Twist of
Fate – Change of Heart
Epilogue –
Red String of Fate - The Ties that Bind
Chloe sat idly on the edge of the large billiard table which dominated Mireille Bouquet's flat. In the time she'd stayed here with the Corsican she'd not yet grown accustomed to the abundance of free time she'd been faced with. When she'd lived at the Manor her time had always been spent efficiently, be it training, helping Althena in the vineyard, or executing tasks set for her by the Soldats.
Now, as she sat cross-legged on the table she found herself idly rolling the balls into the pockets. Though she'd lived here with Mireille for an excruciatingly uncomfortable four months she'd not yet become used to the concept of boredom. She scratched her leg, annoyed. Her new partner had stressed that she outfit herself in attire more fitting of city life. Thus she'd temporarily shed her usual black suit and cloak for a more urban pair of jeans and a myriad of sweatshirts bearing the names of bands and movies Chloe'd never seen nor heard of.
clack The red three ball collided with the blue two, sending the latter rolling towards the side of the green felt arena. Her eyes following it, Chloe's gaze fell upon the potted plant beside the window. She didn't know what it was exactly about this plant, but she knew it had some tie to Kirika, as on the rare and uncomfortable occasion that her name was brought up in the apartment Mireille's sight would always find the plant. It's dying, Chloe remarked, her eyes scoping out the slightly browned edges of the leaves that were beginning to curl under a bit. She hopped off the billiard table, walking into the small kitchen.
Mireille smiled. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the temperature was just right, and the city was as lively as ever. She moved steadily along the streets of Paris, her moped's slight buzz over-powered by the buzz of shoppers and street vendors.
Her smile faded slightly as she passed by a small café where she and Kirika had sat together not so long ago. Kirika, Mireille's smile finally disappeared as the memory of what she'd lost came drifting back to her like a noxious fog. It'd been over three months now since she'd seen her friend's face. Since she'd seen her friend die. But that can't be changed, Mireille reminded herself sullenly, shaking the bitterness from her head. Have I learned nothing, she smiled wryly to herself, I've seen that vengeance brings nothing good, and to hate Chloe for what she did . . . no good could come of that either.
Her smile returned as her thoughts returned once again to the gorgeous day, choosing not to dwell on such serious issues which would really lead nowhere good. She'd just reached her building and grabbed the paper bag of groceries off of the back of her moped. She checked the mail, finding nothing, and pushed her moped onto the lift. She pushed the bike off the lift and opened the door to her flat, dragging the bike and bag of groceries through the door, "Hey, I'm ho—"
She stopped short. Chloe, though she no doubt heard the Corsican enter, hadn't abandoned what she'd been doing. Still standing by the window, she finished emptying the cup of water into the soil around the plant. Without looking up, Chloe remarked, "Your plant . . . it was dying." She knocked the glass against the side of the pot to expel the last few drops of water and turned to return the cup to the kitchen, stopping when she realized something seemed to be wrong, as Mireille hadn't moved from the door.
"It's nothing," Mireille mumbled, pushing her bike the rest of the way in and setting the groceries on the all-purpose pool table. She propped the moped against the wall below the window and took the bread and other sundries from the bag. Chloe returned the cup she'd been using to the kitchen and regained her seat cross-legged on the billiard table while Mireille put away the groceries.
It's just a stupid plant, Mireille told herself, biting her lip. She sighed, her shoulders slumping, Yeah . . . it's just a plant. Not Kirika's plant. Just a plant. And it did need watering. I guess I should just be glad Chloe's actually taking initiative around here. She's done nothing but sit on that table and sulk since she got here. It's not like she's taking Kirika's place or anything, she craned her neck to peer around the wall and glance at the object of her thoughts, Great, she's back on my table again.
Mireille leaned against the stove, mulling over her situation. In the past three months she'd been able to attain a relatively friendly relationship with Chloe. They'd maintain a comfortable silence for the most part, and Mireille would sneak in bits of idle conversation and Chloe would humor her with short, but not rude responses. The first several nights had been very rocky, no doubt. Chloe'd obviously been having some difficulty adjusting to life away from the Manor. Seeking to leave behind the shaded past they shared they'd left behind the Manor, and they'd left Althena behind along with it, which seemed to make a tremendous toll on Chloe. Many times Mireille was sure Chloe would just take off in the night, back to that senile woman in the huge old house. But something always seemed to keep her from returning. She doesn't want to go back there, Mireille reminded herself, to that place that she killed . . . The first night Chloe stood eerily still, staring out the window onto the street below in silence. Succumbing to the resulting exhaustion she'd posed the question the following day to Mireille. Where was she to sleep?
My, how awkward that first night had been, sharing that bed with Chloe as she'd shared it with Kirika. They slept on the extreme edges of the bed. There was an unspoken trust between them, yet they remained wary of the other while they half-slept. In time the sleeping arrangement became more natural until they'd fallen into the sync of daily routine. They'd get up; Mireille would shower first, then dress and go into town for shopping or catching up on the latest gossip in the underworld while Chloe would have her turn to shower and dress in the clothes Mireille had bought for her. Mireille would return in the late afternoon to find Chloe sitting lazily about the place, on the pool table most often, and the Corsican would then make them a meal. They'd eat, then retire once again to the bed they shared. It was a comfortable existence, Mireille had to admit. Nothing pressing to do. Though it was also a rather insolent life to lead. They'd take the occasional job to keep Mireille's bank balance from dropping into the negatives, but for the most part there wasn't really much to be done.
Mireille was called out of her thoughts by the clack of ceramic balls smacking into each other. Putting on a slight smirk she poked her head out of the kitchen, "What do you want for dinner?"
clack
Mireille was used to the silence she received. Every night she would ask the younger girl what she wanted for dinner. But it seemed Chloe never really had a preference. As such Mireille set a pot of soup on the burner and moved to her computer to check her e-mail.
She sifted through the junk mail, checking the occasional job offer she came across. Nothing with a large enough price tag to warrant undertaking.
"Daughter of Corsica . . ."
Mireille looked up at Chloe. She'd pretty much grown used to the idea that Chloe might never actually call her by her name, but that the girl was initiating a conversation of her own accord was quite the event, "What is it?"
"I . . ." Chloe began slowly. Mireille realized just how hard Chloe seemed to be mulling over her words and shifted full attention to the girl, "I . . . don't know why I'm here."
Taken aback by the odd statement, Mireille raised an eyebrow, "What's that?"
"I . . . have no purpose," Chloe looked down at her hands resting on her denim-clad knees. Her vibrant colored hair concealed her face, but didn't do so well to conceal the single drop of water that fell onto the green felt of the pool table.
She's crying? Mireille wasn't quite sure what to do. Before she could think of a way to comfort the crying girl Chloe continued on, explaining herself.
"When I was a child Althena told me I would be Noir. I would be mankind's salvation. It was my fate. But . . ." Chloe's hands clenched and another drop of water darkened the felt tabletop, "Now I'm not Noir. I . . . there's nothing left for me."
Mireille was at a loss. For all intensive purposes the girl was right. And admittedly Mireille was in the same boat. They'd lounge around the house, do enough work to get by, really without any purpose or direction. She swallowed hard and fiddled with the power cord of her computer, hoping to pull some sort of revelation out of thin air. After a moment all she could muster was the quiet, sullen response, "I know."
Chloe nodded silently, as she wasn't expecting a response anyways, pushing herself off of the pool table dejectedly, "Good night."
Chloe left the Corsican sitting at the computer as she hiked the few stairs to the bed she and Mireille shared. She looked out the window for several moments, mulling over her current situation. Not coming to any epiphanies she exhaled loudly, scratching the heavy cotton sleeves much too large for her. Mireille had assured her it was the closest she could come to her cloak while staying with the current fashions but she was not too fond of the clothes. She shucked the shirt off, throwing it onto the chair in the corner.
"Chloe . . ." Though she'd heard the Corsican enter the room and approach Mireille's warm hand on her shoulder made Chloe jump slightly, "Sorry for startling you," Mireille's hand didn't move and her other hand found Chloe's other shoulder.
"Daughter of Corsica?" Chloe's questioning, semi-suspicious whisper was barely audible as she felt herself being drawn backward into the older woman.
"Chloe," Mireille whispered in her ear quietly as she wrapped her arms around the girl, "I know . . . I know that you're scared. And lost. So am I. I don't . . ." she stifled a sob, pressing her face lightly into Chloe's hair, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. For so long I just wanted to kill . . . whoever it was that killed my family. But now . . . now what?
"Chloe, I don't know what I'm supposed to do, I just don't know. I just know that the last thing I want to do . . . is not know alone."
Author's Notes: There you have it. (Finally.) I actually had most of it written ages ago. Haha, anyways, I'm not especially fond with how I let that off as I'd like to add a more final conclusion but right now my mind's kind of in the gutter and if I keep writing . . .this is going to go all lemony. Haha, anyways, I may rewrite soon, but until then, tah-dah.