‘She is relentless, this one,’ he said nothing, nor did the look on his face betray anything, as he coolly stared back at her, sitting perfectly neat and straight before him.
He couldn’t properly categorize the look in her eyes, somewhere between foolhardy honesty and a sudden realization for the need of restraint. As if she would have continued to prattle on with her nonsense about wanting him to live, but thought better of it in the end.
She said nothing more, and he found his own tongue stilled, his mind racing.
He expected her to be gone by now. Have a little fun teasing her and, by making no changes to his demeanor, get a few chuckles out of the Lord of Fools “gift.” Surely, she would run screaming from his castle in no time. She wouldn’t be the first hired help to throw in the towel.
There was no way to refuse a gift from Oda at this point. Not with Takeda brazenly sauntering his army along the borders. He would need Nobunaga before Nobunaga would need him, and any little slight might be the last straw.
But, if she quit on her own! Why, then he could hardly be blamed! That was…what he expected.
It spike up his leg - demanding his entire body’s attention - a bullet of pain, and Chat Noir knew his ankle was… He turned it experimentally, and felt dizzy from the fangs of agony burying itself into his leg. Rain pelted mockingly at his head. Stay down, it commanded. Unable to resist, he complied. And sneezed.
“Who’s there?!” someone demanded.
He twisted carefully as to not agitate his injury.
“Ah, Princess!” Chat sprawled to appear as alluring as possible, mindful of the earlier concern, and propped his head up in his hand, grinning his pearly whites. “How’s your evening?”
“Chat Noir.” She flipped her hand, which had been perched oddly at her ear, and now cupped her cheek. “What are you-?” She lowered her hatch to hide away from the light drizzle. “Come inside.”
“I’d love to!”
“But it appears I’ve sprained my hindpaw… I’ve challenged my least favorite element, and it appears I’m a bit wet behind the ears.”
She crawled onto the rooftop, leaving her hatch open. “Are you okay?”
“Purrha— eep!” he yelped indignantly when she swept him into her arms. “M- Marinette!” She lifted him effortlessly. Holy cheese, he could feel her muscles, stiff and sure. Not a quiver of weakness.