Mireille came back to her Parisian apartment and laid her purse on the pool table. Nobody else was home, so Kirika must have gone out again. As of late, she had taken to being alone. Maybe Chloe's death was hitting harder than before, but why now, three years after their proclamation as Noir? With a short, somewhat forced laugh, she sat down for lunch alone. Les fleurs de mort was a term that referred to female assassins in general, but Antonio had talked about it like Chloe had talked about Noir: fervently and relentlessly. And why had Jean come back from a job with the powerful Ammoure family simply to see her?
Playing absently with her food, she grimaced and looked out the window, where birds flew around and then left to find a better place to perch. "It's been lonely around here, hasn't it?" called a familiar voice. She turned around to see Jean standing in the doorway.
"What is it that you did while you were at the Ammoure estate?" Mireille asked coolly, fingering the gun underneath the table. "Somehow, it just seems like you did more than push papers." He quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded slowly, as if he were confused. Mireille looked at him seriously, her eyes holding the frigid look of a killer.
"I did more than that, Mireille," he admitted, "but none of what I was hired to do involves you.Why would anyone dare to toy with Noir anyway?" Mireille shook her head at his ignorance and tightened her grip on the handgun's handle. Really, she was fairly sure that he was refusing to tell the whole truth.
"Tell me the essence of the assignment," she demanded. Anger was building within her, and it was at the point where she refused to go without the answers that she wanted.
"Of course, mon cheri Mireille," Jean replied, his classy manners showing through. "It was an assassination mission." Mireille nodded in relief. As far as she could tell, Jean was telling the truth. At least his time with "the lovely Livia Ammoure" hadn't weakened their relationship.
"I thought that you quit doing assassinations," she said. "Not that I truly believed that I was your cause, but you seemed to lose that quality, and now it seems so strange that you're doing assassinations again." Unshed tears burned her eyes as she looked at him, sturdily built and lithe as a cat. Of course he was built for a job that required stealth and strength. Yet his mannerisms seemed so gentle, as if he had never felt the pain of loss.
"They hired me because of my cridentials as an assassin, Mireille. That's why I was even considered for the job." He looked at Mireille pleadingly, and she felt so guilty for accusing him of running afoul. She couldn't always be the cold, heartless Noir after all.
"I'm sorry, Jean," Mireille said apologetically. "It was rude of me to accuse you of even attempting to do such things. It's just..." Jean looked a little worried when she trailed off and bowed her head, her eyes closed. "I miss the old days...like a soldier off of the battlefield." He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Je sais, Mireille," he replied softly, "je sais."
"Merci," she sighed absently. "Merci beaucoup, Jean." They moved over to the small table by the window, where both gazed out at the swiftly setting sun, recalling their days together. They had met so long ago, and now it seemed like both could begin to enjoy a life together.
"You always seemed so radiant...back then," Jean said soothingly, "and it doesn't suit you to be so sad." He directed her attention to the beautiful red orb that was the sun. "See that?" he asked. When Mireille nodded, he continued, "Even though that source of light is leaving us for a short while, it will always be there. Remember that Mireille, remember that when one source of hope and survival fades, another will always come into view....if you search hard enough."
Mireille nodded again in reply and then fell silent. Her mind held onto that source of hope, but deep within, in the bottom of her heart, she didn't know what to do with herself. "Why can't I believe what you say?" she asked herself, and gazed into the darkening region of the sky. "Why can't I just carry on?" Jean smiled and stroked her back. Unrest failed to take him over, but Mireille's face was sad and rueful as she stared absently into the distance. Although she felt unsure at that moment, she was also glad that there was someone there to talk to...someone who just listened and accepted. "Merci," she muttered faintly. "Merci, Jean."
Finally, he got up to leave. "Good luck with your work," she said. "Au revoir, mon ami."
"And farewell to you too, Mireille," Jean replied, then walked away. Mireille smiled and got dressed for bed, watching the rising moon one last time as she slowly drifted away to sleep, not knowing when or where she would find her light of hope.
Playing absently with her food, she grimaced and looked out the window, where birds flew around and then left to find a better place to perch. "It's been lonely around here, hasn't it?" called a familiar voice. She turned around to see Jean standing in the doorway.
"What is it that you did while you were at the Ammoure estate?" Mireille asked coolly, fingering the gun underneath the table. "Somehow, it just seems like you did more than push papers." He quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded slowly, as if he were confused. Mireille looked at him seriously, her eyes holding the frigid look of a killer.
"I did more than that, Mireille," he admitted, "but none of what I was hired to do involves you.Why would anyone dare to toy with Noir anyway?" Mireille shook her head at his ignorance and tightened her grip on the handgun's handle. Really, she was fairly sure that he was refusing to tell the whole truth.
"Tell me the essence of the assignment," she demanded. Anger was building within her, and it was at the point where she refused to go without the answers that she wanted.
"Of course, mon cheri Mireille," Jean replied, his classy manners showing through. "It was an assassination mission." Mireille nodded in relief. As far as she could tell, Jean was telling the truth. At least his time with "the lovely Livia Ammoure" hadn't weakened their relationship.
"I thought that you quit doing assassinations," she said. "Not that I truly believed that I was your cause, but you seemed to lose that quality, and now it seems so strange that you're doing assassinations again." Unshed tears burned her eyes as she looked at him, sturdily built and lithe as a cat. Of course he was built for a job that required stealth and strength. Yet his mannerisms seemed so gentle, as if he had never felt the pain of loss.
"They hired me because of my cridentials as an assassin, Mireille. That's why I was even considered for the job." He looked at Mireille pleadingly, and she felt so guilty for accusing him of running afoul. She couldn't always be the cold, heartless Noir after all.
"I'm sorry, Jean," Mireille said apologetically. "It was rude of me to accuse you of even attempting to do such things. It's just..." Jean looked a little worried when she trailed off and bowed her head, her eyes closed. "I miss the old days...like a soldier off of the battlefield." He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Je sais, Mireille," he replied softly, "je sais."
"Merci," she sighed absently. "Merci beaucoup, Jean." They moved over to the small table by the window, where both gazed out at the swiftly setting sun, recalling their days together. They had met so long ago, and now it seemed like both could begin to enjoy a life together.
"You always seemed so radiant...back then," Jean said soothingly, "and it doesn't suit you to be so sad." He directed her attention to the beautiful red orb that was the sun. "See that?" he asked. When Mireille nodded, he continued, "Even though that source of light is leaving us for a short while, it will always be there. Remember that Mireille, remember that when one source of hope and survival fades, another will always come into view....if you search hard enough."
Mireille nodded again in reply and then fell silent. Her mind held onto that source of hope, but deep within, in the bottom of her heart, she didn't know what to do with herself. "Why can't I believe what you say?" she asked herself, and gazed into the darkening region of the sky. "Why can't I just carry on?" Jean smiled and stroked her back. Unrest failed to take him over, but Mireille's face was sad and rueful as she stared absently into the distance. Although she felt unsure at that moment, she was also glad that there was someone there to talk to...someone who just listened and accepted. "Merci," she muttered faintly. "Merci, Jean."
Finally, he got up to leave. "Good luck with your work," she said. "Au revoir, mon ami."
"And farewell to you too, Mireille," Jean replied, then walked away. Mireille smiled and got dressed for bed, watching the rising moon one last time as she slowly drifted away to sleep, not knowing when or where she would find her light of hope.