Her blond hair falls down around her shoulders, preaching innocence, even though she stands in dark feathers, green peeking out, hinting at something softer, friendlier.
La Paon is the name that they call her on the streets, it's the name that they can barely squeak out, so it's no wonder how much of a facade peeks through her gentle interior.
Her bat lies at her feet, battered in from use, feathers falling from it that likely stained it when the blood of whoever became her enemy.
She stands carefully off to the side, a small child bundled up near her breast, her blond hair peeking past the hood of her suit, the small child wrapped in blue looked just enough like her that he couldn't be stolen.
"Hey, Gabriel," She purrs softly, "We need to get him home and changed. You know how finicky he gets when he's left in the cold so long after he's ate too." Her smile is all practiced innocence even as her hood falls down to frame her hair from behind.
"My little peahen, don't you think you're rushing?" Hawkmoth chides her with a playful lilt to his voice as he pulls out of his suit, changing to a well worn suit that best of all, doesn't have any blood splatters on it.
"Puddin'," She breathes, "No, I'm not." People often assume that Hawkmoth is the leader, the stronger of the two, but they haven't met his wife if they think that's the case; even with a baby nestled against her chest, she stands dominant and almost cold.
Gabriel rolls his eyes, but says nothing else when he reaches out a hand for his son.
"Thank you." She tugs out of her suit, hopping on one foot for a second when her balance stumbles, and she quickly grabs her regular clothes, a pretty, pink dress that somehow brings the color of her soft skin into focus.
She dumps their suits into their bag that they'd brought along and counts the money that they've earned, "We'll have your business flourishing in no time." She smiles like it's all that they do this for.
He knows as well as she does that she does this for the thrill of it, and that La Paon is not content just remaining a model; she needs to work, push the envelope of reality, of morals, and further content herself in the world falling apart around her.
"Why did we have a son?" Gabriel shrugs, feeling burdened despite himself, and trying to ignore the stern frown that darkens her face.
"Because it's the perfect cover, Puddin', and haven't you always wanted a child to call your own?" She only calls him her pudding or some variant of it when she's seriously ticked off, and he knows better than to push the young mother now.
He quiets, content to hurry up and head home, so that they can safely pursue crime another day.