BACK FROM HOLIDAY, LET THE FANFICTION ROLL!
Sorry I forgot. Disclaimer: I do not own Noir, nor do I own any angels or any fallen Angels, the myths are probably the property of the church, but I don't know. Just that I don't own them.
Scripture III - Hark to the Harbinger of hope, the spear of light. Serve well in love, and place true fear in greatest darkness. For only man is capable of the greatest sin, but only he is capable of the greatest good.
Crimson light of the new dawn pierced the cerulean sky of early morning, bathing the city in cleansing orange light of the new morning as the sun creeped higher over the tiled roofs of Paris. The shattered glass, glistening on the floor like sparkling diamonds made a stark contrast to the dark red blood that pooled on the tiled floor, running down the cracks like small bloody rivers.
Shadows still clung grimly to the walls, reaching across the floor to cover the dark form sprawled out in death. The tall, black armoured figure no longer thrashed, having stilled mere moments ago. Finally dying from the wound which had speared a hole through it's stomach. A small figure was crouched cautiously over it's recumbent form, one hand on it's throat, the other holding a small black gun. Ready if any threat presented itself.
"Nothing." The small girl reported after a long pause, dropping her hand as she climbed easily to her feet and turned to look at the other occupant of the small apartment. Mireille nodded in reply, before turning her eyes to the other intruder to her home. The second prone figure, who lay unconscious or dead against her pool table, was alike and unlike to the armoured one.
He was tall, with long blonde hair, a shade darker than the other one, his skin was pale and his face youthful and fey. He looked young, though there was no telling if that meant anything, after all he was defenitely not human.
Obviously he was dressed differently too. Compared to archaic black armour, this one wore simple cloth, with a grey divided robe and a tight fitting white top. It looked to be fastened using an intricate design, in which numerous light blue belts were wrapped partially around his body, all ending at a single point. Mireille suspected it could be tightened or loosened by adjusting the straps.
He was bare armed, although he wore light brown gloves, and his shoulders were covered by long curtain like cloth, that reached down about half way between his shoulder and his elbow.
Coupled with his grey robe, loose trousers and dark grey boots, it gave the man an exotic air. As if he couldn't achieve that well enough on his own? Kirika seemed to notice her hesitation, for she headed for the unconscious figure herself, kneeling by him as she had done with the other and checking him as well. All the time Mireille kept her Walther ready, searching for even the smallest movement.
There was none. Never once did he try and move, and for a moment Mireille thought that he might actually be dead. Indeed, his head was matted with dried blood, testament of his encounter with the solid wood of her pool table leg. Kirika looked up at her, face unreadable.
"He's alive." Came the almost silent report, causing Mireille to slowly close her eyes.
Was she pleased? She should have been, and yet she knew in her deepest mind that she wasn't. Two dead bodies presented a problem, but one that could be dealt with easily enough. A quick trip to the sewers was all it would take. But with this one alive?
Questions within questions. Too many unknowns. Who was he, where did he come from, what was his purpose? Had the two of them been searching for Kirika and herself? Or had there presence here merely been a coincidence? Either way Mireille was unsure that she knew what to do with them.
After all it wasn't everyday two winged men fell onto your kitchen floor. Yes, as cruel as it sounded, it was a shame he had survived...
"Mireille?" The small Asian girl asked, indicating the figure on the floor. Asking, in that silent way of hers, for instruction on this matter. Mireille could see what the girl wanted to hear, her entire posture spoke of a person who was completely determined that they were not in danger. It was the way the Beretta was held negligently, the safety was on. Even those normally expressionless eyes were now readable. They were looking for something, Mireille suspected it was the first aid box.
"Kirika, I don't know if it's wise to just take him in, I mean we know nothing about him." She had known as she said it that Kirika would object, and sure enough the girl's eyes almost widened. A statement of extreme shock for Kirika. Before Kirika could argue back Mireille outlined her main problem.
"We're assassins Kirika, you know we can't just trust anyone, and don't you find it suspicious that he broke through our window, and not one of hundreds of others?"
"But Mireille, he's an An-"
"No! Don't say it Kirika, as soon as we start thinking like that we're not professional. Besides they don't exist, he could just be a ... mutation ... or something..." As if to mock her argument Kirika looked down at the folded white wings, drawing Mireille's attention to them as well. "Wings don't mean an Angel Kirika." She lamely added.
"But Mireille, he doesn't look evil."
"Evil people wouldn't get anywhere if they all looked evil now would they?" Mireille replied in an exasperated tone, she knew Kirika wasn't this foolish. So why was she so determined to look after him all of a sudden? She had never seemed religious before.
"But what if he is an Angel, would it be wise to kill him?" Kirika's voice was low as she asked this, but Mireille managed to hear the hint of victory in it. And no wonder Mireille had to admit, that argument put a spoke in all of her own.
No organisation liked to have valuable agents wasted, after all they'd have put valuable time, effort and money into training them. It might be a bad idea if others came looking for him and Mireille couldn't explain where he was... A long sigh escaped her lips as her shoulder slumped slightly in defeat, letting Kirika know, without Mireille having to admit it, that she had won the argument.
Perhaps this would all work out for the best, Mireille wondered to herself ten minutes later, as she sat with a bowl of warm water, cleaning the bloodied hair of the creature and washing out the shallow cut to his scalp. If they had to look after him, then perhaps whoever he worked for would reward them for their efforts, at the very least this person would owe them a favour. And in their line of work you could never have enough favours.
Again Mireille began to wonder what he was... Of course her mind called him an Angel, but that was impossible, surely? What else then could he be? Mireille furtively looked around, Kirika was in the bathroom, soaking some bandages in water, as well as refilling the bloodied bowls with fresh water. Not close enough to see her...
Hesitantly, because it felt like she was taking advantage of him, Mireille reached out and lightly touched one of the pure white wings. His left wing had curled up by her legs, and she couldn't resist the urge to see what it felt like, a childish curiosity that she couldn't quash.
It was soft to her touch, and yet surprisingly strong as well, she could feel the coiled muscles underneath the velvety feathers. She lightly berated herself, of course they would have to be strong and muscled, he would have to be able to use them to carry his own weight. The wound, which had been on his wing, only a light gash, had already healed itself, momentarily making Mireille suspect unnatural healing properties. Until she realised it was only the wing injuries which were healing at this accelerated rate. The cut in his scalp, and the bruises on his battered arms were still just as pronounced as they had been earlier.
Soft padding of feet made her quickly drop the feathery appendage in embarrassment, stroking an animal or a bird on the wing was one thing, but in this situation it really did feel like she was molesting him. Perhaps because apart from the wings, he was perfectly human in shape?
Luckily Kirika did not notice anything wrong as she padded into the room, bowls at the ready and bandages prepared. In fact she seemed not to notice anything, as she sat at his side and began bandaging a what she claimed was a broken rib. Mireille did not argue with her, Kirika was an accomplished field surgeon, and by far Mireille's superior in medical matters.
As well as a lot of other things...
Yes, Kirika was good at plenty of things, as long as they revolved around killing, or how best to allow others to kill. Martial arts, weapon training, marksmanship, weapons maintenance, first aid, survival techniques, scouting, climbing, running... The list was a long one, and Kirika was probably skilled in a lot of other things that Mireille hadn't found out about yet. It was galling that a girl so young could be more professional than herself, after years of experience and training... At least I have a past. She thought to herself spitefully, but then realised that wasn't a good thing, since her past was not a happy one anyway.
All I have, is a past not worth remembering and a little girl, who can do everything I have ever strived to do, without even trying. As it had always done before, sudden resentment rose within herself, choosing to blame Kirika for her own anger. And yet this time she could not seem to muster the single minded animosity that she usually could. Maybe it was the way in which Kirika hated her abilities, she had never asked for it... and wished only to be a normal girl... Or maybe it was the innocence, perhaps the near silent girl was growing on her, fitting into her lifestyle despite Mireille's attempts to the contrary.
Or... maybe it was... that despite her killing abilities, and her fearsome skills that showed themselves in the most simple of house hold tasks, Kirika was just a little girl at heart? Just like now, as she knelt by their unconscious guest carefully bandaging his side whilst trying not to hurt him. Just like a small girl patching up an injured bird's wing. No one could have accepted that this girl had only fifteen minutes ago driven a spear through a man's stomach, no, through thick armour and a man's stomach. A feat which many others would be hard pressed to even achieve, let alone with such professional indifference.
Still... Mireille knew that when this was over, she would still kill Kirika. She would have no problems pulling the trigger. Although, she had to tell herself, she'd make it as painless as possible...
That was... if this current problem ever resolved itself... Mireille had to wonder if Kirika would come to regret her compassionate decision? Mireille certainly hoped not.
Feeling was slow to come back, it started as a distant thrum, like it was happening to a completely different person, before slowly becoming more pronounced, and finally orientating itself to specific parts of his own body. After the initial pain, more feelings came to him. There was something soft beneath him, soft and yet supporting, and another softness beneath his head. He was laying on something, on his back, with his wings spread out to the side. Whatever he was on, it was unable to hold his wings, as they hung stiffly over the edges, obviously he was on some sort of raised platform.
He wondered where he was, in the back of his mind he could remember his fight with the black winged Angel, and subsequently falling through the window of some mortal's abode. But after that his memory went blank.
So he was at the mercy of some mortals? But if that were so, then why was he so obviously still alive? Had he been spared? Unlikely. According to his teachers Mortals were fickle creatures full of sin and greed, and devoid of even the smallest shred of loyalty. What Ramiel had seen of them had not done much to reverse that opinion.
Oh, objectively he knew that some of them had to be kind, but none of them were empty of vice. None could match the purity of his own kind, and that made them unworthy of trust.
So am I in danger? The platform he was laid upon was quite obviously a bad or a table, and judging by the tightness on his head and his torso he was swathed in bandages. So whoever had found him had healed him and tried to make him comfortable. Surely they couldn't be evil?
Cautiously, knowing that after his long sleep bright lights might sting his eyes, Ramiel creaked his lids open. As expected he was forced to wince in pain, but after a few seconds he felt ready enough to take stock of his situation. The first thing which greeted him was a white ceiling, which was in itself a rare sight since he was used to awakening to cloudless skies. He was however unable to take any more in because a slight rustling nearby told him that he was not alone.
Somewhat worriedly Ramiel shifted his head to the side to see who was with him. Two female mortals calmly regarded him, one a tall beautiful blonde and the other a small calm faced brunette. That was all Ramiel was able to take in, before the sensation hit him with the weight of a sledgehammer.
"Are you alright?" The taller one asked in a soft tone, a musical voice that belied the pure unadulterated evil Ramiel felt from her. Ramiel could not answer, so frozen in sudden fear and shock was he.
It was impossible, how could it be? How could any beings be so suffused with sin? More pronounced than a demon's more suffocating than that of a Fallen Angel. None of them Fallen could match the sin which these two radiated. Coming from them like a dark shroud.
"Are you alright?" The woman asked again, in slow deliberate tones lest he could not understand her, but the worst thing was that he could. Why did she taunt him so? There was so much sin, they had committed so much evil, why did she fool him into thinking that he might survive this encounter? Ramiel knew that his eyes were wide in abject fear, and he felt not the slightest bit ashamed, sure that even the Great Michael would cower from them.
"Stay away from me!" He screamed in defiance and overriding terror, falling off the bed in his haste to escape them, in his fear clogged mind he pressed himself against what seemed to be a solid divider partition. He knew there was a better way to escape, but was too afraid of the two Mortals in front of him to even consider it. The two mortals who looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion, as if completely unaware of the evil they had committed.
But Ramiel could see into those eyes, those brown eyes which drew his gaze, empty and emotionless, piercing into his soul.
And he could see his death in those eyes.
Chapter done... Yay... sorry about the lack of progress whilst I was on holiday, but I had a friend with me who thought it was boring when I was writing... So this was all I managed to do of this fic.
Review! Please...