Authors notes (Important): This is a work in progress, meaning that I have
no idea when I'll finish it. The rough draft of this story is 80% done,
the other 20% will be written when inspiration strikes me whether that be
in 10 days or 10 years. The point is, don't start reading if you are the
impatient type. Don't expect regular updates. You have been warned.
The unimportant stuff aka origins of this fic: This is another one of those pointless-comedies-that-developed-a-plot-of-it's-own-with-out-my- permission. After hearing a few discussions about how cat-like Mireille is, I decided it would be interesting/amusing if Mireille turned into a cat. This was suppose to be a one-shot about Mireille's reaction to finding herself as a cat one day and how she deals with it. Then I thought it would be even more interesting to throw Kirika in. And then I thought while I'm at it, why don't I stick some angst in to make it a bit more Noir- like? It sort of snowballed from there. In the end, I ended up with something not quite comedy, not quite drama. Be warned that the mood of this fic can go from amusing to depressing with the snap of a finger. If you actually read everything up to this point, I'll shut up now and let you enjoy the fic. For those of you who skipped my ramblings and are already reading, I won't hold it against you. Happy reading!
Cat
Chapter one
Mireille yawned, and stretched lazily before opening her eyes. Freezing for a moment, she blinked in confusion wondered if she was still asleep. She wasn't in her bed, or even in her apartment. She seemed to be lying on a deserted ally street. A brief moment of panic seized her as she remembered what happened. She remembered being attacked by armed gunman, killing a few of them before fleeing for better cover, running through the streets of Paris with gunfire at her heels, and then nothing. One moment she was fighting, and a second later, she was here. Briefly, she wondered if she was dead, or a particular vicious blow to the head had knocked a few screws loose. That might explain why everything looked... a lot bigger. Maybe if she just stood up... Mireille blinked again, her feet refused to move. Or rather they, tried, but her muscles were behaving oddly and her coordination seemed to be off. Wondering if she had been injured she looked down. She had paws. Pause. Rewind. Look back down. They were still there. It took Mireille a while to accept that statement. I couldn't have paws, or fluffy golden fur. Ok, calm down Mireille this is all a dream. You couldn't have turned into a cat. It's not possible. Don't worry, you'll wake up back home, hopefully soon. Meanwhile, it did seemed impractical to just lie here, even if it is a dream. Beside, the coldness of the cement is seeping through her fur and she could feel a sharp pebble digging uncomfortably into her stomach.
It took a little concentration, but Mireille soon figured out how to move all four legs together and levered herself to her feet. Her body was pleasantly light and agile. She spent a few moments bouncing off some empty boxes scattered around. Her balance was superb, her powerful hind legs allowed her to leap enormous distances and her sharp eyes and tail (she discovered the curious appendage when she nearly stepped on it) made sure she always landed on her feet. It wasn't bad being a cat.
Satisfied with her temporary body, she trotted out of the alleyway...and was immediately blasted by an incredible wave of light and sound. Her eyes were blinded by the bright sun, the noise of passing cars sounded like a jumbo jet taking off to her sensitive ears. She instinctively ducked as an enormous animal, the size of an elephant from her perspective, nearly stepped on her. She seemed to have stepped right into a stampede. Darting and dashing madly between people's shoes, ignoring the curses thrown at her "stupid cat!" she dove into the nearest corner and crouched there, quivering with fear, covering her large ears with both paws to shut out the appalling amount of noise. God that was terrible, how do cats live with it everyday? Casting a baleful look at the crowds, she slinked back into the nearest alley.
Mireile would have sighed if she could. It's almost evening and she was still a cat. Sitting under the cover of a bush, she watched some girls walking home from a local high school. She had learned to hide herself after a few girls thought she was cute and tried to pick her up, receiving a scratch or two for their efforts. She sniffed imperiously and licked her shoulder, smoothing the ruffled fur. She may look like a cat, but she was still Mireille Bouquet, the greatest assassin in the world, not some stuffed plaything for little girls. At some point during the day, she had finally accepted her that she was a cat and apparently going to stay as one for sometime. Fate, as it seems, enjoys playing cruel practical jokes. Now the question is how to turn back to her old self. But that was a secondary concern, there was a more urgent problem. She was hungry. Even if she had the key to her apartment (which she didn't since it had disappeared with her clothing) and could get in, she couldn't go back home because she doesn't know which way is home. In other words, she was lost. She needed a place to eat and rest for the time being.
She peered out from under the bush. The sun was only a small streak of light in the horizon, the streets were deserted. Well, almost deserted. A lone figure sat on the sidewalk, watching the sunset. The shadowy profile was very familiar. Kirika! Mireille's jaw dropped open in surprise. She had no seen her young partner for over a year. She thought the assassin had gone back to Japan. They have parted cordially, with an understanding each would have their own path, untainted by the darkness of Noir. But Kirika is the one who knew Mireille best. She was sure Kirika would recognize her. Confidently, Mireille bounded from under the bush and padded towards the girl.
The unimportant stuff aka origins of this fic: This is another one of those pointless-comedies-that-developed-a-plot-of-it's-own-with-out-my- permission. After hearing a few discussions about how cat-like Mireille is, I decided it would be interesting/amusing if Mireille turned into a cat. This was suppose to be a one-shot about Mireille's reaction to finding herself as a cat one day and how she deals with it. Then I thought it would be even more interesting to throw Kirika in. And then I thought while I'm at it, why don't I stick some angst in to make it a bit more Noir- like? It sort of snowballed from there. In the end, I ended up with something not quite comedy, not quite drama. Be warned that the mood of this fic can go from amusing to depressing with the snap of a finger. If you actually read everything up to this point, I'll shut up now and let you enjoy the fic. For those of you who skipped my ramblings and are already reading, I won't hold it against you. Happy reading!
Cat
Chapter one
Mireille yawned, and stretched lazily before opening her eyes. Freezing for a moment, she blinked in confusion wondered if she was still asleep. She wasn't in her bed, or even in her apartment. She seemed to be lying on a deserted ally street. A brief moment of panic seized her as she remembered what happened. She remembered being attacked by armed gunman, killing a few of them before fleeing for better cover, running through the streets of Paris with gunfire at her heels, and then nothing. One moment she was fighting, and a second later, she was here. Briefly, she wondered if she was dead, or a particular vicious blow to the head had knocked a few screws loose. That might explain why everything looked... a lot bigger. Maybe if she just stood up... Mireille blinked again, her feet refused to move. Or rather they, tried, but her muscles were behaving oddly and her coordination seemed to be off. Wondering if she had been injured she looked down. She had paws. Pause. Rewind. Look back down. They were still there. It took Mireille a while to accept that statement. I couldn't have paws, or fluffy golden fur. Ok, calm down Mireille this is all a dream. You couldn't have turned into a cat. It's not possible. Don't worry, you'll wake up back home, hopefully soon. Meanwhile, it did seemed impractical to just lie here, even if it is a dream. Beside, the coldness of the cement is seeping through her fur and she could feel a sharp pebble digging uncomfortably into her stomach.
It took a little concentration, but Mireille soon figured out how to move all four legs together and levered herself to her feet. Her body was pleasantly light and agile. She spent a few moments bouncing off some empty boxes scattered around. Her balance was superb, her powerful hind legs allowed her to leap enormous distances and her sharp eyes and tail (she discovered the curious appendage when she nearly stepped on it) made sure she always landed on her feet. It wasn't bad being a cat.
Satisfied with her temporary body, she trotted out of the alleyway...and was immediately blasted by an incredible wave of light and sound. Her eyes were blinded by the bright sun, the noise of passing cars sounded like a jumbo jet taking off to her sensitive ears. She instinctively ducked as an enormous animal, the size of an elephant from her perspective, nearly stepped on her. She seemed to have stepped right into a stampede. Darting and dashing madly between people's shoes, ignoring the curses thrown at her "stupid cat!" she dove into the nearest corner and crouched there, quivering with fear, covering her large ears with both paws to shut out the appalling amount of noise. God that was terrible, how do cats live with it everyday? Casting a baleful look at the crowds, she slinked back into the nearest alley.
Mireile would have sighed if she could. It's almost evening and she was still a cat. Sitting under the cover of a bush, she watched some girls walking home from a local high school. She had learned to hide herself after a few girls thought she was cute and tried to pick her up, receiving a scratch or two for their efforts. She sniffed imperiously and licked her shoulder, smoothing the ruffled fur. She may look like a cat, but she was still Mireille Bouquet, the greatest assassin in the world, not some stuffed plaything for little girls. At some point during the day, she had finally accepted her that she was a cat and apparently going to stay as one for sometime. Fate, as it seems, enjoys playing cruel practical jokes. Now the question is how to turn back to her old self. But that was a secondary concern, there was a more urgent problem. She was hungry. Even if she had the key to her apartment (which she didn't since it had disappeared with her clothing) and could get in, she couldn't go back home because she doesn't know which way is home. In other words, she was lost. She needed a place to eat and rest for the time being.
She peered out from under the bush. The sun was only a small streak of light in the horizon, the streets were deserted. Well, almost deserted. A lone figure sat on the sidewalk, watching the sunset. The shadowy profile was very familiar. Kirika! Mireille's jaw dropped open in surprise. She had no seen her young partner for over a year. She thought the assassin had gone back to Japan. They have parted cordially, with an understanding each would have their own path, untainted by the darkness of Noir. But Kirika is the one who knew Mireille best. She was sure Kirika would recognize her. Confidently, Mireille bounded from under the bush and padded towards the girl.