Of Ribbons and Other Lost Things - Chapter 2: Help Wanted
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1 | 2 | TBC
Luka Couffaine hadn’t meant to end up at the Dupain-Cheng Bakery on purpose.
He’d bombed his first three interviews, for a bartender (too young), beekeeper (they seemed to be allergic to him) and bassist (he took one look at the bloodstained chipmunk costume and refused to get in), and found himself with a some time to kill before the final one at Le Grand Paris hotel.
So he aimlessly cycled around the cobblestoned pathways of Paris instead, following musical notes scattered all around city like a giant melodic puzzle, before traitorous muscle memory kicked in, taking him to the one place he was sure he’d be turned away from.
The bakery was right in the heart of the city; a beautiful, five-story building fortified with an eggshell-white composite of brick and wood, the delicious aroma of bread weaving in and around the neighbouring streets.
Luka felt his insides curl, the twang! of a broken guitar string, as he stopped his bike outside its freshly-painted doors, and tried to pedal back the way he came.
But his legs stalled as he caught sight of a girl on the rooftop balcony of the building, pacing back and forth in her trademark pink jeans and grey blazer, exaggeratedly waving her arms as though she was in an argument with herself.
Luka bit his lip to keep from smiling at the sight.
Now, it was no secret Marinette Dupain-Cheng was avoiding him.
He’d deduced as much when she noticeably stopped coming to Kitty Section’s rehearsals, started pitching her new designs on the group chat instead of actually showing up to their meetings, and even having The Girl Squad deliver the first draft of the clothes she’d sewn.
But what was a secret was that he’d been avoiding her just as much.
No one knew besides Jule (because no one knew anything about him besides Juleka), but Luka had found himself taking every precaution to avoid the Dupain-Chengs, from cancelling inner-city deliveries to pulling admittedly dangerous 180s on a busy Parisian street, just because the light hit just right and the girl walking his way could’ve been Marinette with extensions (it was not).
He knew the strain of avoiding both his father and his ex-girlfriend was bound to put him in a tight spot eventually, and karma reared its head one fine day when Luka heard the inevitable click of a door opening and found himself face-to-chest with the broad-shouldered Tom Dupain.
“Luka,” if Tom noticed how he’d turned three shades whiter, he didn’t say anything, “You must be here for Marinette. Marine–”
“NO!” He yelled hastily, before clamping his mouth shut, much to Tom’s bewilderment.
“Uhm, I mean–” Luka held up his hands in surrender, resisting the urge to glance up at the balcony, “This isn’t.. about Marinette.. at all.”
“Then, did you come to buy a croissant?” Tom asked, arms crossed, curiously casting a glance at the several HELP WANTED flyers filling up his bike’s wicker-basket.
“Uh,” He swallowed, uncomfortable with lying to this hulk of a man, “You wouldn’t happen to be hiring?”
It was a deliberate trap. Luka already knew that the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery was a family-owned business, and as a result they almost never outsourced any work, not even for national holidays like Galette’s Day. So it was a pretty safe bet that the next few moves would proceed like this: they’d kindly (they did everything kindly) offer him a rejection, he would graciously accept it, promise to return for a galette in a few weeks, and cycle away, never to show his face here again.
“Oh no, we’re not–“ Tom looked ready to refuse, but a strange look came over his face, “–actually, hold on, Sabine’s going to be busy for a few weeks and Marinette’s always drowning in schoolwork these days..”
But it seemed like karma wasn’t done with him quite yet.
“Riiight,” Luka leaned back, not liking where this train of thought was going, “I’ll get out of your hair then, sir.”
Tom opened the door wider with one arm, placing the other on Luka’s shoulder before giving him a vaguely threatening smile.
“Why don’t you come in for a bit, son?”
“That was way too close, Marinette!”
“You know no one can find out about you being Ladybug!”
“Were you actually going to tell Alya?”
“What do you know, Marinette?”
Marinette Dupain-Cheng stopped her pacing to raise an eyebrow at the red and black-spotted bug’s uncharacteristically hostile tone, which she quickly felt guilty for.
Tikki was just being cautious; losing Master Fu had a visceral effect on all the kwamis; some more intense than others (Wayzz hadn’t come out of the box once), and she could hardly fault her closest companion for being stiff with her when she didn’t exactly tell her what she was planning on doing.
“I’m sorry,” Tikki said first, flying up from her perch on the balcony railing to nuzzle Marinette’s face, “If you think Alya can be trusted with this kind of secret, I won’t stop you.”
“I know it was hard for you to lose Master Fu,” Marinette sighed accepting the apology with a gentle poke between her antennae, “And I’m nowhere ready to being as good of a Guardian he was, but I need you to trust me, okay?”
“I can’t do this alone, and I can’t tell Chat Noir, in case one of us gets akumatised. I can’t be a full-time Guardian and Ladybug, Tikki. We need a new permanent hero, and Alya is my only choice.”
“But didn’t she reveal her secret identity to you a little too quickly?”
Marinette pursed her lips at that; her kwami had a point.
Alya had told her she was Rena Rouge not just with excitement and some air of false pride– like she was a veteran in a field that Marinette had only just been exposed to, but also with resignation. Like she’d given up on Ladybug visiting her at all.
“Well I guess.. if she can’t be Rena Rouge anymore, I’ll just have to give her another miraculous!”
“Won’t she be just as likely to rely on you as before, Marinette?”
“Hmm..” Marinette narrowed her eyes. When she and Chat Noir had first gotten their miraculouses, it was without the safety net of being a ‘temporary holder’. They were forced to make their own decisions, learn their own lessons, and keep their own secrets close to their hearts; from friends, even from family. Master Fu had only joined them when it was clear that they’d fallen into their own rhythm of doing things, and once he was sure they weren’t going to quit on him anytime soon.
“You know, Marinette,” Tikki began, catching onto the idea that was already forming in her holder’s mind, “Nobody knows that Ladybug is the new Guardian of the Miracle Box... or that there is a guardian in the first place.”
It was true; thanks to Queen Wasp’s city-wide akumatisation a month ago, no one had been spared to cover the highlights of Master Fu’s sacrifice in HD clarity. It was as close to a blackout as the city’d gotten to since.. its last mind-wiping akuma?
“You’re right Tikki.. but what if she just tries to return the miraculous to me when she’s done with it?”
“You can always fib a little.”
Marinette gasped exaggeratedly, and the kwami rolled her round, blue eyes.
“I don’t mean lie, Marinette. You can just tell Alya that if and when the Guardian of the Miraculous decides to hand out a new one to a permanent hero, it’s not your business to interfere in the matter.. or to know their identity.”
“You’re a genius, Tikki!” She said with a smile, “That way, Alya can decide wether or not to accept the miraculous on her own terms, but if she chooses to quit, I’ll still be able to get it back from her!”
As Marinette reached into her sling bag to give her kwami a macaron as a reward, she heard a sudden shout come from below her. Before she could reach over to see who was making a fuss at the bakery so early in the day, Tikki flew into her line of sight to give her a strict look.
“But ShadowMoth knows Alya’s identity now. What if he’s tailing her to see if you give her the miraculous again?”
Marinette felt the grimace before it twisted her mouth. Of course. She’d been so focused on keeping the miraculous safe, that she’d forgotten to consider keeping their temporary holders safe too. And for all she knew, ShadowMoth might just be hiding more information he’d stolen from Master Fu and waiting it out to surprise her in some way. She couldn’t take any unnecessary risks.
“You’ll have to find some way to slip it into her bag in your civilian form,” Tikki continued, “But Marinette, are you really, really sure she can be–“
A buzz interrupted the kwami’s heartfelt warning, and she looked down to see her phone flash with a new message from her bff:
@alya.ladyblogger: guess who’s already waiting for u downstairs??
@alya.ladyblogger: (totally not trying to get u to come faster or anything)
@alya.ladyblogger: hint - he’s vv hot and vv into superheroes (like u!!!)
Marinette ignored the twist of dread in her stomach as she headed down to her room to grab the bee miraculous from a black, egg-shaped slot in the miracle box.
She wasn’t making a mistake.. right?
“You couldn’t have picked a better place! This is the best bakery in Paris– my kids adore their croissants!”
Zoé Lee stepped out of the hired cab, letting the doe-eyed look she’d given the driver, slip off her face to reveal a sly smile.
The best bakery in Paris, huh? Of course, anything less for the newest Bourgeois princess would be ridiculous.. utterly ridiculous, to quote the saying her mother and Chloé often butchered.
She knelt down, adjusting the laces on her colourful sneakers so they’d conveniently trip her up when the time came, running a finger over the slightly smudged red-and-black letters she’d scribbled onto the left one last minute.
But self-deprecating enough to tug at the heartstrings of anyone who had a semblance of sympathy– and there were a few people in particular Zoé planned on tugging. Into her own orbit, or out of Chloé’s, she wasn’t really picky. But her plans began with these sneakers and one delightfully oblivious baker girl.
Zoé Lee-Bourgeois pushed open the bakery door with a soft chime. Her half-of-a-sister couldn’t even begin to guess what was coming her way.
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Luka: The risk i took was calculated, but man.. am i bad at math.
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