Rosebuds, Chapter 6
Kirika watched the trees of her homeland grow larger and more textured as the plane dipped lower in the atmosphere. She had been awake most of the journey, filled with excitement. It would be her first trip back to Japan in six years.
Mireille, on the other hand, had dozed off the moment the plane's wheels left the Paris runway. She was still asleep now, her seat back pushed as far back as it would possibly go, a blanket draped over her slim body. Kirika briefly considered waking her to tell her that they were almost there, then decided against it.
They had brought no weapons with them, but Mireille had packed her computer safely in one of her two carry-ons. They would be staying in Japan for a week, and Mireille had reserved a hotel room for them.
"Obviously we can't stay in your apartment," she had pointed out.
Kirika had replied with only an "un", knowing that the Corsican blonde was not really expecting a response. Mireille's eyes hadn't even strayed from the screen as she clicked and typed.
A flight attendant stopped by and woke Mireille. "Excuse me, but I must ask you put your seat back to its upright position-we'll be landing soon," she said smartly in crisp French. Mireille groaned and sat up, fumbling for the button. By the time her seat was upright again the flight attendant was far down the aisle, reminding others to do the same.
The plane hit ground. As Kirika watched, the unique sign spelling out "NARITA" in a row of bushes cut into alphabetical shapes slowly came into view. Beside her, Mireille stretched and reached for her bags.
They left the airport with hardly a word to each other, but Kirika had to arrange for a taxi to take them to their hotel. There, she went through the process of checking in and finding their hotel room. Mireille seemed content to follow, hardly saying a word at all. Kirika glanced at her in the elevator and noted that her face was pale, but perhaps that was just due to all the stress and traveling they had just gone through. When the door opened Mireille waited for Kirika to step out first, then silently followed her to their room.
Kirika threw open the door to reveal a nice hotel room, with two beds, a writing desk, a TV and a couch positioned under the window. Her eye traveled over everything, checking for anything that might arouse suspicion. She sensed motion behind her and whirled around, but saw that it was only Mireille, who was now leaning against the doorframe, her eyes closed.
"Mireiyu?"
Mireille replied with only a faint sound. Concerned, Kirika watched her for a few seconds, hoping for more of a reaction, but when none came, she hauled her bags over to the far bed and came back to fetch Mireille's. The Corsican blonde walked slowly over to the unoccupied bed and lay down on it, not bothering to draw back the blanket or even take off her shoes. Kirika closed the door as silently as possible and returned to her bed.
Two hours later she made a trip out to buy dinner and returned from a nearby restaurant with two bowls of still-warm Japanese noodles, but even the sharp noise of the closing door didn't wake Mireille. Kirika had paused by the door, both hands consumed with carrying the noodles, and decided not to wake her. She ate her own share and put her partner's in the tiny but adequate refrigerator.
It was growing dark outside, but for Mireille's sake, Kirika didn't turn on a light. Instead she knelt on the couch, looking out. Japan had changed drastically since she had last been here. A group of girls dressed in high heels and tank tops walked down the street, flaunting packages and giggling amongst themselves. Kirika could hear their voices in her mind despite the fact that she was five stories up and the window was tightly shut. Surprised, she realized that the clothes she was wearing weren't too different from the girls', but she would never be like them. Especially not now.
Watashitachi wa. . . Noir, thought Kirika in the darkness, and a shiver ran down her spine.
= = = = = = =
Mireille didn't sleep well that night. Images of the dead flashed through her mind-some she knew, some she didn't recognize, some with names, others nameless, faceless individuals that had died by her hand. She saw Intoccabile, Altena, the mafia, Nazarov, Cressoit, the belladonna lily woman, and countless men of Soldats. But most clearly she saw Chloe.
In life, she had never seen Chloe happy like Kirika had; she had only witnessed the mysterious Chloe and the enraged Chloe. Yet that night she saw Chloe and Kirika as children, running about the vineyards, plucking grapes. It was Kirika who was the quiet and reserved child, Chloe who was the excited one who would burst into excited laughter upon discovering a butterfly or make faces while eating a sour grape.
Chloe's entire life was spent preparing to become Noir, her dreaming self realized, yet her fate was death.
Rays of lemon light danced over Mireille's face and slowly she opened her eyes. Gradually the room came into focus, and she noticed Kirika making tea over the tiny stove.
With one hand resting palm up on her forehead, Mireille called out, "Kirika, I don't think I'm going anywhere today. You might as well go out and enjoy yourself."
Kirika turned sharply, having not known that Mireille was awake. She placed one of the teacups on a matching patterned plate and brought it to Mireille's side. By now the Corsican blonde had closed her eyes again.
"Is there anything I can get you?" Kirika asked tentatively.
"No. Just go out and have fun. We've only got two weeks in Japan, so don't waste it."
Kirika obeyed, although she wasn't sure where she'd go. Their apartment was several miles away from her school, close enough that they could observe it but still distant enough to enjoy Japan without thinking about the contract. She crossed the street over to a nearby park.
Let there always be light and water for the tree, thought Kirika, then pushed that thought out of her mind. She remembered the teenagers she had seen yesterday. Perhaps she ought to go shopping and hang out in a coffee shop like them.
There weren't many people in the park, which was why Kirika happened to notice two men dressed in suits coming along down the path towards her. One was Japanese and much shorter than the other; he was smiling while his grim- faced companion was staring at the ground. He was blonde and tall, and something about him kept Kirika watching. She had seen him before, and she thought she knew why.
As they passed her not paying any attention to the young Japanese girl sitting on a bench, the blonde man looked up and said in accent-less Japanese, "Don't do this anymore."
The Japanese man laughed and said, "What does it matter, Andre? They'll never know."
The name sent a shiver down Kirika's spine and she willed herself to look away from them. She couldn't have them suspect who she was. However-and she was confused now-it seemed as if their target wasn't the one behind all the fund embezzling. She hadn't seen the man's face, but it clearly appeared that he disapproved of whatever was going on.
Kirika pretended to be very interested in a bird flying overhead until the men were out of sight, then sprinted home.
= = = = = = =
She slept through the opening of the door, but the shutting of the door woke her. Kirika was holding bags of groceries in both hands and had used her left foot to kick the door shut. Still feeling languid and miserable, Mireille sat up rather unwillingly.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Good." Kirika purposely avoided Mireille's gaze, keeping her back to her partner as she placed the groceries in the refrigerator. Mireille watched her silently, not saying a word. When the last piece of fruit was in the refrigerator, Kirika reached into the bag and pulled out a thermometer.
Mireille hated to admit to herself that she was sick, but the thermometer's clear red numbers stated it for her. Kirika drew a blanket over her shivering body and dampened a cloth in cold water for her hot forehead.
"Do you remember that time I was shot and you went out to get supplies for me?" Kirika said, talking to fill the uncomfortable silence-and to keep her mind off of the looming contract.
"Mm." Mireille closed her eyes, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Kirika didn't press the matter.
Andre Charbonneau. The name echoed through her head. Kirika closed her eyes.
Kirika watched the trees of her homeland grow larger and more textured as the plane dipped lower in the atmosphere. She had been awake most of the journey, filled with excitement. It would be her first trip back to Japan in six years.
Mireille, on the other hand, had dozed off the moment the plane's wheels left the Paris runway. She was still asleep now, her seat back pushed as far back as it would possibly go, a blanket draped over her slim body. Kirika briefly considered waking her to tell her that they were almost there, then decided against it.
They had brought no weapons with them, but Mireille had packed her computer safely in one of her two carry-ons. They would be staying in Japan for a week, and Mireille had reserved a hotel room for them.
"Obviously we can't stay in your apartment," she had pointed out.
Kirika had replied with only an "un", knowing that the Corsican blonde was not really expecting a response. Mireille's eyes hadn't even strayed from the screen as she clicked and typed.
A flight attendant stopped by and woke Mireille. "Excuse me, but I must ask you put your seat back to its upright position-we'll be landing soon," she said smartly in crisp French. Mireille groaned and sat up, fumbling for the button. By the time her seat was upright again the flight attendant was far down the aisle, reminding others to do the same.
The plane hit ground. As Kirika watched, the unique sign spelling out "NARITA" in a row of bushes cut into alphabetical shapes slowly came into view. Beside her, Mireille stretched and reached for her bags.
They left the airport with hardly a word to each other, but Kirika had to arrange for a taxi to take them to their hotel. There, she went through the process of checking in and finding their hotel room. Mireille seemed content to follow, hardly saying a word at all. Kirika glanced at her in the elevator and noted that her face was pale, but perhaps that was just due to all the stress and traveling they had just gone through. When the door opened Mireille waited for Kirika to step out first, then silently followed her to their room.
Kirika threw open the door to reveal a nice hotel room, with two beds, a writing desk, a TV and a couch positioned under the window. Her eye traveled over everything, checking for anything that might arouse suspicion. She sensed motion behind her and whirled around, but saw that it was only Mireille, who was now leaning against the doorframe, her eyes closed.
"Mireiyu?"
Mireille replied with only a faint sound. Concerned, Kirika watched her for a few seconds, hoping for more of a reaction, but when none came, she hauled her bags over to the far bed and came back to fetch Mireille's. The Corsican blonde walked slowly over to the unoccupied bed and lay down on it, not bothering to draw back the blanket or even take off her shoes. Kirika closed the door as silently as possible and returned to her bed.
Two hours later she made a trip out to buy dinner and returned from a nearby restaurant with two bowls of still-warm Japanese noodles, but even the sharp noise of the closing door didn't wake Mireille. Kirika had paused by the door, both hands consumed with carrying the noodles, and decided not to wake her. She ate her own share and put her partner's in the tiny but adequate refrigerator.
It was growing dark outside, but for Mireille's sake, Kirika didn't turn on a light. Instead she knelt on the couch, looking out. Japan had changed drastically since she had last been here. A group of girls dressed in high heels and tank tops walked down the street, flaunting packages and giggling amongst themselves. Kirika could hear their voices in her mind despite the fact that she was five stories up and the window was tightly shut. Surprised, she realized that the clothes she was wearing weren't too different from the girls', but she would never be like them. Especially not now.
Watashitachi wa. . . Noir, thought Kirika in the darkness, and a shiver ran down her spine.
= = = = = = =
Mireille didn't sleep well that night. Images of the dead flashed through her mind-some she knew, some she didn't recognize, some with names, others nameless, faceless individuals that had died by her hand. She saw Intoccabile, Altena, the mafia, Nazarov, Cressoit, the belladonna lily woman, and countless men of Soldats. But most clearly she saw Chloe.
In life, she had never seen Chloe happy like Kirika had; she had only witnessed the mysterious Chloe and the enraged Chloe. Yet that night she saw Chloe and Kirika as children, running about the vineyards, plucking grapes. It was Kirika who was the quiet and reserved child, Chloe who was the excited one who would burst into excited laughter upon discovering a butterfly or make faces while eating a sour grape.
Chloe's entire life was spent preparing to become Noir, her dreaming self realized, yet her fate was death.
Rays of lemon light danced over Mireille's face and slowly she opened her eyes. Gradually the room came into focus, and she noticed Kirika making tea over the tiny stove.
With one hand resting palm up on her forehead, Mireille called out, "Kirika, I don't think I'm going anywhere today. You might as well go out and enjoy yourself."
Kirika turned sharply, having not known that Mireille was awake. She placed one of the teacups on a matching patterned plate and brought it to Mireille's side. By now the Corsican blonde had closed her eyes again.
"Is there anything I can get you?" Kirika asked tentatively.
"No. Just go out and have fun. We've only got two weeks in Japan, so don't waste it."
Kirika obeyed, although she wasn't sure where she'd go. Their apartment was several miles away from her school, close enough that they could observe it but still distant enough to enjoy Japan without thinking about the contract. She crossed the street over to a nearby park.
Let there always be light and water for the tree, thought Kirika, then pushed that thought out of her mind. She remembered the teenagers she had seen yesterday. Perhaps she ought to go shopping and hang out in a coffee shop like them.
There weren't many people in the park, which was why Kirika happened to notice two men dressed in suits coming along down the path towards her. One was Japanese and much shorter than the other; he was smiling while his grim- faced companion was staring at the ground. He was blonde and tall, and something about him kept Kirika watching. She had seen him before, and she thought she knew why.
As they passed her not paying any attention to the young Japanese girl sitting on a bench, the blonde man looked up and said in accent-less Japanese, "Don't do this anymore."
The Japanese man laughed and said, "What does it matter, Andre? They'll never know."
The name sent a shiver down Kirika's spine and she willed herself to look away from them. She couldn't have them suspect who she was. However-and she was confused now-it seemed as if their target wasn't the one behind all the fund embezzling. She hadn't seen the man's face, but it clearly appeared that he disapproved of whatever was going on.
Kirika pretended to be very interested in a bird flying overhead until the men were out of sight, then sprinted home.
= = = = = = =
She slept through the opening of the door, but the shutting of the door woke her. Kirika was holding bags of groceries in both hands and had used her left foot to kick the door shut. Still feeling languid and miserable, Mireille sat up rather unwillingly.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Good." Kirika purposely avoided Mireille's gaze, keeping her back to her partner as she placed the groceries in the refrigerator. Mireille watched her silently, not saying a word. When the last piece of fruit was in the refrigerator, Kirika reached into the bag and pulled out a thermometer.
Mireille hated to admit to herself that she was sick, but the thermometer's clear red numbers stated it for her. Kirika drew a blanket over her shivering body and dampened a cloth in cold water for her hot forehead.
"Do you remember that time I was shot and you went out to get supplies for me?" Kirika said, talking to fill the uncomfortable silence-and to keep her mind off of the looming contract.
"Mm." Mireille closed her eyes, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Kirika didn't press the matter.
Andre Charbonneau. The name echoed through her head. Kirika closed her eyes.
