Ladybug and Chat Noir soon found out that it was difficult to schedule a meeting with someone who can't speak. Especially when there wasn't a calendar conveniently lying around for them to point at days. And they didn't exactly have a writing utensil to agree on a time. Eventually, through a long game of butchered charades, they managed to get a day (Wednesday), time (sunset) and place (Eiffel Tower) sorted out.
Luckily, Ghost had the foresight to bring chalk.
(Keana had freaked out regarding the meeting to Chase, who in turn freaked out. She definitely wouldn't have remembered to bring it without him worrying like some sort of mother hen.)
When Ladybug got to the Eiffel Tower, the sun was still above the horizon. She probably could have waited an extra thirty minutes, but with all the tall buildings it got dark quicker than one might expect. So she showed up early, but she was on time within interpretation.
Yet, even as she approached the tower early, Ghost was waiting for her. They were crouched on one of the support bars closer to the bottom but still out of sight of people who'd be sightseeing. Ladybug landed and Ghost snapped their head up. They had a piece of chalk in their hand that had already been used to sketch various pictures on the support beam.
"Isn't that technically graffiti?" Ladybug asked.
They waved a hand before scribbling out an answer. It washes off.
"It's a national monument."
At least we didn't meet in the museum. it cant rain there.
Ladybug rolled her eyes at the nonchalant attitude. "Don't you think it'll be easier to talk to you if you take off your mask?" Facial expressions are pretty important to understand the emotions someone feels. And chalk can't exactly convey emotions as well as a face can.
Probably. They made no move to do so, leaving Ladybug to stare into the soulless voids that replaced a pair of normal eyes. It was rather freaky, like one of those American slasher movie masks, and the longer that she looked the more weirded out she got. It didn't help that there was a scarf covering up the portion of their face that would be visible even with the mask down. The cloak made it very difficult for Ladybug to guess a gender and she couldn't assume just because they had longish hair.
She would ask, but the spotted hero had a feeling she wouldn't get a solid answer.
She looked over to where the sun was in the sky and wished she had waited longer to show up. Chat Noir was probably going to be either perfectly on time or a tad bit late - not because he wasn't eager to show up, but from what Ladybug was able to gather his civilian identity is extremely busy. She wouldn't mind his unique brand of excitement and social obliviousness to fill the silence right about now.
After a minute or two of Ladybug not knowing what to say and Ghost not able to speak, the sounds of chalk scraping against metal filled the uncomfortable quiet. It was a drawing of some kind, but Ladybug couldn't make out an overall shape the cryptid was making, just a bunch of nonsensical doodles like flowers and mountains that weren't connected.
Ladybug decided, in that very moment, that she didn't understand Ghost at all.
Chat Noir eventually showed up to break the awkward silence.
"You're late," Ladybug accused, even though he was actually the only one on time.
Chat Noir wasn't afraid to point out her bluff. "Hey, I'm purr fectly on time!"
Ghost's head fell into their hands with shaking shoulders. It looked like they were sobbing in despair. But they could be laughing?
The trio got down to business, discussing methods of communication and how they could get a hold of Ghost.
"Writing would be pretty clunky in battle," Ladybug noted. "We wouldn't exactly have time to read what you write, if you have any time to write at all. So whiteboards or chalk wouldn't work very well."
"Maybe some sort of hand sign code?"
Sign Language maybe
"Would it be easier for us to make our own simplified sign language or learn one that already exists?"
Chat Noir bounced his foot. "If Hawkmoth knows sign language he'd be able to figure out our plans and counter us, so maybe it's better if we make our own?"
"Or even if a citizen knows it and we're talking about secrets..." Ladybug mused.
That doesnt really solve the battle problem tho
"What do you mean?" Chat Noir tilted his head.
If we're in the middle of fighting and dodging, I wont really have time to make signs and you guys wont have time to translate them.
"They could still be useful some other time," Ladybug said, "like if we need to be stealthy."
maybe Ghost paused for a bit before finishing the sentence. I can try to whistle?
"I thought you couldn't speak?" Chat Noir crossed his arms.
Ladybug mulled it over. "Whistles are just air, no vocal chords involved, really."
I can breathe. Ghost huffed out an audible sigh, to prove their point. Just have to figure out how to whistle. A pathetic high pitched wheeze left them.
"That was an awful whistle," Chat Noir complained.
"So you can whistle, but you're horrible at it, to sum things up?" Ladybug raised an eyebrow.
Ghost's shoulders slumped and they looked at the ground. Yeah. kinda pointless.
"Well, if you practice enough, it could be an option?" Ladybug's reassurance wasn't very reassuring. "You have to put your tongue against your teeth and blow."
The whistle wasn't any different from the first, very quiet and high pitched. This is a lost cause. What about clicks? Ghost made a sound similar to what someone would use to attract a dog or cat.
"That might work, if we just use it for combat. Like duck, or jump, dodge left or right. Stuff like that."
With that somewhat settled, the heroes attempted to exchange communicator info, only to run into a problem.
I don't have a communicator. Ghost wrote.
"Really?" Ladybug held out her yo-yo, sliding it open to display the screen. "Mine is built into my weapon."
Chat Noir showed off his baton's own communicator function. "Same here. What's your weapon anyway?"
They shrugged and reached into their cloak. They pulled out a sword.
Ladybug's jaw dropped. "How'd you fit that in there!?"
idk. i didnt know it waz there?
Ladybug didn't know to be comforted by Ghost's confusion or more horrified.
Chat Noir had stars in his eyes. "What type of sword is that? It doesn't resemble anyone I've seen before. Can I?"
Ghost shrugged and handed it over.
Chat Noir ran his claws over the blade, and listened intently to the sound that emanated from it. "It's lighter than steel, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was stronger too. Its shape is a little odd and the hilt can't be comfortable to hold..."
He went about examining it and pointing out bizarre things he noticed, like how the base of the blade was strangely oval, yet still incredibly sharp. The cat hero knew a surprising amount about swords, but Ladybug supposed that made sense, considering he fights with his baton like he's fencing.
"Look at these-" Chat Noir traced the intricate patterns that covered the blade. "They aren't engraved: they kinda remind me of damascus patterns, which come out when a sword is forged in a very specific way-"
"Chat Noir." Ladybug sighed. "As much as I appreciate the lesson, does the sword have a communicator function?"
He looked at her aghast. "That is very offensive to the quality of this blade. Like asking if the Mona Lisa is a touch screen."
Ghost sighed and held their hand out. Chat Noir reluctantly gave back the sword, pouting.
"How can we contact you if you don't have a communicator? And I don't want your civilian phone number either," Ladybug added.
We could make official accounts on the Ladyblog.
"But we could get hacked!" Ladybug protested.
not if we pretend we're trolls.
Ladybug groaned.
Chat Noir tilted his head. "I don't know what that is."
We each make an account like LadybugOfficial, ChatNoirOfficial, GhostOfficial, and don't ever say anything accurate or helpful. Then people wont ever believe we're the responsible heroes of paris. But we have private messages with each other. A hacker wont ever bother tracing the accounts to us.
Ladybug grumbled and folded her arms. "I hate trolls."
. . .
I found out that I was rather uninformed.
I already knew this, of course. In my old school I figured out that assemblies happened the very day they were on, just from hearing people talk around me and context clues. It's a lot more difficult to do that in French, I discovered.
So when, in the middle of class with Madam Bustier, an announcement came over the intercoms talking about a school wide meeting (assembly), I was a little caught off guard. I threw a helpless look over to Nino who shrugged when I voiced my confusion out loud.
Adrien furrowed his brows. "How did you not know this was happening? It's literally been on the school's calendar for the whole week."
"What kind of nerd checks the school calendar?" I tried to deflect, but it was in vain because Adrien was a quick learner who already knew all my methods of escape (except the super secret one where I transform into a cryptid as a distraction) and he merely raised an eyebrow in response.
I stood up and walked away instead of accepting defeat. Unfortunately I forgot that my friends have legs and could follow me.
We followed Madam Bustier to the gym courtyard, not that it was much of a walk. Headmaster Damocles had set up a temporary platform and a podium for him to talk from. There was also a hanging projection screen and a projector sitting somewhere in the crowd of students. For being an apparent high end school, they had little access to technology. And pretty bad administration.
Eventually all the classes filtered in. The school was exclusive enough that everyone managed to fit in the courtyard.
"Welcome, everyone, to the first assembly of this year."
Applause echoed through the courtyard as students politely clapped.
"I understand that we've had a difficult year so far. Tragedy has struck all of us multiple times this year. The school was unprepared, and I am sorry to say that I failed all of you in my efforts as Headmaster."
He bowed his head. I don't think I've ever heard this much silence in a space with so many people in it.
"Moving forward, we will have assemblies once per month in an effort to gather morale. It is dire that everyone has something positive and uplifting to look forward to in the midst of all this fear. Nino Lahiffe and Ivan Bruel will now speak about their support group for direct victims of Hawkmoth, otherwise known as people who have been akumatized. Nino?"
I whipped my head around, looking for the dude. I thought he was right next to me but he was already near the podium. I shared a wide eyed look with Adrien: I had no clue that Nino was doing this. Nino wasn't much of an organizer or leader, so it was surprising to see he took the initiative to jumpstart something like this.
The musician was visibly nervous as he stepped up to the podium. "Hey, dudes," he paused "-and dudettes-"
A few people chuckled.
"The Akumatized Support Club is for everyone who's been akumatized at this school. I think it's important that everyone who's faced and will face that will have a group of people who'll understand what they went through. T-thanks."
Nino bowed his head a little and retreated back into the crowd while people clapped- some even cheered.
"Dude, I had no idea you planned that." Adrien said. "You did great!"
"I thought you hated public speaking." I tilt my head.
Nino nodded. "I do. It's just- this is important to me."
I opened my mouth to respond but the crowd went quiet around me. Headmaster Damocles was back at the podium.
"That being said," he started again, "we have also opened a more general support group called the Lasting Operation Against Hate Education. Also known as LOAHE."
As much as I appreciate the school for actually doing something, I couldn't help but feel they missed an opportunity with the acronym. If they add a T after the A it'll be more ironic, but what could it be..?
I mulled this over while Headmaster Damocles kept speaking.
"LOAHE is another group that will support and uplift everyone around us. There'll be a new room dedicated to this program meant as a safe space where people can relax. There'll be scheduled open group talk sessions where anyone can join and a committee that will consist of students, staff members, and parents dedicated to maintaining a healthy and safe and positive school experience."
Cheering broke out and I flinched at the sudden noise. A few people tried and failed to whistle.
Headmaster Damocles waited patiently for the noise to die down. When he didn't start speaking immediately, the room was left in a near stifling silence.
And that's when the projector powered on and displayed two words that everyone has been waiting for the school to address since the beginning of the year: Akuma Attacks.
"I now must move on to a more serious topic. It has taken longer than anticipated for our school district and the city itself to address these attacks. These are unprecedented times and for that you have my sincerest apologies. Fortunately, we now have a city wide plan in order to minimize the effects of these attacks."
Whispers erupted in the crowd, ranging from cautiously hopeful to cynical and skeptical. The slideshow changed to display the word 'Classifications'
"Going forward, the city now has classifications for akuma attacks: Disaster and Monster. There are also several danger levels: Green, Orange, and Red. Disaster is not a danger level- it means that the Akuma has a wide range or an area effect of some sort. The Monster Class is merely a single enemy."
Murmurs echoed in the courtyard. The slideshow changed once again, this time displaying a picture of Lady Wifi, Bubbler, Stoneheart, and Monsieur Pigeon. All of them were labeled.
I looked over to Nino. His shoulders were hunched and he was staring resolutely at his lap. Adrien put his hand on his shoulder. Nino didn't look up. Adrien turned his gaze back to the powerpoint, eyes narrowed.
"In order to give you context, here are the four akumas that made the basis of the system. Stoneheart is classified as a Class Orange Monster; he was dangerous but was limited to a small area, until his return. Bubbler is classified as an Orange Disaster. He affected the entire population and, although he didn't directly hurt anyone, the potential for destruction was dire. Lady Wifi is a Green Monster: her powers were ultimately nonlethal and could only affect people she had sight of. Finally, Pigeon is a Green Monster/Disaster Class. While he was mostly a singular threat, he had control of pigeons citywide. And he was practically harmless."
That got a nervous chuckle from some people. Monsieur Pigeon had become something of a running joke in the school, and even the whole city. Coping with humor is a very real thing, and Pigeon's incompetence is perfect ammo for mocking Hawkmoth. It took the edge off the terror and paranoia.
"There'll be city wide regulations for each class. Green is similar to a lockout: people can continue working and going about their daily lives, merely with more caution than normal. Orange has a lock down order, where people are required to stay in the building they were in once the attack starts and get inside as soon as possible. For Red there will be special bunkers constructed where civilians can locate to. Depending on the circumstances, people may even have to follow evacuation procedures- city wide, if necessary."
"For now, seeing as the bunkers are not constructed yet, there will be different locations that have volunteered to beef up security and act as shelters during a crisis. I'll be sure to send these locations in a PDF to you and your families."
A list of examples appeared on the screen. I squinted and reeled back.
" No - Taco BELL! They volunteered?!"
About seventy heads snapped in my direction in unison. In the moment, every ounce of public shame had been beaten up and used as a welcome mat to shock, horror and even a fraction of awe.
"They're a fast food joint," I said, at a completely normal volume and tone, "How are they supposed to, and I quote, 'beef up security'- wait !"
My eyes widened.
"They're gonna beef up security! Are people just gonna say lettuce in?!"
Adrien booed me. So did Nino. Someone laughed in the mostly silent crowd and I'm fairly certain it was Chase.
The good news is that the other sixty-eight people who turned to look at me dismissed me as the crazy American and went back to looking at Headmaster Damocles. The man in question cleared his throat again.
"I would hate to leave off on a serious note, so I have just a few more announcements before all of you are free to head off to your next class:"
"The school will be having a restoration of our fine arts programs- there will be more school funded events such as concerts and art exhibitions. There will be a student run musical in the Spring, overseen by Monsieur Garnier."
I gasped, whipping my head about in an attempt to find Chase. This was perfect for him- I thought for sure he was going to be depressed and mopey all year because the whole fine arts program sucked.
"For those interested, there will be a meeting on the 18th, next Tuesday-"
Headmaster Damocles continued to talk about various school activities that were getting revamped. None really stood out to me, but I sat there with my mind racing for the rest of the assembly anyway.
A musical!
. . .
"So, what you're saying is that I'm getting invited to an exclusive club, because I was akumatized?"
Alya stared at Nino and Ivan with a raised eyebrow. Ivan shifted, almost using Nino as a shield against the intense blogger. Nino, normally unbothered by other people, was feeling the nerves get to him. Alya had not broken eye contact once during their entire explanation and it was starting to freak him out.
"Yeah, d-dudette."
"Why'd you wait so long to invite me then?" Alya questioned, phone in hand and ready to judge the two. "It's already been three weeks."
Because you terrify me . Nino didn't say that because he had a semblance of tact.
Ivan and him shared a glance. Ivan't face seemed to say 'you're on your own.' Nino lamented the loss of his only ally in this endeavor.
"I was busy," Nino eventually said, even though that excuse was lame and wouldn't convince anyone. Keana would make fun of him for using it. So would Adrien. Ivan was already staring at him with pity, as if this wasn't also his problem.
Alya stared at him. Nino couldn't look away, like a deer in headlights. A prey sensing danger, unable to turn its back on an incoming threat. A bead of sweat dripped down his back and he refused the urge to fiddle.
"You'll have to make it up to me," she eventually said, with a smile that looked like a cat who caught a canary.
"S-sure. What d'ya want me to do, dudette?"
Her smile grew. "I want an exclusive interview with everyone who gets akumatized. And permission to be the media director for this club."
Alya shouldn't have to interview personal testimonies from what was essentially a therapy group. Nino fiddled. "I can't just make people share a traumatic experience with you."
"The media director, at least?" Alya's eyes widened into puppy dog eyes.
"The club's supposed to be pretty exclusive..." Ivan finally spoke up. "Why would we even need a media director?"
"You always need a media director." Alya's stare rose a few stages in intensity.
Nino glanced away, meeting eyes with Ivan. They didn't really have an explicit reason to say no, beyond worrying that she would take things too far. Alya sometimes had troubles with other people's boundaries. "Don't post anything super personal. And if you mention someone, make sure not to use their name."
"Yes!" Alya clapped her hands together and smiled brightly. "You guys won't regret this!"
. . .
Chase wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting when he went to band class after the assembly.
Personally, he was buzzing from excitement. He finally could do something fun he was passionate about. He couldn't wait to feel the pounding blood in his veins from dance practice. The rush from singing and the satisfaction of everyone hitting the right notes to create shiver inducing harmonies. The intense emotions he displayed as he stood in the shoes of a character to transform the script into a scene.
All the build up till performance week, the emotional highs and lows, the stress building up like an underground volcano. Drama inevitably festers in the cast, but everyone put aside their differences in order to put on the best show possible, through tears and scowls.
The anxiety that racks everyone involved is easily mistaken with excitement- the two are so interconnected that they're impossible to separate. When the curtain would open everyone held their breath. There's panic when the actors walk onstage, worried that they'll mess up the opening number, miss a cue, forget a line. Then the months of practice kick in and they just do it. The tsunami of relief that hits everyone when the audience cheered and applauded.
Paradoxically, Chase also felt dread. There were a bunch of burning questions he had regarding how a student run musical would happen. From what he understood, Monsieur Garnier was purely a musician. He didn't have a theater degree and Chase was uncertain if he even knew how a musical worked. Did he already decide on a musical and buy the rights to it? Was he in contact with a choreographer or a costume provider? When were auditions? What did they need to audition?
It was a 'student run musical' that was 'overseen' by Monsieur Garnier, implying that the student body would be in full control. As far as Chase knew, no one at this school had any experience being in a musical, much less running them. Keana and him have both been in plenty of musicals, but they haven't ever directed any.
So when Chase walked into the band room, he was prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. Monsieur Garnier was a fairly unenergetic man, so maybe-
"-waited five years for that snake of a Headmaster to actually fund and support the fine arts, and he does it to please some rich foreigner on the phone?!"
Angry ranting was not on his list of things he thought might happen.
"The nerve of this man! When I heard that the prestigious Damocles- known for being a principal of a successful school- was building his own school from the ground up, I decided to reach out to lend my skills to the building of what was bound to be a highly favored school. And yet, five years later, there's hardly been any improvement! The entire school is understaffed and the principal is funneling all the school's funding into equipment. There's hardly any student interest in the fine arts because there isn't anything to draw their interest!"
Chase raised an eyebrow and looked over at his only friend and ally in this class. Luka shrugged, and went back to tuning his guitar.
"He's been shouting like this for the past five minutes. I might lose my hearing if I listen to him any longer."
"Doesn't your mom blast metal music from her surround sound speakers when she cooks?"
Luka nodded. "But I'm allowed to leave my house. I'm trapped here with this man's foul vibes."
They both look back at the deranged man at the front of the room.
"-and now Damocles taunts me! He torments me with the idea of a student run musical! He's only stalling for time so he can find a drama teacher-"
Chase wrinkled his nose. "He's not going to be much help with the musical. But he's also the only person with authority. We need auditions for the roles and a hiring process for people like student directors and stage managers and crew heads."
"I don't really know what you're talking about," Luka said, frank and apologetically.
"C'mon man," Chase sighed. "It's going to be complete anarchy if we let people who think they're qualified for a position in charge, when they actually have no idea how it actually works. I could try to take control since I have some experience, but teens don't listen to other teens unless they're backed by people of authority."
"I see what you mean," Luka admitted. "If someone wants to be a music conductor, they might want to take control even if they don't know how to read sheet music. They'll question what makes you qualified over them."
Chase looked back at Monsieur Garnier who was still emphatically waving his arms about in a fervor that matched his steaming red face. "We'll have to talk to him at some point. So he'll feel less overwhelmed."
They waited a whole fifteen minutes for the man to finally settle down and another five minutes until he stopped whispering "I got a doctorate for this " under his breath.
Approximately twenty minutes later they got him to agree to judge who would be qualified to be stage manager, crew heads, director, and publicity head. They printed out fliers for the actual audition information (a 'minute' monologue that probably actually wouldn't be a minute long and two songs from whatever musical they that was chosen) and also information on available crew heads (makeup, hair, costumes, publicity, run crew, lights, orchestra pit, sound booth, ect) and empty resumes so people could fill them out. And finally, they printed out fliers for a meeting next week for the musical to get chosen and also to announce crew heads.
Chase felt a bit of his anxiety die with the progress made. Then he set his sights on the best monologue to display his range.
. . .
I was cornered by Chloe again.
She threw the same accusations at me, saying how I was dangerous to be around and how I was stupid and how I was going to hurt Adrien with my dumbness. Sabrina nodded at all the same places, sneering to match Chloe perfectly.
Chloe seemed very smug when she dropped the dangerous line, probably because that drove me to a near panic attack last time she said something along those lines. Then her face straightened out again. Probably because she noticed it didn't really affect me this time around.
Here's the thing, I wasn't very emotive. I had a natural resting dead face, I thought it was my strong eyebrows: they were dark, sharp, and their shape made it look like I was scowling even when I wasn't. The only time I ever really moved my eyebrows dramatically was when I was surprised. If I tried to force a smile, it never worked because my eyebrows sabotaged me.
So Chloe must have noticed that I wasn't all too bothered by her attempt to scare me away from Adrien - I still didn't understand why she even wanted to do that. She huffed, insulted my fashion (I was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a dog pattern and cyan crocs and watermelon socks) and my grass hat. Then she insulted my face.
I wondered briefly if that was her attempt to bully me. I wondered why she even cared for a lot longer. Then she dropped the line.
"I'm going to get the lead in the musical, and you're not even going to get to be tree number two because no director would want your ugly face on stage."
I raised one eyebrow. "Really? You, a freshman, are going to get a female lead in a musical?"
She sniffed condescendingly. Sabrina sniffed alongside her. "Of course. Anyone with taste would want me to be the lead."
I rolled my eyes. "What, you think you're gonna beat all the seniors?"
Chloe glared at me. "Anyone with brains would agree with me."
"You need actual talent, skill and a good work ethic to be a lead." I glared back, because if Chloe could be mean to me, I was allowed to be mean back. "What are you gonna do, get your daddy to bribe the judges? Pay for the winning voice like you did with the hat competition?"
Chloe scoffed. "If your talent is anything like the hat competition then Monsieur Garnier will laugh you offstage!"
"At least I'm funny!"
"In your dreams!"
Chloe turned away with a hair toss. "Sabrina, let's go." They left the room with their noses in the air.
That was ridiculous.
...It was kinda fun to trade insults with someone who didn't actually get hurt by them, though.
. . .
"You know what's a better name for LOAHE?"
"What, dude?"
"LOATHE."
Adrien snorted.
"I don't get it," Nino said. He still wasn't very good at English.
"It means hate."
"What would it stand for?" Adrien wondered.
"Lasting Operation Against Terrorist Hawkmoth Education."
. . .
Tikki stared at the books in the musty corner of the library. They were a complete monotone gray, that spanned a small radius around the center of the bookshelf. This wasn't natural. The one she was currently staring at used to be a vibrant emerald green color, but now was a dreary gray. It wasn't because of age, it used to be that green color less than a month ago.
TIkki wanted to get closer to investigate, but some part of her- the primal itch that she grew out of eons ago- screamed at the very idea of getting closer. She felt the visceral need to stay away corruption disease rot death yet life yet empty.
It was clearly the work of another kwami, or at least a creature similar to a kwami. It felt different, like it was older than Creation herself. The aura felt opposed to Tikki on a fundamental level, similar to destruction, yet destruction still fed off of creation in the same manner that creation fed on destruction.
She floated as close as she dared, examining the shattered essence of the books. They were carriers of knowledge, and thus carried essence in an abundance no other inanimate object could achieve. Yet it seemed... muted. Dampened. Like it was hiding or never... there... at all.
She needed to show Plagg.
Sorry for the wait, I was pretty busy. Also I got into Danny Phantom fanfiction, so that entertained me for a few weeks, until all of them started to look the same...
Anyway I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. It's not my best work, but I felt the need to establish a few dynamics and set up an overarching arc: the Musical.
Which leads me to a question: What Musical/Opera should this fic have? I was thinking of doing a french opera, but I'm open to suggestions. Do you guys have any ideas?
Also, a complete separate question: I'm curious how y'all found this fic. Was it recommended to you? Did you find it by browsing? I'm curious.