Roused from her sleep at 4:30 in the morning by the alarm she thought she had set strategically a few hours prior, it certainly didn't feel like this gig was serving her well.
Deep into a dissatisfying doom-scrolling session on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter, Marinette shifted her focus to tracing raindrops on the metro train's glass. What kind of psycho schedules a 7:30 am meeting on the other side of town? Okay, maybe not a psycho – she was consciously avoiding ableist language – but it was undeniably an inconvenient choice.
Getting off at her stop and heading to the building, she glanced at the time - 7:15 am - okay, she was early (for once). Hopefully, she'd make a good first impression with this team she'll be working with for the next few months.
Entering the building and briskly making her way upstairs to the correct floor, Marinette located the meeting room with lights on and people already seated. They're all early- should she arrive even earlier next time? Was this what Art Department was like? Whelp, she had her work cut out for herself already.
Opening the glass door, she was welcomed, "Good morning! Oh, you must be our newcomer! Marinette, right?" A woman with red glasses, effortlessly balancing a hefty laptop in one hand greeted her. Impressive.
Marinette smiled in relief, confirming she was in the right place, "Good morning, yes, that's me…"
"DUPAIN-CHENG!" a voice interrupted, and Marinette's stomach sank with a sense of familiarity.
"Aimée! What is the baker girl doing here? I thought Adrikins would've outsourced the catering in Shanghai! It's bad enough already having carrot top here." Marinette turned to confront her former bully classmate, who had traded her raincoat-yellow jacket and Gabriel cashmere sweater for a hot pink tweed jacket, a black dress shirt with laced motifs on the collar, and a ponytail with equally hot pink-dyed ends. The only recognisable features were her piercing blue eyes and Chanel sunglasses (seemingly) permanently perched atop her head.
"Chloé, this is our new set dresser. You know we need more hands to handle the recent changes - M. Agreste came to me personally with Marinette's resume," Aimée replied calmly to Chloé's outburst. Great, she must be accustomed to it, Marinette thought. This gig was going to be a blast. The woman turned back to Marinette, "I'm the Production Designer, Chloé is our Art Director, and Jemima is our Set Decorator. You'll get to know everyone else here pretty quickly. Today our storyboard artist, Nathaniel, has stopped by— so we can all suggest final changes before sending it off for approval to M. Agreste and M. Hardy." Marinette waved at Nathaniel with excitement, happy to see a much nicer former classmate. Aimée continued, "Take this and pull a chair at the back. Feel free to ask questions; today shouldn't be too stressful as we've seen this about a thousand times over the past week." She handed Marinette a clipboard filled with booklets – scripts, call sheets, and numerous lists and tables she'd have to decipher afterwards. Thanking Aimée, Marinette found a seat for herself.
"Nathaniel, start from Scene 3, Frame 1," Aimée instructed, and the display began to play.
A team member Marinette didn't know commented, "I like this shot of the male lead, but something feels off."
"I see that, but the close-up we had before wasn't working either with the flow from the next frame. We need to have both detectives' faces observing the crime scene and a good view of the set within these two frames seamlessly," Aimée agreed.
Marinette sensed an opportunity, unsure whether she should speak up given she'd only been in the room for a mere two minutes. Still, today her confidence held firm—whether fortified by the double-shot espresso she'd downed an hour earlier or an inherent determination— didn't seem to matter, "Um, sorry for interrupting - I admittedly haven't read the script yet, but what if the crime scene was taped off with bright yellow in a square between some rocks and the sea? Then this moving shot would work better, as the detectives could go under the tape to reveal the scene, and the camera could follow from the ocean side," Marinette suggested, cringing as she prayed she hadn't overstepped a boundary.
"That's not a bad thought," Aimée commented, her eyes thoughtful and considering.
Nathaniel perked up, "I hadn't thought of that. It would work well to showcase the trenchcoats, with the seaside wind and the moon reflected in the ocean. The vibes would be amazing."
"If the trenchcoats are made of cotton or cotton blend in a stone colour, it would suit the moonlight lighting," Marinette added, now feeling more confident in expressing her ideas. She made a mental note to catch up with Nathaniel after this; they hadn't met in ages. Perhaps over coffee, and she could invite Alya and anyone else who was free.
"I suppose the olive colour would've blended in with the brush behind," Chloé mumbled under her breath as she jotted down a note. That was peculiar - witnessing Chloé behave professionally and adapt. Lycée Chloé could never— but Marinette wouldn't hold her breath.
Aimée removed her glasses to rub her eyes. "And now that we're talking about costumes - why are they wearing sunglasses at night? Jemima, please check the script for me."
"It's correct," Jemima affirmed, sliding a new window onto the display:
3. EXT. BEACH - NIGHT
The duo walk onto the beach to inspect the crime scene, adorned in their signature trench coats and sunglasses - red and black, respectively.
ROSE
Another mogwai victim. Are we ever going to
find Yīng é?
COLE
Don't give up hope yet, M'lady - we'll find him
It's you and me, against the world after all.
ROSE
That's right, sunshine boy.
Marinette scanned the script on display, shock choking her at the mention of "M'lady". It must be a film based on her alter ego and partner, right?
The partner she hasn't seen in two years since she did her internship in New York.
The partner who the longer she goes without seeing, the more hopelessly in love she falls. So hopeless and so stupidly – she scolds herself at her poor choice of words again – in love.
The kind of love that betrays her better judgment.
The kind of love that keeps her on their rooftop till the early hours of the morning, desperate and hoping he would show up and…
Be her partner again.
What had gone so terribly wrong between them to drift them so impossibly far apart?
Was it her teenage self, constantly turning him down and never giving him a chance?
Was it the crushing weight and pressure of being superheroes, dealing with Akuma victims every single day?
Was it when she became the guardian and pushed him away, pushing the whole world away?
Was it when she left for New York?
Or was it her horrible obsession with keeping their identities a secret, even though time and time again, it proved to be a bad idea?
Such a useless rule, imposed on them by Master Fu, whom Marinette foolishly idolised too much to break, even long after he was gone from the picture.
It was her fault.
He must hate her.
She hates him too.
She hates the fact that she loves him too much to snatch his miraculous away if he ever revealed his whiskers again. It's her fault – but she's the guardian. She should be aware of the black cat Miraculous's location and ensure it has a committed owner – someone willing to stand by her side against Shadow Moth. Even though there haven't been any Akumas for years before she left for New York, the Butterfly and Peacock miraculous are still missing.
But Marinette couldn't do anything. No leads and no information. Not even from Bunnyx.
And Ladybug couldn't do anything - not without her partner.
So she'd been stagnant.
She might cry now, just as she had every day when the emotions she carried would come tumbling out uncontrollably. She'd run across the city to find any kind of solitude.
But there was none. Not in a world without Chat Noir.
Marinette felt the tears welling up and mechanically turned her head down, letting her hands and hair fall to the sides of her face to conceal her emotions.
"Well, that is definitely an oversight, especially for a finalised script," Aimée commented.
"What should we do, boss? Keep to the script even with the inconsistency?" another person Marinette didn't know the name of chimed in.
Aimée breathed out, "Let's omit the sunglasses in the storyboard. Nathaniel, you see to it - note the change in trenchcoat colour and re-draw the shot to how Marinette described it."
"Yes, boss!" he replied, moving seats next to Marinette - closer to the wall so he could plug the power cord of his tablet into the power socket. He then hooked it up to his laptop and started frantically drawing on it.
Aimée began again, "Okay, now let's move along to shot 4..."
"So, you're close with M. Agreste?" Nathaniel whispered to Marinette, still drawing on his tablet.
Marinette was relieved to be talking to a friendly familiar face, "He's a friend of a friend, but I've never met him before," she whispered back.
"That makes sense. I wouldn't expect Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the righteous class president, to be close with M. Agreste of all people," Nathaniel replied.
"Why do you say that?" Marinette questioned.
Nathaniel looked up from his drawing, leaning back into his chair. "He's just a really cold person. And judgmental. He's probably never smiled in his life. Also, a micromanager - which really doesn't suit the director role at all. Makes it a nightmare for the rest of us."
"Ouch, that sounds hard," Marinette cringed, recalling a particular boss from her New York internship.
"Yep, just keep your guard up around him— and try not to get burned. Or rather, iced," Nathaniel half-joked, and Marinette got the message. Hopefully, this guy wouldn't take issue with her, being so far down the line of command.
As the team continued for about 20 minutes, Marinette juggled absorbing the information while engaging in quiet small talk with Nathaniel– whoops, there would be homework for her to do later. Suddenly, a man strolled into the room (without knocking, Marinette noticed), boasting clean blonde hair, black glasses, and piercing green eyes that she could see through the lenses.
Okay, so he was good-looking but obviously lacked manners. Still, Marinette decided to give him the benefit of the doubt (especially with that face).
Aimée forced a smile on her face, saying, "M. Agreste! I thought we were sending these for approval at the end of business hours."
Marinette's stomach sank at the name; she wanted to have at least a day to process the production before meeting the big boss!
He locked eyes with Aimée. "I need to approve the storyboard before the cinematographers see them— I am an auteur," he replied, firm yet simple.
Aimée clutched her laptop for support. "Right, of course— we've been amending them all week, sticking to the deadline set before..."
M. Agreste lifted his head, signalling her to stop. "I will be viewing them now, so if you would kindly..." He gestured towards the display and took a seat in Nathaniel's previously abandoned chair.
The storyboards played, M. Agreste watching intently until he suddenly snapped his fingers, "Stop," he commanded at the beginning of scene 3. Nathaniel paused the display. "The script specifically indicated for sunglasses to be worn during this scene. They are symbolic of the masks the characters wear and the metaphorical wall between them. So integral, especially at the beginning— I am disappointed in this lack of attention to detail, Aimée."
"I-I-um, M. Agreste," she stumbled on her words, obviously stumped at how to respond.
"Oh please, Adrikins- of course it wasn't Aimée who changed that," Chloé spoke, and Marinette recognised that tone. It was a tone that would haunt her forever. "It was carrot-head and the baker girl," she pointed at Marinette and Nathaniel in the corner, prompting to M. Agreste narrow his eyes at them.
Nathaniel started, "Apologies, M. Agreste, I-"
Marinette stood from her seat, "No, look- it was me, sir. I thought it was an inconsistency or a mistake in the script, so I suggested we should amend it," she quickly interjected, taking the blame upon herself.
"There is no mistake in my script. The detectives are always wearing sunglasses when working together. Anyone who's read the script would know that!" M. Agreste raised his voice slightly - not yelling, but just as effective.
"Apologies, M. Agreste, I misunderstood. You see, I haven't read the script yet-"
"All the more reason why you are not permitted to suggest any changes to the script. You are crossing the line, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I know you have a degree in fashion, but your wardrobe opinions are not valid unless approved. From now on, it is an expectation that you do not mess with the workflow of the Art Department," Adrien commanded.
Marinette, feeling a surge of frustration and offence at his comment, without weighing out the consequences, blurted, "Then what do you suggest I do here, M. Agreste? We're all thinking that the script doesn't make sense, so why not change the scene to daytime to suit your "symbolism"? Audiences are just going to think the film is pathetic if the characters are wearing sunglasses at night - despite the symbolism." She paused, bracing for a retort, but M. Agreste simply raised his chin, as if challenging her— which only egged her on, "Oh, and also, you can't call yourself an auteur if you cannot take or handle criticism. You seem to love dishing it out to everyone else but can't take the heat yourself." Marinette blurted, then covering her mouth in a futile attempt to silence herself. Maybe she went a bit too far in defending herself.
The room fell into a tense silence, everyone slack-jawed, waiting for M. Agreste's response.
He turned to face Aimée, "I expect this to be ready at the end of the business hours today as scheduled," he said, flatly, devoid of any emotion, as he excused himself from the meeting room.
This project was shaping up to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng's downfall.