Chapter Text
~
She knows she‘s followed by someone before seeing him in the blurry with raindrops reflection of a car window.
Her steps resound in the empty streets, illuminated by a few vintage lanterns and the pavement glows in amber, by the reflected light in the huge puddles.
Shivering at the freezing, light rain, the cold breeze brushing past the dark city, she walks over the flooded pavement, her bare toes feeling numb and clammy after them being exposed to the wrath of cold for what it seems like hours, but in reality probably didn‘t even trespassed ten minutes.
Yes, you heard right, she‘s alone, miserably cold and ready to pass out to sleep. Not even mentionned she’s the heck where on earth, in only a jacket made of a fabric one’s able to see through with how thin it is and her hand-sewn Chat Noir pyjamas.
If she wouldn‘t be currently freezing to death (bless you) then she‘d be embarrassed for sure. (Not like anybody sees her with absolutely nobody here, but she‘d freak out anyway and no amount of good logic would be able to change that.)
One tap to her ears and she knew she‘s on her own. Whereever she is, Tikki is still in her room.
It calms her.
Really.
In an urgency, Tikki could just find herself a new holder to capture the Akumas instead. There is a pretty good chance Hawkmoth won‘t get the Ladybug Miraculous, depending on whom the Kwami will choose.
But duh, she has faith in her decision. The Kwami is a literal million-year-old god and is familiar with the concept of finding a choosen after doing it almost since her existence.
Steps, new ones, coming and sounding from behind, make her increase in speed, her feet flying over the wet stone.
Her realizing the clichée situation, a lonely lady going around the streets, and getting attacked, isn‘t calming her raging breath at all.
She wouldn‘t be surprised at all to gaze behind her and see a huge camera aiming at her. The regisseur next to it, yelling for her to look more frightened for the climax movie scene of a new action flick, if that’s even possible.
Cause one more threatening sound out of the dark and she‘s positive she‘d faint.
A shade to her right catches her attention, so she jerks away. Wouldn‘t want to interfere with her cursed luck any more than possible now.
But obviously, she is just paranoid, her luck may be rotten, but she won‘t start to panic too, she can‘t allow herself to sink in her fear.
Decisions made in panic immediately can lead to her death.
And being death is pretty the opposite to what she needs right now.
Okay, Marinette breathing.
She passes a corner and drowns the urge to look back.
„Okay, Marinette. It‘s just a cat, a nice furry cat, you like cats, not every cat, but cats in general aren’t that bad, they don‘t pun afterall, or at least not in a language accessible to you, so it’s nothing threatening at all, stop being a hypocrite, shiting yourself in fear won‘t help.“ she mutters, tightening the light jacket around her shoulders, and her clothes, sticking to her body like fresh dough does to dry fingers.
What she would have given right now to have a blanket. Or at least a scarf, anything able to give her a little bit more warmth. To feel warmer.
Not sickingly wet and disgustingly gelid.
But it‘s not exactly like she laid down to sleep prepared.
Of course, she felt confused, dare she call it, utterly finished with her life.
Just this same evening she nicely went to bed in Paris, gently took off her earrings before showering. She even dried and brushed her hair before laying down so it won‘t look like cat napped inside of it in the morning.
And now she‘s here, her hair ruined, her toes freezing, and not even knowing if she‘s still in France or not.
Despair catching onto her, she wondered if this is just a really realistic and vivid dream. Another nightmare to remember and laugh about once she wakes up in her warm bed, secure and amused with her wild fantasy.
Or that it was the after-effect of an Akuma attack somehow making her see and live through these things. Honestly wouldn‘t have been the strangest thing happening with Miraculous magic and all that stuff.
Maybe it‘s even real.
Her breathing leaves clouds in the air, covering the sight on the darkened shapes of windows from a shop.
Looking into the window, she makes out a figure, coming across the pavement. Closer to her.
The breath of air howls around her ears, making her feel like chased by a pack of hungry wolves.
Either she will run or fight, there are no other options, for her right now. But she has to remind herself she‘s not Ladybug right now, Marinette is more clumsy, and mortal. She has no magic yoyo to fight, (would have been too easy for her life to give her, wouldn’t it?) so she‘s completely alone. Not even a nice Kwami is able to convince her otherwise, since it‘s not here.
Turning on a corner, she glances back, careful to seem unsuspicious.
The only things, she was able to register on him, was his lean statue and a black coat with a dark coloured hat. Jealous of his covering, and seemingly warm, clothes, she breathes out through her nosedrills, speeding past a red car on a parking spot.
As she joggs over the water covered stone, she suddenly slips on her feet and her hand crashes against the stone of the ground. (Clumsiness be damned.)
She yelps out in pain when the skin rips and starts bleeding, and she bites down her whimper, continuing her way, clutching her fist to her heart.
When she turns her head to check on her follower, she gasps in horror. He is only a few meters away now, he could easily jump at her if he wants to.
The shade from his hat masks his face, making him seem somewhat more dangerous.
She won‘t be able to flee, she is too tired after running around for what it seems like hours (again she‘s sleep-starved). He, on the contrary, appears to add into his speed with every minute passed. It‘s useless to waste her energy more, fighting in a few moments will make her more powerless anyway.
So she stops, spinning around to her opponent and stares at him with a deadpan expression, in hope to scare him off, but she’s just a wet sixteen-year-old girl, so she’s an idiot.
„What do you want?“ she speaks out, a thick accent noticeable. Not that she would bother, he won’t find out where in France, she lives anyway.
She keeps herself from taking a fighting position, pressing her lips tight together, making them drain of blood. Maybe they can still handle it the peaceful way and merrily laugh off the tension.
The man doesn‘t move a muscle, just continues to stare at her from the shadows of his hat.
„Depends on what you can offer.“ he suddenly says, his voice rough and hoarse, probably unused in ages, and strangely reminding her of the sounds, the engine, her parents car uses to make.
He does not seem like a person to back away or lose without a fight. His front pocket is full, probably a weapon, but guessing by its shape, a small pistol or a knife.
She frowns in concentration, trying to think about a way out of this conversation without directly leading to a physical conflict.
Her years as the unofficial school mediator (these kids tend to be hormonaly aggressive and she as the class president always had to save someone‘s neck from snapping) should have given her some experience with that.
„I‘m sure I have nothing you would value.“ she makes sure her voice sounds confident enough, despite the persistent feeling of fear, but has no spike.
She‘ll stay friendly for now.
The man barks a laugh, but it sounds more like a slimy cough. „That depends on my decision, Girlie.“
She clenches one hand to a fist, hissing out in pain, when the sensitive skin stretches around the bruise.
She certainly does not like being treated rude, she dislikes arrogant people and she absolutely hates being adressed from above as if she‘s someone defenceless.
That‘s certainly not helping.
„I have no money and I‘m not born in a wealthy family.“
When he remains silent, she sighs tiredly, closing her eyes for a few peaceful seconds.
„Do you really want this? We can just leave and pretend it never happened instead.“
Quickly his hand snaps into the pocket of his coat, pulling a pistol outside. His thumb loads the weapon, creating a clicking sound.
„If you dare to scream, I‘ll kill you.“ he voices, pointing with the pistol to her head.
Marinette shakes her head in sadness, raising her hands above her face. „Why are making this so difficult for nothing? Please just leave and don‘t turn back. For your own health, forget you ever met me.“
Despite her, friendly spoken, words, his compositure stiffens in answer. „I think you are hardly in the position to make offers, girlie.“
On contrary to her inner emotions, she shakily smiles. „I‘m certainly not trying to be impolite, believe me! I just want to end this peacefully, violence is no answer.“
He shoots to her feet, making his threat crystal-clear. She jumps back in surprise.
A husky laugh. „Violence answers everything, Girlie! And since you‘re not going to bring me any money, I‘ll just kill you.“
She pouts, shifting on her feet, trying to get rid of the coldness from the stone, seeping into her feet more than ever now that she‘s not walking anymore. „You sure that‘s necessary? There are a few people depending on me.“
Internally she grimaces. More like the whole world, but that‘s useless to tell him, he wouldn‘t believe her anyway.
She is almost convinced she can see him grinning, but it could be just a shadow too. „They‘ll survive.“
Opening her mouth again to respond, she takes a breath.
Then the pistol suddenly moves closer to her face as he steps forward. „I said I‘ll kill you if you won‘t be quiet. So shut up.“
She blinks. „Actually, you said-“
„Are you stupid? I said shut up!“ He presses the gun barrel to her forehead, she can see his face now since he‘s close enough.
He owns a rather friendly face, short brown hair, brown Bambi-eyes, sharp cheekbones, slim nose. He could be a model, if there wouldn’t be dark circles around his eyes and he wouldn’t have a breath smelling like a stash of rotten onions.
Disgusted, she tries leaning away without moving too much.
„I will kill you, I will paint the streets with your blood, write words with it on walls, use your organs as footballs, your brain as a trampoline, I will make you die slowly, first I‘ll strip of the beautiful skin of yours and look if you‘re still beautiful without it. Then I‘ll rip out your teeth, one after one and see if your smile will still be as radiant as before.“ he whispers, his tone sounding almost awed with himself.
She slowly breathes out, wiggling on her feet. „That‘s certainly rather disappointing.“
A frown appears on his facial features. „What?“
„I said I‘m a bit disappointed with how it turned out.“ she repeats.
The pistol presses harder against her skull. „Are you dumb? Can‘t you hear? I said I will make you suffer. I just described how I will skin you. And you say you‘re disappointed?!“ he shrieks.
She sighs.
„Oui, I indeed heard that and I won‘t be sleeping peaceful for a few weeks, but like I said, are you sure you want this? Your descriptions were pretty illustrating and.. passionate, but do you really with all of your heart want this?“ she asks.
He frowns in anger, but she can see the confusion behind it.
„Why aren‘t you begging? I want you to beg, to cry, to swear, I want you to choke on TEARS!“ he yells.
She flinches at his volume.
„Mon dieu, you are quite a psychopath, non?“
A slap resounds in the street. Marinette needs a shocked moment before she realizes, she was the one to get hit and starts to feel the pain.
„I said CRY!!“ Her cheek burns, but it‘s nothing compared to the anger building up in her.
She can handle a lot; Chloe bullied her for ages; Hawkmoth akumatized her friends and made her fight against these; Lila threatened and cornered her; a long and unrequited crush on Adrien Agreste.
She is persistent and wouldn‘t want to break now, but that‘s enough. Hawkmoth can‘t reach her here, Tikki can’t calm her, no one will see her minute of weakness.
For once in a while, her emotions aren‘t dangerous to be released.
She is free.
Unburdened.
And angry. So fricking tired and angry and if it looks like he‘s the one to feel her pent-up frustration on himself now, then she‘s too weak to stop it.
He said himself he wants it the bad way? So what kind of worthy Hero would she be to refuse to a civilian’s wish now.
She‘s kind afterall. At least kind enough to beat the crap out of him now.
Grabbing and turning his hand away from her forehead, she makes him shoot into the stone.
„You want me to cry for you?“ she mocks and twists his wrist, so the gun crashes to the pavement. He cries out in rage, withdrawing his hand.
„Y-you bitch!“ he lunges forward, she steps aside. Her eyes narrow in hate.
„I thought my name was Girlie?“ Marinette catches the fist, which wanted to smash her face, and presses her nails into the flesh of his backhand.
Blood.
The stranger gasps out in pain and surprise and bares his teeth. „I will crush your head and enjoy it!!“
Her knee aims at his stomach and hits.
„You dirty little-“ he curses.
He pulls on her wet streaks twisting her head backwards, she cries out in rage and partially pain, but mind you, it‘s more the spiking rage (She‘s like the most angry, she can ever recall in her life).
She wildly kicks her legs at him to free herself from his grip and uses her fist to hurt him in answer, his cheekbone breaks, his beauty decreases.
„French brat! I will kill your friends and family! You will-“ he calls.
Removing the wet jacket from her shoulders, she straightens it and wraps it around his throat, pulling it tight.
He coughs, trying to shake free, she lets him and then spins on one foot, hauling off her other leg and hitting his chest. He flies to the floor, clutching his ribs in pain, and looks up at her.
Fear in his Bambi-eyes.
She rolls her eyes, spitting to the floor. „Dear Lord, I can‘t believe I‘m here dealing with you instead of watching some TV at home.“ Her heel hits into his stomach, he howls out in pain, trying to roll away.
She moves her foot to stay on his throat, putting her weight on him to stop him from crawling.
„I will find you and you will pay for that! You will pay with your BLOOD!!“ he yells, his face is twisted in anger, his hand trying to push himself up.
Her foot moves to cover his mouth. „Shhh, you talk too much.“
Then he suddenly bites into her toe. What person just bites into toes?! Not even mentionned how fucking painful that is besides to rude!
„Owowowow, OW-“
She withdraws her foot from his teeth to jump on one leg in pain, he stands up again, holding his ribs.
He stares like the creep, he is. „On second thought, I won‘t kill you. I think I‘ll just hold you in my basement and torture you sometimes. You‘ll see how much fun it‘ll be, just the two of us.“
Yep, creepy.
Marinette moves to stand on both legs again (her toe is still throbing like hell).
„Yeah, no. Not interested, I’m a minor anyway.“ she says, doing a dismissive hand gesture and turning up her face in obvious disgust.
He has the decency to laugh coldly. „You don’t have a say in this, Girlie.“
She bends her knees. „Try me.“
Marinette attacks first. She jumps at him, crashes against him. He falls backwards, she meanwhile moves to sit on his chest and brings his head to stay in the crook of her knee.
Grabbing her ankle, she pulls it to her, the muscles tighten around his throat, and she feels his pulse protest through her pants while doing so. (Such an odd feeling to focus on in such a decisive moment, I mean she‘s literally fighting for her life right now, but it‘s super strange).
He tries pushing her away, his nails burrow in the fabric of her sweatpants, but she stays in place, ignoring his nails searching for blood, and he chokes, his face quickly turning red with the lack of oxygen.
„Greetings to Hawkmoth.“ she whispers, when his eyes finally shutter closed after a few seconds of fighting for his conscience.
A breath and she lessens the pressure on his circulation. He‘s not dead (she‘s neither that frustrated nor that cruel, thank you), just unconscicious, she can still feel the blood running on his neck, only slower.
She bows lower, reaching for his hat hesistantly. Now when the adrenaline rushed to leave her body again, she‘s starting to feel slightly insecure.
Is it rude for her to steal his clothes after he tried to shoot her?
It‘s so incredible how she only a few minutes prior used her jacket to strangle someone and now she‘s insecure enough to question the reasons of moral again. She‘s not possibly having a multitude of personalities switching from time to time, right?
Well worries be pushed aside and back onto the question, he does is an ass AND he tried to kill her. It couldn‘t possibly be consired as rude. Even Tikki‘s never-ending kindness could admit that much.
After a few (not panicking) strongly emotional moments, she wrings out her hair despite the still light rain coming from above and takes his clothes to shield herself from the cold.
His hat protects her head and ears.
His shoes cover her freezing toes.
Careful to avoid touching him for too long, she unwraps his black coat from his body, constantly fearing he will wake up any minute.
Then she notices the pistol next to her foot, and after hesitating for a few seconds, she grabs it too. Just to be prepared.
She wears his coat over her own wet pyjamas now, and eyes him critically, thinking about stealing some more things than just his clothes, maybe money or his cell phone.
The jerk threatened to skin her afterall.
Just as she is about to look in the pockets of his pants, her stupid conscience suddenly awakens.
Superhero, huh?
„What? He tried to kill me!“ she says defensively.
Her inner voice raises a metaphorical brow.
You look pretty alive to me.
Stomping with her foot, she finaly moves away from the passed out man. „Fine! But if I‘ll die, it‘s your fault!“
Clattering with her teeth loudly, the numbing coldness sitting in her bones, despite the new layers of cloth, she shivers uncontrolably, embracing herself in despair. Her feet feel like frozen, completly numb in the huge black boots, she stole from his feet.
After a few minutes, walking past dark houses and wet cars, suddenly, she covers her mouth in realization, her eyes widening in shock and fear.
„Merde! Where am I going to sleep?!“ she asks herself, not really awaiting an answer, and looks around the dark streets, searching for something she clearly can‘t see, because of the dull darkness and the heavy drops on her lashes.
If she won‘t figure something out quickly, she might as well sleep right here, on this exact spot on the sidewalk, in the inviting puddle of dirty water.
„Okay, think Marinette. You are in a city, you don‘t know, where should you go?“ she glances around despairingly, hoping to catch any brilliant idea onto where to stay during her unexpected vacation.
Out of instict, she reaches for her thigh, where her bag would be, and notices something in the coat‘s front pockets when doing so.
„Zut!“ she gasps when she pulls a wad of notes among with a MP3 player out of it.
Closing her eyes and breathing out through her nostrills, she groans.
She unintentionaly became the robber now.
How ironic, just hilarious. Tikki‘s luck officially just quitted her.
Then she burrows her stolen goods back into the coat. Probably destiny is just joking with her, she is too exhausted to blame someone properly anyway.
Maybe it‘s better like this (it’s the lack of sleep, she swears), she will need to find a place to get some food, she hasn‘t eaten for five hours and she has no trust in getting fed for free no matter how pitiful she may appear.
Please, she’s just realistic.
As if by command, her stomach growls loudly, seemingly agreeing to her selfish thoughts.
She continues her path in silence, glancing around for anything like a bar or restaurant to satisfy her hunger. Preferably a bar, her appearance isn‘t exactly too unsuspicious for a restaurant.
When the wind blows her wet streaks into her eyes, she hides her face a bit more under the hat and purses her lips, thinking. „If I‘d be a bar, where would I be?“
All of sudden, she sees a group of teenagers, moving over the street. They laugh happily, joking loudly as they walk inside a building.
Steping closer as well, she lifts her head and reads the sign « City Lounge », flashing in blue neon lights. Steady beats sound out from inside, and she hears people talking muffled. She enters too, tightening her coat around her shoulders.
It makes her feel oddly calm, the normalcy of the people’s talking, the slightly stuffy air, because of the warm air and a mass of people inside one room, the divine smell of wood and the strong scent of alcohol, filling her nostrills.
The room is furnished in reddish colours and dirty light adds the last comfy touch, not too much people gather around the small counter and she registers a billiard table in one corner. The group, she just saw, sits on a red couch across the room.
When she comes walking inside, the noises stop abruptly, no talking, no music, it feels like everyone is staring at her, shoving the protecting layers of black by side.
However, sad it is, she is already used to getting stared at.
(Yes, being a Superhero in a flashing red suit, is pretty attention-catching.
It’s still incredibly annoying how the reporters chase her, despite the normalcy of her doing, she is Ladybug for more than just two years now.)
She stomps over to the bar, keeping her face in the shadows, and hopes they get her sign, she wishes no attention or conflict, she just fucking finally wants to shove something down her throat. Sitting down on a chair, she rummages in her pocket and takes out a few dollar notes.
„Water, please.“ she shoves the money to the frowning barman, making a crackling noise with it. It‘s completely silent in the bar, she can even hear the teenagers a few meters away from her, breathing whispers.
The barman slams his palm over the notes loudly, leaning closer to her face, his acid-smelling breath grazes over her nose. She holds her air inside to keep herself from throwing up or punching his face.
What is it with this city and their bad mouth odor?
„You are not from here, little lady.“ he says, his voice resounding in the silence.
She answer nothing, only waits for him to bring her water. Her apetite is long gone, she feels like puking, her throat is swollen, begging for the cool liquid.
She has a very bad sentiment about this city, they are almost as careful as Paris‘ civilians. It clearly means no good, because these people are afraid.
Of her.
A teenager. Meaning what happened to her, isn‘t unusual at all here.
Just where exactly is she?
She could just ask him, but she feels like he isn’t someone to chat friendly, at least with how his eyes try to stare her down she thinks that can be concluded.
Yeah, no friendly tips then.
When she doesn‘t seem to give any answer or explanation, he turns away, taking a cup and fills it with water from the rusted tap, next to the bottles of honey-coloured scotch.
The liquid in her cup looks slightly dirty, but she won‘t voice any protest, she can see the provocation meters away. He’s obviously trying to make her uncomfortable.
It tells millions of words about the bad situation in this city. She is just a sixteen-year-old girl in wet clothes, but despite this, he is incredibly scared as if she might as well implode in his bar.
Okay, maybe she isn’t too honest, she can defend herself and has a gun in her pocket, but outherwards nothing indicates to her being a threat. Heck, she look pretty the contrary to scary or dangerous with her darn short height and cutely freckled with a galaxy of dots face (FEEL THE IRONY).
She simply looks up, meeting his non-trusting eyes in determination. His pupils widen when he sees her face fully for the first time, while she looks for something, tries and fails to understand the abnormal fear.
His stare is ice-cold.
Chuckling at his obvious dislike, she accepts the ordered drink and drinks it at once. Slamming the cup back to the counter, she smirks.
It seems as if the connection between him and the strangers could be used against him badly, his recept to avoid it?
Refuse every unknown human, no matter their age, gender, height or strength. Not caring about listening to their background, problems, intentions, he just hates everyone without any exceptions.
How utterly and ridiculously weak.
„What makes you think that?“ the bluenette speaks, pushing the empty cup away from her hands.
When he turns his eyes to her again, his gaze is hard and determined, nearly filled with hatred for the unknown visitor.
„You aren‘t afraid. Tourists never are. That‘s why they die first.“ Clenching his teeth, he leans closer to her, wanting to force her to back away with his nasty breath.
Only she blinks and hums instead, refusing to show any weakness despite the disgusting smell. (Yuck)
So her suspicions are proved, it‘s a dangerous place.
Scoffing, she reconsiders her way of thoughts.
Of course it would be, her life can‘t be any other way. Throwing her into new problems and dangers every fucking minute, it challenges her day after day so she sighs softly. „Where am I?“
„In Hell.“ he whispers, his voice sounding dangerously calm.
She smirks playfully. „If this is hell, where is heaven then?“
His frown deepens in surprise and she hears people moving closer to her from behind, probably the previous teenagers.
„You heard him! Fuck off! You aren‘t welcome!“
She turns her head to the new voice.
A boy, about the age of nineteen, stands there, an attention-seeking girl hanging on his arm. He has a big nose.
Yeah. That‘s all, she can say about him, it‘s really abnormally huge.
The barstool creaks as she folds one leg over the other. „I‘m sorry, but are you his lawyer? I can‘t quite recall him saying he wants me to leave.“
Said barman slams his palm to the table, the big nose flinches. „Martin, hole up already, she‘s nothing I can‘t handle!“
Martin nods, turning away after throwing her one last acid glare, his attachment of girl does the same.
The man spins his eyes to her again, when she casually leans onto the counter and almost facepalmes into it on accident. She quickly coughs to cover the show of clumsiness. „So where were we? Ah, yes, now I remember, you were about to tell me what place I am.“ she says.
He grunts. „Your wicked tongue will be the reason you‘ll die.“
Clicking her tongue, she raises a brow. „Cool, great, since we cleared that, care to enlighten me now?“
„The darkness of this city will eat you whole, little lady, you‘ll see.“
Jeez they are even more paranoid than parisian mothers, she herself speaks from experience. Being late for literaly only five minutes and they‘ll call the Mayor, claiming to send helicopters to find your kidnapper.
Okay, maybe that’s just her crazily over-protective mother, but all in all, solely because of the daily Akumas, everyone is affected, hurt by them their own way.
Only this is a different level of affected, they cling to the normalcy and comfort zone like crazy.
It’s strange to her sleep-deprived mind, in Paris, they stick together and help strangers, since all of them have the same goal. The Akumas are feared by everyone, the hatred somehow forcing them to form a unity, for the same, to stop Hawkmoth.
The fact that he refuses to help her properly, indicates that they have no big vision, their system works in tiny splinters of resistance. Based on distrust, they survived a lot to make them so sealed off.
It‘s so sad to find out that next to Paris, other places suffer even more and can‘t even seem to find any solutions.
„How come you still live here then if you hate it so much to call it hell?“ she asks logically thinking.
The man blinks. „I, uh-“
„You could easily move somewhere else, there is a whole world to decide on.“
He frowns. „I have an honor. And who are you to judge me anyway? Get lost!“
She laughs and stands up, adjusting her hat as a goodbye, careful to not reveal her facial expression while doing so.
She can’t stop smiling at the irony.
It’s just too funny how much they distrust her, not knowing how justified it acutualy is. They save their tails from the disaster, called Marinette Dupain-Cheng or better said the troubles, following right on her footsteps.
They glare at her in hate, as she walks past them, to the door, not suspecting a second for her to understand them. But she feels only sympathy towards them, she would throw herself out too without a second reconsidering.
„I‘ll take it as granted then.“ she says.
When the cold air hits her face again, she stills. She’ll need a new plan, since guessing by the barman‘s reaction and claim, she won‘t have any luck at other places too.
She could try to break into someones house, but honestly she is too tired for this shit. Also she has no intention on being any more criminal than she already is.
At least her time wasn‘t spend for nothing, she feels a bit warmer now. Still every breeze makes her shiver, and she is hundred per cently sure, on her nose started developing an icicle of snot, but still it‘s better than before.
She starts walking down the street, it‘s now pitch-dark in the places without any lantern near, and she fears tripping on something again. Thank you very much, one bleeding and paining hand is enough for today.
By instinct, she turns right and stops when she sees a bench. Nothing fancy, but she isn‘t choosy right now, heck she would even sleep on plain grass if necessary. She has no preferences for her sleep, main point being closing her eyes for the rest of the night, hopefully unbothered by someone.
Her muscles slump in relief, the moment she sits down. She didn‘t feel her hurt muscles till now and she almost regrets even moving into a sitting position, when her feet pulse in pain. No idea, what time it is, but she’s got a feeling, there aren‘t too many hours until the sunrise.
Three at most, four if she‘s lucky. (Considering the circumstances, presumedly she‘s not.)
Groaning, she leans back, connecting her shoulders to the wooden plate.
„Goodnight, Tikki. Sleep well.“ she whispers into the air, gazing at the heavy clouds above her. At least, it stopped raining by now, she couldn’t imagine trying to doze off when cold drops would constantly hit her face.
She puckers her lips as if kissing her Kwami goodnight, hoping Tikki has it better in Paris.
Of course only, if the god wasn’t forced back inside the Miraculous after her being so far from it. They never tried how far it works for her depart with the magical earrings being put off before Tikki would disappear. Somehow they never had to know then.
Folding her hands over her chest, she closes her eyes, the urge too sleep in immediatly compelling, her eyelids feel like holding the whole world and more on them.
She hopes for whatever human might pass her at night, will be smart enough to let her be, since she can be really unforgiving and salty when sleeping less than at least five hours and being woken up.
Nobody would want to meet her in this state of sleep-starved anger, she would unconsciously make sure of that.
Wiggling a bit on the oh so comfortable wood, she sighs.
Tomorrow she will find out where she is. How she got here. If Paris is fine.
The darkness lulls her down to sleep, the distant sounds of cars driving over wet pavement, calming her down with it’s familiarity.
She will figure something out. She simply has to.
______