Making of Pacts Mireille was good with patience. She had plenty of it and was good at distributing the pressing emotion between her moods. It was something her profession demanded of her, since no assassin survived long if they couldn't time and wait out the exact opportunity to put their hit in action, and from her experience, she knew it was something she excelled at. She couldn't recount all the times she had had to wait out her target through biting cold or blazing heat to plunge her fatal gift towards them in one, crucial moment where everything mattered. She wondered where that patience had gone. Eyeing the dark-haired girl - or at least what looked like a girl - before her in the angriest frown she could muster, she wondered how she had ever become an assassin with such short a fuse. Still, the blame couldn't entirely go to her. The strange girl-creature's vague answers and intense gaze was getting extremely on her nerves. She didn't believe for one second that she was stupid. No, she knew a dumb person when she saw one. The girl was simply listening to all her questions, and politely ignoring the most vital answers she wanted to get out of her. "Ok, let's take it from the start, again." The blonde was surprised to hear how tired she sounded. With the Asiatic girl's hands firmly tied up behind her back, and the mysterious pocket watch resting against her chest, Mireille could at least rule out a repeat of last night's events. The assassin had avoided suffering any serious wounds, but the strain it had put on her body did not go unnoticed. Her limbs and muscles were sore and her throat ached horribly. She shuddered at the memories of the cold hand against her throat, pressing down against her windpipe with seemingly inhuman strength as she slowly, but surely lost control over her body and consciousness... "So your name is Yuumura Kirika" She repeated the girl's own words, her voice somewhat hoarse due to the namesake's rude treatment towards her neck. "Where did you come from?" As previously, Mireille only received a blank look, as if the girl had not understood the question. Fighting the urge to punch her in the face, the blonde decided to try another approach, changing smoothly over to her rather fluent Japanese instead. To her even greater irritation, the girl didn't even bother to raise an eyebrow in either surprise or recognition. She had hoped to stir a reaction out of the dark-haired child-creature by speaking its native language, but seemingly in vain. "Yuumura is a Japanese name is it not?" "Yes" "Who sent you?" Mireille lowered her voice to a calm but obviously threatening tone as she tightened her grip around the gun. If the assassin would be honest however, she would rather not. Firing at a target only a meter away was usually messy business; and while she could handle messy on a job, she would rather not have it in her apartment. "I'd like the names please." A look of discomfort passed over Kirika's face, and quickly vanished again. Usually, Mireille would have been surprised, if not horrified, at a teenage girl who didn't even flinch at a visible death threat. This was, however, not the case. She wasn't blind. She clearly remembered the grave damage the bullets had done to the girl's body the previous night. Two of her bullets had struck their target, one in the chest and the other literally blowing off the arm. Despite that, she hadn't found a scratch on Kirika's unconscious form. From all she could see, the girl was perfectly healthy again, with limbs and organs intact as if their fight had never happened in the first place. This girl... thing... creature couldn't be human. The question seemed ridiculous, as if this was out of a storybook, but Mireille could not deny the naked truth. She was not hallucinating or dreaming; her instincts and memories had never let her down before, and she trusted her own judgement above all. She had killed this girl. Mireille fought back a shiver that threatened to break her composure. She was not mistaken; it was her, the same girl who unfortunately had witnessed her assassination of Renoir, and the same girl who by all logic should be dead now from gunshot wounds. If the whole thing hadn't shaken the assassin to her very core, she would almost have thought it as funny. One of her old crimes had come back to haunt her, literally. The realization of maybe one of the oldest proverbs of her profession, sat in front of her, tied up and looking none too happy. Mireille couldn't help but draw her lips into a small bemused smile. She was, however, quickly reminded of the situation at hand; while the literary metaphor was somewhat amusing, she certainly didn't want her victims coming back to life, especially if to find them looming over her in her sleep and being in possession of very feline looking fangs. "Well?" The girl frowned but slid back to her neutral face, still without uttering a word. A brief shadow of well-hidden pain flickered in her eyes when she adjusted her sitting position, so she bit her lip and stared back at the blonde, with the same unreadable and somewhat curious expression Mireille remembered from when she had killed her. Time to speed things up a bit. "The watch brings you pain, am I right?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, since she expected the conversation to be a monologue anyway. With a steady grip around the gun, she moved closer to the girl, until their eyes were levelled in a cold deadlock. The reddish-brown orbs remained as indifferent as before, but Mireille could tell that she was surprised. She picked up the silver watch in her palm, lifting it so the girl could see it clearly. "Do you know them?" For the first time, the assassin caught a dumbfounded look on the pale face. Well finally, a reaction! While she knew it wasn't much, she couldn't help but cheer inwardly for the improvement. She didn't want to admit it, but the whole interrogation process was getting on her nerves. She was still tired from cleaning the apartment, had a sore throat and her floor still reminded her of Swiss cheese. She would have to call the carpenter tomorrow and was certainly not in the mood to question a monster girl. But she wasn't stupid enough to not prioritise the issue of an immediate threat to her own life, first. Many people had tried to kill her before. Death was always a constant presence in her life, both others' and her own. Her world, however glamorous it may seem in wealth and elegance, followed the simple rule of eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. It was an old and well-known game, probably as old as humanity came and with stakes that could seem all too high. But she played it like she was taught, and she did it well. She was a winner, and she intended to continue winning. Even if they sent her a monster. "I received the pocket watch one week ago in a package by mail." She continued, never releasing the girl's gaze. "It has my family crest on the inside." A swift switch of her thumb and the watch opened, the girl hissed at the motion, narrowing her eyes like if something had suddenly stung her. Mireille shot her an apologizing look. A quiet melody, soothing like a lullaby, started to play from the watch's silvery body. It's still, metallic sound was almost deafening in the temporary silence as they stared at each other. The girl was the first to break the eye contact. Under other circumstances, Mireille would have thought the girl pretty. Smooth, pale skin and a slightly round face, sleek cheekbones and large, almond shaped eyes. Her face was young, or seemed so at least, preserving the very best of the sweet girly traits in the delicate features that verged on womanhood. Her ancestry was with little doubt a good one, her body and features clearly groomed from generations of noble Asian bloodlines. She would indeed have been pleasant to look at, if not for the knowledge that she had died once, and possessed fighting abilities unmatched by even the most skilful syndicate thugs. The moment passed as the melody seemed to grow in the uncomfortable air, its calm, yet ominous tune echoing in their ears. "As much as I wish that someone just picked it up and decided to send it to me out of charity, don't you think that it's a funny coincidence?" She had the girl's attention now. "Someone decides to send me one of my family's long lost possessions, just one week before it obviously saves my life. I don't know how, but if I hadn't placed it among the papers on the pool table, I would obviously not be standing here speaking now. Am I right?" To her surprise, the girl nodded. "So who sent it? I'm asking you, since whoever that sent it seemed to know that you were coming." Mireille detected surprise as her words were digested; she - Kirika - had obviously not considered this. As much as the assassin hoped that it really was a coincidence, she was not about to take any chances. She was grateful to be alive, yet disliked being at the mercy of someone invisible. The girl's already detached expression grew even more distant; she pressed her lips together, her mouth thinning out to a horizontal line as Mireille saw the motions of a clever and calculating mind at work. "I am not related." She said, after awhile. Wow, first complete sentence since the barely audible mutter that had been her name. To the blonde's surprise, Kirika's voice was small, steady and with a passive confidence. It reminded her of a bird, and not the cracked cackle of a monster which she had anticipated. But then, their conversation had been limited to a few screams and grunts yesterday, not exactly something you could base a solid impression on. The dark-haired girl sounded very much like what she looked like: a teenager and nothing else. Mireille however, was not pleased. "Then why were you here?" She curled her lips slightly upwards, for a short moment remembering the girl's penetrating gaze above her in the dark. "The view?" Dark, almost black eyebrows, fine like the tip of a straw of grass shot upwards, giving her stern expression a somewhat comical look. "Yes." Mireille laughed, and started to cough. So she was taunting her. "Cute, but I'm losing my patience." "I'm telling the truth." Second complete sentence, she couldn't believe the progress they were making. "That you were enjoying the view?" She asked, with ill-hidden amusement. "That I am not related." There was certainly no humour in the tone. Kirika looked up at her with something that resembled puzzlement. She had apparently not caught the joke. There was an underlying directness, a cold, unfaultable honesty in the soft, yet imposing voice that Mireille could not ignore. Settling back into a more serious tone, the blonde decided to change her approach. "Do you think it was a coincidence?" It was the same directness aback, her face promising no more games. They stared at the other for a long time, while the silence around them sighed. Eyes bore into each other, blue battling brown, seeking and reading what little trust they could find. Finally, Kirika spoke. "No." ---------- Kirika sat, not entirely comfortable, by the apartment window on one of the rather beat-up chairs as she gazed upwards at the cerulean sky, massaging her wrists. The rope had dented into her skin, cutting small circles just above her hands. Mireille had given her disinfectant and bandages to treat it, not knowing that those medical supplies were no help whatsoever. Or maybe she did know, but offered them out of courtesy. She gave the blonde a quick glance from the corner of her eye, not wanting to be caught staring at the assassin. Instead, she chose to localize the woman with her ears, which also seemed to be the only one of her senses that had not been dulled in the presence of the watch. She listened, and marked the blonde's position with every step and breath she took, carefully following her movements around the small apartment as she cleaned it. C-clink. Crash. Broken dishes into the dustbin. Five steps to the right. Kh-ack, dunk. The table was in its place again. And she went on, sweeping the floor as well as repairing some of the furniture, never stopping to give her intruder another glance as she moved on about as usual in her home. Kirika however, was not so easily convinced. It was a well-covered act. The blonde may have released her but trust was something entirely different. The tension in the room was almost electrifying; both women were agile and aware of each other's movements like one would move when near a wild animal. Mireille still wore her gun neatly tucked in a belt around her waist and Kirika was sure of that the assassin could draw, aim and shoot, with perfect result in her direction in a matter of seconds. She, herself on the other hand, was still more or less handicapped with the hateful watch around her neck. Pain still shot down her limbs at even the smallest movement, even if it seemed to dull off with the passing time. The inability to move around, or use her senses would have drove her into rage if the circumstances had been different, maybe if it had been someone else that wasn't Mireille Bouquet, or maybe if this had been somewhere else that wasn't Bouquet's apartment. "You're not human." Nod. "Then those... teeth... were real?" Nod. "You're a vampire, like in those horror movies?" A flash of amused disbelief crossed the blonde's grim looking face. Another flash of real disbelief followed almost instantly as she shot her a look. Silence. And a nod, again. Mireille had stopped cleaning and started to inspect the damage the gunfire had done to her floor. Stepping carefully around the ripped wood and splinters, she went down on her knees, removing sticks and shards that lay around, while muttering under her breath. Kirika made out one or two curses as she watched the progress. The woman paid her no attention at all, as if it was natural for her to be there, as if she was a part of her home. This unnerved the nightwalker a bit. Not to mention that she was open in plain sight of one of her chosen victims, but also actually sitting in her apartment, and being ignored. The whole thing was so surreal and ridiculous that if her kind had anything that resembled human pride, she would have been ashamed. This brought her to the reason she had been released at all in the first place. When she had woken up with the armed assassin looming above her, tied up and with no powers to help, she had easily predicted that she would have an agonizing healing process in front of her, probably including a part where she would be waking up in the sewers, or some other popular place where you usually dumped whatever you hadn't wished for. But their conversation had taken another quite unexpected turn after her honest confession about her innocence concerning the watch. Mireille had, not surprisingly, good skills at reading other people's truthfulness. She had believed her, which between guns relieved Kirika somewhat. "So if no one sent you, then why me?" The day was drawing near to lunch now, and it had become quite warm in the apartment. A fly was hitting itself against the window, creating a repeated clattering sound when the body slammed against the glass. Its struggle failed to distract the nightwalker though, like she wished, rather than being penetrated under her guardian's gaze "Why not? It is of no difference." Silence. "You were going to eat me, or whatever you do." Nod. She had to be impressed by how calm Mireille was taking all this, as if threats of cannibalism were a daily occurrence to her. "So you being here, was a coincidence. Then the watch makes no sense." Her gaze dropped, now aimed at Kirika's chest, where the speak-sake rested. "I can believe in you being a coincidence, I can assume the watch being fate, I can't however take lightly on you both appearing at the same time." The girl had to admit that she had a point. The blonde rose from the floor, finally putting away the gun. She turned halfway while still keeping her eyes on Kirika. A small, almost non-existent smile touched her lips, like a challenger to her opponent. She was on her mind. Kirika concentrated, but could only catch a few fragments of herself in the other woman's mind. There was suspicion, curiosity and the not unexpected, fear. The feeling of being so closely scrutinized made her squirm; as it was not and never had been her way to be subjected to a live one's attention. But then, neither had anything in her recent few hours been even close to what she usually recognized as normal. The assassin moved from her hunched form to the window, turning her unprotected but not unguarded, back towards Kirika. She could hear how Mireille moved her lips, wisps of air leaving her mouth as if she was tasting her thoughts before wording them. They stayed like that, woman and girl, for the longest time. Unsurprisingly, it was the blonde who yet again broke the silence. "Let's make a pact." Another sigh was heard when Mireille finished what she could do on the floor, and realized how futile it was. Kirika averted her eyes quickly as she rose, and she felt the blue eyes on her. She had no doubt that the blonde knew all along that she had been watched, but despite the ridiculousness of it, she feigned innocence, concentrating her gaze on the street below. The blonde obviously didn't intend to insist on it as she heard a quick staccato of footsteps and the bathroom door closing. This offered little difference for Kirika since her hearing was just that good. It did however defuse the tension a bit, at least on Mireille's part. Being almost helpless at someone else's mercy was definitely not her thing, and Kirika had to admit that having her wear the watch was a clever move. If not for the painful heaviness of her limbs, she honestly doubted she would have let the blonde just walk away after all this. "Pact?" "Yes, or a promise. Are you familiar with the concept?" "I am." She said, with maybe more intensity than she intended to, being somewhat offended. She waited. "I want to know if it was a coincidence or not. And I'd like some help." Kirika raised her head, staring at the blonde's back. Did she realize what she was asking? Probably not. "Do you kill your own kind?" So that was why. "I can't rule out that possibility, with you being here." She filled in, taking her silence for hesitation. "If we succeed, we may find out if it was intended for you or not. I believe it's in your interest." Which was completely ridiculous since her kind never operated in groups, and mostly didn't bother each other. At least she didn't. But then, that was taking a chance. Or was she making excuses? "Well?" There was an edge in Mireille's voice. Silence. The whole thing was beyond idiocy. Breath. Was unheard of. Silence. But the watch did exist, its weight gleaming cold against her clothes. Blue eyes penetrating her. Another breath. And she nodded. A child ran down the street, plastic heels clattering against the stone pavement. Kirika's head was still swirling after replaying the alien conversation that had happened before, to the degree where she only subconsciously noticed the sounds of Mireille leaving the bathroom. When she finally remembered to turn around, Mireille was already standing an arm's length from her. Surprised at being caught off-guard, but face still indifferent, she returned the woman's gaze. The blonde seemed to hesitate only for a second. She brought up her left hand, making a rather casual gesture towards her kitchen. "Do you drink tea?"
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