A fair amount of fluffiness in this part. - Kirika ****** Dissolving Lives Ryosuke Ishinomori was seated on a cream, elaborately embroidered loveseat, stoically watching his partner with dead violet eyes struggle back and forth from the bedroom to the sitting room, hauling their luggage as he went, in preparation for their hasty departure from Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental. It had been less than an hour since two more Soldats operatives had attempted to assassinate him and Vin, but Ryosuke would have preferred it if they had already departed the hotel. Their location had been clearly compromised by the foul society, and due to his overeager companion's typical zeal, a huge ruckus had erupted in the building. A mass exodus of panicked guests was underway as this very moment, one that Ryosuke and Vin were readily taking advantage of to check out of their accommodations themselves without seeming overly suspicious. The Parisian Metropolitan Police force had not yet arrived to cordon off the crime scene immediately outside their doors, which was definitely in Ryosuke and Vin's favour also--the local authorities would surely wish to question them because of their room's close proximity to the area where the prior shootout took place. The two assassins already had Soldats on their backs; they didn't need the Police clambering atop them too. Ryosuke bent forwards in his seat and rested his forearms on his knees. He was still garbed in his customary black coat, as he normally was most of the time, especially when away from the relative security of his quarters at home. The tails of the ebony garment folded strangely around him on the sofa, rigidly, while the remainder hung heavily about his shoulders. But it was a reassuring weight to the hardened hitman; indeed, it was a protective one. Ryosuke rolled his left shoulder, where he knew a cluster of putrid purple, almost black bruises had erupted and already fully ripened in the short period since they had been sustained, attempting to relieve some of the stiffness in the joint. The bruises ached in a constant hum, but not uncomfortably so--his resilient body, with its cordlike muscles honed to the consistency of steel, was used to such torture. He had suffered these particular agonies countless times over the years--all they served to do now was further strengthen his unbreakable body. Vin let out an exaggerated worn-out sigh as he dropped the final packed bag by the guestroom's double doors with the other two, before straightening and knuckling his back, as if the task of moving their belongings had been the most gruelling labour he had ever had the misfortune to perform. He shouldn't complain though; he had wanted to bring all of those extravagant clothes with him on their trip to Paris, each one a total eyesore to Ryosuke. It hurt to look at his partner sometimes--the colourful fabrics Vin chose to frequently cloth himself in tended to cause an acute burning sensation behind the white-haired man's eyes. Even now, Ryosuke could feel a headache starting to seize him, a dull throbbing drumming a rhythm inside his skull. No, in truth it was another chronic migraine, the type that made sleep impossible and threatened to shatter his brain, disrupting his every waking thought until all he could focus on was the pain. Ryosuke reached inside his right coat pocket and fished out an orange plastic bottle of pills. Popping open the container, the man tapped out three of the chalky white tablets into one palm and then tossed him into his mouth. He crunched on his medication in slow, steady chews, not bothered by the stark taste of the powder now blending with his saliva. The drugs did little to help the constant pounding in his mind, but at least it was something to possibly alleviate the pressure a minuscule amount, even if they were relatively useless. "I can't believe we have to leave here already. We only stayed for two nights!" Vin lamented in perfect Japanese, turning around to whine to Ryosuke as the white-haired man replaced his pills in his glossy coat's pocket. "I didn't even get to sample room service--I heard this place has great masseuses! Not as good as the ones back home in Hong Kong's... err... looser parts, obviously, but still good." "No choice," Ryosuke said in his lifeless voice, its pitch eerily unvarying, while his violet eyes stared at nothing. "Soldats... they have found us once again." Vin smirked that mischievous half-smile of his, the one that graced the garishly dressed man's features every time his mind was on the finer specimens of the opposite sex. "I don't know," he intoned dreamily, gazing vacantly up at the ceiling. He pulled his long black ponytail over his right shoulder and began fiddling with the bushy tuft at the end, flicking it absently with a finger--another pining gesture Ryosuke was familiar with. "If Soldats insists on sending beautiful agents like that woman after us from now on, I won't mind that much at all. It sure beats those fashionably challenged men-in-black that are always trying to kill us." Vin sighed blissfully, his smile now becoming a full one, one that had caused countless women to swoon in delight in the past. "I can smell Soldats lackeys a mile away, but with her it's different.... Ahh... I can still smell her perfume...." he whispered softly to himself, inhaling deeply, as if the scent really lingered for him to take a whiff. "That's your own," Ryosuke deadpanned, although it was a more automatic response to his companion's usual antics than a genuine rib. His partner's mocking remark snapping him out of his daydream, Vin ceased toying with his ponytail and turned his head to regard the black-clad man in exasperation. "That's not funny," he grumbled, a sulky expression forming on his face. Ryosuke raised a hand to his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as his migraine took a sharp rise in the level of torment it was inflicting, now a sledgehammer smashing apart his thoughts. He shut his eyes, hoping to shut out the thumping with it. A pathetic and foolish notion, things desperate people engaged in. Ryosuke lowered his head and grimaced faintly, Vin's chattering voice harping on about the classy women's affections he would be abandoning by deserting the hotel and the hurried sounds of fleeing guests outside their room's closed doors all being reduced to a muffled drone. "Hey, are you alright?" Vin's concerned voice broke into Ryosuke's mind, seeming to come from far away. The white-haired man felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Ryosuke roughly shrugged off his partner's hand and nodded brusquely, but kept his own hand in place obscuring the discomfort wracking his features. He heard Vin heave a sigh on the extreme edge of his hearing. "Migraines again..." the shorter man said quietly, a statement rather than an inquiry. He was aware of his comrade's malady... and knew better than to comment too much on it. The pain in Ryosuke's head eventually receded a tad after a few minutes, permitting more sounds to filter into his mind. He heard Vin walk a few steps away from him, and then stop. Ryosuke cracked open his dark-ringed eyes, risking the chance that the light could pierce through them and into his brain, heightening the severity of his migraine. Mercifully, it turned out that his eyes hadn't reached the point where they had become sensitive to bright light, and instead all that greeted him when he opened them was the sight of Vin's purple clothed back. "We should have been back in Yokohama by now," Vin remarked wearily, shaking his head slightly. "I'm beginning to think we were sent on a wild goose chase. We must have checked a dozen private collections so far." He turned around to face Ryosuke, bewilderment warring with frustration on his countenance. "Hell, we even checked out a couple of museums and obscure stores. Does this thing even exist?" The triad member snorted, and then shook his head once more. "All this trouble for something that was probably thrown in the trash or burnt to a crisp. Or maybe even crumbled apart by its own accord by now. And it doesn't help that D'Aubigne's details were so damn vague we hardly know where or even what precisely we're looking for. We'll probably have to scour the whole freakin' city of Paris before we see the end of this!" Vin made a despondent moan and ran the fingers of one hand through his loosely tied back hair. Ryosuke merely grunted in response. He wouldn't have been surprised if Dominique *had* dispatched them on an unfeasible task. It would be just like that conniving succubus. Perhaps she had wanted him out of Japan and his mistrustful presence away from his dear sister's side for a while. Ryosuke was certain the order to go to Paris in search of the artefact from Kaede had stemmed solely from Dominique's persuasion. That bitch seemed to be sinking her fangs into everything in the Ishinomori Empire these days... his younger sister especially. Just like mother before. Ryosuke's absence would surely allow Dominique to further corrupt Kaede and expand her authority even more among his family's followers. He had to return to Yokohama as soon as possible; already he had been away far too long for his liking. But not empty handed if he could help it; it would be just the excuse Dominique would need to compel Kaede to reprimand him--and Vin as well, for that matter--for his failure. Ryosuke couldn't let his waning influence with his sister ebb anymore than it had thus far; he was the only genuine voice of reason who still had the woman's ear--he could not afford to lose it or Dominique would most definitely hold complete sway over Kaede's will. "Soldats dogging us at virtually every turn isn't improving circumstances, either," Vin went on, recapturing Ryosuke's attention. That impish smile then made a comeback on the flashy man's visage, his aggravation fading. "Although I don't suppose I would object to being stalked by that lovely blonde we encountered today," he amended furtively. "I wonder what her name is.... It's too bad we'll in all probability have to kill her. Maybe I could get the opportunity to have some fun with her before that, however. Hmm...." Vin held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, evidently deliberating the likelihood. One day his keen appreciation for the opposite sex would be the death of him. Ryosuke ignored the bulk of Vin's comments, but he agreed with his partner when it came to the part of Soldats persistently hounding them. He thought he and Vin had been circumspect when entering the country, but apparently they had not been circumspect enough. Soldats. Their eyes were everywhere, relentlessly watching, like some monstrous beast from an ancient myth. Ryosuke and Vin had only disposed of the last two Soldats spies a few days ago, and already a pair of replacements was on their tails. If things were to continue in this way, it would grow tiresome very swiftly. And not to mention troublesome. They needed the Soldats division based in France--or more specifically, the two newly assigned Soldats agents--off their backs for a time so they could carry out their mission--regardless of how vain it was emerging to be--more effectively, and hence give them a better chance of actually achieving success. But Ryosuke and Vin were only two men; they could not split up so one could draw Soldats' attention while the other hunted for the item they were seeking. It would lower their searching efficiency considerably with the added detriment of increasing the length they would be forced to remain in Paris for... and also the period of time for which Ryosuke would be separated from Kaede. They needed outside assistance... but where could they find it? ****** Mireille's blue eyes inched opened slowly as she gradually swam up from the depths of unconsciousness and into full wakefulness. She was lying on her back in bed, with a warm, familiar presence pressed closely against her left side. The heat from the firm yet pliant mass engulfed the woman in its comfortable embrace, threatening to ease her back into Morpheus' arms. She was tempted to submit, indeed her eyelids began to feel as if heavy weights were dragging them down, but there was no rest for the wicked. Well, not much rest at any rate. Mireille could remain in bed just a little bit longer--in truth there was no real rush to get up, in spite of all the important errands she had to perform today. Yes... they could wait. Mireille felt a soft pressure across her bare stomach, where her oversized shirt had ridden up, rising and falling gently with her every breath. Its texture was that of the smoothest silk, and rubbed delightfully on her exposed midriff in concert with her breathing, sending trills of pleasure through her body. Another weight rested on her equally uncovered left thigh, just as sleek and almost as slender as the first. While she relished the one only a short distance below her breasts, this specific weight had always been her favourite. Mireille internally fought with herself for a couple of seconds, knowing it was a losing battle and merely a token gesture at best, and then shifted her leg a little, causing the object atop it to slide deliciously down her inner thigh and nestle only a fraction of an inch away from the intimate juncture between her slightly parted legs. Mireille let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction, hardly audible to prevent the person next to her from being disturbed... and possibly ruining her guilty pleasure. Once again without fail, Mireille had awoken to have Kirika's dainty form wrapped around her maturer own. Even in the event they fell asleep spaced apart from one another the end result was always the same. The woman smiled faintly up at the ceiling. Some things never changed, at least. Not that she was complaining, far from it. The morning when Mireille didn't wake up with Kirika squeezed up snugly beside her was the morning when their relationship had definitely taken a sour turn. But, evidently for the present anyhow, their relationship had not yet decayed to that distressing stage, despite the grim events that had occurred in the past few days, seemingly shoving a vicious wedge between the Corsican and her Japanese counterpart. Nevertheless, that wedge would undoubtedly push Mireille and Kirika apart further with every passing day they lived in darkness... perhaps the morning would soon come when the blonde would wake up alone. But not this morning, to Mireille's great collective joy and relief. From nearly the first week she had agreed to work with Kirika, the girl had always preferred to sleep in the same bed as her--the necessity of doing so due to only having one bed in the apartment notwithstanding--to such a point that Mireille had on more than one occasion been obliged while on assignment away from Paris to grudgingly push the single beds in their hotel rooms together, just so that her partner could nap contentedly. And also so that Mireille would not have to suffer even more depressed looks than was common from the brooding girl. Initially Kirika had kept her distance from the woman in bed, but little by little she had slinked closer to the blonde's side, until Mireille stirred every single morning with her partner more or less clinging to her tightly... and thinking almost nothing of it, so accustomed to it had she become. It had grown to become an enjoyment for Mireille, one she would be hard pressed to give up... although she would never truly admit it. Mireille did have to confess however that simply sleeping beside somebody else helped to provide her with a more peaceful slumber, doubly so if that somebody was her cute counterpart. It had been a slow, gradual progression for the normally independent woman naturally, but over time, and especially now, the Corsican roused herself each morning feeling very refreshed and well rested. Mireille lay there in bed for several minutes, staring listlessly up at the ceiling, unmoving, simply revelling in the divine feeling of having Kirika cuddled close to her. She was acutely conscious of where her partner's left arm and leg were positioned, and, as she frequently had to do each morning, was forced to quash the illicit urge to slip lower in the bed and cause the lithe limbs to press against two places on her body they really shouldn't, no matter how exquisite the sensations of the forbidden contacts would have been. As if somehow reading her partner's mind even while she was sleeping, Kirika fidgeted beside Mireille, sliding her left leg along the woman's bare thigh until her knee was nearly pushing against the centre of the Corsican's crotch, while at the same time her arm wandered slightly higher on the blonde's stomach. For a brief moment of jumbled panic and hopefulness, Mireille thought that the darkhaired girl was actually going to inadvertently brush her breasts, unconsciously cup one of the mounds even, but to her relief--or was that disappointment?--Kirika stopped a few centimetres short on her torso, her hand now resting under her shirt. She then became still once again, her rhythmic, whisper-quiet breathing resuming its former pace. Mireille released the breath she had been holding as Kirika settled down. She swallowed hard. Perhaps it would be better if she got up after all. She really did have quite a considerable amount of tasks to do today. Getting an early start would be the smart thing to do. After a number of minutes in which she did not move a single muscle to leave the bed or Kirika's embrace, Mireille sighed and accepted the fact that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She should have acknowledged that fact to begin with; not until she had indulged in her habitual--moderately chaste--whims would she be able to muster the willpower to escape her delectable counterpart's hold. Mireille turned her head to her left on her pillow to gaze upon her quietly slumbering companion's pretty visage, breathing in the darkhaired girl's delicate, adorable features. Kirika's expression appeared so relaxed in her sleep. At peace. It was a beautiful sight to Mireille's eyes--it always was. The woman loved to take rare moments such as this to just look upon Kirika. In her sleep Mireille's formidable partner was no longer an astounding assassin gifted with unmatched abilities, but rather simply an ordinary girl, resting placidly. It was this facet of Kirika that attracted Mireille to her the most, this... open vulnerability. She wasn't certain why exactly. She had speculated before that it was perhaps because Kirika's capabilities in the art of murder were a whole level above her own, and at times like these it was as if the introverted girl required Mireille's protection despite that, making the woman feel a sense of worth, like she was needed. It was a good feeling, and caused a peculiar stirring in her heart... an agreeable one. Mireille, knowing from many previous mornings that resistance was hopeless and it was better to simply surrender to her weakness, extended her left arm across the pillow above her snoozing partner's head, and, with a very gentle touch, began to play with Kirika's dark locks, tenderly curling the short tresses around her slender fingers, luxuriating in their satiny feel. She just couldn't help herself, be it toying with the girl's hair or caressing her soft cheeks and lips, marvelling in her delicate beauty. With Kirika sleeping soundly, effectively dead to the world owing to her small body recuperating from its serious gunshot wound, it permitted Mireille to safely treat herself to her secret desires... something that she had been doing nearly ever since it had dawned on her that her partner now slumbered deeply, and therefore would be ignorant to any intimate attentions. Mireille always felt exceedingly guilty and shamed at her behaviour and lack of self-control afterwards; it was as if she had somehow taken advantage of poor, oblivious Kirika. The woman would then vow that she would have more strength of will next time, but inevitably when dawn broke the following day her prior silent, ardent oath was forgotten, and she was once again furtively petting a snoozing Kirika... and adoring every second of it. Mireille's wayward hand dropped away from Kirika's head--the stoic girl's mop of hair now quite dishevelled--and back onto the pillow, accompanied by a jaded sigh. But for some reason this morning, the blonde couldn't seem to marshal the normally sizeable enthusiasm for her delightful vice she usually had. All she could think about while caressing Kirika's dark locks was what the reticent girl would be forced to face in the future--the black path; a dire course in life that Mireille had started to lead her down once more. Guilt began to sweep up inside the Corsican, a different kind of guilt to the one related to her surreptitious touches of Kirika, but she crushed it ruthlessly in an iron fist. It was pointless to dwell on something that could not be changed or taken back. There could be no going back for Mireille and Kirika, not until their enemies were dead. They must go forward until the end--it was the simple truth. The guilt could come later, when it was all over, and then Mireille would have all the time in the world to criticise her earlier decisions and blame herself for what she had put Kirika through. Mireille continued to gaze at Kirika, this time with sad eyes rather than enraptured ones. She wondered how long this innocent vision of her partner would last. The further they travelled down the black path's dark cobblestones, stained with the blood of all those who had lost their lives on the harsh, unforgiving journey, the further Kirika would be corrupted... maybe. Kirika had lasted this long without losing her childlike purity. Of course, there was another Kirika buried inside of the one Mireille cared for, one who was did not possess a shred of morality whatsoever. It was that Kirika who had been fed all of the maliciousness the girl had been exposed to her entire live. Perhaps it would be that cold-hearted Kirika who would ultimately replace Mireille's as they traversed the black path. The woman prayed that would not be the case. But she couldn't ignore the possibility either. All she could do however was watch for any signs, and hope to somehow prevent that dreaded transition before it was too late if it did threaten to come to pass. Her mood now spoilt, Mireille decided she might as well get up. Carefully, as not to awaken Kirika, she slipped nimbly from the darkhaired girl's hug, her partner's left arm and leg sliding over her body before gently slumping to the surface of the bed. Mireille sat up on the edge of the bed and rolled her head around on her shoulders, stretching the muscles in her neck to loosen the kinks, and then ran her hands through her long blonde mane of hair several times, attempting to rid it of tangles. As she stood up, she heard an alteration in Kirika's rate of breathing, a hitch sullying its rhythm, indicating to the woman that her colleague had roused in spite of her labours to the contrary. Mireille quickly pulled down her still ruffled shirt over her hips and smoothed it out a little anxiously, hiding her completely naked posterior from Kirika's view... although she was almost certain the girl had gotten an eyeful. She tried to distance her mind from the... awkward... prospect, while suppressing the impulse to look over her shoulder and check if her partner really had caught a glimpse of her exposed rump. Whatever had possessed Mireille to forgo donning underwear after choosing to wear a solitary--and rather short--oversized shirt to sleep in she didn't quite know, but for some reason she couldn't--or perhaps more accurately didn't want to--identify, she was nearly positive she still wouldn't be slipping on any panties the next time she doffed the simple garment, regardless of the risk that Kirika might see the cheeks of her uncovered rear end... again, or maybe even get a peek between her legs at her.... "I'm going to take a shower," Mireille informed Kirika with her back still to the girl, consciously keeping her voice level--and pleased that she had succeeded in doing so. Her throat had become rather parched all of a sudden. After being answered by a mumble of acknowledgement, Mireille, resisting the compulsion to flatten out her shirt again, proceeded for the bathroom, doing her utmost to keep her pace brisk but not overly so, not wishing to give the impression she was fleeing the room--not that she was, of course. She tried not to think about whether Kirika's eyes were still on her back ... or on any other parts of her body. Nevertheless, she was relieved when she reached the privacy of the bathroom. ****** Kirika was brought back into the waking world as something undulated beneath her left arm and leg, before becoming still once again. Her breathing remained slow and even, a technique she had learned and mastered during her time training under Altena and her Soldats enclave's strict hands. She did not even require conscious thought to regulate it, so engrained was the ability. Feigning sleep could be a useful talent for an assassin... although Kirika had found another use for it, one she found vastly more appealing. Kirika loved the feel of Mireille squeezed so close against her body, so warm and so supple and smooth. With her eyes firmly shut, the girl's other senses--particularly touch and hearing--were heightened to a degree, permitting her to truly bask in Mireille's presence. With every breath she took, Kirika inhaled the tantalising, natural scent of the woman--a spicy and yet fresh and sweet aroma that flooded her sense of smell wonderfully, engulfing her in the very essence of her partner. Meanwhile, her left arm, draped across Mireille's taut stomach, rose and fell softly in time with the blonde's breathing, accentuating the somewhat ticklish but more than pleasant sensation of their skin touching one another's. The bare flesh of Mireille's abdomen felt... nice... under Kirika's own of her arm, and she had to refrain from giving in to the yearning to rub her hand all over her partner's tummy and trace the contours of the fine muscles beneath... although she couldn't resist fidgeting just a tiny bit. Kirika's heart swelled in her chest. It was all simply heavenly. She adored waking up snuggled against Mireille; there was nothing better to greet another day with than tightly hugging the woman she loved. She would have liked it if that hug was returned however, but Kirika was happy with any affection she received from her partner, no matter how small. Mireille just wasn't a really affectionate woman, that was all. Or at least rarely openly. There was something else that Mireille had yet to do this morning, if indeed the mood would strike her to do so. Kirika did her best to contain the mounting level of anticipation welling up inside her, lest she ruin her outwardly peaceful façade and consequently destroy any chances that her partner would show her--albeit surreptitious--fondness for her. Sometimes, when Mireille thought that Kirika was fast asleep, the woman would... touch her, or perhaps more precisely, *caress* her. She would normally begin tentatively, mainly focusing on gently running her fingers through Kirika's hair for a number of minutes. However, Mireille would apparently soon tire of that particular activity and move on to others to amuse herself with. While Kirika liked the feeling of her partner playing with her short hair, it was her subsequent ministrations that the girl enjoyed the most. Mireille would every so often actually bring a hand up to her face and trail her fingertips over her cheeks, stroking them tenderly. And, if Kirika was really lucky, the blonde would even outline her slightly parted lips, sometimes daringly dipping shallowly in between them, as if seeking access inside the warm, wet cavity they guarded. Yes, she especially liked it when Mireille caressed her lips. The woman's touch was so soft, feather-light, but Kirika found it tantalising beyond compare. It was all she could do not to shiver in delight or even emit a blissful sound of approval. But she knew that any such outbursts would scare Mireille's delicate fingertips away. Kirika wasn't exactly sure why Mireille's touch elicited such... excitement within her. All she knew was that she loved it to such an extent that she very much looked forward to waking up in the morning. However, she wished that Mireille felt comfortable enough to show her such physical affection candidly whenever the impulse took her no matter what time of day or night, rather than covertly while the woman believed her to be snoozing soundly. But perhaps that was too much to hope for from Kirika's aloof partner. Indeed, lately even Mireille's regular morning indulgences were lessening in duration and lacking the intimacy of prior 'sessions'. It had started following their meeting with Breffort--with Soldats. With the advent of their return to a life of killing. Sure enough, after only a few minutes of half-heartedly fondling Kirika's short locks, the girl heard Mireille exhale heavily and the blonde's touch disappear from her head. Kirika tried not to let the disappointment and desolation overwhelm her. She really missed those past mornings now. She missed the old times. It seemed like Mireille truly was starting to pull away from her, and on more than a mere physical level. The morning would come when the woman probably wouldn't even stay in bed with her for a single minute in excess after waking up. The prospect saddened Kirika, further lowering her already waning spirits, but she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Assassins were expected to be cold, unfeeling individuals. It was no wonder Mireille was becoming like her old self again. Maybe that was actually her real self. Still, even if Mireille did revert to her former standoffish and frosty nature, Kirika's feelings for her would not change in the slightest. She would still be utterly besotted with the woman with all that she was, heart and soul. After all, Mireille had not always been cordial to Kirika... but that had not stopped the girl from falling completely and hopelessly in love with her. Kirika ceased her veneer of oblivious slumber when she felt and heard Mireille free herself from her embrace and climb out of the bed. Her breathing paused for a moment as she swallowed the build up of moisture in her mouth, before it resumed at a different pace, and then flicked open her brown eyes... and was greeted by the unexpected but oddly sublime sight of the twin porcelain globes of Mireille's perfect bottom, unabashedly on display for her suddenly very keen gaze. To Kirika's disappointment, the spectacle only lasted the briefest of instances before Mireille readjusted the large shirt she was wearing, but it was enough to permanently burn the privileged image in the girl's mind. Kirika blinked several times and swallowed once again, this time a tad harder than before; almost a gulp. She wasn't certain why she had found the sight of Mireille's naked rear end so... fascinating? Was that the word? Or perhaps mesmerising was a better term? In all honestly, Kirika couldn't quite ascertain what the feeling she had experienced was either. Something between captivation and... exhilaration, was it? Whatever it was, she still wondered why her partner's unclothed posterior was so interesting to her in the first place. It was just another part of Mireille's body, after all; it simply served a function, in this case, to help in the woman's mobility. It was nothing special. So then why did that area continue to attract Kirika's attention unbidden even now that it was concealed behind a layer of cloth? Was it because of the very fact that normally it *was* hidden, out of general propriety? But Mireille's bottom wasn't the only place the blonde kept covered, and so far Kirika hadn't reacted in the same way to those other particular private spots... or was that because she had never observed them unfettered by clothing? Kirika sighed quietly. For the moment, it was all simply beyond her understanding. Perhaps she should pay more attention to her feelings when looking upon Mireille's body in the future, undressed or not. She was vaguely aware that her partner was pretty--no, beautiful. Certainly, she had witnessed an abundant amount of people turn their heads to catch an additional glimpse of the ravishing blonde when they were outside of the apartment, with something akin to appreciation shining in their eyes. Kirika found it pleasant to gaze upon Mireille too, although the woman's physical splendour was not what captivated her so. Mireille was just Mireille to Kirika--her partner and the person who she loved dearly. The only person who mattered in the world. That Mireille was also an exceptional example of beauty didn't dawn on Kirika very often, not until outsiders reacted in such a way to make that truth obvious. Like that boy, Simon Pierpont. The darkhaired girl didn't like how he talked and looked at Mireille. He didn't look upon her in innocent appreciation, but rather Kirika believed his leers--and remarks too--were demeaning in nature. It didn't sit well with Kirika. It made her feel... cross. Mireille announced that she was going to take a shower, ending Kirika's analytical musings. The girl watched Mireille emotionlessly as the blonde walked smartly to the bathroom and entered, closing the door behind her. Kirika's brown eyes remained riveted to the woman's swaying backside for the entire time. Kirika flopped over onto her back in the bed when she heard the toilet flush from the bathroom, shortly followed by the sound of running tap water. Mireille would take a while in there--she always did. However, she didn't usually have a shower so early after just awakening. At least, she hadn't before that day of the car bomb incident. Ordinarily, Mireille would stay in her pyjamas for hours, sometimes lingering in bed with Kirika for a stretch after rousing, simply chatting lazily about nothing in particular, and then later perhaps partaking in a long, relaxed, cooked breakfast with the soft-spoken girl. While Kirika had sometimes slept late into the morning due to her recovering bullet wound, causing those occasions to be sporadic at best, it had only made her cherish them all the more. Twice as much, now. Mireille had been getting up earlier and earlier these past few days--it didn't seem she had time to spare for pleasant luxuries with Kirika anymore. But it was understandable. Really, it was. Kirika was glad that Mireille at least still retired to bed at the same time she did--the night when the woman had remained awake to examine Soldats' intelligence reports aside. Kirika needed her partner in bed next to her. Sleep would no longer claim her unless Mireille was in the same bed with her, the blonde's comforting presence seeming to act as a soothing influence on the girl, lulling her easily into a deep, peaceful slumber. Yes, Kirika should be thankful for what she still had, regardless of the things she was evidently losing... or had already lost. Kirika heard the shower starting in the bathroom, signalling to her that Mireille had finished thoroughly washing her face and neck with the strange concoctions that were essential for pure and healthy skin--or so the woman had once sworn to her. Kirika should get up and begin preparing breakfast. Mireille would like that, to be greeted with a readymade repast when she completed her morning ablutions. The taciturn girl turned her head slowly to the right and placed a hand where her partner had lain several minutes before. The impression in the mattress of Mireille's slender form was still present, although the warmth of her body had long since left the bed. Abandoned it. The imprint, half ringed by rumpled bedcovers, was only a mere afterimage of Mireille, a shadow that would in time no longer even exist. Kirika's eyelids drooped somewhat, her mood sinking just a little more. She ought to start breakfast. ****** Mireille carefully stepped into the bathtub--her clothes having been all shed as soon as she had begun her meticulous skincare and hygiene routine earlier--mindful of any residual water there that could cause her to lose her footing, and then closed the pearl-coloured shower curtain behind her. She picked up the handheld showerhead from its cradle by the bath's singular faucet, and after turning it on and adjusting the water temperature to her liking--in the meantime keeping the spray directed prudently away from her--she then attached it to a clip bolted roughly two-thirds of the way up on the wall bordering one side of the tub, effectively simulating a standard shower. Mireille closed her eyes and faced the showerhead, simply letting the comfortably warm cascade of water drench her all over, slicking her long blonde hair back and clapping it to her scalp, and at the same time liberally soaking her body. The heat of the water was soothing to the Corsican, lulling her senses somewhat, and as a result, her mind started to wander. Inexorably, her thoughts soon turned to what had happened yesterday... or rather, what *hadn't* happened. Mireille and Kirika's unsuccessful attempt to quickly and quietly kill Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu would have scores of consequences, most, if not every one, grave. It would have been so much simpler if the two men had just rolled over and died without any trouble instead of putting up a fight. Now the blonde and her partner could look forward to a long, drawn out duel with the false Noir, one that would be undeniably several times more perilous than a mere assassination job against a pair of unsuspecting foes... if Vincent and Ryosuke really had been unsuspecting. Mireille supposed it didn't matter anymore; Kaede's Black Hands knew of her and Kirika now, perhaps not their identity as the one-time true Noir, but at the very least that they shared the same vocation. Mireille sighed, the sound of her soft breath barely perceptible above the drone of water beating a dull tune against the shower curtain behind her. It was all going to be so much harder now. At first she had been angry at her failure, knowing implicitly what it meant for her and Kirika--especially Kirika--but after a good night's sleep, she had become sorrowfully resigned. There was nothing she could do but continue down the black path she had chosen to follow... and see it through to its conclusion. Hopefully, the conclusion would be Ryosuke and Vincent in the ground with her and Kirika left unscathed... on a physical level at any rate. Mireille was practically certain their foray back into the lives of professional killers would have a lasting impact on them both, in particular on Kirika's rather fragile psyche. Kirika. Mireille didn't know what she was going to do about the girl. She was aware that her partner was unhappy, but she didn't know how to approach her about it. But while Mireille dithered, plagued by the uncertainty of what exactly to do or say to her Japanese counterpart to make things better, Kirika seemed to be gradually sinking further and further into depression. It... hurt Mireille to see the quiet girl like that while she herself was unable to figure out how to aid in allaying her sadness. The woman felt so helpless. And that bleak, frustrating sentiment made her irritated as well, which she feared would wrongly manifest itself as bitterness towards Kirika, the source of all the feelings. Already Mireille was becoming short with the darkhaired girl, the incident at Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental coming to mind. She recognised it would probably only get worse. Mireille shook her head angrily at it all, and, opening her eyes, reached for the shampoo, squirting a dollop in the palm of one hand before rubbing the mixture all over the tresses plastered to her head and back, made a dark blonde shade by the water saturating them. It wasn't fair. She and Kirika should be living a peaceful existence again, not preparing to clash with two other assassins. Mireille placed the blame squarely on her own shoulders. She should have tried harder yesterday, she should have anticipated Vincent's manoeuvre, she should have--! Mireille ground her teeth, massaging the shampoo into her scalp a little more vigorously than necessary. She should have *succeeded!* If she had done so, Kirika would not be brooding at present and she herself would not be despairing over her inability to help the poor girl! Mireille rinsed the froth of shampoo out of her hair and picked up a bottle of conditioner, applying the viscous liquid inside to her locks with both hands. She began driving her fingers deeply into her wet mass of hair, slowly and methodically coating the blonde mane with the slippery solution. The woman simply wasn't good with relationships, not that she'd had any notable ones to speak of before. She just wasn't familiar with them. Regarding Kirika, she was basically--and rather blindly--feeling her way as she went. And now, she had reached an apparently impassable wall. The only thing she could think of to do was eliminate the cause of all of her and her partner's turmoil: the false Noir. But to accomplish that now, they were going to require more help. Mireille retrieved a sponge and a bar of soap from the dish affixed to the wall at the front end of the bath, and commenced lathering her body with a copious amount of foamy suds. Today she planned to visit Simon, for one to deliver his outstanding fee, and another to enlist his services once again. She would need him constantly probing for the emergence of Ryosuke and his companion's aliases in any hotel guest lists excluding Le Grand Hotel Inter-Continental. It would doubtless cost her a fortune--the little pervert would make her pay through the nose for such a request, along with additional payments in the form of undressing leers and boorish suggestive comments--but it was unavoidable. Mireille would not rely solely on the hacker however, she also had supplementary resources in the form of street-level informants; small time snitches who noted the traffic in Paris' underworld. The Corsican didn't have much faith that the lowlifes whose palms she intended to grease would sight Ryosuke and Vincent, even if the duo did stand out a little--a little too much for smart professional assassins in Mireille's opinion--unless the false Noir actually mingled with the criminal circuit in the city, but they might get lucky. Every little bit helped, after all. And price was no object to Mireille if it speeded her and Kirika's escape from the black path. There was a soft knock on the bathroom door, causing Mireille to reflexively look over her shoulder even though the shower curtain, made hazy by wisps of rising steam, blocked her view. "Breakfast is almost ready," came Kirika's rather hesitant voice from the other side of the door, scarcely audible. "Okay," Mireille called back, detaching the showerhead and using it to quickly and efficiently wash the build-up of soap and conditioner from her body and hair respectively, cutting her ordinarily long shower short. She couldn't help but smile faintly, although it was a touch melancholic. Despite the desolate transformation in their lives, and her obvious aversion to it, Kirika was still as obliging as ever. Mireille wished she could return her partner's kind consideration properly... if only she knew how. ****** To be continued.... Author's ramblings: Okay, so the fluffiness was polluted by some coarse flecks here and there. Oh well. You should have suspected as much! ^_^ Bathroom layout was used from the Newtype image. And Kirika meditates on Mireille's butt... LOL. ^_^
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