Adrien rested his arms on the balustrade with a heavy sigh, revelling in the cool night air stroking his cheek, a stark contrast to the somewhat stuffy hall, which was full of the genteel society. The nobility of the land, supposedly. All the gentry present in Paris were present for his father's gala. Though the crowd felt far from noble; the geriatric gentlemen laughed boisterously at matters of faux importance, their equally geriatric ladies tittering along as though they understood what was going on. At the other end of the spectrum, young men would cast discreet, salacious glances at the young ladies, who would pretend to shield their faces behind their cards as they returned the glances demurely. It was the type of society he should be used to.
Should be. But now he didn't want anything to do with it. He was tired and somewhat moody. Tired of pulling the corners of his mouth into a rictus smile at the guests in his father's place. His father, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. No sooner had he stepped into the hall he was stopped by Marquis Bourgeois' daughter, Lady Chloé. As decorum dictated, she was introduced to him by her father, despite the fact that they were childhood friends.
She was wearing a dress in the height of fashion, a delicate thing in cream with a white underlayer and edged with white lace. It highlighted her light hair, cascading down her back in elegant waves, and her blue eyes, cold and calculating. As soon as her father left them, she practically draped herself over him as she tittered about how her shoes weren't the shade she wanted and how she almost didn't come because of it. Knowing her, he knew she would keep on talking whether or not he was there so he just kept quiet.
As soon as she stopped talking to draw breath, he hurriedly put in a few words to excuse himself. It was so abrupt it was bordering on being rude. She scowled at him and, god forbid, actually stomped her delicate, wrongly shaded, satin slipper. She put a hand on his elbow, with her own rigid smile pulling her already thin lips to near invisibility, in an effort to pull him into the oh so important conversation on how her slippers were also of the wrong material.
With a gentle firmness, Adrien plucked her hand, wrapped in the finest kid gloves off of his elbow. Surreptitiously, he brushed away imaginary lint and made his way in the opposite direction, certain if he had to listen to her prattle on any longer he would go mad. She wasn't a dullard, surely. It just seems that her interests run parallel to his, never intersecting. As he made his way away from her, he could feel her gaze searing his back. In the back of his mind, he heard the whisper of betrothal. Their fathers never mentioned it, but it was implied. His father was probably waiting for a better time to announce it.
As soon as he stepped into the cool air, he let out a magnificent sigh, akin to a lady's when her corset was loosened. Similarly, he loosened the stiff bowtie choking him and leaned over the balustrade, looking up yearningly at the moon. He held up a hand against the moon, only a tiny sliver visible to the naked eye. He eyed the tiny rays of light as they slipped between his long fingers. He inspected his thin fingers critically, flexing and unflexing them, examining the small callouses he gained from fencing regularly.
As he was just staring to loathe his own fingers, a small black cat leapt lightly on the balustrade next to his elbow. Smiling his first true smile of the night, Adrien reached down to scratch between the cat's ears. "Hello, Plagg. I hope you haven't been seeking mischief in the kitchens again."
The black cat named Plagg let out a mournful yowl, purring as he rubbed the length of his lithe body against Adrien's arm, which elicited a small laugh.
Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Adrien took out a slightly squashed waxpaper bundle, wrapped in normal, ordinary twine the size of his palm. Slowly, almost reverently, Adrien untied the packet as Plagg batted at the ends of the twine. When the twine came off, Adrien pulled off the layers to reveal a small mound of cheese. This he offered to Plagg. "Your favourite, Camembert."
Plagg took one delicate sniff at the pile before indelicately scarfing it.
Adrien laughed another small laugh. "Not so fast, tubby!" He poked Plagg's side and the cat let out a purr of contentment.
Adrien just looked at the cat lick the empty waxpaper with amusement.
"Hey, Adrien!"
The boy in question jumped and whirled around, to come face to face with his best friend. "Oh, hello Nino."
"Hello yourself. What are you doing out here all alone? In the dark, too." Nino's face turned sly as he took off his ever present worker's cap, which was unbefitting of his class, but he wore anyway. He gave his friend a grin and cocked an eyebrow. "Unless if I'm mistaken and you have a certain jeune femme in your company." He wiggled his fingers teasingly. "Also, last I saw, Mademoiselle Chloé is still inside the hall." He gave Adrien a mockingly salacious glance out of hooded eyes.
"Tais-toi, idiot," Adrien countered goodnaturedly. "I'm just here with my cat."
"What cat?"
"This-" Adrien turned around, and sure enough, he was alone, the empty waxpaper the only indication that he didn't dream the exchange with Plagg. Even that fluttered in the breeze and tumbled over the balustrade and into the shrubbery under it. "Never mind." He made a mental note to pick it up later.
Nino just raised his grin again. "I'm sure she was as lithe as a cat," he teased.
"Tais-toi," Adrien said again.
"Sure, sure." His friend waved a hand dismissively. "Are you coming in or not? The musicians are starting their, ahem, younger set list. Should be more interesting."
The fair haired young man nodded in agreement. "I'll come in soon, you go on first. I just need to take in some air."
"With the amount of dancing it seems Mademoiselle Chloé intends to do with you, you need as much air as you can take," Nino throws in one last teasing remark as he slipped back inside.
As soon as Nino was out of sight, Adrien heard a familiar yowl beside him. Plagg was back. He scratched the cat's head again. "You don't like people, don't you?"
Plagg gave a short purr before leaping gracefully off the balustrade.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Plagg stopped short right at the edge of the semicircle of light from the inside, spilling out of the door.
Adrien froze, his breathe stuck in his throat. Both of them were so still he could pick out the individual voices within earshot. "Plagg...?"
With a twitch of his long tail, Plagg shot indoors.
"Plagg, no!" Adrien's mind flashed to the last time Plagg made an impromptu visit to one of his father's galas and shuddered. It took every ounce of his charm to calm the guests and convince his father that the cat meant no harm and thus no harm should fall on the cat. He was afraid to think of what his father would do to Plagg for another disturbance.
Quick as a fox, Adrien shot into the ballroom hall, almost colliding with some of the guests. Muttering a string of apologies, he kept his eyes trained on the floor, sometimes glancing at the tip of a serpentine tail disappearing between another pair of legs. Adrien trotted after the cat, never coming near enough to catch up.
"Adrien!" Simultaneously his vision was covered by a light coloured skirt with white lace.
He jerked his head up to meet Chloé's eyes, her faithful handmaiden Sabrina by her side. Just at that moment, the musicians struck up the beginnings of a light, quick tune. Chloé squealed. "I do so love this song! Come," she placed a delicate hand on his elbow again and lightly tugged it.
Desperately, he cast his gaze around for some sort of escape. But his exit was blocked by the quiet handmaiden Sabrina, her eyes as hard as her mistress, with a similar tilt in her lips.
Sighing, he conceded. He'd already lost sight of the cat. Maybe he'll be able to spot him from the dancefloor. He allowed himself to be dragged off. Letting out another squeal, Chloé dragged him right into the middle of the waiting dancers.
Adrien rolled his eyes over Chloe's head at Nino, who was grinning madly. The tune was fast and it took the dancers into a whirl of motion. However, he kept his eyes trained to any place where a cat might be. The dining table was empty, so was the open door leading to the balcony.
Not soon enough, the song ended. The partners faced each other and bowed, all of them panting slightly, faces flushed from the exercise. Keeping his eyes on Chloe's for as long as custom dictated, Adrien once again cast an anxious glance around the hall for Plagg.
As Nino predicted, Chloé insisted on the next dance with him and as his mind raced to find a suitable excuse against it, the herald slammed the end of his heavy staff against the floor three times, effectively catching the attention of the crowd.
The herald drew in a huge breath that puffed out his chest alarmingly and opened his mouth. "Announcing the arrival of Comte Thomas Dupain with his wife, Comtesse Sabine Dupain-Cheng, along with their daughter, Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who is accompanied by her companion, Mademoiselle Alya!" Finishing his announcement, the herald deflated almost comically.
There was a general murmur of surprise ripple among the guests. Comte Thomas Dupain was well-known for being reserved and separated from the rest, his lands at the far reaches of the kingdom. In fact, so reclusive was the Comte that no one knew much about him aside that his lands were renowned for their richness in wheat. As the small company descended the stairs, he heard Chloé murmur, "French father with Oriental mother, how unfortunate for the mademoiselle to be such a métis."
Adrien cast a quick glance at her, unable and unwilling to hide his disapproval effectively. Nino appeared by his side with a similar expression of disapproval. Chloé looked at the both of them in turn, her cheeks colouring with indignation when they didn't agree.
Adrien looked again at the small band of latecomers as they descended down the stairs. The reclusive Comte Dupain was a huge barrel of a man, his pretty and petite wife barely a third of his size. The Comte smoothed his impressive moustache nervously while the Comtesse smiled calmly, her eyes crinkling charmingly. The comte was dressed in an impeccable frock coat with a sky blue waistcoat underneath while the Comtesse was dressed quite unlike the other ladies, with their stiff multitudes of skirts; but in a light pink silk dress with small, delicately embroidered white flowers that fell loosely and elegantly around her petite frame. That alone was enough to set more murmers amongst the guests.
Remembering himself, Adrien lurched forward to meet the guests in his father's stead. It was almost comical to see this huge barrel of a man bow hesitantly to this young man as his wife curtsied prettily.
"Welcome Comte Dupain, to my father's gala," Adrien said formally, his voice low and reverent, showing that while their ranks were different, he respected this older man. "Comtesse Dupain-Cheng."
They straightened up again and the Comte looked visibly relieved that he wasn't treated in disdain for his tardiness. "I do apologise, Monsieur Agreste, for my late arrival; for my carriage suffered a broken wheel and I had to help get it fixed- I mean-" he tried to check himself; men of status such as himself do not fix their own wheels.
Adrien smiled reassuringly. "Not a problem, Comte Dupain. I'm sorry to hear that. Has it been repaired? Shall I send for people to have it fixed while you are here?"
The comte looked relieved again and the comtesse answered for him. "That would not be necessary, but thank you for the offer, Monsieur Agreste," she said graciously, her French accent only slightly betrayed.
"I'm happy to hear that. Please, come inside and enjoy yourselves."
The two adults nodded gratefully at him and descended the rest of the stairs down, where the Comte was received with surprised greetings from friends. Adrien turned to greet the two mademoiselles in turn. He grinned at Alya, who was a good friend of his. Though admittedly, he hasn't seen her in a while. She was dressed in a dress in striking autumn colours that brought out her piercing brown eyes and hair, which for once was pulled away from his face.
She grinned back at him. "Nice turnout you have here, Agreste."
"Alya," he smiled wider, glad she was the same as ever. "Nino's been waiting, you know. You do him no justice."
She threw her head impetuously. "Oh, that Nino! Don't tell me he still moons over me," she looked at Adrien out of the corner of her eye and tilted a corner of her lip up.
"Close enough. Please, enjoy yourself." He invited her with a grand sweep of his hand and she scoffed playfully.
"By the way, this is my good friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Alya said offhandedly, placing a hand on her friend's lower back and giving a light push just as she was going down the stairs, where Nino was already waiting, his cap crushed in his hands, a jaunty smile on his lips.
Marinette stumbled with a gasp. "Alya!"
Adrien quickly caught her and she awkwardly straightened up, courtseying pertly at him, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink, eyes fearfully downcast. She was dressed in the same fashion as her mother, except in red with black spots, which on closer inspection turns out to be small, tightly coiled black rosettes. She had her mother's delicate complexion and dark hair, coiled prettily in a French twist at the base of her head. However, this was already coming partially undone, tendrils framing her face elegantly.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng," Adrien murmured as he returned the bow. He straightened up to see her eyes, blue as the summer sky, fixed on him. As soon as their gazes met, she quickly looked away, her cheeks pinkening again.
"You needn't be afraid of me, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. I am not about to scold you."
"Please, call me Marinette," she replied with impeccable French.
"If you wish," Adrien countered experimentally in Chinese.
Shocked, she met his gaze, eyes wide. Then, she smiled slowly. "You speak Chinese." It wasn't a question, it was more of a statement.
"Not very well," he admitted.
"It's good enough," she argued in Chinese. "However," she switched to French, "I was born and raised in France. I should think your Chinese surpasses my own."
"I doubt that." Adrien said cheerfully in French, offering her his elbow. She gratefully took it and climbed down the stairs, arm in arm. By this time, the rest of the guests had already turned away from them and the party was resumed. They made their way to Nino, who was speaking passionately to Alya, who just argued back just as passionately.
"Oh, good thing you're here," Alya called out. "Please speak some sense into Nino! He insists that I gave him that cap, when I don't recall anything of the sort!"
Adrien's calm voice cut through Nino's protests. "You didn't give him the cap, not in that sense. We dared you to, er, appropriate it without getting caught, remember? Nino just stole it from you and claimed it as his own."
Both of them were quiet for a while.
"I do remember appropriating a cap," Alya conceded.
"And I didn't steal it from her, I appropriated what she appropriated."
Alya was just about to protest when Marinette gave a small giggle. "You three seem to be good friends," she pointed out with a smile.
"That's because we've been here since children," Chloé replied haughtily as she floated over to them. She looked at Marinette unashamedly from head to toe. "Interesting gown you have on, dear."
"Thanks," Marinette answered warily, picking up on Chloe's hostility. "I made it myself."
"Did you? It's very nice," Adrien sounded surprised. Most of the ladies he knew had a tailor take their measurements. "You're very talented."
"Thank you," came the grateful reply. Marinette folded her hands in front of her.
"Yes, very talented," Chloé sniffed. "But so," she deliberately paused as she searched for the correct word, "out of fashion, isn't it?" Her handmaid Sabrina nodded eagerly and gushed at the cleverness of her mistress.
Adrien and Nino sighed exasperatedly while Alya bristled. But before any of them could argue, Marinette spoke up, "I suppose it's out of fashion because it hasn't yet been in fashion. I did make it myself, thus I made it to my on tastes. I don't intend to copy the trends of anyone. Fashion trends come and go, but personal style is forever, is it not?"
Her quiet argument was met by stunned silence. Slowly, they looked at her; Nino with awe, Adrien in wonder, Alya looked positively pleased while Chloe's face turned a deeper shade of crimson with each passing moment. "You speak like such a métis, who disregards our culture so blatantly!" she screeched as she turned on her heel and stalked away from them, Sabrina coaxing her all the way.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Nino let out a hearty laugh, doubling over and slapping his leg in mirth. He wiped a tear out of his eye. Alya looked like the cat that got the cream as she placed a proud hand on her friend's shoulder.
"A métis? What is that?" Marinette asked in Chinese at Adrien, her brow furrowed in confusion. Obviously she had never heard of the word before. Most of all directed at her.
"Don't mind Chloé, she could be a bit...difficult," Adrien replied in Chinese, waving his hand distractedly. He suddenly spotted Plagg, right next to the main doors. His eyes widened marginally and he was about to start in that direction when Plagg licked his paw, swiping it once over his ear and padded sprightly out the door.
"Are you okay?" Marinette asked with concern, placing a hand on his shoulder as she turned to face the direction where he was staring.
He started, as though her touch was a jolt of electricity. He looked at her hand, fingers slim and delicately curled around his shoulder, her red silk gloves a stark contrast against his black coat. He smiled politely at her, "It was nothing, I just saw something that shouldn't be here."
"Oh, should we go find it and bring it back to where it belongs?" she asked as she pulled her skirt up in one hand in preparation to get moving.
Her sincere offer threw him and he could only blink back at her. He caught himself and shook his head. He placed a hand gently on her own hand, which held a fistful of her skirt. "That won't be necessary. I think it just saw itself out."
Marinette stared at his hand on hers and dropped her hand abruptly, her cheeks colouring again.
Just then, the musicians began another set and Nino eagerly asked Alya, who just shook her head slowly in bemusement as she took up his offer.
Adrien watched his friends make their way to the dancefloor and then turned to face Marinette again, his mouth open to ask her a question about her Chinese when he caught her looking wistfully at the gathering dancers.
For the second time that night, this new demoiselle threw him. This time with her expression of longing, so openly displayed for the world to see. He inspected her open face and had a fierce wish that this not be the only time they meet. He would like to see this French-Oriental child, so demure and shy yet with steel; so soft yet tough. Her eyelashes were thick and dark around her blue eyes, so warm and different from the only other blue eyes he knew of.
Impulsively, he held out a hand. "Would you like to dance, ma dame?"
She looked down at his black gloved hand in surprise. Then she caught his gaze and shot a quick, teasing smile that threw him, third time's the charm. "Why, of course I would."
It was a slow song this time. While Marinette has shown herself to be clumsy and somewhat awkward, on the dancefloor she was transformed. Never before had he had the pleasure of dancing with a better partner. She glided effortlessly, seamlessly following his lead and leading in another moment. He couldn't stop his smile from getting wider as he led her by the window, where an early ladybug flew in and settled on her shoulder.
"Ladybug," he blurted out.
"What?"
"On your shoulder. There's a ladybug."
She cast a glance at her pale shoulder and smiled. "So there is. For a moment there I thought you were mocking my dress."
"Never. It's very pretty, Princesse."
She twisted her mouth delicately. "Mock me all you want, but I shall call you Chat Noir." She cast a pointed glance at his black attire.
"Why a cat?"
She shrugged gracefully. "You just remind me of a cat."
"Well, isn't that a bit of an oxymoron? Seeing as ladybugs are considered lucky charms in France." He whirled her around.
"Well, since I'm the ladybug and you're the black cat, maybe we'll balance our luck out," Marinette suggested.
The song ended and they faced each other, him bowing and her curtseying to the other. "Maybe, mon coccinelle."