"But then again, there were many girls just as beautiful who had been out for serval seasons yet still hadn't managed to catch a husband." –TheNovelArtist, "Battle between Bachelors"*

"Hel-lo, Adrien," Chloe cooed, sauntering up to the Agreste heir's desk and striking a suitably fetching pose.

"Oh, hi, Chloe," said Adrien, his nose still in his history text. "I'm glad you're here, actually; I could use some help with this assignment. At the Battle of Créfeld, do you know if there's any record whether Saint-Pern's forces had started moving west by the time that Von Bandemer crossed the ditch? I know they didn't actually meet up with Saint-Germain's division until about an hour later, but…"

At this point, he happened to finally glance up, and his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the spotted, long-eared cat's pelt that was hanging from her neck. Chloe giggled coquettishly, and stroked the yellowish fur with one long fingernail. "Oh, you noticed," she said. "Yes, Daddy and I flew down to Guinea last week for serval season – we always go out for that, now that they've legalized it again – and, after I got mine, this charming local man made it into a stole for me. I think it goes nicely with my complexion, don't you?" And, lest Adrien should have difficulty making this judgment, she leaned over and thrust one bare, shapely shoulder directly in front of her intended beau.

Adrien swallowed a few times, searching for his voice. "Excuse me," he managed at length, and swept up his book and hurried from the room.

For a moment, Chloe stood staring after him, her mouth faintly agape. "Well, what's wrong with him?" she demanded of Sabrina, who was standing diffidently behind her. "He's never going to have a chance to marry me, if he keeps turning green and running off every time I show him my latest ensemble."

"Maybe he felt sorry for the serval?" Sabrina suggested.

"Don't be stupid, Sabrina," Chloe snapped. "Why should Adrien, of all people, care about some silly cat?"

"She stands in the doorway for a minute, looking around the room, before she sets her music down at the piano, finds her key and starts to sing (a capella) No One Else." –lemonaide8, "MLB Song Shorts, Episode One: No One Else"†

"You and I-I-I-I-I," Marinette bleated mellifluously, the piano's keys thundering beneath her fingers. "You and I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I – and no-o o-o-one e-e-e-e-e-else!"

As she rose from the bench and curtsied, the crowded music room burst into applause, none more enthusiastic than that of the slender young blond in the front row. "Well, Father, what do you say now?" Adrien whispered. "Amazing, wasn't she?"

Gabriel shrugged. "She was all right, yes," he said. "If, that is, one enjoys listening to a young woman sing third-rate show tunes in a style that makes her sound like a refugee from a barnyard."

Adrien frowned. "Well… yeah, that's how she's supposed to sound," he said. "That's why the singing style's name is Latin for 'from the nanny-goat'."

"I am aware of that, Adrien," said Gabriel. "And, as I say, for what she was doing, she did well. I merely observe that a-capella singing is not a personal favorite of my own."

"After all, she's done so much for everyone in this damed city with and without the mask." –thatwritersdream, "Bug Bites"

Marinette sighed wistfully as she stared out her window at the rippling waters of the St. Lawrence, and Tikki looked up at her and smiled sympathetically. "Feeling a little homesick, Marinette?" she said.

"I guess so," Marinette murmured. "Quebec's beautiful, I know, but it's not… well, it's just not France. I know this city needs Ladybug, but…"

"Not just Ladybug," Tikki reminded her. "Marinette's done a lot for her, too. The people of Dame Darbanville might never have recovered emotionally from Autumnus's attack last year if not for the Summer Festival you helped set up." She giggled. "You should feel honored, you know. It isn't everyone who can say she's both saved the life and restored the spirit of the only city in the Commonwealth that's been named a Dame Commander of the British Empire."

"You know, I never did understand that," said Marinette. "The people of a city distinguish themselves for steadfast loyalty to the Crown during the American Revolution, and the king of England, instead of knighting the most prominent citizens, dames the city itself? What was up with that? Had he had some kind of quarrel with the mayor or something?"

"I don't think so," said Tikki thoughtfully. "I think it was just because it was George III. He could be a little odd sometimes, you know…"

"You do not want to be the laughing stalk of the entire fashion world." –Prophe-Cass, "Like Father, Like Son"

"Nathalie…" Hawkmoth began.

"Well, do you?" Nathalie demanded. "Think about it: a giant asparagus plant in the middle of the Triangle d'Or, with all the world's other great fashion designers transformed into its helplessly screaming fronds, and yourself the perpetually, hysterically giggling stalk at the center. Is that what you had in mind when you akumatized that dope-addled hippie gardener?"

"Certainly not," said Hawkmoth. "I would be the last to deny that creating Herbsurdist was a bad miscalculation. But that does not mean…"

"All right, then," said Nathalie. "Duusu! Spread my feathers!"

"…that you need risk yourself in order to protect me with the…" Hawkmoth trailed off, and sighed as Mayura's downy robe enveloped his assistant. "Oh, never mind," he muttered. "No sense in trying to reason with women, is there?"

*Sorting-Head tip to thrawnca for finding this passage. (For an explanation of this idiom, see chapter 12 of Minuets in B Minor.)

†Crossover (though for no apparent reason) with Misc. Plays/Musicals.