Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Titanic: An Assignment to Remember ❯ Settling In ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Titanic: An Assignment to Remember

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I do not own nor was I in any way involved with the creation of Noir. If I were you wouldn't be READING this.

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Chapter 2

"We are living at a period of most wonderful transition which tends rapidly to the accomplishment of that great end to which indeed, all history points -- the realization of the unity of mankind."

Prince Albert, 1851

Mireille severely disliked traveling; she had enough of it with her work. Traveling on board ocean liners was, more often than not, long, uncomfortable, and intensely boring. The trip to Japan she had made to meet Kirika many months ago had taken weeks to complete. Each time she would travel onboard a ship she would always recall how Charles Dickens had described a voyage he'd taken in the mid-1800's. He described it as a "floating coffin." However, standing within the lavish confines of first class suite B63, Merielle couldn't help but think that the famous author would have had a far better view of the accommodations aboard Titanic.
The stateroom was designed in the Louis the XVI style. Polished oak paneling, finely molded ceiling fixtures, a carpeting so luxuriously soft that your feet could sink into it. The amenities weren't as outrageous as the nearby private parlour suites, but it wasn't meant to compete with those rooms in the first place. B63 had a sitting area, a desk, two beds (one on either side of the room), and two tall rectangular windows overlooking the ocean. All of these features were designed to fit with the rooms overall look and feel.
With a deep sigh, Mireille fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment while listening to Kirika finishing packing away their luggage in the wardrobe room. Mireille had to deal with many mysteries since meeting her amnesiac partner. Things had been so much simpler before, even with the mystery of her murdered family hanging over her day and night. Now things had changed drastically. Now she had to be concerned about many things from Les Soldats, curiosity about their involvement in the deaths of her parents, and most of all the mystery of her partner.
She had no identity; there was no better way of putting it. Memories give a person an identity; they shape who that person is and who they will become. Kirika had no past prior to her first moments of consciousness; all she had was the ability and knowledge to kill without mercy. Perhaps this made her feel less than human. She certainly acted that way in public. She'd walk the streets of Paris as though she were a ghost.
Mireille did not know whether Kirika was friend of foe. Yet, despite that, she did have sympathy for her. Mireille knew where she came from, she knew where she was, had some knowledge of where she was going in life. Kirika had none of that. This meant that she couldn't be a part of the world in her home of Japan, and most definitely couldn't be a part of Mireille's world in Europe.
In any event, Mireille had needed to pull quite a few strings to arrange for them to share a room. All the berths in first class had been filled for months. But she prevailed in the end, and that's all that mattered. It only meant that they'd share one of the beds in the room, and that wasn't anything new or drastic. They'd shared the same bed in Mireille's Parisian apartment ever since they began working together. It had become a habit by now.
Mireille snapped out of her thoughts to the sound of the wardrobe room door closing. Looking to her left she saw Kirika, still wearing her boarding clothes, looking rather flustered from the day's work. Mireille had to admit that she was exhausted from it all as well. They'd been moving nonstop all day long. This was the first moment's peace they'd had the pleasure to enjoy ever since breakfast at the hotel that morning.
"I suppose, all things considered, you'd rather we just turned in for the night rather than go to dinner," Mireille asked.
All Kirika could do in reply was nod clumsily before collapsing into one of the chairs in the sitting area. Neither of them had the will to go through the rigors of dining tonight. This was the era that American satirist Mark Twain had coined the "Gilded Age." As such, dining publicly was a social and also ceremonial event. It required specific ways of acting and of eating. Meals of this manner were eleven courses long and could last for hours before they would terminate. In this sense, dining alone was a small pleasure that brought infinite amounts of enjoyment.
Mireille then picked herself up off the bed and moved across the room to draw the curtains. She peered out at the sea for one moment before sealing the image away until morning. She then turned to the nearby desk, picked up a packet of papers and proceeded to hand them to Kirika.
Kirika filtered through the stack of papers finding a number of different documents pertaining to their trip. Included were two tickets for the ships Turkish Bath establishment, information on other ships amenities such as the swimming pool, squash racquet court, and the fully equipped state-of-the-art gymnasium. Also included was a large foldout map of the first class areas of the ship.
"Once we find where our targets are staying we should mark them on that," Mireille stated while motioning towards the deck plans.
Kirika again only nodded in reply while at the same time yawning from exhaustion.
"We won't make our move until late in the trip. I don't want to stick around too long. I just want to finish the job then get off in New York. Is that all right with you?"
This time Kirika responded with a soft, almost inaudible "yes."
"Good. Now, why don't we get some rest."
At this point, that was all Kirika needed to hear.

I soft, polite knock on the door was what woke Mireille at 8:30 the following morning. She groaned upon seeing the time. Breakfast had started a half hour ago, they were late. Kirika was still very much asleep, facing the opposite side of the bed. Wearing a robe on over her nightclothes, she made her way to the door to find out who was calling at this time in the morning.
Behind the door, in the hall stood a tall gentleman who must have been in his early 30's. He was wearing a navy blue jacket over an equally blue shirt and tie. In his left hand was a worn notepad while in his right hand was a small, clearly well used, pencil.
"Good morning," he said in a clear Irish accent. "Might I just check something in your room, I assure you this will only take a moment then I will leave."
"Is there a problem, what do you need from our room?"
"I helped design this ship you see. I'm sailing to sort of work out the kinks, make sure she's a first class job when all's said and done. I've found a specific problem with the staterooms that I just need to confirm with another case."
Reluctantly signaling the affirmative Mireille stepped aside to allow him entry. Without going too far into the room he headed straight to, of all things, the coat hook. The night before Mireille had placed a heavy fur coat there in preparation for the frigid weather of the open Atlantic. He simply removed the coat and while still holding it in his hand studied the hook itself.
Upon observing what he had come here for he replaced the coat on its hook and spoke aloud as he wrote down the outlandish notation that there were "too few screws in the stateroom coat hooks."
He deposited his notepad and pencil in his pocket, thanked Mireille, and left bringing an end to an interaction that had lasted under a minute.