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Noir It is the name of an ancient fate: two maidens who govern death. To ward the darkness from the nursing babes, their black robes serve as shields. Indie, selective RP blog for Mireille Bouquet Written by Bandit Mun and Muse are 18+. NSFW will be tagged. Tracking: anancientfate

[anancientfate-blog]

me, watching atomic blonde stuff: okay but you look more like mireille but you act more like kirika.  or chloe, even.

[anancientfate-blog]

cantusecho:

Hm, so she didn’t know where she’d be staying? Hibiki glanced around, as if their surroundings would provide any sort of answers for her dilemma. Of course she couldn’t offer anything herself, since she was certain her family wouldn’t be so open to that nor would Mireille seem up for it either. So what other choices could there be? Hibiki pinched her lips between her fingers before looking back towards the woman. 

“Are you sure? I could help you find somewhere to go.” Maybe she won’t be able to provide money, but helping someone get to a safe place could always make a difference.  Unless…you have more things you have to do.”

Truth be told, she did have more things to do, but none of them in particular planned for right now.  Certainly she would need to do research once she was safe and holed up somewhere (not where she couldn’t be found - she didn’t expect that anymore.  She didn’t honestly expect to be safe, either, but that was life, wasn’t it?  And she’d learned to live with it), but that could wait.  She had more than enough to go on for the moment.

“No, I’m...free.”  Not truthful in the slightest, but as far as time was concerned, she was.  “Where would you go?”

[anancientfate-blog]

streetxcat:

                      COPPER LOVED TORTURE.  It was his calling card almost, but he tended to use it against her more so than anyone he ended up having need to kill.  The ring wasn’t really assassins.  They only occasionally took a paying job to kill, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t left BODIES behind them before.  Witnesses, potential threats, traitors…  Most had a miserable death if time wasn’t a factor.  Somewhere within the bones of the horrid man seemed to lie a craving for the pain and blood of others.  For w h a t reason, Cat couldn’t say.  Copper’s past had always been fairly shrouded.  She knew only that he had been in the army at some point.  He suffered somewhere mentally… but released it all in the wrong ways.

                         ( Though she was the last person who should give mental advice           in any way, shape, or form.  Too often she was denying her own problems,           even though they were clear as day to almost anyone who got to know her           for more than five minutes of time. )

                               In regards to appearance, Cat understood it had importance.  That it could entirely change the way that someone viewed you.  The p r o b l e m was that the brunette had neither the money nor desire to spend effort upon making herself look less like a mess.  It seemed pointless, as she would be back to some sort of filth by the evening, no better off than before except with LESS people perhaps giving her a glare throughout the day.  Plus, she just had no earthly idea on how to be careful with one’s looks.  As a child, she had certainly tried…  but stealing her aunt’s lipstick and smearing it over her face hardly proved she could handle make up in a more productive fashion.

                                   “Layer it?”  Hair could have LAYERS?  That made little sense        to Cat.  But her hair had only ever had one style over all her years of life.  Even        if that wasn’t actually that many years.   “Good luck getting a brush through it.        I’ve tried.  S’like trying t’brush cement, really.  S’too tangled…  even after when        I do get a shower.  But maybe I jus’ sort of give up too quickly.”

          Even if it had little to do with whether or not she would get caught, Mireille still would not specialize in anything like torture.  Not that it made her queasy in any way, shape, or form - she certainly could torture someone - or watch - if the moment called for it.  She just never believed that it did.           Most assassins learned about their hits to study their patterns, to find the best time and place to destroy them, and certainly Mireille did that, as well.  But she took the time to learn them - the extra step that she believed her parents’ assassin did not take when whoever it was left her and her uncle alive (that thread was unraveling now, but she didn’t like to think on it, wouldn’t think on it, would just push herself into what she was doing and ignore that) - and once learning them, yes, she could still kill them, but she wouldn’t torture them.

          Certainly they did whatever they did for their own reasons.  She knew that.           How could she torture someone with whom she empathized?                                                                                       She wasn’t Silvana.                                                                           Or Chloe, but that was more a suspicion.

          “Yes.  It gives it a better, fuller look.”  Mireille pauses, eyes roaming the           girl’s hair.  “If you don’t take care of the tangles early enough, they can get           so bad that you have to cut them out.  I don’t think that would work well           for you.”

[anancientfate-blog]

streetxcat:

            CAT HAD ACTUALLY come across only a few instances where her life had been threatened while out performing a job.  Mostly because the goal was to not be caught or even seen doing the task.  So with that being HIGH priority, that meant less chances to be caught up in situations where she might be staring down the barrel of a gun.  The few times she had been up against such a thing were usually from those of r i v a l gangs or thugs.  People who had been actively seeking out a fight.  In those cases, the brunette had generally fled or hid until it was safe to come out.  Only a few deaths had come to happen on her hands when she was cornered and felt she had no choice.

        It wasn’t necessarily that she concerned herself over the life of the person she was taking.  More often that not, it was her own conscious she was worried about, preferring to keep it clean of blood spilled through murder ( causing pain was an entirely different matter ), no matter who the person was that might take the bullet or the knife to flesh.  Though that was only in the cases of when killing was by her own c h o i c e.  When it was forced upon her by Copper, she suddenly felt a heavier strain of guilt, even should the person be horrible in every sense of the word.

                              Something about committing the act when not under her own                           duress seemed to make it a conflict within her head and interests.

                                                               “I wouldn’t say so, either.”

           ( Actually, she would.  Even if she were not HORRID by nature, Cat wasn’t much fond of herself, and was known for dragging herself  through mud,  dirt,  and all manner of trouble simply because she had made a few awful mistakes in life. )

                                      “But people will take any excuse t’avoid the eyes of a girl                 like me.  Disease, trouble…  wha’ever they can come up with.  If they’re                 not trying t’give me pity, then they’ll look for ways t’treat me like HELL.”                 Though brow raised in initial reaction.   “Shower, sure.  But ain’t no one                 cutting my hair.”

          Mireille had few instances - in her job proper, after separating from her uncle - when she’d had to face the fear of death.  It was there in the background, the possibility of it, but most of her marks were not equipped with a gun, did not think anyone would come for them.  Some went willingly.  Besides, you didn’t go in for an assassination guns a-blazing unless you were fighting the mafia or a team of gunmen, which was extremely rare.  She was more the sneak in, take your shot, and get out sort of person.  For the most part, this worked in her favor.                                    She hated to think if she’d gone against some of her marks alone--                             But, then, she hadn’t been alone.  They would not have been after her                             if she had.  It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with                             HER.           That was one thing, thought, on which she prided herself.  Her marks were not tortured.  She didn’t make them fear for their lives, she didn’t tie them to a chair and shove pencils under their fingernails, she didn’t rip pieces of them out while they were still alive.  Her assassinations were simple.  Clean.  Not painless, but as painless as they could be.  Death was final enough.  No need to put the mark through a period of prolonged suffering.                          Besides, she could get caught that way.

                                          “Layer it, maybe.”  Mireille’s blue eyes flicked to the girl’s                                  hair, taking it in, and she nodded once.  “You need a style of some                                  sort, although a brush might do you wonders.”  She was not so                                  much distracted as she was musing.  For all of her flaws, Mireille was                                  still very much a woman’s woman.  Hair, clothes, make-up - these                                  were all weapons just as much as her gun.                                                                                         “Appearance is everything.”

[anancientfate-blog]

okay but let me talk about mireille shooting claude because you have to understand just how significant that is and how that entire episode shattered the man she thought she knew and how the next three episodes set up her telling krika to leave in the darkness within me and how yes part of that was killing claude and because she was slowly understanding some of what was going on and wanted no part of it, that she tried to end it and was still pulled back into the game and tried to leave again when she found out about kirika and got pulled back in again like let me just talk about mireille bouquet and how she is a wonderful piece of work.

[anancientfate-blog]

graceful-cure-swan:

“I see,” Tsubasa said, smiling at the stranger. This lady was quite friendly, the blonde couldn’t help but think- talking with her made waiting much less boring. As much as she wanted to talk with Bonnet, doing so in public would be like talking to a stuffed animal. Outside of her family and close friends, she didn’t know how people would take the fact that her ‘stuffed animal’ was a living, breathing creature. Would they freak out?

“Stuffed animals are amazing friends, aren’t they? They don’t judge you and they always listen, even if they aren’t able to speak back. They’re always by your side,” Tsubasa mused, giving the fairy’s head another small pat.

Bonnet was one of her best friends, Tsubasa felt. While she only came into her life after a traumatic event, and she could be like an overbearing mother at times, she was almost always there for the blonde. Except at school.

There was a very good reason why Bonnet did not go to school with Tsubasa, and remembering the incident usually made the blonde cringe. She would rather not repeat that, thank you!

“They really are.” Mireille looked at the plush again, head tilted ever so slightly to the side.  “I’m certain that they hear more than their fair share of everything that goes on.  Perhaps the best part is that they cannot tell anyone else.” No, not best.  If inanimate objects could speak - truly speak - then perhaps she would know what happened to her parents...or, more importantly, who.  And, knowing who, she could bring their lives to a most fortunate end.  But that wasn’t the case, and she was still somewhere without knowing. But that was a good thing.  That was her decision. She’d chosen the route of not finding out because everything she found only made things worse. Like Claude. “And unlike some friends, they don’t require you to feed them when you’re trying a new place.”  A smile - she was attempting to joke.

[anancientfate-blog]

cantusecho:

Based on her silence, or hesitation before giving her answer, Hibiki assumed she asked something bad. It was just a name; how would it be bad? Maybe she didn’t like giving it out? Was it too sudden? But all those questions vanished in an instant once the woman finally spoke.

“Ah, Mireille-san. That’s a pretty name!” One Hibiki thought she was going to mess up but saved it at the last second.  “Very nice to meet you, and no need to thank me. I’m sure you’d do the same!” Though, in the silence that passed, another question came out of her mouth before she could even process it. 

“What are you going to do now after all this? Do you have anywhere to stay that’s safe?”

This might be one of the few times she wished she had given the alias.  Even if Tachibana-san’s voice was completely different, hearing her name said with the Japanese lilt-- It felt wrong.

“Thank you, again.  It’s a common name where I live.”  Not necessarily true, but something that felt easy to say.  Sometimes she felt like she acted - spoke - by habit, but a pleasurable one all the same. Go to the hotel was her first idea of a response - not my hotel but the hotel; she had a definite disconnect, and she knew it - because the hotel was always a safe space when the men found her before.  But these weren’t them, weren’t the assassins that’d hounded her when they’d been two, and so had little idea for the thought of a safe space.

“I don’t know.”  And, truth be told, she didn’t.  She smiled regardless, easy.  “I’m sure I will find somewhere.”  They always did.

[anancientfate-blog]

saffrondaze:

     Kiryos bristles under the remark, but the psychic pulls the pokemon back once more. Her gloved hands dip down to roughly pull and ruffle the pokemon’s ‘scruff.’ The woman doesn’t know better, she shares silently. 

     “ Partners, would be  the correct term, ” she says calmly, much like she would a slow witted person. “ We wouldn’t want to anger him, now would we? ” She continues, roughly petting the pokemon.

     « Master, » Kiryos whines, making sure to project his voice (sounding very much like the child he was) to the other woman as well, « my fur’s getting messy. »  

              !             ???              ! !      She had been about to comment on the angering him remark - less on the partner bit, although she failed to see how such an animal could be classified as a partner  (certainly not in the same way a human might, although attack dogs had a nice feel to them) - because, in point of fact, Mireille had never had so much as a pet but knew that sometimes pets were angry at you but you didn’t go out of your way not to anger them--      And then something - that thing, she understands it is that thing - spoke in her head.      Either that or she was having a very, very strong hallucination, which, given the way her flashbacks were going, was not something that would surprise her.      At least her first instinct to pull out her gun was ignored.  This thing was speaking in her head, she didn’t want to know what it would do if she tried to shoot it.      “What----”  She paused, swallowed, took a deep breath.  “---was that?”

[anancientfate-blog]

cantusecho:

The wound really wasn’t as bad as it could have been. From what she witnessed, or assumed, it was only a graze. The bullet didn’t actually…go in her arm, so it could have been worse right? Hibiki rather not think about that outcome. 

Instead, she kept an eye on the woman as she tended to her wound, smiling almost immediately at her question. “Hibiki Tachibana! Nice to meet you! If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask!” Despite the circumstances, she seemed like a nice person, and Hibiki would offer to help her with anything she wanted if need be. 

“What’s your name?” She never asked before, did she? Only where she was from, if memory served right.

“Tighter.  Wrap it tighter.”

The blonde does not stop, keeps pulling the gauze through her fingers, tries to wrap tighter but her uncle lays a stern hand on her own, and she pauses.  In the pausing, the gauze begins to unwrap itself, to fall away.  This is not the first time she has been scared of her uncle; it won’t be the last.

“Don’t be afraid.  I’m not going to shoot you.”  The way his lips curve into a tender smile - it might be a joke, but neither of them is laughing.  Truth be told, it isn’t funny.

Her uncle takes the gauze in his hands and steadily rewraps her wound.  The blonde flinches, blue eyes snapping shut, but the pain fades.

So does the memory.

She shakes herself out of it - mentally, at least - and wishes the memories would shut themselves off.  It’s been months of their interference, and she is tired of them.

“Mireille.”  Her lips twitch the slightest bit at the admittance.  It would be easier to give an alias, but that was one of the few things Claude taught her that she still considered of value in her line of work: an alias is quickly forgotten, not just by your acquaintance, but by yourself as well.  In most cases, it is far easier to stick to your own name. Just maybe not all of it.

“It is truly a pleasure, Tachibana-san.  Thank you for your help.”

[anancientfate-blog]

saffrondaze:

    The little abra makes a face much like the woman’s. How rare it was for humans not to know who he was. Even though they were pretty elusive (in terms of capturing!!) people should know how valuable his species were!

     Sabrina places her hand on his head as it to calm him, and it works. The little abra leans into the touch, even if he’s eyeing the girl wearily, he’s content.

     “Abra? He’s a psychic type pokemon. ” The psychic says calmly.  She knows it doesn’t explain anything, and it shouldn’t, she isn’t willing on divulging all her cards. Not when she doesn’t know who the woman is just yet.

                    “Poe-key-mon,”      Mireille sounds the word out, testing the way the words (word??) feels in her mouth.  The other woman said it like it was something she should just know off the bat, but she has never heard the word in her life before this exact moment.      And, wait, did she say that thing was psychic?                     “Is that some sort of...pet?”  She’s grasping at straws here.

[anancientfate-blog]

streetxcat:

               COPPER HAD NEARLY killed her once or twice.  The pole to the head had, perhaps, been the worst he had done.  However, damaging her to the point she was useless hadn’t ever been his goal.  When he had done such beatings, he did them out of a LACK of control.  Something merely going wrong in some fashion or another.  Not that she was defending him in any way – he was an abusive monster regardless of nearly killing her – but when she had passed out and had a concussion due to him cracking her head, it hadn’t been intentional.  The e n t i r e t y of her relationship with the man was difficult to explain, but Cat wasn’t about to dwell on something that surfaced such aching thoughts.

       Instead, mind mulled over the question redirected at her.  It caused a smile to slide across her features, stomach churning with a sort of irritation regarding the whole ordeal.  She should have just kept her mouth s h u t, but she always found some inkling within her to be “good” in some way.  As if warning people about something so obvious as to bad parts of town made her an angelic figure, allowing her to be forgiven of her sins.  Cat didn’t even necessarily believe in a higher power, but she supposed she believed in being the higher person.

                          Granted, she picked and chose which circumstances to behave as such.  It was not a good tactic, but she convinced herself that it was.  A thief who helped people couldn’t be all that bad, right?  She was a just a homeless teenager doing what she had to to SURVIVE.  Normally, she was good natured and kind or whatever.

        ( At least that was her own lies to herself. )

                                  With a short laugh escaping her, Cat leaned against the wall behind her.  Thin clothes weren’t enough to prevent the chill of brick to seep through the threads and into the tainted skin.  With cold now burying into her bones, she hardly flinched, for it felt good against the scars there, as they seemed to forever ACHE in some form or another.  If only just because they had only been properly cleaned during her time at juvie.  Never any other opportunity.

                      “I can handle myself.  ‘Sides, m’not exactly welcome on the good part       of town.  Fancy, well-off people don’t really like when the street rats hand ‘round       their n i c e areas an’ wha’not.   M’a disease.   If y’happen t’be in the same boat       as me, then a’least y’don’t look it.”      The woman before was decently pretty in       actuality.    While Cat was aware almost anyone could be homeless,   it generally       wasn’t the healthy looking women.

          That was the one benefit of her uncle’s training - he was always in control.  Yes, there were some life-threatening situations, particularly when he started bringing her along on jobs--

She’d been young - too young - and spent most of the time hiding in places she wouldn’t be caught.  No one would believe a child would be in on a public assassination, and, in truth, she wasn’t.  Not really.  But she waited in hiding until her uncle made the other man so scared that he ran into the room.

She stepped from behind the curtain, her first gun in her hand, and shot him in the back.

It should have killed him, but she was scared, and her aim was off.  She shot him again while he was raising his gun, too terrified to not shoot.

She only survived because he was slow and in pain.  Anyone else would have gotten her on the first shot.

--but never anything she’d particularly needed to worry about.  Claude had never been angry, or when he was it was the sort of cold, simmering thing that didn’t lash out.  A safe sort of anger, if there could be such a thing.

          Mireille had no qualms about whether or not she was good.  Truth be told, she had learned to stop thinking about it with her first kill.  When it came to assassination, there was no good and no evil - only truth and the knowledge of it.  Yes, she might be killing some corrupt corporate official, but he still had a wife.  Children.  A daughter who loved him, who wanted to see him, who would ache inside knowing that her father was dead and gone without any sort of reconciliation.  And he, for his part, might love them.

                                                           No, Mireille knew who she was killing.  Why.                                                            For a while, she believed this made her better                                                            than her parents’ murderer.  Eventually she                                                            came to believe this was not the case, even if                                                            she refused to learn the rest of the plot.           ( Not because she did not want to know,             but because she’d thrown away her only             clue to finding out.                                )                                   “Some people are better at hiding their...diseased nature.”                                Mireille couldn’t help but smile - a small thing without joy.  She                                crossed her arms, nodded once.  “I wouldn’t say you’re such a                                plight on humankind.”  She’d killed worse.  ...she’d killed better.                                “Just in need of a shower and better clothes.  Maybe a haircut.                                  Then they wouldn’t care.”

[anancientfate-blog]

cantusecho:

All right, so she wanted gauze. Hibiki knew she had some money on her, but Mireille’s offer took her by slight surprise. “Ah, you don’t you have to worry about that! I have enough money on me to pay for them!”  They wouldn’t cost that much anyway, and she could easily use the spare cash she has to cover it. Or, if it’s really necessary, she’ll simply use some of the money from her leftover allowance. 

“You’re welcome to come inside with me too!” Would she? Hibiki wasn’t sure, but leaving her outside didn’t feel right, especially after her situation. Whatever her response may be in the end, Hibiki went inside, immediately looking around. In some respects, it felt more like a small convenience store that wouldn’t house any sort of medical items, but it was also fairly large in size and didn’t only hold food.

And once Hibiki found what she was looking for, she quickly grabbed it and made her way towards the cashier. They were in a small box, which should be good enough since the wound wasn’t that serious. As much as she didn’t want to think about it, it felt nearly impossible when wondering about the woman’s wound. After paying, Hibiki took the bag and jogged out, holding it right before Mireille with a smile.  “Okay, here ya go! Did you need any help putting them on?”

She didn’t.

It was far safer to stay outside, separate from everything, so that’s what she did.  Although - if she truly thought about it - it was just as risky to let the girl who had seen the body, had likely heard the gunshot go inside alone and speak with the store owner, the manager, whoever was inside.  Truth be told, she should be paranoid and keep tabs.

But something about Kirika being gone and probably paired up with Chloe kind of took all of her paranoia power.  If she was going to be worried about anything, it would be that.

With the girl gone, Mireille leaned against a concrete restraining wall - one of the barricades protecting the passersby on the sidewalk from the coming and going of the cars on the all-too-busy street.  She pulled out her pocket watch - whether by habit or by instinct, she wasn’t sure anymore - and glanced at it, thinking.  For once, she didn’t pop it open; instead, her thumb ran along the raised figures on the front, nail picking at the edge of one of the swords.

Not for the first time, she noticed their hair.  Noir must not be identical.

She could hope.

A quick glance up as the other appeared, smile tracing her features.  “No.  I should be fine.  Thank you.”  A small pause, then, finally, as she began wrapping the gauze around her tender wound, “What is your name?”

[anancientfate-blog]

drdumaurier:

     Sleep had always been a flickering thing, her last night of sleep had been months ago if not years. Functioning with just a little more than enough energy to be always on her guard, she had gone through the travels and changed of identity without complaining or putting their lives in danger. While some might believe her compliant and resigned, Bedelia had actually been more than careful with every step she had taken, waiting for the opportunity to leave unharmed.

     Something had been in the air for quite some time now, perhaps Hannibal was making some plan without sharing it with her yet in case she would decide to turn him in, but her attempts to make him had been unsuccessful. She had to be even more careful than usual if she wanted to stay safe and more importantly: alive.

     It was late, too late for her to be awake, and yet she had been lying in her bed for hours, eyes focused on a spot on the ceiling, until a quiet noise made her turn her head. At first, Bedelia didn’t move, but curiosity was too strong and she stood up, moving silently from her bedroom to where the sound seemed to have come from. One step, two step, three step…

     She froze as she noticed another person awake and standing in the hallway. It wasn’t Hannibal, no, it was a woman. Of course he could invite whoever he wanted in his bed as long as they didn’t put their lives in danger, but something was odd without Bedelia being able to tell what it was exactly as she was observing her carefully.

     Where was he? Why would he let her see herself out without at least making sure the door was closed behind her? Who was she?

     “Can I help you?”

Her first instinct was a very curt, very blunt no, signora.  She curbed this, instead letting herself focus on the other woman.  Never mind the other problems; if she was going to speak with this woman, it would be best to determine what she should call her, if anything at all.

Mireille could not use her real name - Dr. du Maurier - without giving away ...  well, not herself, but perhaps an inkling of why she was here.  Someone who knew that she was Bedelia du Maurier would also know that the man now lying dead in the other room was Hannibal Lecter, and anyone who truly knew that could not have anything good in mind.

Nor could she pretend that she did not know who the other woman was.  No one who was here at this time could pretend they did not know the lady of the house.  Regardless of whether her marriage with the corpse was real or feigned, one would assume the esteemed Dr. Fell would bring up that he had a wife at one point or another, even if it was only as a passing mention.  To do otherwise would be to throw the other person into dismay, particularly if they happened upon the woman herself.

This was why it was better to not encounter another person.

“Signora Fell,” she murmured, bowing her head the slightest bit but never letting her eyes leave the other woman, “my deepest apologies for the intrusion.  I simply needed to speak with your husband on museum matters.” It was on the tip of her tongue to mention that our conversation has now finished, but it would be best to pretend otherwise.  Hopefully, this woman - whatever name she now preferred - had no desire to speak with the man herself.

[anancientfate-blog]

okay but if i planned a Noir marathon for sometime in the future who would be up for watching with me?

[anancientfate-blog]

streetxcat:

     CAT CERTAINLY DIDN’T RELY ON LUCK.  That much she understood quite well.  If she were to be living solely off such a thing, it would have run dry LONG ago.  Her breathing would have ceased, and her heart would have stopped.  As it were, however, her skill saved her where luck failed, but luck came in the few times she was left powerless in a situation.  Though maybe luck w a s n ‘ t the proper term – yet Cat wasn’t about to sit around and dwell on the semantics of how her life had played out.  She was alive, and that was all that truly mattered to her in the very end.

                                   It had been a journey for her to adapt and learn.  Her training within the ring had been as if she were alone.  Facing every foe and challenge with n o  o n e to aide her.  Copper had made sure she had the moves drilled into her head or, quite literally, burned into her muscles.  He had been relentless and angry, but he hadn’t been the best teacher in the end, hence Tinderbox’s role of taking Copper’s abilities and translating them for the small girl.  For he had trained her as it she were a man over six feet.  It was almost IMPOSSIBLE to completely please him in such regard.  Thus, it had taken a secondary source to retrain each tactic into something suited for her size.

             But despite training to defend and save herself, the ring had been group efforts most of the time.  So to suddenly be out on her own once she escaped Juvie… well, at least she had been PREPARED for that.  The world hadn’t been welcoming, but Cat had been ready.  Mostly.

                                                            “It’s y’who’s offering, not me who’s asking.  Jus’                                keep tha’ in mind if you’re going t’do so.”  Denying money wasn’t                                uncommon for her ( she could handle herself ),  but she could find                                ways to twist it so that s h e didn’t seem desperate.

          Mireille didn’t like to think of her own training.  To put it bluntly, she did not like to think of training at all, her target practice in the Parisian sewers notwithstanding.  That was less training and more an upkeep of her current skill set, a way of seeing if her injuries - or her fear - were getting in the way of who she needed to be on any given hit.           What she did not know was that her own training was nothing compared with that of her long-gone partner or the other half of what Chloe had referred to as the True Noir.  As opposed to that black duo, hers was tame in comparison.  In fact, it was quite likely if her parents had handed her over to Altena, she would have died in the ruins of the Manor.  Instead, she’d had Uncle Claude, a dead family, and a more...empathic style of assassination.           Of course, she had killed Claude for his trouble, but that was beside the point.           He’d stood in her way, betrayed her parents’ best wishes, and tried to--                    Well, it didn’t matter what he’d tried to do, did it?                                                                 She’d FUCKED that up herself.

             “I will.”  But there is no offering of actual funds, no monetary handouts, no              searching in her little pink purse for anything to give the girl.  It was a theoretical              conversation, not one she’d meant to end with a true payment.  “Although the              question is - if this is such a bad part of town, why are you here?  Wouldn’t you              know better?”                                       A little blunt, perhaps, but when it came to other people’s hits, she                                       could afford to make that decision.  Hadn’t that been the way with                                       Kirika?  A different circumstance, but all the same.

[anancientfate-blog]

cantusecho:

Her friend didn’t contact her that much? Maybe that meant she was fairly busy, or just couldn’t reach a phone. No, then again, it sounded as if she didn’t like being in contact; but friends stay in contact right? Strange. 

“Putting her in danger? Why would she be—?” Hibiki stopped herself mid-way, remembering how she met the woman. Talking about where she’s from did a good enough job of making her briefly forget what happened. Would her friend be in danger due to…all that? Hibiki stayed silent, leaving her broken question to hang in the air until quickly changing the subject herself once the store came into view.

“Ah! There it is!” Hibiki pat down her clothes, particularly her pockets, making sure she had some money on her just in case. “Okay, so you need some bandages, right? Or some gauze? I can go in and buy them for you!”

The girl’s comment elicited a small smile - or, the lack thereof, really, the way her words cut off all too soon.  It was the flicker of realization that she enjoyed, although perhaps it would have been best to steer away from that topic entirely.  Forgetfullness would certainly be safer for her current companion.

Better to leave the question hanging.

She glanced up at the store with a sense of relief and over to the other with a greater sense of one.  Although, yes, she could buy things for herself just fine, having the girl do so left less of a trail.  A policeman checking various stores, trying to find a paper trail or any other sort of thing, would not find her - would not find anyone with apparent injuries - but, if the shop owner even remembered, it would be nothing more than a girl buying bandaids and gauze.  Certainly that was safer.

“Gauze would be best.”  It was just a simple cut, yes, a missed bullet, but gauze was easily more preferable than a bandaid would be.  One bandage would not cover it quite well enough.  “Do you need any money?”  She has cash.  The whole...paper trail thing.

[anancientfate-blog]

STARTER CALL