Chapter Text
Fiddling with the cork of a bottle almost boredly, Marinette yawns. Her mouth felt dry, and her throat felt sore—a simple byproduct from mingling too long with the patrons of the bar. She groans, not really being a social person anymore.
It was a strange predicament, admittedly, considering around 2 years ago, 17 year-old Marinette would call herself an extrovert in a heartbeat if asked whether she was an introvert or an extrovert.
It isn't like Marinette doesn't enjoy people... It's just that they tire her sometimes. She never noticed it because she just assumed that was normal. That it was normal to prickle under other people's gazes; to bend over backwards for the sake of keeping other people happy.
She scoffs, tossing the cork up into the air and catching it in one fell swoop. Some people just weren't worth it.
Rolling the cork around in her hand disinterestedly—maybe she should consider getting herself a fidget toy or something—she spares a quick glance to her kwami.
"Hey," she greets plainly. It's not like anything else would've been more suitable, considering it was just her and Duusu. If it was anyone at the bar, she'd play up the charm and try to keep up a level of intrigue.
Gone was the people pleaser she was for seventeen years.
Duusu blinks before smiling. "Hi, Marsh."
That was another thing. It was kind of an accident, but over time, Duusu had started calling Marinette 'Mari', but that'd been too uncomfortably close to the nicknames Marinette's old friends called her, so the kwami opted for 'Mar'. That eventually became 'Marsh' thanks to slurred and rushed words.
She doesn't hate it.
"You up for cookies tonight? You can help me bake," Marinette offers. The peacock kwami grins, nodding enthusiastically.
Marinette's appearance had also changed a tad. Her face gained more shape over the past couple years, becoming less rounded and sharper, her gaze become more determined, her twintails were tied a lot more loosely and haphazardly, and she'd grown a lot taller.
Gone was the cute clumsy girl with a soft face. She was slowly replaced by a woman who had no time to waste.
"Plume! You better be back in half an hour!" Aurore's voice blares through.
There was also that.
It was around the time she turned 18. She went out for a grocery run, with the mask on, of course, and was intercepted by a young man who seemed to be in his 20's. He frantically asked her—'asked' was a generous word choice, 'begged' seemed more accurate—to work as a bartender at a bar that was losing business quickly.
She didn't know what possessed her to say yes. It was an on the spot decision, one made out of desperation, and out of a lack of money.
Being MDC felt draining, and it didn't quite feel 'right' anymore. It was incredibly strange to Marinette—the realization that fashion had been 'ruined' for her. Fashion reminded her of the tedium she'd gone through, giving gifts nearly every single day for her friends. It reminded her of struggling. It reminded her of him.
And it's not like she hates him.
She just prefers not to think about him.
"I'll be there, sunbeam!" Marinette's voice responds.
She can almost hear the eyeroll. "Don't call me that!"
Footsteps quickly fade away; a sign that Aurore was leaving.
The weather girl was probably Marinette's favorite coworker. Their dynamic was fun to play with, and she thinks they could've gotten along if they were classmates in school. Not that it mattered much.
Anyhow, Marinette obviously couldn't just come in to work as 'Marinette Dupain-Cheng', because that'd be like putting a blazing red target on her face with a gigantic billboard saying, 'I'm right here, Paris!'
So, 'Plume' was born. A flirtatious young adult who'd stolen the hearts of all the Parisians. A few exceptions existed, of course, like Aurore, since she had a girlfriend. Aurore was one of the few people from her old life who didn't hurt her. Aurore was nice.
It was nice getting to know her, though, it was strange not being referred to as 'Rain'—Aurore had weather-themed nicknames for everyone, and for unspoken but very obvious reasons, Marinette was rain—but being referred to as 'Sea Breeze'.
It was a nice change though. It felt like an acknowledgement of Marinette's growth.
A dull buzz from her phone interrupts her musings abruptly. She shifts her position in order to check what it was.
'Tentochu and Chat Noir Save The Day Again! Akuma Beaten in Less Than 10 Minutes,' it read. She didn't even notice there was an akuma. They were just that good.
"Ugh," she groaned, practically slumping against the wall upon reading the notification. She still hadn't turned off alerts for the Ladyblog. She claimed it was out of a need to stay away from akumas, but Duusu didn't believe her, and she's not quite sure she believed herself either.
"Ladyblog, Ladyblog, Ladyblog," Marinette says out loud like a mantra. The way it rolled off her tongue felt unfamiliar now. Unimpressed, she swipes at her screen, pointedly exiting the Ladyblog.
She stares at the wall sardonically, a blank face showing no traces of emotion. "I don't get why she doesn't change the name," she says, almost to herself. Her kwami responds, the soft smile on her face not showing how aware she was of Marinette's feelings.
"Maybe it's an homage to Ladybug," Duusu says.
It was another strange thing. Marinette disliked being associated with Ladybug, and being referred to as Ladybug even more. It was something the empathetic kwami quickly picked up on.
Marinette tuts, almost in a bored manner. "But she's not even a superhero anymore. Tentochu deserves more credit." And besides, it wasn't like she had any interest in coming back to it all; superheroism.
The bluenette takes a bitter sip from her nearly forgotten coffee. It was clear that Paris didn't care about Ladybug — she's salty about it, what with all the dehumanization and expectations—so why on earth would she want to go back to all of that?
It doesn't really matter, she thinks, since she's not a superhero anymore and has no plans to ever be one again. Does the world expect her to come running back — despite being only 19 and having been forced to be Ladybug at 13—to fight Gabriel Agreste himself?
No thank you, she thinks purposefully. Though, if given the opportunity, she'd love to bash that man in the skull.
"Hmph," she huffs intelligently before drinking more of her coffee, nearly emptying the cup.
All in all, she'd built up some kind of resentment to the world; some strange kind of detachment, too. It didn't really matter anymore.
And for clarification, she didn't mean it in some edgy way, it's just—she thinks, as she crushes the paper cup underneath her foot, looking for a nearby garbage bin — she couldn't care less anymore. Her past, the expectations, and all the pressure made her numb. Nothing could faze her. Honestly, she'd go as far as to say her moral compass had been broken.
Duusu said something about this detachment coming from a need to ignore the trauma she'd been through. She said Duusu was wrong. Maybe she just wanted the kwami to be wrong.
She groans, not liking having to think about this too much. A buzz from her phone reminds her of the time.
Practically soullessly, Marinette gets up. It'd probably be nice if she started working already, considering she was already here.
She had arrived early today, in need of a breather. There was no way she was going to stand around shifting her weight in public awkwardly, so she came in to work and just ran to the backroom just as quickly as she entered the workplace. Aurore didn't comment on it.
She turns to her kwami. "Gonna start early today."
"Just say the words," Duusu grins elatedly.
The bluenette rolls her eyes. Duusu always liked transforming now that her miraculous wasn't broken. It was rather cute, actually. "Spread my feathers."
"I'd rather not take advantage of a drunk woman, thank you very much," Plume says a bit incredulously, pouring out yet another drink for the people she was serving. "I'm flattered though, Mademoiselle," she adds.
The young woman pouts. "I'm not drunk, I'm just drunk!"
Plume's unamused expression says it all. "Oh, I see," She instantly shifts demeanors, turning to the man next to her, sparing him a single look and a wink. "Be sure to take care of the little lady for me, will you?" She says flirtatiously.
He flushes, before nodding vehemently, muttering a few 'Come on, let's go' 's before actually being able to leave.
He also misses the eyeroll she gives him as he leaves. Too easy.
The night passes by in a blur, but it all went by with a few well-directed winks and charming comments that were, in all honestly, quite meaningless to Marinette. Oh, how she was sure the headlines would one day say: 'Plume, the #2 Parisian Heartbreaker, Second Only to Adrien Agreste'.
Whatever, it paid well.
("You really like that one, huh?" She smirks, grabbing a bit more lime juice from under the counter to pour in. The person sitting on the stool nods. "Glad to hear it," she charms.)
And hey, it's not like she hadn't tried romantic relationships in her time as Plume. It obviously just never worked out. 'Too many secrets!', or something like that. Doesn't really matter to her.
(The person in front of her fidgets. She raises an eyebrow. "Spit it out."
He splutters, before quickly speaking. "Doyouwanttodancewithme?"
She blinks, having completely understood what he said. The days of crushing on Adrien were not completely forgotten to her.
"Sure!" She shrugs after checking that she wasn't heavily needed right now, and that Aurore was helping serve some people. Dancing with people was a thing she did sometimes. It was nice to get lost in the music.)
And besides, her only pleasant relationship was with Zoé. She was nice.
("I respect you, but if you don't want to share with me who you are, I don't feel comfortable sharing more of who I am with you," The blonde says nervously.
Plume shrugs. It was a fair conclusion to come to. "That's fair." She smiles. "Take care, Zo.")
A little chime resounds through the shop, and the faint scent of petrichor somehow poured through the gap of the ajar door. Marinette's reminiscing on the night is interrupted by the entrance of the new patron.
They were honestly planning on closing up, hoping to end the day early since the place was empty and it was getting a bit late, but the person entering the bar didn't allow them to. 'Not a regular. They're new,' was the first thought she had, but it was instantly muddled by a billion other conjoined thoughts as soon as she recognized the face she was staring at.