Chapter Summary: Ladybug and Alya go shopping on their rest day.
Alya was giggling when Ladybug caught up with her at a forum stall displaying beaded jewelry. The rest day morning had turned out bright and clear. A light walk around the local forum marketplace had restored Ladybug's equilibrium after her chat with Nathalie.
"What's so funny?" inquired Ladybug, eyebrows raised behind her mask as Alya ran her hands lightly over several necklaces on a table.
"Those. Hilarious." Alya pointed at a tray of hair combs clearly intended for child's make-believe play. Several pairs of leather triangles were stitched to small metal pins meant to catch and hold in the hair.
"I don't get it. What are they?"
At this, the stall's proprietor stood up and approached.
"May I?" she indicated Alya's voluminous locks and the redhead nodded with a chuckle. The proprietor fastened two triangles atop Alya's head, adjusting the leather until it stood up stiffly. "They're cat ears. Great for imaginative play, if you want your child to practice storytelling. The stitching holds up, too. I only sell quality work."
A grin tugged at one side of Ladybug's mouth. "For a black cat, huh?"
It blossomed into a full smile as Alya caught her gaze.
"Oh, no. You wouldn't," Alya dissolved into giggles again as Ladybug reached for her money.
"It's as good as done. How much for a pair?"
Ladybug and the shopkeeper haggled for a few moments, then exchanged the money and goods. Ladybug dropped the broad ears into her shopping bag, humming to herself as Alya joined her outside the stall.
"He'll never wear them," predicted Alya as they strolled the walkway of the forum.
"It doesn't matter. I just want to see the look on his face when he gets them."
The women laughed again, stopping short as a particularly tasty-smelling stall caught their attention. Alya pointed a thumb at a table of grilled finger foods, and both women selected items, coins jingling into the old, gnarled hand of the cook.
"We need to get you something for the cena," Alya reminded her as they nibbled, passing stalls for olive oil, raw fabric, exotic imports, and pottery.
A bright flash of red caught Ladybug's eye at a weaver's stall. The pair passed under voluminous curtains showcasing the weaver's skill and entered a brightly-colored tumble of scarves, stollas, pallas, and other clothing. Beaded leather slippers were lined up in pairs along one side. Dazzled, Ladybug made a beeline for a broad red scarf of thin, finely woven material.
"What's this made of?" Ladybug asked the proprietor, a thin woman with long, capable hands. She sat on a stool, embroidering the edge of a tunic with an intricate design.
"Imported silk. I received a shipment earlier this year; you won't find silk like that anywhere else in Rome. I think the red dye sets off the natural sheen, don't you?" The woman smiled, revealing a charming dimple.
Ladybug ran her fingers lightly over the fine weave, marveling at the tiny threads that made up its matrix. She imagined the feel of owning something like this, almost a half-remembrance, actually, of the fine things her mother used to wear. Ladybug had a sudden flash of playing dress-up in her mother's cast-offs as a child, but she shook it off. Looking down, she was embarrassed to see she had clutched the scarf in her hands without thinking, crinkling its fine, smooth texture. She did have prize money, to be sure, but not enough for her freedom, and not enough for a fine thing like this. Regretfully, she laid the scarf back atop its pile in a woven basket, running her hand over the beautiful fabric one last time.
"It's lovely," Ladybug told the weaver. "I can't afford silk, though. You have the hands of a master. I hope your work finds someone who can appreciate it."
Ladybug turned to go, but the woman's next words stopped her. "You're the real Ladybug, aren't you?"
"Sure am," Ladybug replied, turning back with a smile. "Would you like an autograph? I can sign my name."
"Oh, no, that's fine. I thought you were someone playing in a mask at first. You look smaller than you do in the arena. You bring…" the woman tapped her chin with a long finger as she thought, "...how can I say it? You bring some much-needed gravitas to the gladiator industry. You don't mock death, and I think that's important. Especially these days, when so many play to the cheers of the crowd."
The woman smiled broadly at Ladybug's wide eyes. "Not what you expected from a fan? My work gives me a lot of time for introspection."
Ladybug shook her head. "I suppose it does. I never thought about that. Um, thank you."
"You're welcome. You know what? I don't want an autograph, but I do want to give you this scarf." The woman stood and plucked the red scarf up again, shaking it out to show its full size. It billowed and wafted magically down to the woman's feet. Ladybug gaped.
"I - it's - so expensive," she stammered and the lady waved her prominent hands at the young gladiator.
"You've got games in two days. This could be my last chance to give Ladybug a gift. Don't take it right now, though. How about I dye some black spots on it? You can pick it up tomorrow."
"That would be wonderful," Ladybug breathed. "Thank you so much."
"It's my privilege," the woman said, retaking her seat and tucking the scarf to one side.
"In that case," broke in Alya, who had watched the exchange with uncharacteristic silence, "I'd like to buy a few items, if I may. A friend of gladiators is always appreciated."
The proprietor moved smoothly into merchant mode, and Ladybug left them to their dickering. She ducked back out of the stall to wait for Alya, her excitement at the promised gift bringing a blush to her cheeks. She'd wear the expensive scarf to the cena, and she'd look beautiful, or at least as beautiful as a mask could allow.
Ladybug usually eschewed the material trappings that fascinated the elite. She couldn't afford to get distracted; too many gladiators had let fine living dull their senses, only to die young in very violent ways. Not she. Alya rejoined her, a lovely orange stolla folded over one arm and a new pair of slippers dangling from her hand.
"Good prices. We need to remember Weaver Titia Leddica. I bet even Nathalie would like some of her wares."
Ladybug eyed the stolla appreciatively. "How much prize money did you go through for that? Nino's eyes are going to pop out one way or the other."
"Um, rude. I'm not going to disclose the details of my bargain. Not everyone has the masses falling all over themselves to give them expensive gifts. Although there are a few, ahem, gentlemen who would like to persuade me to leave my husband in favor of their wealth and prestige. You know, save me from this low class life I lead."
Alya tossed her hair to one side, cocking one hip in a confident pose and batting her eyelashes prettily. The two friends cracked up.
"Don't you ever get offers of marriage?" she asked Ladybug.
"Actually, fewer than you might think, Alya. I think the men of Rome find me intimidating. Oh, and this doesn't help." Ladybug tapped the side of her red leather mask.
"You're obviously a beauty, even with it. Men are stupid."
"I'm not looking to get married, with or without the mask. Don't worry about it."
"Now, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't encourage you toward domestic bliss?" Alya chided. "Every woman in Rome is supposed to want a family and a household to run. It's the natural order of things."
"As a gladiator, I'm already decidedly unnatural. So are you, I might add. Do you need to get anything else today?" Ladybug smoothly changed the subject, uncomfortable even though she knew Alya was mostly kidding. The woman was a gladiator with a family, after all.
"No, I'm good." Alya's eyes widened and she pointed about thirty feet ahead of them. "Aww, would you look at that?"
Ladybug's heart lifted when she saw her partner kneeling in the street at the edge of the forum between two dirty boys, their cheeks smeared and tunics stained with fresh dust. It appeared the women had just missed a scuffle between the lads. As they approached, Ladybug could hear Adrien giving instructions to the starry-eyed children, their quarrel forgotten as the great Chat Noir spoke seriously.
"Keep the wrist straight - don't bend it - and drive forward with your shoulder and chest, not just your arm. Now, do you want to know the most important part of throwing a punch?"
The boys nodded eagerly.
"The first thing you do, before you ever even make your fist, is decide whether it's worth it. A well-thrown punch can end a friendship, or even land you in jail. You two are friends, right? Don't fight your friends. You can spar, but don't fight. If you make a habit of fighting your friends, you won't have many left. Back each other up. That's what partners do, right Ladybug?" Adrien looked up at her, squinting with the sun in his bright green eyes.
Ladybug nodded. The boys looked from one gladiator to the other, mouths agape. They'd have stories to tell when they got back home.
"Now, whatever disagreement you were having, resolve it over lunch. Hey, Tacitus?" Adrien waved at a man with shaggy grey hair and an easy smile, who acknowledged him from his stall. "Two pastries for the young men."
Tacitus brought forward the treats with a flourish, and Adrien handed him a coin. He rose to join Ladybug and Alya as the boys melted back into the crowd, sweet treats in hand.
"You should write a book on the philosophy of fighting. Techniques and avoidance." Ladybug commented as the three of them headed back to Ludus Magnus.
"Maybe I will," replied Adrien mildly. "I see you found something, Alya. Did you convince Ladybug to get anything?" He eyed his partner's empty hands.
"Oh, she got something alright. Personally, I think it's better off as a surprise. Do you agree, Ladybug?"
Ladybug pursed her lips and nodded as they passed through the open gate of Ludus Magnus. "I don't have it yet. I pick it up tomorrow."
"Then I'll wait with 'bated breath." Adrien bowed with a flourish. "I'm off to the baths to enjoy my rest day. Catch you later."
"You didn't give him his present," Alya whispered as he walked away.
"I forgot. I'll do it later," Ladybug replied absently. "I better go check in with Mylene; I think my appointment starts soon. Thanks, Alya." The two friends embraced, then parted.
By coincidence, Ladybug caught up with Mylene in the walkway that stretched the length of the school's west wall of barracks. She ran to meet the diminutive matron, who carried a tray laden with oils, salves, rags, and thin strips of cloth, among other items.
"Salve, Mylene, can I take that for you?" Ladybug asked politely as she came up alongside the masseuse. She placed a strong hand under the tray and lifted it out of Mylene's grip.
"Thank you, Ladybug. Are you ready to get started?"
They stopped at the door of Ladybug's room, which Mylene opened with her free hands. Ladybug set the heavy tray down on her table, then undressed to her underthings and laid down. The pair had been through this ritual many times on rest days. It never failed to amaze Ladybug how well her own body could restore and heal itself through the power of Mylene's massage. She privately suspected the woman was magic.
Mylene busied herself with the tray, selecting sweet-smelling oils and lighting incense. She bound her thick hair up over her head with a kerchief to keep it out of the way, and took a deep, even breath, eyes closed. Ladybug knew from experience that Mylene was praying, so she didn't interrupt, even though she privately thought she didn't need any favors from Roman gods. When Mylene opened her eyes and smiled, Ladybug relaxed.
"Do you want me to close the shutters so you can take off your mask?" Mylene inquired. Ladybug nodded.
"That would be great, Mylene."
The light in the room all but disappeared, so Ladybug reached up and untied her mask, letting it fall to the right side of her bed. Mylene got to work, and for the next hour and a half, Marinette's muscles were kneaded and smoothed, her shoulder blades pressed and rubbed until knots released tension, her neck and upper back prodded into relaxation. Marinette drifted in and out of consciousness. She knew Mylene would be happy to talk if she initiated the conversation, but she didn't feel up to it. The medicus' wife seemed to understand.
Later, when Marinette woke from a doze, she was surprised to find Mylene wasn't in the room anymore. Her shutters and door were still closed. Trustworthy Mylene had left without waking her, without trying to look at her face. Marinette sighed and went back to sleep, intending to nap until dinner.
A/N:
Stolla - a voluminous garment worn over a tunic by a married woman.
Palla - similar to a shawl, worn by a married woman.