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Over the course of the next few days, Adrien throws himself into his work. He gives it 110%, making quick progress. It's not quite like learning another language. Most of the words are the same, it's still French and the few expressions he has to try and get his hard around are hardly complicated. What's a little more difficult is forgetting or rather putting to one side everything that he's been taught. So much of this seems counter-intuitive to him, that's what makes it difficult. He knows that a good part of the French population speaks like this, France's second biggest city Marseille is down that part of the country, still it sounds strange to him.
He makes the effort to speak it, well, try as much as possible. Following Nathalie's advice/request that they practice inside the house. He sees the wisdom. The outside world is not a place for experimentation. One slip-up might cause disaster. Granted, his current caregiver/partner in crime is a very clever woman but he can't help but wonder how she's been able to sneak out of the house so frequently without being noticed.
The teen takes a momentary break from his studies to look towards the bathroom where Nathalie had disappeared into some time ago. She hadn't bothered to inform him just what she was going to do and presuming that she simply needed the toilet, he hadn't bothered asking. That was some time ago. Long enough for him to have become a little bit concerned. He's toying with the idea of knocking to make sure that everything was alright but weary of being given short shrift. Just as he hesitates, there was a click from the lock and the woman emerges. Her hair is wet. Perhaps the midday heat had proved too much and she had simply chosen to have a cool shower to escape it.
It takes a few seconds to spot what's different:
"Oh! You lost yourrr..."
He raises his hand, running it through his hair to imitate where the red in her hair usually was. He'd use the correct term for it, if he could think of it; a stripe? The woman simply nods once. She looks strange like this with her hair down and without the distinctive little streak of colour. Over the course of a couple of weeks, he still from time to time expects to see her walking around in that expensive suit and heels as opposed to the far more mundane clothes she currently wears. Unless she's planning to dye it back in later, he's willing to guess that this is to do with going unnoticed.
She sits down in the armchair, earning his full and undivided attention. If she simply sits, then it means that she has some paperwork to tackle. On the other hand, if she sits and looks at him then it's time for planning. It's one of the many little things that he's picked up on over the course of the past few days.
"Wake that kwami of yours. We might actually need what little insight he has."
"Plagg, wake up..." He gentle shakes the sleeping avatar of destruction.
"What?" He gets given an angry glare by the creature. "Can't a kwami get any sleep around here?"
"We have an issue. All this effort with new identities and accents will be pointless if Ad-" She pauses, clearing her throat for an instant. "Dylan can't go outside because people will recognize him."
"Duh! One of the drawbacks of being famous."
For a moment, Adrien wonders if Nathalie might be about to try and swat the kwami. Her face clouds over dangerously and she gives the creature a cold glare. Plagg doesn't seem to be all that phased. He just sits there, visibly irked at having been woken up for what he must see as being unimportant restating of obvious facts. The teen is close to interjecting, reasoning with his partner as he thinks he knows just what the woman was getting at. She beats him to it however cutting in sharply:
"We need to find a way of getting you out of the house without people realizing it's you."
"Where would we start with that?" The teen enquires a mixture of curious and eager.
"It might not have to be too drastic." She turns to him, her eyes darting over his body as if to remind herself of his features. "A hair cut and dye might do it."
"Dye my hair?!" For some reason, the idea appals him more than he had assumed it would.
"Unfortunately Adrien Agreste is famed for his golden hair. So yes, unless you simply want people to think that you went to the hairdressers, it's going to have to be dyed."
It's a thought which should have occurred to him but hadn't. He's somewhat attached to his hair (in more than just the literal sense). He has very fond memories of his mother running her hands through it, gently rubbing his head and teasing him about the unruly mop. Nathalie's right of course. If he even tries going outside like this, someone's going to recognize him and then they'll be in all sorts of trouble.
The woman wouldn't be seeking out his permission for such things, she knows that she essentially already has it given that they have no other choice currently than to do whatever it takes to stay under the radar. She most definitely wouldn't have or want to go through Plagg. Things become somewhat clearer a few seconds later:
"I'm guessing this would affect his transformation into Cat Noir."
"Not necessarily..."
"What does it matterrr anyhow?" Adrien questions, somewhat off-put by the discussion. "Fatherrr knows who I am."
"You? Yes but remember we're trying to keep your new identity a secret from him." Nathalie remains calm and to the point. "If he sees Cat Noir change- if Paris sees Cat Noir change then people will ask questions. Questions which could easily end up leading them back to us."
"So all this effort, it's forrr nothing?!" Anger and frustration build up inside of him in a flash.
"Temper..." She warns eyeing him cautiously. "-and maybe not. You said "not necessarily"?"
All eyes turn to Plagg. The kwami sits on the table. He actually looks pensive, clearly thinking the matter through which is more than Adrien would usually give him credit for. He's taking the matter seriously, perhaps aware just how much being able to go outside means to his partner. Neither human pushes for an answer, preferring to give him an opportunity to ponder things more carefully. It's not something that either of them knows anything about. Cat Noir's hair changes but that's just styles, whether they can actually modify length and colour remains to be seen.
"In theory… Your appearance as Cat Noir reflects what you truly want inside. If you still want to be: Adrien Agreste, then you should stay as Adrien Agreste."
Hardly comforting but they agree that for the time being it's their only option. They'll have to find some manner of solution if things don't quite work out, Nathalie doesn't even rule out a wig. Adrien returns to his attempt to get a hang on the accent whilst the woman prepares another outing. She's lucky, at this point, she's not easily recognisable. Everyone's used to the formal assistant of Gabriel Agreste, seeing her like this, he's not entirely sure what to make of it. A part of him longs for the familiar, the rest of him is aware that won't be coming back any time soon. She's got her handbag and is half way out the door before she abruptly calls back to him:
"Blue or brown?"
"What?"
"Blue or brown?" She repeats without clarifying any further.
"Uh… Brrrown?" He has no idea what she's talking about but assumes that it's to do with hair colour.
Apparently it's the right answer or at least not the wrong one. She's gone a few seconds later.
It's quite a while before she returns. He's learned not to worry (although its hard not to). She never tells him what she's going to go and do unless asked and doesn't specify a time that she'll be back by. He's not to sure if it's just the fact that she's never had to account for her own personal actions to him before or if she's just wants to prevent him from worrying should something delay her. They don't have phones after all. Adrien works and tries not to think about it. Nathalie is street-smart and knows what she's doing. She'll be fine…
Sure enough, she walks through the door calmly about an hour and a half later. Time for a makeover…
Adrien's used to them. He's been modelling for years now. A large chunk of that has been spent being worked on by stylists, hairdressers, make-up artists… He's been through them all. Never Nathalie though. He knows how things work however but much of the more technical side is lost on him. Things like the term "colour locker" mean precious little for instance. He's somewhat nervous right now however partly because there's still that nagging voice at the back of his mind which doesn't want his hair to be touched. As such, he does something that he rarely does and fidgets slightly as he sees the scissors coming closer to his locks.
"Man, don't take this the wrong way but do you know what you'rrre doing?"
"I'm not a hairdresser but when I was a student, I didn't have much choice but to do my own hair and I've watched you have yours done enough." She answers him honestly. "You're lucky I'm not using a bowl for this."
"A bowl?"
"It's what they used to do in the olden days." She informs him. "Use a bowl… Now hold still!"
He closes his eyes and obliges.
Snip.
The first of the golden hair falls. Despite Nathalie's request, he does shudder slightly, feeling as if he just lost something. The teen closes his eyes. She let him choose a rough style to aim for. What counts is getting it cut so that he doesn't simply look like Adrien Agreste with his hair dyed. If necessary – and she admits it likely will be – they can go to a hairdresser's to get it tidied up. He's still not happy, feeling the locks coming down around the newspapers he's currently sitting on. To try and take his mind off things, he attempts a difficult task: to start up a conversation with the woman. It's made all the more difficult by the fact that he's curious about something that she just said:
"Why didn't you have any choice but to cut yourrr own hairrr when you werrre a student?"
"Because like most students, I was broke. I couldn't afford 250 francs for a haircut." She frowns slightly before adding. "You're overdoing the "r". It's rolled not growled!"
He returns to silence.
In total, they must have spent over two hours both cutting his hair and then dyeing it. He waits patiently, practising his accent to the best of his ability. He's at the stage where it's only going to get better through practice as opposed to just watching videos and reading about it. He does that for an hour or so before Nathalie suddenly seems to remember something. It's rare for her to forget something but she seems to have done so now.
She comes back with a small box for him. He frowns reading the words on the cardboard. It's not a gift. It's yet more of the disguise:
"Contact lenses?"
"Don't worry, they're not corrective." The woman watches as he opens the box cautiously. "They'll take some time to get used to."
She shows him how to put them in and gives him all the instructions about how to keep them clean and not to forget to take them out before he goes to sleep.
It's yet another complication to have to get used to. They're a bit irritating and feel strange. Letting out a soft sigh, he goes into the bathroom to see what "Dylan" looks like. Short dark hair and brown eyes; it's very different from what he's used to seeing. For a few seconds, it doesn't even quite register that he's looking at himself. With only one mirror in the house, it's probably going to come as a shock every time he catches sight of himself. He spends some time like that. Not necessarily admiring himself but simply trying to get used to it.
"My own mother wouldn't recognize me..." The teen lets out in a heavy sigh.
Probably an overstatement but his two most noticeable traits that he had from her have vanished hidden beneath dye and plastic. Her hair and her eyes, especially the latter. People always commented about how he has her eyes. Of course, they're the first thing that his father will be looking for. He'll go through everyone in Paris if that's what it takes but he'll be looking for a teen with golden hair and green eyes. Still, the loss weighs rather heavily upon him. He sneaks a lock out, it will serve as a reminder of what once was. What hopefully can be again.
Plagg next to him, does what Adrien guesses is try to cheer him up:
"Or your father! Which is what we were aiming for."
The teen puts on a brave face, emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later.
He finds Nathalie there, struggling to get used to her own corrective contacts – which if anyone asks she doesn't wear, she reminds him. After some nagging, she informs him that she'd always disliked the way that they feel. She hands him a bin bag whilst she takes one full of the bottles. He raises an eyebrow, confused.
"I could use with a hand." Although she clearly has one free.
"You mean…" He hesitates before adding hopefully. "Go outside?"
"Keep your mouth shut and we should be alright. I know it's a challenge for you but you can do it, right?"
He nods enthusiastically before taking the trash.
They head down the stairs calmly and emerge into the courtyard where the recycling and waste disposal cans are. It's not the freshest air Adrien's ever tasted, polluted by the stench of waste and the distant smell of car exhaust fumes from the ring road but it's different. The sun is setting and Nathalie lets them linger for a few moments outside. He takes a deep breath of air, for the first time in weeks, tasting something which almost resembles freedom.
