It is amazing how many tasks can build up over thirty years. Marinette feels like her to-do list is long enough to strangle her. First, there's her wardrobe. She and Juleka had gone shopping last week, exploring every mall and outlet around. It had been loads of fun. Productive though…not so much. The choices were overwhelming, and that was before she had learned about online shopping. In the end the bluenette couldn't settle on much, only buying a few necessities. It became even more of a job with the realization that as a blossoming designer, she should wear some of her own custom work. Crafting an entire presentable wardrobe in a modern style she is hardly acquainted with yet is going to be arduous. It is a good thing she doesn't need regular sleep because there's no way she'll be getting any for a long time. The only reason she was able to produce a line for the runway on such short notice was her collection of old notebooks filled with workable designs. Those only needed tweaking to fit the theme. For everything else, it will be a lengthier process.

That is especially true the next task: her business. Her company has only just been legitimatized and her studio is still being staffed. Adrien's coming today, and I still don't have everything ready, she laments. It comforts her to think that the hefty sum she's dangled in front of the model will be enough to keep him on board, no matter what he thinks of her enterprise. Deep down she recognizes this isn't true—even if Adrien is so superficial to only consider money, adding even a sizable salary to his significant wealth is unlikely to sway him. Regardless, Marinette is fortunate she has enough wealth to employ so many talented people. Her investments have aged well, endowing her with a surplus of funds. The only investment that hasn't aged so well is her personal real estate.

Her home has a good foundation. She spared no expense in its construction a century ago. Each update has matched and improved its standard of excellence. The copper pipes and foundation have held up well. However, the roofing has not. The wiring is outdated and the appliances obsolete. It will take a significant amount of remodeling to put her estate back up to snuff. The addition she is most keen on acquiring swiftly is fiber optic cables for high-speed internet access. Nino assured her it would be the best option for conducting Alya's spirit reliably. The only problem is that it will take weeks to install. Marinette is champing at the bit to get everything in place for her dear friend's return, which is why she's continuing with the summoning tonight at Nino's.

First things first, she directs herself. Get ready for work. Her hair is woven into a professional bun. Keeping it simple, she pulls on a pencil skirt, blazer, and white blouse. Her cloth mask is tucked into her purse. She's about to grab her keys from the kitchen counter when the smell hits her. A mix of garbage and rot, she traces the scent to half-eaten raccoon a just outside the sliding doors. This "gift" on the doorstep, and long, deep scratch marks on the glass confirm she'd gotten another visit from Chat. She'd been out last night, must have missed him. Bad kitty. I don't like dead raccoon any more than deer. If he insists on making a pattern of "hunting" for her, the least he could do is leave something more appetizing. I can't exactly tell him to bring me blood, though. The thought of him leaving a bleeding human on her doorstep is chilling. No, he can't know what I really eat. Not until his behavior stabilizes.

The shapeshifter is a conundrum to her. While she knew it is possible for the species to appear as a hybrid, she'd never seen it happen. Why would one choose to appear that way? The goal of most modern shapechangers is to blend in, taking the full form of their beast and hunting only in protected areas where humans wouldn't bother them. Unless…he isn't choosing to appear that way. Chat's actions are erratic and disjointed for a shapeshifter his age. There must be something wrong…some magic interfering with his transformations, making him unbalanced. Is that why he needs my help?

If she's right, then he truly is in urgent need. The nature of the shapechanger is best compared to the mythical centaur—both man and animal, but with the human at the helm. They control their dual parts in harmony. Chat is more comparable to a man riding an unbroken horse. He can try to steer his inner feline, keep it in check, but at any moment he could be thrown out of the saddle entirely. If that were to happen, it would be dangerous to himself and those around him. Marinette resolves to ask Nino about what sort of magic could cause such symptoms. She adds that, and "clean up dead raccoon off porch" to her to-do list before gathering her things and leaving for her atelier.

The pale light of dawn streams through the ceiling to floor windows of her workspace. It is quiet, almost eerie, here alone. It's hours before her receptionist or tailors are scheduled to arrive, leaving Marinette in peace to brainstorm. The goal is to capture Adrien Agreste. His essence needs to be encapsulated and enhanced by her designs. Equally important, his attention needs to be captured by her work for him to remain. With that in mind, she begins drawing. Her office fills with sketches and concept art as the lobbies and neighboring offices fill with people.

She smells Adrien arriving before she sees him. His aroma brings to mind fluffy clouds on a summer's day, downy, white feathers, and an innocence that makes Marinette's mouth water. The legends about virgins' blood are—unfortunately for the designer—are all too true. On their first meeting the pungency of the camembert he'd been snacking on masked his own scent, delaying her exposure to it. She would have spent the remainder of the party with him, or at least finished the dance, if she hadn't needed run off to compose herself. The temptation it poses is no small thing, even for a veteran vampire like her. Despite this, the bluenette refuses to give up on the blonde. Marinette is many things, but she's not a quitter.

Breathing shallowly, she rises to greet the model, "Right on time. Welcome to my studio, Adrien," She smiles beneath her mask, hoping it reaches her eyes. Gesturing to the sketches splayed about the desk, walls, and even littered on the cedar floors, she inquires, "What do you think?"

"To be honest, I don't know much about fashion," he admits. "I don't have an eye for it."

Unsatisfied with his answer, she prompts, "Beauty doesn't need expertise to be recognized. It's universal. Like all art, fashion is a shared human experience." Marinette shuffles through the pages of her notebook, settling on a draft of a feathered bowler hat. "It must be overwhelming seeing so many designs at once. Just tell me what you think about this one. I'm aware derbies are out of fashion…but on you, it'll be absolutely debonair."

"I'm actually allergic to feathers…" Adrien scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "But the design is amazing. You're very talented. It's just—I'm surprised you're letting me see all of this. Aren't you worried I'll steal your ideas for the Agreste brand?"

"You could, but you won't," she states with self-assurance. "I don't know you particularly well—yet you don't seem like the kind that would stoop to such things. Neither does Gabriel Agreste seem like the sort who'd accept plagiarized work—or anything less than his version of perfection."

"You're right. On both counts." Their conversation is paused as they take a moment to assess one another. Adrien's emerald eyes are faintly troubled, as if there's more he'd like to say. Like the Mona Lisa's inscrutable expression, his faint smile hints at myriad emotions. Her eyes linger on his mouth, wondering…

Aware of her dwindling self-control, Marinette gets to the point, "I wouldn't have hired you if I doubted you. You should know you're more than a pretty face to me—I'd like your notes on each of these drafts. Feel free to write directly on the pages. In the meantime, I'll contact one of my tailors about taking your measurements. Toodles!" she dismisses herself, leaving Adrien alone in her office. Immediately after stepping out, she takes a deep breath, clearing her palate. Toodles? Did I seriously say that to him? I must sound like his grandma. It will be tricky interacting with her muse for only five-minute intervals. It's easy to make excuses when she's in such a busy position, but that will get old quickly.

Rubbing her forehead, she sighs and moves on. The rest of the day runs smoothly. A significant portion of it is tangled up in addressing formalities, writing up terms, and so-on for the blonde's employment. She calls it a day around sunset. The instant she sets foot outside the office she only has one subject on her mind—Alya. Tonight's the night. When she arrives at his flat, Nino's already set up everything they need for the cyber-séance. The brunet technomancer is munching on one of her homemade cookies as he boots up the program.

"Dude seriously, what's in these? They're delicious!" he exclaims between bites.

"Ancient Chinese secret, Nino. I'm afraid I can't tell you," she quips, only half joking. "Status report?"

"I've made a few tweaks to the program, so it shouldn't draw on my mana so intensely. This time it'll work. Are you ready?"

"It'd better. I've been ready since the day I lost her. Let's do this," Marinette braces herself all the same, preparing for the possibility her best friend's spirit will unleash fury on her. Nino sits cross-legged in the summoning circle. His palms crackle with energy that spreads from his hands like green fire into the wires, cables, and screens.

"Spiritus, illuc concurrite ad nos huc. Hoc erit ligatum in nexu et potestate in domum suam," The room chills, the air crackles with power. Marinette raises her eyebrows at the sorcerer's rusty Latin. It is a rough incantation, but it should do the job. "Iungere amicum tuum. Fatum implere tua. Rubrum capillos, specula, fortis meam. Vocamus super te: Alya Cesaire!" All the light in the room is extinguished, as sudden as a candle's flame doused by water. The projector flickers to life—displaying the outline of young woman on the wall. The blurriness sharpens to a clear image of Alya, outfitted in the same flapper dress she died in. Picture becomes video as the redhead's eyes widen, looking about frantically. Her mouth moves but no sound escapes.

"Damn it, I forgot to turn up the speakers! I'll fix it," Nino scrambles in the dark to find the remote for his house's surround sound system. While he rummages, Alya tentatively stretches her hand outwards. As she does so, her arm appears three-dimensional, as if she's reaching through a portal. Uncertainly, the rest of her body follows her arm in stepping out of the projection. Soon, she is entirely separate from the wall, a hologram of her past self, glowing and translucent. Nino finds the remote and turns up the volume, allowing them to hear what the spirit is saying.

"W-Where am I? What happened? Who are—Marinette?" The old friend's eyes meet, and the bluenette rushes forward to give Alya a hug. Her arms pass right through the spirit.

"I'm so so sorry Alya. You…you died. About a hundred years ago. I want to apologize—you were right. I should have turned you. If I'd had made you a vampire like you'd asked you'd have been safe, none of this would have happened to you. I'm so sorry," she sobs.

"I…died. I remember it now. My unfinished business…I want to tell you that I don't blame you, Marinette. You did what you thought was right. You didn't kill me—those thugs did. I died trying to do what I loved—I don't have any regrets. I forgive you." Tears stream down Marinette's cheeks. Alya cups an insubstantial hand over her friend's face.

"Oh, Alya," The two share an embrace. Eventually, Marinette's tears stop flowing and her friend smiles warmly at her. This is goodbye, they think. It's Alya's time to rest. However, minutes pass and Alya is still here, instead of fading into nothingness.

"What's going on? I thought that was it! Not that I'm upset, it's just…"

"Maybe you have more unfinished business?" Nino offers, piping up for the first time during the girls' heartful reunion. Alya turns to him, quirking her head like she's only just now noticing him.

"And who are you, the expert or something?" she jibes. "I lived a good life, surrounded by wonderful family and friends. My killers are long gone, and I've told my friend she shouldn't blame herself. What else could I need to do?" He shrugs.

Marinette jumps in, reassuring, "We don't know, but you have plenty of time to figure it out! I'm getting Wi-Fi in my house, so in a few weeks we'll summon you again and—"

"Woah, hold it girl. I don't know what this Wi-Fi thing is but there's no way I'm going back. I can't remember anything after I died…it's terrifying! If you sent me back now it'd be like killing me again." The bluenette is torn, moved by the Alya's experience, but…

"If I don't send you back you'll still be tied to Nino's Wi-Fi. You'll only be able to haunt his flat and just outside it. Wouldn't you prefer to stay with me?"

"I'm not going back. It would be cool, staying with you, but…you'll be able to visit me here, what's the problem? I'll just be roommates with this 'Nino' here. How does that sound, handsome?" Alya winks at him slyly. He flushes indiscernibly, looking away.

"You haven't changed one bit," Marinette chuckles in disbelief and shakes her head. "Alright. If this is what you choose, I support you. I'll visit you a minimum of four times a week. Nino, you'll be sending me updates twice a day. Capiche?"

"Hah! Alright, mother."

"Nino?"

"I can do that," he pledges.

"Enough worrying! We've got lots of catching up to do, girl. Tell me everything!"

A/N: Alya is a ghost…connected to the Wi-Fi…Lady Wi-Fi…you see what I did there? I'm sorta proud of it. Next up we're going to have Hawkmoth be an actual moth riding a Hawk into battle. Just kidding. Or am I? :0

For those curious and too lazy to use google translate like I did, the Latin incantation Nino uses is: "Spirit, come here to us here. This will be tied into the power connection at home. Join your friend. Complete your own destiny. Red hair, glasses, a strong soul. We call on you, Alya Cesaire!" It's pretty bad.

"Radiant, carefree, dreamy, Adrien, the fragrance." Marinette is all over that. In this story, even though designer Ladybug is the one who wears a mask, she'll be more like Marinette in the show, sort of nervous around Adrien. Maskless Marinette will be more like Ladybug to Chat. Sorta confusing, but that's how it is.