Marinette woke up on the floor of the spare room, sore and tired from moving dozens of boxes and what little furniture she owned from her apartment to her parent's house. She was strong, but her endurance was not limitless. She must have dozed off while she was resting. She sat up and set a hand on her face, where she could feel the marks of the carpet in her skin. She felt hot and sticky, and her back was strained from falling asleep in a strange place and position. She looked out the window, and felt a strange disorientation settle over her; it was light outside. She looked at her watch quickly, feeling like she had slept for more than a few minutes, but knowing that the sun shouldn't still be in the sky if she'd slept for as long as she thought she had. The hands of her watch pointed to the space between the eight and the nine and the other at the ten. It was almost nine. She blinked, and then looked around. She had fallen asleep in the spare room, and slept there all night. Her disorientation faded, replaced by a sense that she had lost precious time by carelessly falling asleep.
There was a knock on the door before it creaked open. Her mother stood in the doorway. Sabine faked surprise before she smiled a teasing smile, "The sleeping princess is awake." she giggled, "I was coming to wake you if you were still sleeping. Your father is already down in the bakery, and I am on my way to help run the counter, but I wanted check on you first."
Marinette rubbed at her eyes, but smiled, "Thanks Mama, I'm a little sore from falling asleep on the floor," she shot her mother a look, "but I'll be fine."
"Can I do anything for you before I head down?" She cooed.
"No," Marinette stretched and yawned, "I'll find myself a bite to eat and then start putting all of this away. I would feel bad to inconvenience you further by having all my stuff in the way."
Sabine glared at her daughter, "I don't want you to ever think that you are an inconvenience. This is your home as it has always been and always will be. You have claim to the space as much as we do. It took some getting used to when you left, and it will take a bit of getting used to having you back. But Marinette, you are not in the way or in any way a burden."
Marinette sighed, "I just feel bad. I am supposed to be this big brand name designer, everyone knows who I am and my designs are all the rage. I signed autographs for celebrities who asked me to design their gowns for award ceremonies. I am famous, I am adored, Gabriel Agreste himself offered me my place at Fashion Week, and yet, here I am feeling washed up, and washed out. I feel like a failure. I feel guilty that I am living here without working for anything. When I was younger that was okay, but I should be contributing. I feel foolish for quitting a job over something so trivial but I also feel so outraged by it all." Marinette huffed.
Sabine folded her arms, but smiled knowingly at her daughter, "We can talk about you earning your keep later if you feel you need to, but for now my sweet, just focus on getting settled. We can talk all about everything, and all in good time. Take it easy, just breathe."
Marinette sighed, "Okay."
Sabine grinned, "Good. Now I'm off. We'll be down in the big kitchen if you need anything from me."
Marinette waved as her mother disappeared. She heard the front door of her house close softly, and she sighed again. She looked around at all of the boxes, feeling overwhelmed by the idea that she had really just moved out of her apartment in one day. Everything she owned was in this room. How daunting, yet oddly comforting. Everything that she needed was here.
After a moment, Tikki sprang up from her hiding place, and buzzed into Marinette's cheek, "Oh, Marinette! This is so exciting. We are back in Paris! I know that you're feeling strange about being in your mother and father's house. But this will be good. I will be here for you, Marinette. We can do this together."
Marinette tickled Tikki with her finger, "Thank you, Tikki." she smiled at the kwami who squirmed away from her, "How do you feel about cleaning out my room before we move all of this stuff into it?"
Tikki beamed, "I think that's a great idea."
"How do you feel about breakfast before that?" Marinette raised a playful eyebrow.
"I think that's an even better idea." Tikki giggled.
Marinette sprang up from the floor and out into the quaint kitchen. She pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet and the milk from the fridge. She sat down with a bowl and spoon and poured herself a bowl of cereal. Tikki picked pieces of the sugary breakfast from the bowl while Marinette shoveled it into her mouth. After they had taken out three bowls of cereal between the two of them, Marinette returned the milk to the fridge and the cereal to its place on the shelf, and set the bowl in the sink. She turned, and set her hands on her hips, "Let's do this."
Tikki giggled and followed Marinette up the two flights of stairs into the old pink room. Marinette walked to the windows and grabbed the cord for the blinds and pulled them open, filling the room with light. She looked at everything in the room. A cutting mat and a sewing machine. The sewing table and the storage bins everywhere, filled with all kinds of things. Her old computer, and the old desk that it lived on. She looked to the shelves of sewing tools and drawers of fabric and buttons. There were spools of thread and boxes of ribbon and lace.
Before she had moved away to design school, this room had been her own personal studio. This had been her escape from the world, and the place where her creative spirit thrived. No akuma and no amount of drama at school could keep her down after a fair amount of time spent in her sanctuary. But now, as she looked at the faded pink paint and horrible area rug in the middle of her room, she could only see her girlish self, sitting on the chair and fawning over boys while she doodled designs for anything and everything.
Like it had back in her office at Square, her blood boiled, but this time, instead of kicking things and throwing things like a child, she channeled her anger into cleaning. She would purge the room of old things. She wanted to be settled so she could move on, and she couldn't settle if her past continued to haunt her.
She set her shoulders and pulled her headphones from her pocket, and plugged them into her phone. She set them into her ears and turned on her music. Jagged Stone serenaded her as she moved to the drawers of buttons and ribbon. She hesitated for a moment, longing to open the drawers and revisit her old favorite buttons. She remembered a few of them, a large gold button with ruby colored resin flowers, a turquoise button with a turtle carved into it. A bronze button the size of her palm and a mirrored button in the shape of a rose. But, fury flashed in her eyes before she could reach for the handle to pull it open, and she picked up the whole plastic set of drawers and walked them down to the main floor.
She was done designing, especially for fashion. If she wanted clothes she would alter them or buy them, but she would not design them from scratch. She would have nothing to do with fashion design ever again. At least, not on the grand scale she once had.
She walked back up the stairs and pulled out all of her boxes of fabric scraps, and all of the small pieces of tracing paper and sketched ideas, and walked all of them back down to the main floor. She looked at the pile of things, and glared. Her girlish dreams of being a designer were crushed, even though she had lived her dream, she started to hate her past self. She had even been a designer for fashion week, what a bubble-headed dreamer she'd been. She picked up the boxes of fabric, and walked them out to the street, where there was a large dumpster. Before she could tell herself not to, she pitched the box into the metal bin, and walked away. She marched up her stairs and grabbed another box, bringing it back down, and tossing it into the dumpster.
Empowered by the sense of relief that came with letting go of her past, she walked boxes and boxes of things to the dumpster until the only thing that was left of her designers life was the plastic drawers of buttons and ribbon and lace. She picked them up and tipped it over the edge. As the set of drawers fell into the large metal garbage can, she heard the old plastic crack, and hundreds of buttons clicked and clacked and rattled down through the trash all the way to the bottom. She smiled. Goodbye ribbon. Goodbye lace. Goodbye buttons.
She walked back up to her room, and looked at what was left. Her sewing table with her sewing machine still sitting at the end. Her old desk and her old computer, sitting forgotten and dusty. She could probably sell those, or at least the computer. Though it was old enough that it wouldn't be worth much. She shrugged and decided to move it down to the spare room. She would ask her parents what they wanted to do with it later. She grabbed a cloth and wiped down the dust before unplugging everything and walking it all down to the guest room. She carefully moved the desk down the stairs, and into the room. She left it all in a pile in the middle of the small space, promising herself that she would move it around later.
She grabbed the garbage can from the kitchen and dragged it back up to her room. She stood by where her desk had been, and pulled down every sparkling tack and ridiculous picture of Adrien Agreste, throwing it all in the garbage. She pulled down all of her posters and project designs, all of her pictures that she'd left behind and all of her polka dotted paper squares. All of them found their way into the garbage. As did most of her old spools of thread and old sewing supplies that were hidden in every drawer and free spot of space. She threw away old trinkets, and a fair portion of the office supplies and files in her filing cabinet. When the trash can was full she removed the bag and walked it to the dumpster.
She took out the pink bed-chair, and rolled up the area rug. Both of them also made it to the trash. By the time she was done, everything from her old life was gone except for her mannequin, her sewing machine, and her old pink notebook that she'd grabbed from her office before she had quit. She had considered throwing away the sewing machine as well, but thought better of it. It was an expensive gift from her parents. A treasure that she would cherish even if she didn't use it very often. So for now, she tucked it away, up on the shelf inside her closet, covered and quiet. She pushed the mannequin into the corner of her closet as well, and a large shoe box filled with her favorite pair of scissors and a few other prized designing tools, and the pink notebook, sat next to the sewing machine.
Besides those things, her old room was now empty, save for a bed with no sheets and a long sewing table that was bolted to the wall under her large bay windows. The large space felt very empty without her things. But they were things she didn't want, and things that would only remind her of a past she didn't need to be reminded of. So, she wouldn't be sad about them. Even as she told herself that she was fine to leave her life of designing behind, she felt a bit empty. The pink walls of her room seemed larger than they were, and without her curtains and chairs and things to fill the space, it was echo-y and strange. And while the hardwood floors were long since replaced with carpet, making the room warmer, it was still odd to see it stripped of all it's character. It echoed how she felt about her life, she realized. She was still there. She hadn't changed. Her hair was still black and her eyes were still blue. She still had Tikki, and she was still the daughter of the two most fantastic bakers in Paris. Yet, everything that she was, everything that she'd loved and been was gone, leaving her a shell of what she used to be.
A pang of sadness hit her, as she realized all of her dreams were no longer a part of her. She longed to pull the boxes and things of her childhood back from the dumpster just for a moment. She wanted to crawl inside them and hide from the frightening future before her. She considered it for two seconds before she stopped herself, and remembered that she was no longer thirteen. Even if she was a designer still, all of her tools and things that she'd left here were old. She would have thrown those things away anyway.
With that thought, she set her mind on other things. Like, the horrible color of her walls. She looked at the pink room, the color had once suited her. But now, it seemed juvenile and tacky. She ignored the part of her that reminded her that she had just moved back in with her parents. She walked down to the bakery, and into the kitchen. Tom looked up from frosting a cake.
"Mon Chou! What can I do for you?" He smiled wide.
"Can I paint my room?" She asked bluntly.
Tom blinked twice before he smiled, "You have always been free to decorate that space as it pleases you. Of course you can paint. I won't pay for the supplies, but that's your space, so long as you are careful and clean, do as you please."
Marinette beamed, "Thank you, Papa." she raced back up to the house, and grabbed her wallet and keys. She also grabbed her wheeled basket, and set off to redecorate her room. She made her way to the nearest paint shop and walked in, looking at all of the buckets of paint and supplies. She had been thinking while she walked that a warm color would be good, but not too saturated. She had settled on the idea of two colored walls and two cream walls. Pink was still her signature color, but she had decided that a more mature shade of pink would suit her better. Somewhere between mulberry and mauve would do.
The shopkeeper helped her find everything she needed, and put it all in a box for her to carry. He asked her if she needed help to carry so many supplies, and she declined but didn't explain her inhuman strength. After the nearly superhuman strength she gained from being Ladybug, and years of personal fitness, Marinette was much stronger than she seemed. She carried the gallons of paint and supplies in the box with ease back to the house in her basket. She carried everything up to her room and set to work painting the room. She taped every corner and covered the carpet with plastic. She covered the windows with plastic as well, and taped every surface that needed it.
She set to repainting the large room. Layers of primer and waiting for them to dry, then layers of color and waiting for them to dry, and by the time the sun was starting to set, the room had been transformed. The warm carpet and cream walls were open and inviting without feeling like too much negative space, and the dark pink walls grounded the space, but were broken up by windows and the overhang where her bed was still sitting. She smiled at her work, and opened the windows to let the paint fumes air out.
She checked her watch as she waltzed down the stairs. The bakery was closed by now, and her parents were likely on their way to bed. The bakery woke up with Paris, bright and early, fresh and warm. So her parents went to bed early, so they could be up and ready for Paris when it needed them. Her stomach growled. She realized she hadn't eaten since her bowls of cereal.
She moved to the kitchen and made a sandwich before sitting down on the couch her parents had bought when they remodeled the house her last year of high school. It was soft and welcoming and great for gaming competitions. She kicked her feet up and ate the sandwich slowly. She yawned and laid back on the couch. Maybe she should rest. She was asleep before she could think about when she wanted to wake back up.
Her mother didn't wake her this time. She woke up on the couch, covered by a blanket, her eyes heavy with sleep and her body sore from manual labor. But, not as sore as it had been from sleeping on the floor. Her eyes sprang open and she shot off the couch and up to her room. The window was still open, and the new colors of her room were beautiful. She smiled, and a sense of accomplishment and relief came over her. She went back downstairs to find something to eat, and found a pink plate with a paper doily and a beautifully decorated cinnamon roll. There was a note:
-A girl needs her strength to move home only to lose to her father at video games.
Love, Papa-
Marinette rolled her eyes, and plucked the sticky confection from the plate. Her dad couldn't beat her at video games. She would show him. But, schooling her father in the ways of robotic battle would have to wait until she had officially moved everything up to her room. She swallowed the last bite of her breakfast and made her way upstairs.
Tikki was exhausted from it all, and had taken to sleeping on Marinette's bare mattress, all rolled up in a scarf. Marinette smiled at the thought, and decided not to bother the red kwami unless she needed her. While Tikki slept, Marinette gingerly removed all of the painter's tape and plastic coverings from the surfaces of her room. They joined the remnants of her past in the large brown dumpster outside. Once that was all clear, Marinette began moving all of her things from the guest room up to her room. She took apart her desk and bed frame, and reassembled them upstairs. All of her suitcases and stacks and stacks and stacks of boxes, along with a couple of bookshelves were now piled in the middle of her room.
She looked at the pile. She was proud of her work. She was an independent woman. Her father would have helped her but she didn't need it. She could have waited for her father to offer, but had enjoyed the struggle of getting large heavy objects up and around the stairs. Her body was tired, she was dripping sweat, her heart was pounding but she felt good. She was burning nervous energy and burning calories. She decided, at that very moment, that she needed a reward for her efforts. She popped open a suitcase and grabbed a fresh set of clothes. She made her way down to the bathroom and grabbed a towel from the closet in the hall.
She took the longest, hottest, most relaxing shower of her whole life. All of her stress and her worries were washed away for a magical moment, along with a couple of days worth of sweat and grime. After she was clean and relaxed she stepped out and took her time drying her hair and putting on her clothes. She took the towel and her dirty clothes upstairs with her. She hummed to herself, and walked around the strangely cluttered space while she toweled her wet hair.
She had missed this house, this space, and her family. She had missed the city and they view of it from her windows. Her windows. She loved her windows. There was a set of bay windows at the end of her room, large windows on the side walls, and a large skylight that doubled as a door to the roof balcony. The sun always came in the windows just right. The sadness and strangeness of her situation was still there but was overshadowed by the sense of belonging she felt.
With her hair still wet, stringy and leaving little splotches of water on her Jagged Stone t-shirt, she started to move things around and put things away. She pushed the bookshelves up against the walls and lined up her new desk and filing cabinets and drawers. She wheeled her suitcases to her closet and drug her bed frame up to the lofted area where her bed was. She put it together and gently picked up Tikki from the mattress and set her on the nightstand. She slid the bare mattress onto the frame and set Tikki back down.
She glanced at her watch. It was already the afternoon. If she could finish this today, she could start looking for a job tomorrow. Her resolve hardened, and she set to work. She unpacked boxes and put things away. She emptied her suitcases and put them away behind her closet. She stopped for lunch and snacks and kept working. As she worked, the space regained its character. Her clothes filled the large walk-in closet, and her computer with double monitors sat on her desk, plugged in and ready to use. Her bed was made and her decorations put up. She had kept the pink plastic cat lights. They were once again wrapped around the stairs that went to her bed and the balcony. Her favorite Jagged Stone poster was on the wall as well as the framed picture of her and Alya and Nino at graduation. Hanging next to that was her photo from graduation from design school. She had thought about throwing it away, but it was a part of her. Her whiteboard and corkboard hung next to each other near her desk.
Satisfied with her work, she took her stack of boxes and took them to the now empty dumpster, and walked back into the house. It was dark outside now, but the warm spring breeze of the city called to her. She locked up, raced to her room, paused to admire her hard work, and dashed up to the balcony entrance. The door was stuck from being closed for so long, but with a hard shove it creaked open. Marinette scrambled out and into the night. The balcony was just as she had left it. A faded porch chair under a piece of tarp to keep the sun and rain off her. A string of lights and pots that had once held plants, but were now just dirt. She would have to fix that. The black rail that ran around all the edges, and a stunning view of the city and all its lights. She leaned on the rail, and crossed her ankles. She was home.