u is for undulating, r is for rind
Title: On the Edges
Claim: Noir
Pairing: Kirika/Mireille
Prompt: U is for Undulating
Word Count: 200
Their target is somewhere above, sitting up in the private balcony overlooking the dance floor. Kirika knows he's up there, though she hasn't had him in her sights since they followed him inside the club.
"Why ruin a perfectly nice party so soon?" Mireille had said, as she led the way over to the bar.
Now Kirika watches the mass of people filling the room and thinks of how they will duck and scatter at the sound of gunfire. Not yet, though - Mireille had wanted to dance.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head until Mireille just laughed and left her with the words: "Save my seat." And she watched, feeling out of place, as Mireille slipped in amongst the dancers, effortlessly blending in.
From time to time she catches a flash of blonde hair, or an arm, thin and pale, raised up out of the throng.
Then the edges of the crowd part and Mireille appears again. She is with a girl, as tall as she is, with a long brown ponytail and Mireille's hands on her hips. Mireille, eyes closed, is smiling as she moves in time with the music (and the girl).
Suddenly, Kirika wishes she could dance.
Title: Sweet and Sour
Claim: Noir
Pairing: Kirika/Mireille
Prompt: R is for Rind
Word Count: 200
"A shot of tequila," she orders, flushed and breathless as she leans over the bar.
She turns as she waits, shifting her hip up to rest on the barstool Kirika has dutifully kept free for her, and waves coyly at the brunette she's just abandoned.
She turns back. "Make it two," she says, catching the bartender's eye again. And, "I'll teach you," she tells Kirika.
Salt first, sprinkled across the back of her hand. "Lick," she says. "Then sip."
Shot glass, raised to her lips, swallow.
"And suck." This last instruction muffled around the lemon slice lodged between her teeth. "Your turn."
Kirika picks up the salt shaker, looking doubtful.
Mireille wonders what else Kirika would go along with if she were to ask. Then Kirika's tongue appears and the thought is swept along with the image of salty skin and bitter alcohol, sour fruit and a mouth that Mireille knows would still taste sweet afterwards.
Another time she might have laughed at Kirika's face as she coughs. Instead she leaves her desiccated lemon wedge in her empty glass and stands up with a sigh.
"We can't just sit around all night," she says.
They've got a job to do.
Claim: Noir
Pairing: Kirika/Mireille
Prompt: U is for Undulating
Word Count: 200
Their target is somewhere above, sitting up in the private balcony overlooking the dance floor. Kirika knows he's up there, though she hasn't had him in her sights since they followed him inside the club.
"Why ruin a perfectly nice party so soon?" Mireille had said, as she led the way over to the bar.
Now Kirika watches the mass of people filling the room and thinks of how they will duck and scatter at the sound of gunfire. Not yet, though - Mireille had wanted to dance.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head until Mireille just laughed and left her with the words: "Save my seat." And she watched, feeling out of place, as Mireille slipped in amongst the dancers, effortlessly blending in.
From time to time she catches a flash of blonde hair, or an arm, thin and pale, raised up out of the throng.
Then the edges of the crowd part and Mireille appears again. She is with a girl, as tall as she is, with a long brown ponytail and Mireille's hands on her hips. Mireille, eyes closed, is smiling as she moves in time with the music (and the girl).
Suddenly, Kirika wishes she could dance.
Title: Sweet and Sour
Claim: Noir
Pairing: Kirika/Mireille
Prompt: R is for Rind
Word Count: 200
"A shot of tequila," she orders, flushed and breathless as she leans over the bar.
She turns as she waits, shifting her hip up to rest on the barstool Kirika has dutifully kept free for her, and waves coyly at the brunette she's just abandoned.
She turns back. "Make it two," she says, catching the bartender's eye again. And, "I'll teach you," she tells Kirika.
Salt first, sprinkled across the back of her hand. "Lick," she says. "Then sip."
Shot glass, raised to her lips, swallow.
"And suck." This last instruction muffled around the lemon slice lodged between her teeth. "Your turn."
Kirika picks up the salt shaker, looking doubtful.
Mireille wonders what else Kirika would go along with if she were to ask. Then Kirika's tongue appears and the thought is swept along with the image of salty skin and bitter alcohol, sour fruit and a mouth that Mireille knows would still taste sweet afterwards.
Another time she might have laughed at Kirika's face as she coughs. Instead she leaves her desiccated lemon wedge in her empty glass and stands up with a sigh.
"We can't just sit around all night," she says.
They've got a job to do.