A/N: I kinda forgot this fic existed... oops. ANYWAY I'm here to deliver a few updates (one per week) to catch up to the ones I have stored away in some files somewhere.
So, enjoy the read my loves. Till next time,
Drama
Chapter Two: Golden Hopes
Every story needed a heartbeat. Songs, lifetimes, even written words all originated from a single heartbeat, a single bloodline, that had kept it alive through the pulse and thrum of its rhythm. If you went back far enough, you'd find that heartbeats connected everything. Heartbeats could connect everything. Through this belief, through this idea, Marinette had managed to perfect the art of human connection.
Now she had her audience trapped under her spell.
Every time it started simply. Music. You had to have the right music: a strong beat, a good rhythm, the trademark instruments for a sensual, soulful song. When that music started up she'd always know what to do. Under the glow of the club's lights she'd dance, hips swishing to the music, arms and legs moving to contort into hypnotizing positions. The audience always ate it up. Always. They'd gawk and stare, marvel at this gracious being who bent and spun and curved under the spotlight.
Performing was like being a doll on display. Ladybug was always a separate entity from Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A showgirl. A stage name. A person who lived in the moment of today rather than yesterday or tomorrow, her ruby lips smiling with triumph as she gathered round after round of applause. This wasn't who she was; performing was always an act. Ladybug was never Marinette.
But even Marinette couldn't deny that, erotic elements aside, she always could capture the attention of an entire room of people. When she was younger she hadn't realised it. Tripping over herself, blushing as she picked up scattered papers, she had thought attention was a bad thing. But going through what she did, climbing and scraping and clawing to remain floating in the barrel, she'd learned to harness that skill. And by god did she utilize it.
Now, under the glare of neon lights, she was keeping the act going. Dozens of eyes were glued to her body as she urged the audience closer, arms moving in a charming fashion as she spun around her silver pole, booming music fading into whispering tones. Then it stopped and the lights went out and she was done. Offstage, sweating, chest heaving from the cardio of dance, Marinette felt great, refreshed.
But only for a second.
Immediately after, panic set in — it always did after a performance. With how much passion she put into her dances, with how much desperation and skill she placed into her performances, it was impossible to appear lackluster. This act, this Glitter and Go rule, was the only thing keeping Marinette afloat; this act was also slowly dragging her toward her inevitable shamefest through the eyes of the Parisian public.
More and more people were flocking to the club to catch a glimpse of her onstage, begging for autographs and after-performance pictures. Regulars were seeking her out; gifts were being left for the pretty woman in scarlet; Ivan and Mylène had told her to watch out for stalkers: overall, Marinette's traction and fame was increasing. More and more people were recognising her efforts, enjoying her talents, and soon it would make keeping her secret double life a secret impossible.
Cold fear gripped Marinette at the thought of it all — the world finding out, her parents finding out. They'd never trust her again, never want to see her again. Right now they believed that she was taking a gap year, working odd jobs and taking commissions to afford her apartment. They didn't know about the blog, didn't know about her breakdown, didn't know about her job. They didn't know anything and Marinette needed to keep it that way.
Even if it meant sabotaging her own success.
"Marinette, you were great tonight!" Luka, coming to greet her as usual. Not that there was anything wrong with it. Unlike most people who frequented clubs like this one Luka was decent. Never pushing for anything, always up for fun, he was the type who came here for the party scene, a good time — nothing else. Plus he knew how to play a damn good song. Marinette would always have open arms for him.
"Thanks, I'll remember you said that next time you ask for an autograph," Jokingly she rolled her eyes, a smile forming to cover up her trembling anxiety. No-one needed to know. It was temporary, fleeting, patched up by the plaster of her Glitter and Go.
"Remind me to take you up on that offer," Luka winked, chuckling at her witty banter. To him, Marinette could always be counted on to keep the spirits going. Even four years back, when she had fallen on her feet, trapped with nowhere else to go, she had smiled at him with a face filled with runny eyeliner and smudged lipstick, telling a joke about his freshly dyed hair. It was something he'd always admired about her. "It'll be worth something soon."
"Maybe," Marinette hummed, not entirely liking that idea. Fame had never been on her agenda; survival was all that consumed her ever-lasting thoughts. Nothing else but pure will-power and the desire to live well had ever consumed her soul.
Ever since that fateful night four years ago, dumped on the streets with nowhere to go, Marinette had ceased craving the spotlight. Public attention, public efforts, were wasted on someone like her. Squandered. That much had been proven in the first eighteen years of her life, the public education system doing little to cushion her fall from grace not long after graduation. If anything, from that moment onward, Marinette learned to never trust society again. It would never take her side — the side of a pitiful, mistaken woman.
Nevertheless, Luka — oblivious to it all — still held hope for the distantly dumped Marinette. In his eyes, those eyes that could only see the good in being a society, Marinette was still able to be saved. Young Marinette, sweet Marinette, the same girl he had found on the streets of Paris, bawling her eyes out after brawling with Chloe Bourgeois, was still able to be salvaged and recovered from the wreckage.
Luka, as lovely as he was, saw none of the flaws.
Marinette, however, did. She always saw them.
"Speaking of fame," A smug grin flicked its way onto Luka's face, lighting up his steel blue eyes. An arm looped over her shoulder, already guiding Marinette toward the door leading out to the main floor of the nightclub. "I've got someone at my table who can definitely help you get into that dream school of yours."
"Really?" Marinette breathed, her heart fluttering within her chest despite itself. Not all dreams were dead for her. No, even through the turmoil and the countless trials and tribulations, Marinette had still clung to old pieces of herself, fading dreams that had scattered as star dust, lost across the vast skies of the globe.
So maybe that was why Luka's words got her hopeful once more. Maybe it was the infectious way in which he grinned, the warmth that bled from him into her cold, drab life, which really didn't deserve that much. Maybe, just maybe, Luka was why Marinette dared to hope again. Just like when she was younger, before Glitter and Go, before the tight dresses and skimpy shorts, and nights spent sitting on rich men's laps. Before all of this ever happened.
"Yep," Luka nodded, humming in affirmation, "If it goes well, you can definitely snag a spot for the next academic year!"
"Oh, I don't know..." Marinette bit into her scarlet lip, frowning deeply as she wiggled from Luka's grasp. She needed the space to think, to be grounded by reality. Gingerly, the woman's right hand rubbed at her left arm, reddening the pale skin just a little as she worried, "It's a pretty big favour to ask of anyone and I don't want to cause any issues..."
"You won't," Luka assured her, snapping Marinette's gaze up from the industrial flooring of the backstage area. Easy-going, relaxed, a calm grin stretched on Luka's face, showing anything but worry or fear. A hand rested over his heart as he looked her in the eye, "I vouched for you Mari and since he's seen your work, I know my friend's gonna be on board. He'd be crazy not to!"
More anxiety washed over Marinette despite Luka's confidence. For years she had been facing rejection, had faced the true illusions of false promises and conceited people in power stomping all over unfortunate people like her. Disappointment was nothing new to Marinette. At all. Having her hopes stacked up into a wobbly brick tower, only to have it be knocked down by someone else, was not an unfamiliar feeling. It hadn't been for years.
After that, Marinette had promised herself — told herself — that she wouldn't ever place her hopes into the palms of someone else ever again. No-one cared for her own happiness like they cared for their own. No-one looked out for her like they did for themselves — no-one except the people she didn't want to burden the most.
So when faced with this choice, this decision to trust Luka, Marinette didn't know what she should do. In her mind both acceptance and rejection were wrong. Either path, either selection, was a one-way ticket to misery town once more.
Still, a part of her did wonder about it. Part of her thought about kissing up to this new friend of Luka's, looking nice and pretty and chatting his ear off about her dream just to be able to attend her dream school. Easy, it would be so effortless to slip into her Ladybug persona and get what she wanted; all too easily Marinette could say yes, forget what she was made of, forget her own self-worth, and stoop to the levels of so many before her. All to go to her dream school.
Only, her logic would shake her up once more. Rough, powerful, it would grasp at her silly hopes — her childish dreams — and remind her that actions came with consequences. Kissing up to powerful people often came with horrible, terrible consequences, sticky webs of lies and deeds that were difficult to cut yourself free from.
Yet, it couldn't hurt to try, right? To consider the idea of it all.
"So what do you say?" Luka raised a brow, grinning as he nudged Marinette with his elbow. His other hand was held out for a handshake, mirroring the night when she had first come to him, drenched to the bone and shivering from the cold. Even with the messy makeup and rain-ruined clothes, she had been breathtaking back then, extraordinary; several years later, barely pieced together, and it was still no different. "One step closer to not scraping the bottom of the barrel?"
Yes, it wouldn't hurt. Not more than it already has.
"One step closer," Marinette agreed, taking his hand in hers. Solidly, she shook on it, summoning one of her crowd-winning smiles, "I'm tired of scraping the bottom of the barrel."
Almost as if her performance had cast a spell on the building, the entire club was filled with a renewed enthusiasm, dangerous levels of energy and excitement, after Ladybug's departure from the stage. That was the third thing Adrien had noticed about her — right after that stunning smile she had first sent his way and the cheeky wink given the audience as she tossed a red rose toward them.
If there was anything that Luka had not communicated efficiently, at least to Adrien's beliefs, then it was just how mystifying that woman could be. In all of his years, surrounded by bombshell models and other gorgeous people, Adrien had never come across anyone with such a natural allure, a charming pull, toward capturing her every movement. With just a twitch of her lips or a delicate flick of her hand, she could gather an entire room's attention. And that was all without her voice!
Luka had definitely not been wrong to draw Adrien's attention toward her — not with the troubles brewing within his own father's company. Marinette was definitely something special, something wasted in this club. With her skills, the almost ethereal way in which she pulled her audience in, she could definitely do well as a model - perhaps even further.
There had been a reason why Adrien decided to humour Luka's logic. Aside from an age-old friendship and a mutual respect for each other, the blonde had also considered another avenue for holding up their deal. Whoever was messing with Agreste needed to be drawn out. Maybe Marinette could be used to that. Adrien just had to figure out how.
But, with the pieces given from Marinette's performance, he could sense a plan gathering within his brain. Now Adrien understood why Luka went on about the woman in the way he did; after seeing her perform, witnessing himself how she seamlessly meshed elegance and allure, Adrien now understood the buzz around her name.
Nevertheless, the blonde couldn't let his discovery consume him whole. No, not when Marinette was part of the catch, the sweet honey used to distract Adrien from the true purpose of tonight's meetup with Luka. Hid old friend wasn't new to using distractions in order to make Adrien loosen up. Neither was Adrien. After knowing each other for so long, they both knew how to distract each other from the true business that ran between them, how to sway them toward considering their offers.
So when Luka disappeared shortly after Marinette's performance, rushing out a tangent about delivering her to the table, Adrien took it as an opportunity to prepare his mind for the incoming distraction. He needed to make sure this all ran smoothly, after all. In order to preserve the brand, to keep things from collapsing on themselves, Adrien needed to make sure that this deal went well. His snooping had told him that much.
Something amiss was going on in the frameworks of Agreste. Unaccounted funds, transfers that just didn't make sense: someone was losing money and it kept falling out in the same subtle loophole. Even all the recent busts and raids didn't add up to the thousands being lost each week. Not to mention the increasing shipment issues being flagged up at the border or intercepted at sea. Someone was meddling with the trade routes; someone with authority was messing with the shipments.
Until he knew who it was, it was Adrien's job to make sure he held everyone at an arm's length. That included old friends like Luka Couffaine.
However, Luka did have an edge that most people lacked these days. As much as he would love to deny it, Adrien needed someone's help to get the company out of whatever mess his father's people had gotten it into. To eliminate that threat, to minimize its damage, he needed to supply a new main line. Who better to ask about it than the most connected man on the planet?
Luka knew everything about that sort of stuff. So, naturally, Luka had been the first thought. A close friend, extremely loyal and someone who would only benefit from the deal, he seemed like the perfect fit. Plus, Luka had always kept Adrien up-to-date with import and export routes around Europe, keeping up with the changes and always knowing where to get the best product for the best price.
In an internal crisis like this, making a deal with Luka would be the smart thing to do. It was something his father would do.
Marinette, though, had thrown a wrench into Adrien's perfect planning. With her honey trap set and Luka's nonchalance, Adrien was having second thoughts about it all. Many seconds thoughts.
"So you're the infamous Ladybug that Luka won't shut up about!" Almost as if summoned by his thoughts alone, both Luka and Marinette approached the table, the latter taking a seat right at the edge of the booth. Beside her, one of Luka's friends - a broad-shouldered blonde - flashed a friendly smile in her direction as he winked, "Nice to officially meet you."
"Likewise," Marinette grinned in return, nodding in acknowledgment. However, her gaze was fixed to the man across from her, the very reason for her arrival at this table.
No less striking than she had been moments ago, the dark-haired woman definitely knew how to brush up for her occupation. Dark and intricate makeup decorated her eyelids, framing her bright blue eyes beneath her mask and matching her thick, black lashes. Now that she was closer, Adrien could see how her red dress complimented her, hugged her body in flattering places and dipped at the neckline to expose the pale skin of her collarbones and chest.
She was pretty — he would give her that. Pretty and charming and annoyingly mystifying. Too bad they had met at the wrong time in the wrong space. A younger Adrien, a less pressured Adrien, wouldn't have hesitated to get to know her better — especially since she seemed skilled with a thread and needle.
"Marinette, this is Adrien," Luka began, looking rather pleased as both seemed to exchange pleasant smiles. No doubt he was elated because Adrien was finally introduced to the woman he seemed to be gaga about. Two important people in his life — one close friend and another close friend — were finally crossing paths.
"Adrien?" Marinette blinked at the name, seeming incredulous as she peered at said blonde. Eyes wide, her face blanched, almost as if she were in shock as she gaped, "As in Adrien Agreste?"
So she did know of his work. Well, who wouldn't know of his work? From as young as thirteen Adrien had his face plastered across Paris, the epitome of the perfect boy as he posed for his father's brand and filmed commercial after commercial. Between the clothing lines and the perfume campaigns — not to mention the brief acting stint during his university days — Adrien Agreste was not short in his time spent within the public light.
Honestly, it would have been a miracle if Marinette didn't know who he was. Might he even dare say refreshing.
"The one and only," Adrien joked, the line coming out somewhat somber as he chuckled. A bit too somber. Scratching at the back of his neck — a nervous tic — he grinned sheepishly, "Although it's pretty obvious."
An odd look passed over her face as she blinked. "You're right, there's not so many people out there who could claim to be a super hot model," Marinette suddenly rattled out, her eyes widening as soon as the words left her lips. Pink tipped her ears as she covered her face with her hands, shaking her head profusely, "Oh god, did I really just say that? Sorry. Sorry." Peeking through her fingers, face still red, she whispered out, "I just have a habit of saying things as they form in the brain..."
"I'll pass it off as first time jitters," Adrien grinned, shrugging. There was definitely something refreshing about her — this easy way of speaking to her without feeling like a million people were watching your every word. Was it the nerves? Or better yet, was it her constant bashful state? Honestly Adrien couldn't tell as he winked at her, "You are talking to a super hot model after all."
"Y-yep," Marinette managed to choke out, biting into her lip as she removed her hands from her face. Bubbly pink still remained on her porcelain skin.
For a moment they let the music swallow up their conversation, the gentle synth of Marinette's performance long replaced with the pulsing bass of a remix. If Adrien was going to offer a guess he'd say that it was a rendition of a song from a decade ago, the modern music world always liking to take inspiration from the past. What song it was, well, he couldn't exactly say. His mind was a little too captured with the woman across from him to pinpoint it.
There was just something familiar about her. A feeling, a look, kept niggling at his mind as she tapped her nails against the tabletop and took a nervous sip from a glass. Had that always been there or did she order it? Adrien couldn't tell as he noticed the subtle scarlet smudge left on the rim.
"So Luka told me that you were interested in fashion," Adrien broke the ice this time, desperate to get this over with and desperate to know just what about her was making his mind tick. Plus, the sooner he spoke to her the sooner he could move on to professional matters.
Luka, the exact opposite of him, had already slunk away to another table, laughing as he conversed with someone he appeared to be familiar with. Not that Adrien could entirely tell. Every day Luka was always meshing his world with someone new.
"Mhm," Marinette hummed in response, swallowing another sip of her... cocktail? Yep, it appeared to be a cocktail judging from the frothy bubbles floating on the surface. "Designing actually. Ever since I was little I just loved looking at different outfits and trends, and trying to replicate them with my own little twists. I remember when Gabriel Agreste came out with his revolutionary Butterfly Collection and I swear thirteen year old me just..."
Stopping dead in her tracks, she trailed off, pursing her lips as she took another sip of her drink. A crutch most likely — something most people used in the presence of people like himself. In the past Adrien had used his own crutches to confront his father, first a subtle reality-reminder like a pinch to withhold his frustration, later getting stoned in the garden, numbing out his senses so he simply couldn't get frustrated with the stony patriarch.
Interesting, it was, to know that someone like her used a social crutch. Oftentimes, people who had a way with the masses lacked the usual tells that most everyday people owned. Marinette appeared to be an exception.
"No, don't stop," Adrien shook his head, interest lacing his voice as he leaned closer toward her, pretty blonde head resting between his palms. He definitely wouldn't admit that such a position served two purposes: to show his interest — and well, to steal subtle glances at her decolletage. "I'm listening."
"Really?" Marinette gaped, disbelief flooding her features once more. However, she soon grew a more confident edge, a knowing smile inching onto her scarlet lips as she folded her arms across her chest. Oh darn. "Because it seems like you're focused on something else entirely rather than my words."
Caught red-handed — right in the middle of the act. Good thing Adrien always was skilled at bullshitting on the go.
"If you're talking about your passion then yeah," Adrien nodded, his voice a cool cover-up for the heat that threatened to crest the tips of his ears, "You certainly have it."
"O-oh," Marinette blinked, biting into her lip once more as a surprised flush took over her features. In that moment Adrien noticed the freckles speckled across the bridge of her nose, tiny dark islands littered across a sea of delectable pink. They stirred something — a fleeting memory — as the woman pursed her lips and anxiously rubbed at the necklace around her pale neck. That movement clued him into her sparkly nail polish — crimson red with dark sparkles.
"Took the air from your lungs?" Adrien mused, oddly egged on to continue his teasing. A peculiar thing for him — the new him, at least. Teasing women like her, conversing with women like her, was a thing left in the distant past after his mother died. Yet with Marinette it felt sparked anew, just as alive as the strawberry blush decorating her delicate face and neck.
"Well yeah, kinda," Marinette admitted, shrugging as she slumped in her seat. Idly, her fingers continued to toy with her necklace, smoothing over a round silver charm. "It's hard for me to do this, you know? Barely finishing school, talking to you in a strip club of all places, about my career — dressed like a person who sleeps around for a career. It all just feels..."
"Like you're set up to fail?" Adrien finished, knowing the feeling. By god did he know that feeling. Nevertheless he kept pushing through it, putting on the mask and gloves and carrying the proverbial dark baton of his father's legacy. "Yeah, I get that. The industry is brutal."
"Tell me about it," Marinette sighed, shaking her head. Then, almost instantly, she perked up, leaning across the table, almost nose-to-nose with him as she gazed at him with imploring blue eyes, "But you're an insider, someone born into fashion royalty. If anyone could know if I would make it, I'm certain it would be you."
There it was: the true desperation of a girl like her. Clawing, scraping, grasping, they would always latch onto every tiny thread in order to gain all that they could. This was nothing new to Adrien. Born into the limelight, thrust onto the centre of the world's stage, he knew what it was like to meet opportunists like Marinette. Snaking their arms around his neck, pressing against him as they posed for pictures, these people were scattered everywhere within his life.
Gazing into her deep blue eyes though, almost close enough to feel her dark lashes tickle against his cheek, Adrien could not say that she was like the others out there. Genuine honesty, pure vulnerability, seemed to seep from this woman as she peered into his eyes, desperation rimming her own.
Greed usually fueled such people. Impossible avarice and greed and gluttony filled the hearts of those who used Adrien to step up in the world. Marinette did not seem to be such a person. He couldn't say way, couldn't pinpoint exactly how her stare stirred something within his heart, but he could decisively say that she was not out to use him. If anything, she appeared to be offering herself to be used, utilized like a tool.
What a terrible existence that was — relying on others, depending on others to use you, in order to survive. The opposite of greed, the opposite of deception. It was like she was shooting her own foot, the gun and trigger loaded and waiting in her hands.
"So do you think I have what it takes?" Marinette whispered, her voice barely audible above the percussion of the latest song. Leaning even closer, lashes tickling his cheek, she added, "To make it big?"
There was no doubt about her ability. No, there was no doubt at all. Clear, distinct, Marinette had the guts and gall to push herself far into the fashion world. Luka wasn't a fool to flag Adrien up about her; she wasn't a fool to buddy up to someone like Luka. Marinette was a woman who could no doubt smash the roof on the fashion world if she was given the right resources and time. A one in a million type of person. A person like his father.
But the blatant desperation in her voice made Adrien hesitate. Wavering vulnerability in her eyes, the way she so easily flaunted all she had in order to survive, made him wary of trusting her. Too many times he had met similar people to her. Damaged people, lost people, people wandering around Paris in a drugged-up haze as they smoked dying cigarettes and toppled in wobbly heels. Male, female, anyone in between, they had all had the same look. Burned out, dying stars in an endless cosmos of galaxies, they were losing their spark.
Did Marinette still have that spark? The determination to go on?
Not much could be told through the cryptic look filling her blue eyes. Somehow Adrien found himself liking that — liking her for breaking from the norm. In his mind, something about her just... clicked. That something was a thing he wanted to know much more about.
"You've got the spirit and the passion," Adrien eventually responded, smiling as he saw the elation filling her face. Breaking their not-really-private-whispering-circle, he fished within his pocket for a business card and passed it to her, "I'd say you have a fair shot."
Trembling hands took the card off him, carefully tracing the silver lettering — standard of his father's love of monochromatic colour schemes. Dark, sleek, professional: nothing less was to be expected from the son of Paris' largest fashion mogul.
"You're kidding me," Marinette gaped, her voice a breathless gust of air as she stared at the card. Almost as if she were testing if this were a dream, she poked her finger on the corner.
Laughter couldn't help but bubble from the blonde, "Not at all. You're an interesting woman, Marinette," Adrien flashed her a genuine smile, "Call me if you're interested."
Unlike most people who called his number, he'd definitely answer to her.