The figure was only about two centimeters tall in the photograph, something that irked Mireille even more. He was blonde and wore dark clothes. She could tell nothing else. Mireille put the photograph down.
"Do you know where this picture was taken?"
Kirika looked at it. "No," she said honestly, her wide brown eyes full of truth.
Mireille picked up a letter next and to her despair, discovered it was in Japanese.
"We know where this one is." Kirika slid the picture towards her.
Mireille gasped, her eyes widening. The photograph was a simple serene image of a school, all its students wearing identical uniforms-uniforms Mireille recognized. It was Kirika's old school in Japan. In the foreground sat a golden-furred kitten, facing the photographer with obvious curiosity. She recognized that cat.
"Why would anyone send us random pictures of Japan?" she said, trying to keep the surprise, worry, and exasperation out of her mind. The letter sat beside her left hand and Kirika picked it up.
"It's a client." She lowered the paper and reached for the first photograph, the picture of the playground. "The target is this man."
Mireille was speechless, staring at the tiny blonde man at whom Kirika was pointing.
"A client?! They want us to. . . " Her voice trailed off, trying to find some error in the message. "Who's the client? And why? What's the target's name? Where is he?" Mireille fired off questions in a rapid sequence like gunshots. Kirika was quiet, rereading the letter.
"Not Soldats?" Mireille whispered, almost afraid to say the word.
"No," Kirika said steadily, and Mireille wanted to know how she could be so sure. "This letter isn't written the way Soldats would have written it. The style is different."
"So someone randomly decided to send us a letter asking us to kill this man?" asked Mireille. She vowed to work harder on her Japanese, starting tonight.
"Un." Kirika flipped the letter over, and seeing that it was blank, turned back to the front side. "The target is in Tokyo, Japan."
"And to think I just came back from there." Mireille laughed dryly. Kirika said nothing, her glance resting on Mireille's face. The obvious answer was formed in Mireille's mind. What sort of ridiculous contract was this? The client had not revealed his name, or the name of the target. They had not been in business for over five years. Neither of them carried a gun anymore. Mireille wanted to laugh and throw the envelope along with its contents in the trash and stood up to do so, but as she did, she detected a trace of longing in Kirika's eyes. She couldn't have interpreted that correctly.
"You. . .want to do this?" she asked, not believing it. Even as the thoughts whirled through her head, she heard a younger Kirika's voice: "I miss. . . being Noir, Mireiyu."
Kirika didn't look at her directly as she said, "Not particularly, but I would like to see Japan again."
Mireille was silent as she hung up all of Kirika's new clothes. Kirika said nothing, not even when she closed the closet door, sighed, and went to lie down on her bed. The Japanese girl looked towards her partner for a while, then turned back and resumed studying the papers and photographs.
Spritedust: Fortunately, Mireille and Kirika aren't getting married (I actually never thought of that, lol) I tried to make it a girlish friendship sort of thing (such as the way "LYLAS" is commonly used, etc)- not in a lesbian sort of love, and there probably will be a bit of romance in this story (not between Kirika and Mireille), but I'll try to keep it down to a minimum. Sorry-I didn't realize the first chapter was sort of implying this. Thanks for reviewing!
"Mireiyu, you've got mail."
With one foot on the staircase already, Mireille turned to look at her mailbox. There was a large pale blue envelope that had been roughly shoved inside. The sheer size of it had prevented the sender from being able to shut the mailbox properly.
Mireille came back to Kirika's side and drew out the envelope. To her surprise, everything on it was written in Japanese. She sighed, annoyed with her weak Japanese skills.
"I never did learn to read Japanese properly. You'll have to translate for me."
Kirika took the packet from Mireille's hands and studied it. "It's addressed to both of us," she said quietly, her eyes still scanning the characters. "Whoever it is, they already know I'm here."
" 'Whoever it is'? Who's the sender? And does it actually have both of our names on it?" Mireille asked, impatiently waiting for details. She was used to dealing with such things herself and wanted to know exactly what the envelope said. During her career she had soon learned that a simple difference in wording could be a big difference in the long run.
"Both of us. 'Mireille Bouquet and Yuumura Kirika.' " Kirika looked up to meet Mireille's edgy blue eyes. "The sender's name is blurred." She handed the envelope back to Mireille. The Corsican blonde took it into her hands and saw that the sender had never completed the task of writing his or her name. It seemed as though after only a few characters, he or she had swept his or her hand across it, destroying the words and leaving only a black blemish on the pale blue paper.
"I see."
Wary now, Mireille tucked the envelope into one of her bags and ascended the stairs without another word. Quite used to this demeanor, Kirika followed.
Mireille's hand hardly quivered as she stabbed the key into its keyhole and turned the doorknob. Sunshine from the opposing windows poured into the dark hallway. She waited for Kirika to enter, then closed the door.
"Why don't you go hang up your new clothes?" asked Mireille, trying to keep a cheery tone. This situation was making her jumpy and reminding her of days she didn't want to remember. Days of Noir and Soldats, of Intoccable and Shaoli. She wanted a moment alone, to read over what was inside, before she could decide what to do.
I can always hope it's just a magazine or an advertisement, thought Mireille, then bleakly remembered that Kirika's name had been on it as well.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Kirika's voice cut into her thoughts. "You might need me to translate."
Mireille was silent for a moment. "So I might," she admitted, and set her bags on the floor. Kirika did the same. Mireille drew the envelope out of the bag and they walked over to the pool table to read it.
The three or four Japanese characters that had once been the sender's identity had been reduced to an undistinguishable stain of black. Nevertheless, the Corsican blonde pushed the envelope towards her old partner. "Can you read what it says?"
"No," Kirika replied, after a moment of deep studying.
Mireille pulled the envelope back towards her and slit it open. Deciding that she might as well get this over with, she turned the envelope upside down and let everything inside spill onto the soft felt of the pool table.
Her first impression was that whoever the sender might be, they were certainly not a well-organized person. Photographs and handwritten letters and typed correspondences floated to every corner of the pool table. Confused, Mireille put the now-empty envelope down and picked up a photograph.
It was a picture of a playground, with little children running and playing about. Mireille gave a weak sound of surprise, then flipped it over. The backside was blank. She turned it back to the front again, and upon closer inspection saw that there was a man in the background. She held the picture closer to her face.
He was sitting on a bench, facing sideways, so that she could only see his profile. The figure was only about two centimeters tall in the photograph, something that irked Mireille even more. He was blonde and wore dark clothes. She could tell nothing else. Mireille put the photograph down.
"Do you know where this picture was taken?"
Kirika looked at it. "No," she said honestly, her wide brown eyes full of truth.
Mireille picked up a letter next and to her despair, discovered it was in Japanese.
"We know where this one is." Kirika slid the picture towards her.
Mireille gasped, her eyes widening. The photograph was a simple serene image of a school, all its students wearing identical uniforms-uniforms Mireille recognized. It was Kirika's old school in Japan. In the foreground sat a golden-furred kitten, facing the photographer with obvious curiosity. She recognized that cat.
"Why would anyone send us random pictures of Japan?" she said, trying to keep the surprise, worry, and exasperation out of her mind. The letter sat beside her left hand and Kirika picked it up.
"It's a client." She lowered the paper and reached for the first photograph, the picture of the playground. "The target is this man."
Mireille was speechless, staring at the tiny blonde man at whom Kirika was pointing.
"A client?! They want us to. . . " Her voice trailed off, trying to find some error in the message. "Who's the client? And why? What's the target's name? Where is he?" Mireille fired off questions in a rapid sequence like gunshots. Kirika was quiet, rereading the letter.
"Not Soldats?" Mireille whispered, almost afraid to say the word.
"No," Kirika said steadily, and Mireille wanted to know how she could be so sure. "This letter isn't written the way Soldats would have written it. The style is different."
"So someone randomly decided to send us a letter asking us to kill this man?" asked Mireille. She vowed to work harder on her Japanese, starting tonight.
"Un." Kirika flipped the letter over, and seeing that it was blank, turned back to the front side. "The target is in Tokyo, Japan."
"And to think I just came back from there." Mireille laughed dryly. Kirika said nothing, her glance resting on Mireille's face. The obvious answer was formed in Mireille's mind. What sort of ridiculous contract was this? The client had not revealed his name, or the name of the target. They had not been in business for over five years. Neither of them carried a gun anymore. Mireille wanted to laugh and throw the envelope along with its contents in the trash and stood up to do so, but as she did, she detected a trace of longing in Kirika's eyes. She couldn't have interpreted that correctly.
"You. . .want to do this?" she asked, not believing it. Even as the thoughts whirled through her head, she heard a younger Kirika's voice: "I miss. . . being Noir, Mireiyu."
Kirika didn't look at her directly as she said, "Not particularly, but I would like to see Japan again."
Mireille was silent as she hung up all of Kirika's new clothes. Kirika said nothing, not even when she closed the closet door, sighed, and went to lie down on her bed. The Japanese girl looked towards her partner for a while, then turned back and resumed studying the papers and photographs.
