The sheer amount of well-dressed people assembled made Marinette feel very plain. She had wrestled with what to wear to this event more than she had during the design process for her collection. How was she going to present herself? Would anyone recognize her from the latest round of Agreste advertisements?
She worried that Mr. Agreste would connect the dots. She had hardly tried to hide who she was from him, but she wanted her collection to be judged as the others were. If he realized just how close of a connection she now had to Adrien, would he change his mind?
Marinette adjusted her dress before stepping out of the car. At the fabric store two days prior, Mrs. Guinebertiere had talked her into wearing something simple yet classic, and she had never felt more grateful in that moment. Some women were confidently strutting around in large avant-garde numbers that never failed to turn heads. She felt much safer blending in with the rest of the polished crowd. She reassured herself by clutching tighter to her purse, releasing when she heard her kwami's indignant squeak. The familiar sound relaxed her as she made her way into the courtyard.
The contest, having been sponsored by Agreste, was being held on the grounds of the manor. Marinette's lips quirked into a smile as she approached her display, placed right beneath the tree that she had posed under with Adrien. The shot that had made the magazines actually obscured both of their faces with a fan that she held in one gloved hand. Only their eyes were visible, staring intensely at the other. Vincent had wanted something more mysterious to reflect the nature of the perfume they were trying to advertise, and he had certainly gotten just that. It made Marinette feel even more like Cinderella when she looked at it. A beautiful dress, a handsome prince, and yet throughout the land no one would think to guess it was her.
Somehow her adventures as Ladybug didn't seem quite the same way. It may have been something about the villains, or perhaps her constant worry for the citizens. But hopefully the same principals were at work- if she was wearing a mask, no one would be able to recognize her.
Other collections were scattered throughout the gardens. After she had set up her own collection, she had dashed home to change her clothes, and her mother helped her perfect her hair. Now, desperate to be busy and cursing own foresight (15 minutes until the show started? Far too much time for something to happen to her…), Marinette bustled around her collection, looking for something to fix. She refolded cuffs, brushed away the tiniest speck of what might have been lint.
Conceding that there was nothing that could be changed anymore, she felt herself wary in her resolve. Sighing, she gave into temptation, and looked around at the works of the other designers.
Her heart fell as she surveyed the perimeter. Her own work felt so simple in comparison. After all, as a high school student who hadn't been to design school, she had to be one of the more unqualified people here. She would never have thought to attach fringe to the zipper of a bag. Granted, in her probably less-cultured opinion, tangerine and emerald green might not have been the tones to do it in, but there was a level of innovation that made her feel so small. What had she been thinking with her fairy tale? How could such an infantile idea succeed here among the work of fully grown designers?
A growing applause pulled her from her wallowing and over to a small platform where Gabriel Agreste himself now stood. If she wasn't going to win anything today, she had better learn something from it, because Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not give up. Pasting a smile on her face to hide her thoughts, she listened attentively as the blonde man spoke.
"Ladies, gentleman," he began grandly, "we've gathered here today for an event that I think is unlike most of its kind. A design show, open to all. When I was just getting started in menswear, I wished for an opportunity such as this. And now it's a reality. Today we will examine the work of all of the designers here- they will have an opportunity to give us a brief speech about their collection, and I and a small group of industry insiders will offer some private feedback afterwards. And with that, good luck to all!"
The crowd slowly made their way to the first collection, to the right of the stage. Marinette let out a breath she didn't know she was holding- she wouldn't have to go until much later. A short man dressed in a velour, burgundy suit stepped out from among the throngs and accepted the proffered microphone. He tapped it before beginning.
"Good day to you all," he proclaimed ceremoniously.
Marinette couldn't help but automatically tune out his words in favor of studying his collection. The lapels on the suit jacket he made were surprisingly uneven, she noted. But the pants were well-tailored and crisp. What truly bothered her was that he exuded so much pride and arrogance. She could almost see it in his work- most pieces were well-done, but created to be showy, not to be worn practically. She wondered if others would be able to see her personality in her collection- her amazement at being able to create something of this scale.
Adrien stared at those around him as they examined the first collection hungirly. He had become almost jaded to the fashions here- nothing seemed very new, or even exceptionally well-executed. He knew if he could sense it, his father would too, and it was hard for him to look at the excited man presenting when he knew that his dreams would soon be crushed. All the designers here would soon learn rejection from his father the way he had. Trying not to look too disinterested this early into the day, Adrien turned to look away.
As he spun, his green eyes caught on another familiar pair. Marinette?