Chapter Text
It was dark. And cold. The girl shivered so violently she nearly bit through her tongue. Wearing only the thin dress she’d had on when the shadow men had taken her, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying in vain to try to stay warm. By now her dress was little more than scraps that were still, miraculously, being held together by the seams.
The back of the wagon was suddenly wrenched open, spilling cold lamplight over her. She quickly ducked her head, her eyes shut tight against the sudden intrusion of light, only to have a tall shadow fall over her. Very slowly, the girl cracked open her eyes to see a white man dressed in the finest of suits gazing down at her with eyes made of ice — cold and blue and glittering with danger. A chill rushed down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.
The wagon driver came up beside the other man and began speaking to him in a language that sounded like he was choking on marbles. The tall man with ice for eyes handed the driver a bag of coins and then turned to her. The girl’s eyes widened. She’d heard whispers of what shadow men from the West wanted young girls like her for, and she’d expected it on her journey across the world. She’d watched countless girls go before her, being dropped off or traded to other shadow men. And now it was her turn.
The man beckoned to her, his voice evenly controlled, but cold. She didn’t understand a word of what he said, but she understood enough of the situation to know he was telling her to come out.
The girl’s legs shook in protest as she crawled her way forward to the lip of the wagon. She didn’t want to leave with the Ice Man, but she’d seen what happened to girls who had refused to move when told to. The memories of them being forcibly pulled out kicking and screaming echoed in her head and pushed her onward until she was out of the wagon and standing in cool, soft grass.
The man’s thin lips pulled into a satisfied smile as said to her,
“ Je t’appellerai Marinette et tu vas devenir ma Coccinelle .”
***
19TH CENTURY FRANCE, OUTSIDE OF PARIS
The carriage came to a squelching stop in front of the purple, white, and gray tent, a piece of finery that stuck out like a sore thumb. The early spring rain had turned the French countryside into a place of mud, delicate blades of grass, and lavender that swayed in the breeze. Adrien Agreste stepped out of the carriage before the footman had an opportunity to come around with the step stool, not minding a bit as the mud splashed onto his boots. He pulled his coat closer to ward against the chill in the air and passed a large, brightly colored billboard that read BIENVENUE À LA CIRQUE DU PAPILLON, and ducked through the main entrance.
Inside the tent was a hive of activity: performers rushing past in various states of dress, workers weaving around the performers, and several assistant ringleaders shouting directions to anyone with an ear to hear them. The sounds of distant chatter, the band rehearsing, and the distant racket of the caged animals in the back should’ve been a dreadful cacophony compared to the quiet of Agreste Manor that Adrien was accustomed to, but instead he found it exciting and invigorating and full of life . He turned and made his way backstage to the ringmaster’s office where he found his father sitting behind his desk, engrossed in a stack of paperwork.
He glanced up when Adrien stepped through the doorway. “Adrien, what are you doing here?” To anyone else, his father would have sounded as clinical as he usually did, but Adrien knew him well enough to hear the surprise in his tone.
“What, a son can’t come and surprise his father? I came to see how the show was coming along.” His father raised an eyebrow at that so he quickly added, “And I came to make sure you weren’t working yourself into the ground.”
His father sighed and put down the form he’d been reading. “Adrien, I do not need you to come and check up on me; I am a grown man. You’re supposed to be at the manor anyway, studying.”
Adrien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m caught up on all my lessons, Madame Sancoeur even praised me for being such a dedicated student. An ‘ exceptional student’ , if we were to use her words. A little time away won’t hurt.”
“And how long is this “little time”, Adrien? You do know I’m in the middle of a new show.”
“I won’t get in your way,” he reassured his father. “I simply came to observe and learn the trade.” He couldn’t help but grin at that.
Gabriel snorted. “There’s no need. You’re already set to run the estate when the time comes. You don’t need to come out here and consort with the rabble.”
Adrien resisted the urge to point out that his father “consorted with the rabble” every day. They were nouveau riche , but they were still a part of the aristocracy. Gabriel put himself high up on a pedestal above the rest of the performers, forgetting that he’d also started from humble beginnings as a merchant’s son and later, a performer. The success of his traveling circus and anonymity of his alias Le Papillon allowed him to launch himself and his small family into the upper ranks of Paris’s social classes.
Not that Adrien remembered a time when they were poor. His entire life had been spent in splendor and he’d been bred to be the head of the Agreste household once the time came. He’d never have to work in his life other than managing the estate, thanks to his father’s hard work. And it wasn’t like Adrien wasn’t grateful for the life he was given, he was. He just didn’t want to live in a safely, strictly controlled environment for the rest of his life.
As if his father would let him have anything other than a lord’s life.
“But I came all this way. At least show me the new show you’ve been working so hard on,” Adrien prodded, making sure to keep his tone inviting and not cocky. His father could only take so much casualty from him and he was surprised he’d made it this far already.
Gabriel put down his papers yet again with a deep sigh. “Very well. I suppose you won’t let it rest until you see it anyways.” He stood and made his way out the door and Adrien happily trailed behind him.
“I’ve taken to a theme this year,” his father explained as they wove their way through bustling tent. “Most other circuses in Europe are still focused on just the variety and scale of their acts, but I already know that I have the best in France. I want to take this show a step further and center it on a theme: Miraculous. I want our audience to see what we do and see miracles being made on stage and not just the amateur stunts other circuses do. We will go above and beyond with our acts, our design, everything.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Adrien said, already grinning. He loved seeing his father talk about his work because this was the only time he ever saw him open up. He used to smile all the time and put on puppet shows for Adrien when describing the circus. But all shadow shows and smiles stopped when Adrien’s mother disappeared five years ago, when he was around thirteen years old. His father had grown distant and cold and started to spend more time at the circus without coming home. His tutor, Ms. Nathalie Sancoeur, had become more of a parent to him and even then she was always so formal and made sure to keep a certain distance between herself and Adrien. So now the only way to see a glimpse of the man his father used to be was to prod him into talking about the circus, like now.
His father led him through the tent, pausing briefly to correct a performer’s act, point out something that needed fixing on a costume, or answer a question for a panicking stagehand. He led Adrien up the stairs onto the second floor to observe a few groups who were performing in the ring. An acrobat was already swinging on the trapeze Her body twisted and turned as she finished a trick before sailing straight towards him. Upside-down, with only her legs holding onto the bar, she soared through the air in an arc across the arena. She bent her back in a graceful curve, her face lifting to meet his—
Blue .
Bright blue eyes, vibrant and like an endless sea. Time slowed and then stopped completely as the trapeze girl swung within hand’s reach of where Adrien stood behind the balustrade. Stray pieces of jet black hair floated around her face, stuck in time. The girl’s gaze drifted and met his own, her lips slightly parted. She seemed to hang there in the air for what seemed a lifetime, the air charged and yet completely still, the dull roar of the circus all but silenced around them.
And then she was gone. Time started to move once again and she fell away, back to the center of the tent, leaving him standing there, stunned.
“Who is that?” he murmured, head light and dizzy from the after-effects of the spell.
“My new acrobat, Marinette,” the sound of his father’s voice at his shoulder shook him from the daze, bringing him solidly back to earth. “I’ve been having her trained in the trapeze, tightrope, and aerial silks. Luckily she’s been picking them up quickly; she’s a very fast learner despite not being able to speak or understand French. I can already tell she’s going to be the star of this show.”
“Yes, she definitely is,” Adrien murmured as he watched Marinette from across the tent. Then the rest of what his father said caught up to him. “Why doesn’t she speak or understand French?”
“She is originally from China. She’s only been with us for a few weeks at best so it hasn’t been long enough for her to have picked up the language.” His father turned back to him, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Actually, I may have a job for you if you’re so intent on staying. You would be the perfect person to teach her since you speak Chinese. You are an ‘ exceptional student’ , are you not?”
Adrien stared at his father, hardly believing his ears. “Of-of course, Father,” he managed to stammer, fighting hard not to grin like a fool right then and there. “I would love to; thank you for the opportunity.”
Gabriel simply hummed in response. “It’s time to see those Chinese lessons put to good use.”