I did say I might write about these two! A lot of people seemed to really like the idea, so I'm going to try to write a series of related one-shots about them! (Meaning I'm too lazy to come up with an actual story, and I like fics likes these. Sue me.) To be honest, the more research I do for this story, the more I love it. The slang back then was so funny! Anyway, thanks for putting up with me, and please enjoy Kwamis in NYC.

Kwamis in NYC

It was a calm summer day in New York City. Everyone was smiling, the taxis were taking people to and from their destinations with little traffic, the parents were enjoying the warm afternoon with their children, and a certain blond teenager was sitting in the middle of Central Park, trying to photograph a bird sitting on a bench. He'd just gotten the camera for his birthday –an outdated model, sure, but it still was the most expensive thing he owned. As he tried to photograph the animal, he heard a pained cry from only feet away.

He instantly dropped what he was doing, running over to where the sound had come from. If it was serious, he'd go get his father; after all, he was the head of the NYPD. To his relief, nothing major had happened. An elderly man had tripped over his own cane, sending him tumbling to the ground. Without a second though, he helped the man to his feet.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asked, handing the man his cane.

The elderly gentleman, whom he now recognized to be of Asian descent, smiled warmly. "I'm fine, thank you . . ." he trailed off, obviously not knowing the boy's name.

"Scott, sir. Where were you headed? Maybe I can help you get there."

The man shook his head. "No thank you. Though I do appreciate the gesture, Scott."

He walked away, presumably to this mysterious destination, leaving Scott to get back to his photography. His father wanted to make sure the camera was worth every penny of that $21, and Scott was determined to show that it was. After all, he was going to be a well-known photographer one day!

Is that man a sap?! Mark thought angrily to himself as he saw an elderly Chinese man walk down the street in the absolute worst part of town. How could that man be so utterly stupid?! Didn't he know that the Lamonts were about to come through and bump off some of the people who worked for their biggest rival in the industry? Of course, how could he know that? After all, only the Lamonts knew that. Mark just had the 'pleasure' of being the son of the big cheese, John Lamont.

Anyway, back to the idiot walking down the street without a care in the world. Mark knew he couldn't let this guy get hurt. Sure, his father wouldn't care one way or another –after all, what was one more body in the back alleys of New York City? –but he couldn't turn a blind eye. He didn't even want to be here! Surely he could do something he wanted to do. Not that he had really wanted to save someone's life today. It's funny how fate works.

Without a second thought, Mark ran out from his hiding place and grabbed the man's arm, pulling him down the street.

"What–" the man began before Mark hissed at him.

"No time!" he snapped. "We've got to get out of here!"

The second they rounded the corner, Mark heard the tell-tale sounds of gunfire echoing behind him. Just in time. He let go of the man's arm and pushed his shoulders, anger and concern battling on his face.

"Run! Hurry up!" he yelled.

The elderly man gave him one last very thankful look before briskly walking down the street, leaving Mark to return and explain to his father's people why he had abandoned the plan entirely. Well, whoever said crime doesn't pay had never tried to do the right thing, had they?

Scott returned home, a newly-developed photograph clutched in his grasp. It turned out perfectly! His father was going to be so happy that the gift hadn't been a waste. In fact, Scott was already thinking of where he could buy a frame and maybe give it to his father as a thank you present as he walked through the front door of their modest apartment. It wasn't much, just a three bedroom place with a fire escape at Scott's window, but he loved it. It was cozy and always perfectly warm.

Too bad his father was rarely home to enjoy it with him.

Since his father was the chief of police, he was rarely home during the day. When he returned, they usually made dinner together before his father went to bed. They had a schedule, and both the Ross men stuck to it religiously, even if Scott didn't want to. And, just like every other day, Scott came home to an empty house, grabbed a snack, and headed to his room.

Unlike every other day, however, there was a box sitting on his desk.

It was a small wooden box, shaped like a hexagon, with some sort of Asian symbol on the top. Where had that come from? Had his father gone to Chinatown again on his lunch break and picked it up? No, that wouldn't make sense. Harry Ross barely had enough time to eat lunch, let alone return home with an unexpected present for Scott. But if that wasn't why it was here, then why was it?

Curious, Scott picked up the box and opened it up. Nestled inside the dark fabric were two red earrings, five black spots on the both of them. Well, that was strange. Scott didn't have pierced ears. But they were really nifty. Hmm . . .

Apparently stabbing a sewing needle through ones' ears hurt. A lot. And the wounds bled a little bit. But Scott didn't really mind. He'd built up a high pain tolerance after falling out of too many trees in the park when he'd go up to get a better view. But at least the holes were created. Now all Scott had to do was put the earrings in.

Gingerly, the young blond slid the accessories into his ears, wincing as they came in contact with the wounded flesh. The second he put the backings on, an amazing thing happened. A red ball of light appeared in front of him, swirling around to form a tiny red creature with ladybug spots.

Scott did the only thing he could think of.

He grabbed a book and swatted the creature out of the air.

Mark returned to his room after a very stern lecture from his father. Yes, he knew that he'd let him down. Yes, he knew he was expected to take over the family business someday. Yes, he was aware that if this happened again he'd be put back through training. No, he didn't want to let anyone down again.

Mark collapsed onto his bed, groaning in frustration. He ran a hand through his black hair, mussing it up enough to escape the hold that stupid product had on it. Why couldn't he just fix his hair the way he wanted to? In fact, why couldn't he do anything he wanted to? No, his father expected more of him. After all, in about ten years he would rule the criminal empire of New York City!

With a sigh to match his groan, Mark forced himself to sit up. He could at least read until one of his father's 'assistants' came to tell him what to do next. When he was seated, he noticed something out of the ordinary. When had that box gotten there? Ugh, it was probably a new way for his father to deliver him messages. Of course he would do that.

Mark got up and opened the box, fully expecting a note to be resting inside telling him when to report to his father's office the next morning for his schedule. What he found was a black ring with a single green paw print on it. Huh. Well, it looked like it would fit. Mark slid the accessory onto his right ring finger, amazed at what happened next.

A green globe of energy appeared in front of him, spinning into a tiny black cat hovering in midair.

Mark did the first thing he could think of.

He swore.

Loudly.

Scott dove behind his bed as the book passed through the tiny red creature. Oh god! It was a monster or a ghost or some evil thing that was going to kill him and hide his body so he'd never be found and his father would spend the rest of his life searching for him and–

"Scott!" the tiny monster called in a voice that did not sound very monstrous. "Calm down. I won't hurt you."

Trepidation radiating through his –unfortunately short –body, Scott rose up and peered at the red creature from behind his bed. Strange and terrifying as it was, he couldn't deny that it was kind of cute. It smiled warmly at him, floating a bit closer every second. Maybe –maybe it wasn't evil? Something that cute couldn't be evil, could it?

"H-hi," he stuttered nervously. "S-sorry about the, uh, book thing."

The small creature waved her tiny hand –paw? –as if to wipe away the comment. "It's fine. Many Ladybugs have done the same thing. One actually threw a knife at me; can you imagine? I'm Tikki."

"What are you?" Scott asked softly, not daring to raise his voice. What if the loud sound startled the creature –err, Tikki, and she blew up or something?

"I'm a kwami. I can give you the power to save New York City from an evil villain who's starting to cause trouble," she explained. "Will you become Ladybug, Scott?"

"Ladybug? But I'm not a dame."

The tiny kwami giggled. "No, you're not. But Ladybug hasn't always been a female, you know. Several men have been in the spots before."

Scott wasn't sure what to say. This thing, this kwami, was offering to give him power? He'd never sought power before. But this was for a good cause. He could save people. His father would be so proud of him if he saved the city! Yeah, he'd be so grateful!

"I'll do it," he agreed. "I'll be your Ladybug."

Mark was certain that his father had heard him all the way across the house as he spat every curse word he knew at this creepy little flying cat thing. Just great! Of course he would go loony and hallucinate a flying cat who –was he begging for cheese? What was this?

"Kid!" the cat finally shouted, interrupting Mark's very creative rant on the thing's parentage. "Pipe down, will you? I'm hungry, and you probably don't even have any good food, so shut it while I try to explain what's going on."

With a glare at the cat, Mark did in fact stop talking so the thing could speak.

"I'm your kwami, Plagg. You're going to be a hero, alright? You know, save the city and everything? So while you figure out how to thank me, keep in mind that I haven't eaten in years and I'd like some cheese."

Mark could have cursed again. He could have grabbed the kwami and thrown it out the window. He could have even accepted the thing's offer and became a hero. He could have done anything but what he did: he laughed.

He laughed long and hard at what Plagg was suggesting. Him, a hero? The son of John Lamont, saving the city? Who was the idiot who suggested this? Oh, the universe really hated him, didn't it? Mark laughed so hard, in fact, that he didn't even notice Plagg moving closer until the kwami bit him.

"Ow!" Mark yelped, swatting the creature away. "What was that for?"

"You were being stupid," Plagg retorted. "Now come on, just say yes and go get me some cheese, preferably brie."

Mark looked down at the annoying little cat and gave a wicked grin. This could be the biggest mistake of his entire life, but he knew what he wanted to do.

"I'll be your hero."

Tada! I should probably explain why Plagg wants brie instead of camembert. I found out that the only difference between the two –aside from size and price –is that cream is added to brie. I figured that Plagg might like a little bit of change in his diet every now and then, plus it takes less time to type brie than camembert (I misspelled that about three times while trying to type the last mention of it, fyi). Thanks for reading!

~C