Chapter 2: Arioso - airy or like an air (a melody); melodious
It is more than busy on the Boulevard Haussmann in the 9th District of Paris, people going to and fro from place to place. Even as the afternoon sun drags steadily across a clear blue sky, the air remains comfortable as tourists and families enjoy what the city has to offer. With careful hands, foreigners hold their phones up high, bending their backs to take snapshots. For them, each photo is a thousand words; allowing them to fall in love with elegant buildings, tall with precise and clean architecture, and absorbing in awe the crafted spectacle of apparent French refined city living. However, it is past expensive apartment buildings, and instead centered around Parisian sophisticated shopping, that Paris's superhero finds herself today.
Tucked in her purse, Tikki rests easy with sweet snacks to eat and a full battery to play mobile games-living quite the high life for a kwami. Yet, beside Marinette's usual companion, the second part that makes up her crime fighting self, she is not walking alone into one of Paris's most renowned and famous department stores. Stepping in stride, her father Tom is dressed smartly in a pressed shirt and casual slacks-ready to take on the day, even without being covered in flour.
Her small beige heels click on the sidewalk, her eager steps jostling fresh art supplies-pens and pencils-and making them rustle in their paper bag. It is a rare day indeed for both father and daughter to be out together on a Friday afternoon and away from the bakery, but today's special and Marinette could not be more excited.
No kitty cats to worry about today.
In the short distance away, deep red banners that appear to be woven from rubies, hang from one of Paris's most famous department stores. The words "Galeries Lafayette" are printed on the multiple signs, the serif font clear and readable as she approaches. Eagerness swells in her chest as she looks upwards to the sky at a grandiose billboard demanding to be seen.
Blown up to be larger than life, Felix Agreste smirks down at the small people beneath him, his hands straightening his tie. He wears his trademark crooked smile while he narrows his piercing green eyes, seductive and unattainable all at once. In the picture that has to be at least four stories tall, he stands confident and proud-a perfect representation of his uncle's brand: G by Gabriel.
A surge of ambition blitzes through Marinette, the brand's famous G symbol lingering in her mind even after she tears her gaze away. She stands a little taller as she enters through the golden department store doors, practicing for the moment one day when her clothes will be sold here too. But it is her father's warm hand that grips her shoulder that sweeps her away from her daydreams filled with adoring fans and business deals.
"One day, ma petite puce," her father laughs, his hand rubbing loving circles on her back.
Marinette giggles and rolls her eyes playfully, before looking away. With a smile, she takes a few moments to soak up the view of what she considers to be the most gorgeous store in all the world.
At the top of Galeries Lafayette is the magnificent glass dome, which Marinette thinks is worth the trip to the boulevard alone. Like the interior of a Fabergé egg, a sun rests at its tip, the stained glass forged with inner blue fire and surrounded by burning orange rays. And as if illuminating a world colored with grasses and skies, the two parts are then encircled by a legion of hearts. Each heart is filled with greens and yellows where it is most full, while the centers are dotted with reds.
The designer in Marinette breathes deep at the sight of the iron work, its lines lofty and feminine. Like vines that grab hold of a garden's lattice, the metal wraps around each other with sweeping swoops and dips, sprouting leaves that only sunbeams can touch. Both the dome and the store continue to follow the curve of an egg when delicate knots rain down the glass to its edges, each a perfect duplicate as they fall in line.
Women and girls continue to peruse the beauty department on the ground floor, and it makes Marinette wonder how they cannot be moved by the gilded golden arches above them that grace the fourth floor balconies. Another small sigh escapes her as her blue eyes travel down each terrace, perfect for an opera with each store as its own show. And though she cannot remember the name of long dead Greek heroes, the words Art Nouveau are not only seared in her mind, but also on her soul.
Art really is the way of life.
Her mind is printing every detail to memory once again, knowing that even in her dreams she will miss something. She hears her father chuckle once more before guiding them both to a customer service counter.
There is a noticeable spring in her step as they walk on shiny cream tiles. Around them, various luxury makeup associates smile and greet them, asking if they need anything. It is all so overwhelming and sweet, Marinette thinks, the way that this store feels otherworldly compared to others. Yet her steps only become more excited as the allure of expensive makeup disappears and she remembers their true objective: coming to Lafayette's.
"Thank you for taking me, Papa," she starts with an appreciative hum, "but you never said who is going to be presenting at the show?"
Hazel eyes only spare her a glance before a knowing grin brushes the underside of his mustache. "If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise."
She wants to quip that he never said it was a surprise in the first place, but before she knows it, they are both at the counter, welcomed by a lovely lady in a black two-piece suit.
"Good afternoon," she says with perfectly white teeth. "How can I help you today?"
At ease, her father rests his hands on the counter, and replies with pride. "My daughter and I are here to see the fashion show at three o'clock." Holding out both his thumb and forefinger, he beams at the woman. "Two for Dupain."
The woman's smile only widens, her glee only slightly contained by professional protocol. "You're in for a treat today I heard," she tells them as she flashes a look at Marinette. "May I see some ID?"
After they receive the tickets, father and daughter make their way to the elevators, people buzzing with chatter all around them.
In a low tone, Marinette tugs on her father's sleeve, "Do you know what's going on?"
But her father only gives her the same look again, his answer not much different than the first. "Wait and see."
It doesn't take long for the pair to get to the fourth floor-despite that the elevators are more crowded than usual-to reach their destination. Marinette enjoys a peek over a balcony for a brief second, watching shoppers float around like pieces in a large snow globe, before she is caught up in foot traffic to a large room in the back. She notices press passes hanging from people's necks. Not only that, she realizes, but also that other guests to the department store's weekly fashion show are dressed up more formally than normal. There are wild outfits, all so unique and audacious, as they enter the room. Some are more urban and modern, bright and bold like fashion magazines. Others are dressed more traditionally, tailored two or three piece suits and cocktail dresses, but she knows for a fact that everything looks very extravagant.
As an attendant takes their tickets and shows them to their seats, Marinette hopes that she and her father aren't underdressed because whatever this fashion show is today, it's certainly not like the normal ones at the Lafayette. Those, while fun and informative, only showcase new collections that will be coming to the store in a relaxed setting.
Today is less relaxed, no matter how content her father is acting as he sits down. Looking down at her pale pink dress, she tries not to let nerves get the best of her. Whoever is presenting today will just have to accept that Marinette made her own dress, stitched each flounce of the skirt. She spent countless hours hunched over her work table while she created the lace pattern on her back using needle and thread by hand. It was beyond time consuming, but Marinette has never been more proud to wear something of her own creation, the blooming flowers on her back proof of that.
Though they are seated more towards the back, Marinette looks over a few heads and shoulders and her breath hitches when she sees the glass catwalk, raised a few feet off the ground and filled with water. There must be a current, as little waves lap while bright tropical fish swim up and down the runway. On the walls, there is fancy Galeries Lafayette script printed; but to her dismay, no mention of the designer they are seeing today.
Brushing the bangs out of her eyes, she sits back in the seat and pulls out her sketchbook, drumming a pencil quietly on its spine. She tries checking on Tikki when her father isn't looking, but the little kwami shoos her away, very engaged with a show playing on Marinette's phone. Instead, she turns her attention to the world's most important reporters and fashionistas , where she hopes to find herself one day, as they wait and chat amongst themselves. To her side, her father fiddles with his smartphone, large thumbs smashing the screen as he plays a game. But it is when she's trying to listen to the various conversations going on around her that the lights begin to dim.
A hush falls over the audience, words tucking themselves away back into people's mouths, hiding as someone walks onto the stage. Footsteps echo when a man wearing polished leather shoes goes down the length of the catwalk, as if it is his kingdom. Her heart crawls into her throat, beating so quick and fast, and Marinette thinks that the catwalk is indeed his kingdom, as Gabriel Agreste commands the attention of the room like a king-no, a deity. Breathing doesn't matter when her idol is only mere yards away. To think that today would be the day that she would see in person the very being whose wearable works of art inspired her when she was just five years old to become a fashion designer!
In the stage light, his platinum blond hair is flushed almost white, like a crown of ice adorning his head. It matches perfectly with his famous pristine white suit, pure as snow. But there is nothing about the designer before her that reminds Marinette of fluffy snow puffs, for Gabriel Agreste is the tundra personified.
The world stops spinning on its axis, pausing to witness the moment he speaks, each word pronounced crisp and clear.
"For those who do not know me, I am Gabriel Agreste," he begins as a polite formality. Marinette almost snorts despite herself, thinking that if someone here doesn't know who he is, then they don't quite deserve to be here yet.
Like his nephew, he stands tall and proud, regal with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Fifteen years ago, I released my Siren Song collection-a woman's line inspired by the sea itself." At total ease, the man in front of her never raises his voice, his words slipping softly to be heard by every ear. "But as years have passed, my love for the sea has not waned and I am here to surprise the world today by reintroducing to you all the siren that stole my heart so long ago."
When he pauses to let the audience gasp, there is slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. Even Marinette is floored when she hears the news, filled with joy, and almost breaks her pencil in half.
"So, not only will there be will pieces from the core collection, but there are new additions-fresh and modern for 2015." With one more look around the room, Marinette almost dies when he makes brief eye contact with her. "Enjoy."
The spotlight cuts for a brief moment when he exits off the stage, the room only glowing from the lights in the catwalk aquarium. However, the light shines bright back on the first mode that appears at the base of the runway, wearing a loose fitted white dress, fluffy and flouncy like sea foam. Music plays, a mix between the soothing songs of the sea, a female singer, and piano, each pulling and tugging each other for a moment, before fusing together in perfect harmony.
Behind her about fifteen seconds later is the next model, wearing a longer and looser fitted dress in blue. From there, women walk down the runway in blues and greens, their dresses airy and full like the ocean itself. The skirts of their dresses roll like waves, mimicking the ones in the current at their feet, going back and forth along the stage.
There is a change in the tempo, the pace picking up as women come out in stylish pant suits colored like shades of kelp, their hands tucked in the pockets. Mixed in are short cocktail dresses, each with a sharp triangular skirt, made from shimmery fabric in yellows and oranges, speeding down the catwalk like fish in a rush. Marinette is trying her best to take as many notes as possible as the show continues, her shorthand messy as she fills the pages with words like red corals, empire waists, and charmeuse fabric.
The room stops breathing, jaws dropping when only the female singer continues to sing, her voice like velvet. With slower steps, like a bride walking down the aisle, a model with light brown hair wears Gabriel Agreste's legendary dress, said to only be stitched only by his hand and never sold: The Siren.
Marinette feels starstruck, overwhelmed and thankful that she is being able to see this dress being modelled in her lifetime. The photos she has seen of it do not give the gown proper justice, nor capture all of its beauty. She is dazzled, her heart about to pop out of her chest, as she memorizes the swoop of the sweetheart neckline, forming a perfect heart on the woman's chest. She desperately tries to study the how perfectly the pink and plum beads have been threaded to look like exquisite scales run down the length of the garment. And it is the fabulous lilac trumpet skirt which makes the most flawless mermaid tail that makes Marinette truly speculate that her idol might just know magic. For, in her mind, there is no way a mortal man could ever know how to make fabric fall so effortlessly as it touches the ground.
The woman continues to sing when another model wearing the second white dress of the show enters the stage, her dress more tight fitted then the first, almost as if rope that is binding and suffocating. Like sea foam that recedes, Marinette thinks, it kisses the shore, but then washes away everything.
But this model is not the final one for at the very end, as Felix, the face of G by Gabriel himself, makes an appearance, dressed from head to toe in a black suit with a chartreuse silk scarf around his neck. His face twists for a second as his fingers brush the scarf before he wears a stoic expression. Now, Marinette recognizes that scarf, the simple accessory said to be a favorite of Agreste and in the images from old magazines, it was the most wistful she had ever seen him when he held it.
It doesn't take Felix long to journey down the runway, his long legs powerful and empowering as he moves like a feline. When he turns at the end of the runway, doing as all models do, Marinette is surprised just how green his eyes are in person. And as if reading her thoughts, he sends a smirk her way before fully turning around to walk back to the start of the runway.
In seconds, all the models return to the runway once more to give the audience a final view of all the outfits. When the thudding of their footsteps cease as the last model goes backstage, the room goes dark and everyone bursts into applause, swept away as if the sea itself took over the show. Marinette and her father are clapping just as wildly as everyone else, and she firmly believes that she just witnessed the best thirty minutes of her life thus far.
In her excitement, she grabs hold of her father and gives them the biggest hug she possibly can around his large frame. "I love you so much, Papa," she starts as she buries her face in his side. "Just... wow. Thank you!"
She feels her father press a kiss into her hair and can hear the smile in his voice. "Of course, my love. You're a good girl." Pulling away, he puts his hands on her shoulders. "I'm going to go to the bathroom and get us some drinks. You stay here and maybe mingle."
Marinette smiles, waves him goodbye, and surveys the room as the regular lights turn on again. She's positive that she's one of the youngest people in the room and going up a stranger, no matter how important they might be for her future career seems a bit daunting. Yet it is the sound of someone yelling that makes her look towards the aisle of the room, the footsteps loud and heavy as they charge towards the exit.
"Felix!" a man shouts, an earpiece hanging in his hand.
But the famous model ignores him as he walks to the door, almost as if any strip of ground is a catwalk, his long legs floating. Marinette wishes she could grab her phone and take a picture, but she's forgotten to use her hands, so she stares gaping at the blond supermodel approaching her direction.
He slows though when he feels her eyes on her and Marinette wants to hide because his cheekbones are even more handsome in person. And his stare more cold.
"What's your name, little girl?" he asks from the middle of the aisle.
Her eyes go wide, unsure how she got so lucky. Maybe it's a Ladybug perk!
With a swallowed breath, she pushes out with only a little squeak, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."
He merely strokes his chin, eyes examining her pale pink dress and she resists the urge to bunch the fabric in her hands. "Well, Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he parrots. "Did you make this dress?"
"Yes, sir," she says with a stiff nod.
Felix only rolls his eyes and deadpans. "I'm only twenty-not old enough to be called sir." With a fluid motion he slips off the scarf he was wearing in the fashion show and tosses it at her. She fumbles with it, but thankfully catches it. "Anyway, your dress is decent, little girl. That's a reward."
Marinette can only stay rooted to the floor with shock, clutching the chartreuse green scarf to her chest as he leaves, without letting her say anything in return. She's still standing there, her eyes boring into the door, when her father comes back carrying two water bottles.
"Is everything okay?"
With a breath, Marinette glances down at the scarf in her hands before looking back up at her father. "I'm not sure," she starts, annoyedness and gratefulness all rolled into one.
Her father furrows his brows together, gazing down at the fabric in her hand. "Isn't that the scarf that model was wearing earlier?"
His daughter hums an affirmative, unease remaining in her chest; yet despite the rough attitude Felix gave her, she still feels hopeful. Which is something that's certainly a nice change, for once.
Well, we did walk Pont du Change, after all.
With a final thoughtful pause, Marinette looks to her father, more certain than she has felt in a long while. "Maybe things will finally fall into place."
With or without a Black Cat by my side.
Hours later, father and daughter make it home while the sun sets, painting the sky a spectrum of colors, various soft reds and warm oranges. The bakery is lazy, sleepy and comfortable when they get inside and, after giving her mother a kiss, Marinette heads upstairs.
"Did you have a good time with your father, Marinette?" Tikki asks when they are finally alone in her bedroom.
The young superhero has only just kicked off her heels and lets out a moan of satisfaction as blood circulates more easily in her feet. Collapsing on her lounge chair with a minor melodrama, Marinette squeals as she takes the kwami in her hands, "It was like a dream come true!"
Tikki giggles, her high-pitched voice soft and sweet, as she plays with the bow on the side of Marinette's dress. "Yeah?"
Marinette only lifts her head to stare at her friend in disbelief, looking scandalized that the speckled creature would think otherwise. "You know it was!"
Tikki only shakes her head, laughing at Marinette's dramatics before bouncing off and fetching something. A few seconds later, she's back and drapes the chartreuse scarf over Marinette's belly. She rubs her cheek into the silk for good measure.
"So soft!"
Marinette feels the scarf, letting the smooth material caress her fingertips. Sitting up, she examines it closer, enthralled with the golden embroidery at it's edges. Much like how the collection was inspired by the ocean, the thread is stitched to look like little tides, each identical to the other. Skimming her fingers over it, she wonders if she is touching a holy relic, curious if Gabriel Agreste made this. However, her interest is doubly piqued when she notices a different design, very tiny, stitched in a corner.
A.A. it simply reads.
However, despite that she wants to ponder on this, extremely interested in her idol's life, her cell phone begins to play and Alya's ringtone sings through the air.
She dives for her purse, digging for the phone and ends up half hanging off the bed and on the floor when she answers. "Hey-gah-girl!"
The sound on cars zip by on other line, but that doesn't stop Alya from sounding excited. "There's an attack happening at the shipyard!" she rushes and Marinette can see the huge grin on her friend's face. "Come down to hunt Ladybug with me!"
Marinette can't help but drag a hand over her face, wondering the day when Alya will manage to stay out of harm's way. But she has bigger problems to worry about when she lies, something she's getting better at as time goes on. "That's way too far from me so I won't be able to help you in time."
She hears her friend sigh through the phone, disappointment laced in her words. "Yeah, you're right." After a pregnant pause, she exhales, "I'll keep you posted, yeah?"
Marinette gives a nod that Alya can't see, but it makes her feel a little better. "Please do."
There's a click that signals that Aya hung up and Marinette hurries to put on some shoes-her flats!-just something so she won't be barefoot and it's up to the roof. In the distance, Paris seems calm and Marinette takes it as a good sign.
"Ready?" Marinette asks, her hands gripping the railing.
"Of course!"
And like always, it is the fairy godmother's magical spell that combines them, turning both Tikki and Marinette into one person: Ladybug. The flash of pink light engulfs her, a mask forming just from the swish of her fingertips. Next is her uniform, red and black polka dotted spandex, weaving right unto her body by millions of tiny invisible hands. As the final piece, her yo-yo materializes at her side and she's off in seconds, swinging from rooftop to rooftop as quick as she can go.
Ladybug makes it the docks in record time, jumping and leaping over houses as fast as she can when she exits Paris's inner ring. Unlike the center of the city, the docks are not very well lit and-to her relief-not very occupied at this hour. Alya isn't in sight, but her attentions turns away from looking for her meddlesome best friend as she hears the latest akuma victim banging shipping equipment .
He's about to break a truck in half when Ladybug coils her yo-yo around his wrist.
"You need to stop!" she yells. "You're being controlled!"
He tugs his arm back, the motion making her lose her footing and the line goes slack. "I'm the Worker, and I'm going to run this place out of business!"
The superhero rolls her eyes and lunges forward, hoping to at least distract him and piece together how he got into this state. She barely dodges a large metal beam he chucks at her, doing a full roll before standing up. It is then that she sees a dark purple slip of paper sticking out of his pocket.
"I see you," she sings to herself. "Lucky Charm!"
Her yo-yo goes up in the air, lucky bubble hearts creating the latest talisman to help her win this battle. In a few spins, an object forms and a rollerblade drops into her hands.
For a brief second, she presses her lips together and groans, "And just want I am going to do with you?"
Yet like always, as ritual demands, her Ladybug sight activates and everything makes sense. Her eyes dart to a old big tire, then to the skate in hands, landing to the metal beam behind the man, before finally going to her yo-yo. She grins to herself, and is ready to set her plan in motion.
The Worker tries to charge at her, his buff arms swinging as he tries to grab something to throw, but she has already pitched the skate at the tire, making it bounce to land right in front of him for him to slip on. And as if on cue, the man tries to maintain his balance, yet since his arms so heavy, he leans backwards making him roll towards the beam. As he falls, Ladybug tangles him up with her yo-yo and steals the paper from his pocket, ripping it firmly in two.
It's clockwork, she thinks as she tosses the skate into the air and the healing light washes away any Akuma damage. For she is Ladybug, and winning the fight is excepted. In seconds, the world is back to normal and like always, she helps the latest victim to his feet, making sure he's okay before she tries to take her leave.
But, of course, she had forgotten all about Alya when she hears her superhero name being shouted most enthusiastically, and sees her friend rushing towards her with a phone in hand. Ladybug is about to scold her, reminding her that it's dangerous to be out so late alone when extra footsteps trot not far behind.
"Alya! Don't run so fast!" Nino says, his face sweaty and his glasses foggy.
Ladybug lets out a sigh of relief and puts both hands on her hips. "You two shouldn't be out here."
Alya is only smiling, her face lit up like fireworks as Nino rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Sorry, Ladybug." With a thumb, he gestures towards the redhead and gripes, "This one here is your biggest fan."
The superhero fails to suppress a smile and shakes her head. "Well, fan or not, if you have to capture a battle, do it in a safer area."
Both teens bid her farewell as she takes out her yo-yo and swings away; although, as she is jumping, she realizes just how quickly the stones are beeping in her ear. She makes a slight grimace, but she's Ladybug, after all-no reason to worry about her luck running out.
Right?
However, she forgets that at her core she is not Ladybug; she is actually Marinette. And like the same Ladybug who does not have a Black Cat, she is the same one who misjudges how much time she actually has for a transformation. All of this comes full circle when she makes a large leap from one side of the river to another, when in mid-swing the clock strikes twelve and her magical suit and yo-yo disappear.
Time stands still as Marinette and Tikki split into two beings again. She feels like she is suspended in animation as sees the red kwami next to her, her eyes closed in exhaustion. Marinette tries to reach for her friend, her arm lacking her superhero uniform as they fall towards the water.
The impact is painful, slamming into her as she crashes into La Seine. The air is knocked out of her chest and foul water floods her mouth before she struggles and starts to zoom towards the surface, her dress clinging to her body as she shrugs off her shoes. In what feels like eternity, she finally breaks the water's surface, oxygen burning her lungs with every breath she gulps in.
Then it hits her harder than the impact of the fall.
"Tikki! Tikki!" she screams, ripping her throat apart as she tries to see anything that resembles a floating red dot.
Panic washes over like the very water she's in and she begins thrashing, flailing her arms erratically. Her legs are kicking and even though she feels a bruise forming on her stomach, she can't stop looking.
"Tikki! Answer me!"
But there is no call and Marinette feels like the world is ending-that she is losing her very soul as the thought of she's dead repeats over and over and over in her mind.
Dead, dead, dead-ladybugs can't swim!
Still, she refuses to give up; and even as tears stream down her face, even when it hurts to speak, she still searches for the other part of her. Someone is dragging her backwards, their hand wrapped around tightly on her arm. Marinette goes ballistic as she attempts to fight them, wildly kicking and struggling to get away. She doesn't have that chance, however, as she is literally tossed onto a small piece of concrete and left alone at the edge of the river.
She is about to dive back in seconds later, when she sees a hand pop out of the water, holding her dear little friend. In all of the commotion, she doesn't care about how Tikki got back to her, and melts with joy as her terror bleeds away. She snatches the kwami from the person before her, pressing Tikki to her chest as she whispers millions of apologies repeatedly.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobs. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"
With my heart and soul.
But that same hand from before places itself on her knee and even though Marinette is in pain, sopping wet and cold, it is enough to shock her back into reality. Looking up, her eyes stinging from polluted water and tears, she finds is a boy not too much older than herself, wearing a gentle smile. It's dark, but she still notices a black mask around green eyes as he reaches his other hand towards Tikki. On instinct, she shields her friend, but suddenly, like a spell, soothing waves lap over her and she feels relaxed.
With trust for a stranger she never knew she possessed, she lets him look at Tikki. His grin grows wider and in her daze, Marinette thinks it looks pretty. The bracelet on his wrist lights up, all the shells glowing, and she has never felt so warm. Then, like a flash, she blinks and feels normal again, no hurt remaining as Tikki stretches with a yawn.
Big blue eyes flutter open and Tikki smiles at Marinette.
"Good morning," she mumbles sleepily.
Marinette can only hiccup, a giggle rising out of her as she rubs Tikki's head with a loving touch. "It's nighttime, silly."
Tikki smiles back sheepishly before turning around. In her palms, the kwami makes a small jump and only utters, "Oh." There's a little laugh as she flies over. "I haven't seen one of you in a long while!"
Marinette follows the red movement and everything comes rushing back to her as she looks at the boy staring at her. And, even though this should not be bizarre for her because she's Ladybug and fights possessed people everyday, that still does not make this moment any less surreal.
For the boy who just perched himself beside her on the concrete slab, with a shimmering black and chartreuse tail, is in fact a mermaid.
Or rather-a merman.
A/N: Thank you so much for all the follows, faves, and reviews. You're awesome :)
Galaries Lafayette is a real place and the glass dome stole my heart.
