| 01: Beckon the Beauty and the Beast |
"Call me Werechat a la Soir," he croons before taking her hand in his.
Marinette – no, she's not exactly Marinette right now; she's whatever the Kwami(?!) turned her into after biting her – pulls her hand away and uses it to lightly tap Werechat(?!) back.
"As catchy as that is," Marinette says with the most honesty she can – which isn't much, "I think you're going to need to shorten it a bit."
"Anything you suggest, m'lady," he purrs, bowing.
Marinette isn't sure what she's done to capture his attention, but then maybe, under the mask and all that were-fur(?!), he's a regular flirt.
Or maybe flying out your window and knocking a guy off his feet – paws – is as metaphoric as it is literal. Either way, true to cat form, he landed like an Olympian while she got a face-full of Parisian street.
"And you are?" Werechat – name pending – prompts her.
Well, that's one of the last things on her mind right now. Getting bitten by a massive, fanged ladybug(?!) and transforming into one of Paris' Superhero – name pending – as according to said massive, fanged ladybug brings on many other questions first.
Not that Marinette believes she's superhero material – superpower-infusion-by-bite notwithstanding – because she's barely normal-person material.
And now she's barely normal human at all, what with her new fangs, porcelain skin, and fluid, black-spotted red cape(?!).
The ground rumbles, and Marinette throws out her arms to keep balance – heaven knows she already loses it walking down a flat street. Werechat drops on all fours, looking ready to pounce.
"Looks like it's gonna have to wait 'til later," he says, then winks. "I'll be waiting, my mysterious mistress."
Marinette wants to argue that no, she doesn't trust herself to save all of Paris from a gargantuan, growing golem(?!), but Werechat vaults away shouting, "I'm just starting out, too, so I'm trusting yo-oooouu~"
Marinette touches her earrings. She can almost feel the Kwami's heartbeat warm against her fingers.
If she's going to have the weight of more people than she could ever imagine on her caped shoulders, she's glad to have people beside her that trust her – more than she'll ever trust herself.
Marinette braces herself, bounds, and dissolves into the Paris evening air.