1 – The author does not own or makes any claims over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir or it's elements.
2 – No disrespect whatsoever intended to the historical figures portraited here.
3 – Tale for entertainment purposes only
4 – If you are interested in some lighter Miraculous fanfic, may I suggest my "Kwamisplaced"
..o..O..o..
Nor the employees, nor even Clementine knew why that particular room is now sealed to everyone. Only Churchill himself could enter, what he did in a very quick way, avoiding any strange eyes to peek inside. This is not actually true. To much of Nooroo's displeasure…
"The cat got in again, Winston" said an out of breath kwami, tired of avoiding the fate of half-dozen shred-to-pieces butterfly in the floor. Dozens of others flew around the small room.
Churchill took a deep breath from his cigar, before smashing it on the ashtray over a very old nightstand, the only furniture on the room.
"Which feline do you spoke of? Tango? Mickey?"
"How should I know? I was too busy flying for my life to ask for his name."
"Never mind, dear purple sylph. Things are on the move. Even the most simpleton enchanted by Chamberlain's* platitudes on the House of Commons are aware of the dangers of German's greed. Come. Let's find an engineer with a troubled soul and make him design a war machine to shame Mars and Minerva forever."
"Things don't work like so, Winston. Even if Red Admiral finds an engineer in despair, his troubles may not be war-related."
"The marvels you grant came with too much rules, Nooroo. Pen of the Island just lasted a couple of hours before reverting to his civilian, normal self."
"Enough to fulfill his desire, to save the small newspaper he worked for. In the process, we closed an Axis propaganda spot, but that was not his primary wish."
"And I can only grant supernatural capabilities to one person at a time, when we are in need of a battalion of Übermensch**."
"My powers have limitations, Winston. I never said to be Red Admiral would not require sweat and toil."
"And while I am dealing with this sweat and toil, our boys bleed in some corner of…"
The man suddenly stopped.
"Winston?"
Nooroo stood there, while Churchill mumbled "sweat, toil, blood; blood, toil, tears, sweat", before storming out of the room, shouting
"Miss Layton! Where's my secretary? Miss Layton, I need to put some ideas on paper."
Nooroo was about to say something, but watched, in horror, a cat walking in before the door closes.
*Neville Chamberlain, prime minister of the United Kingdom from 1937 to 1940. Most historians have negative view of his appeasement policy, and his sign of a treaty that gave part of Czechoslovakia to Nazi Germany, in 1938, and for not preparing UK for war. Churchill replaced him as Prime-minister.
** Übermensch, idea discussed by philosopher Nietzsche, commonly translated as "super-men", people with innate characteristics and abilities that put them above the common man.
It was late night when Churchill returned to the room, bringing some of the kwami's favorite food, and shooed the cat in the process. Nooroo took some deep breaths before eating.
"At least that furry hell-spawn of yours gave me enough exercise. Something you should consider, Winston."
"I get my exercise being a pallbearer for those of my friends who believe in regular running and calisthenics. Now, shall we work?"
Two months later
It became a ritual for Nooroo, starting the day reading the news and documents sitting on Churchill's shoulder. But that particular morning, he spent most of time hiding on the politician inner pocket. After many people coming and leaving, he felt Churchill opening his coat to talk to him.
"So, what you got from all this talk, Nooroo? I can use the perspective of a being that is alive for millennia."
"I got Chamberlain will resign today or tomorrow the latest. Most likely today."
"Every hour counts after three years where unwisdom prevailed."
"'Unwisdom', Winston?"
Churchill chuckled and lighted up a cigar.
"Do you think you will be called up? His following called you an unleashed elephant, after all." Nooroo laughed "and we all know you're a butterfly."
"I've being very vocal about the perils of Hitler for years. Now happenings proved me right. What choice do they have? I wonder if there's time for even this elephant to make a difference. No adventures for us tonight, dear djinn. I have a speech to perfect, people to meet and I am giving you the task of finding a way to transport all those butterflies to 10 Downing Street."
Two days after – May 11, 1940
After having Churchill as a holder for some time, Nooroo found a dropper, now his most prized possession, used to partake Churchill's breakfast whisky. After feeling the golden liquid burn so nicely his throat, he went.
"Did you sleep at all last night, Winston?"
"There's no time for this. I have a government to make."
"I care about you, Winston. In fact, I would hope to still be with you on your hundredth birthday."
"I don't see why not, Nooroo. You look healthy enough. Jump in my pocket, I need to talk with Chamberlain in my future house."
There was a small crowd in front of number 10. As Churchill stepped out of the car, they cheered.
"Good luck, Winnie!"
"God bless you!"
The kwami saw Winston wave and make the already traditional "V" sign before entering the Prime Minister house.
What Nooroo did not expect was for Churchill to ask for the bathroom, before seeing Chamberlain.
And really did not expect to see that man, once there, cry.
"Those poor people, poor people. They trust me, and I can give them nothing but disaster for quite a long time."
"Winston…"
He was already drying his eyes and putting a braver face.
"Hide, pint-sized companion; we can not let Chamberlain waiting."
Later that night, Churchill, reviewing document after document, plan after plan, felt someone lightly tugging his sleeve.
"Let's work, Winston."
"I have no time for…"
"The poor people of earlier today, Winston. Don't you want to bring hope to at least one?"
Churchill abandoned his desk and went quickly to his secret room.
"I think only Clementine knows more about my needs than you, Nooroo. Wings, rise."
Emma Endicott could not sleep. She grew up listening to the heroic feats of her mother and father, nurse and soldier during the First Great War. Now, her country is at it again, but, unlike her parents, she feels completely useless. Plagued with asthma since a kid, her school record was not the brightest, nor she has capacity to work at factories that help the country at war. Fearing no one else would want a sick wife, she married an older man who also can't help the effort, Too old to join, too poor to donate. Months ago she thought she found her way. Her house has a pitiful small backyard, but even so is somewhere to plant food. She could feed her family and give the excess to the hospital nearby. Or so she thought. Who is to blame? Weather? The soil? Her lack of abilities? No matter, not even weed grew on her bare soil. She was about to return to bed, when a white butterfly fused with the gardening tool she was holding. Soon, her mind was filled with alien thoughts.
"Garden Spade, I am Red Admiral."
Two days later - May 13, 1940
Nooroo was jumping of joy reading the morning newspaper.
"Let's open another champagne, Winston, listen: 'Kennington Woman's Miracle Kitchen Garden: Emma Endicott is being an inspiration for her neighbors with her over fertile backyard garden, where she grows…'"
"Save for later, little Prometheus, we have a full day ahead."
"Right." Nooroo flew to Winston Pocket. "Give the parliament everything you got, Winston."
"Like I said to my ministers, Nooroo, I have nothing to…"
"… offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.
We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering.
You ask, what is our policy? I will say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: Victory. Victory at all costs—Victory in spite of all terror—Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. Let that be realised; no survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that mankind will move forward towards its goal. But I take up my task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. At this time I feel entitled to claim the aid of all, and I say, 'come then, let us go forward together with our united strength'."
Nooroo took a risk and looked around. For a so-called government of coalition and union, the applause where too much one-sided. Things will not be easy.
..o..O..o..
I will put this one as another tale I was sure would entertain you, but felt too short of it. Will try to wrap up everything on the next chapter, and give attention to other writings. Your opinion on how this could be improved is more important than ever.
