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“Hold on, hold on,” she murmurs. “Just a little bit more, Plagg.”
“This is going to poke, isn’t it?”
“Not if you stay still!”
“That pin is getting real close to my rib, here.”
“Do you even have ribs?”
“Does it matter? It’ll still hurt!”
“Just… hold still…”
It’s like trying to wrangle a pig in the mud.
Plagg is normally a really good mannequin when he wants to be on the account that he’ll get some cheesy bread out of this (it’s his favourite, Marinette’s very lucky and grateful to have a stash of it readily available whenever she wants, she’s the best holder in the world and her sheer persistence of getting Plagg to like her over the years allows her to have enough karma to dress him up like a doll) but perhaps this is going too far?
Okay, maybe it’s not. Plagg has never argued with her when she’s wanted to make him clothes, especially when she was little. Craft glue and felt was all she had when she realized that her dolly clothes couldn’t fit him, so she sufficed with learning how to sew pretty regularly, but he’d suffered. Willingly. An odd complaint here and there about felt being itchy, but he’d never once said no when she had taken out her supplies she’d spent her allowance on. Though it wasn’t what her mother would’ve chosen for her to use her money on, she’d allowed it. It was just felt. It was just kid-craft needles and pins. It was just glue.
Elaborate costumes have been made in the past.
But here, but now, at the proper age of seventeen, she’s made his hat out of foam and covered it scrap bits of fabric and dry painted it to look vintage and worn; his cape is expertly tied together with this pretty ribbon she only has a little bit left of, but the hem needs some work. Plagg is anxious about something, probably about how the pin needle is going to poke him soon, but she’ll make this work.
Somehow.
It doesn’t help that she doesn’t exactly have a pattern for this design, yet.
It’s kind of like making a pattern for a doll, except it’s for a doll the size of a small kitten. He’s slightly smaller than an actual baby cat, though slightly alien-like in shape. Still, his little paws have toe beans, his ears are pointy and swivel the right way when being called, and his tail swishes just like a real cat; the sway is methodical as she comes just ever so closer with the pin stuck to the new hem ribbon, a grimace on his little Kwami face.
“This is going to hurt,” he whines.
“When have I ever hurt you?”
“Never,” he concedes. “But you cannot stay still right now, Princess.”
“I’m just excited to show you the results,” she giggles. It’s true. She’s covered up all the mirrors in her bedroom, all to stop Plagg from flying off in the nearest direction to look at himself. He’s an impatient little thing, always excited to get to a conclusion. It’s terrible. Not really. But scary movies are fun to watch with him because he’s already skipping to the jumpscare. He sleeps through cartoon movies until the climax, to where he complains he has no idea what’s happening. He reads the last page of a book first. He’s lucky that her humor is already so terrible; all he has to do is say the punchline to a joke and she’s halfway onto the floor cackling from it.
“I’m almost done,” she remarks, when Plagg’s face gets a little flatter with how impatient he is. “Hold still for me, just for a few seconds, and I won’t poke you.”
“Only if you promise you’ll stay still, too.”
“You got it, little chef.”
One final snip of her scissors and they’re done. His hat is dusted off, making sure that all the little beads she’s glued on stays still when she fits the little foam thing over him. There are ear holes— duh— but it’s kind of difficult to get them through. She’d cut the holes bigger, but… mmm. This could work, somehow. He’s not complaining about it pinching, so there’s a good sign that it’s sitting on his head correctly.
Well, it should. She covered his head with plastic wrap and tape so she could draw on it with a felt pen, creating a little bit of a faux wig cap. The amount of doll customization videos she’s watched at this point probably makes her a pro.
There’s a bandana covering her hand mirror, and she pulls it off with a flourish and a cheer.
“Well?” she asks, settling her weight on her elbows when she leans forward on her desk. She fits her chin into her palm. “What do you think, Plagg?”
He’s turning in the mirror. Really looking up and down. The hat looks rather comical on a kitten, something so goofy even though he’s a black cat and it should match. But his eyes are round, feline pupils wide as he looks over his shoulder, turning this way and that to catch light on the glass beads on the felted hat, the cape settling over him and making him look… conical.
As in, a cone.
“Oh, Princess,” he says, something soft in it. “You outdid yourself this time for sure.”
“Wow, you think so?”
“I know so. I look like the scariest witch ever.”
He does, doesn’t he?
Fluffiest, for sure.
He has a bit of chest fur, something soft that she likes petting while cozying up for bed. It doesn’t help that he purrs a lot. He’s such a soft thing, even with his tiny serrated teeth. The cape settles across his shoulders but parts just enough for the chest fur to show, fluffy and almost like a cravat. One that a pirate would wear with a puffy white long-sleeve. Maybe she should make a little broach to put on his chest fur, something that matches his eyes, so he’d look like a true sorcerer?
“You’re missing your broom, but we’ll get you that soon. It’s drying, right now.” Oh, she’s beaming with pride. Plagg has never skipped out on giving credit where credit is due; if he likes something, he’ll tell her, even if it’s done in his strange little quirky ways. Here, he does it plainly, fluffing out his cloak like it’s massive and long and trails behind him like a train. He does look rather nice. “I think you’re ready for your monthly meetup with all the other Kwamis!”
“I’m going to be the best looking one.”
“Do they find it funny that you’re the only one dressed up?”
“Well, no.” He looks regal, even as he touches his chin with a paw. “They all get into it in their own way. Mullo usually makes her own costume. She’s really good with a needle, just like you, and always makes something for Sass so that they can match. Some don’t really celebrate. A few, like Barkk, will probably say that he’s dressed like a dog for this year’s Halloween.”
She can’t stop laughing. “Original!”
“Most make sure to get catering.”
“Which is just stealing food before showing up?” Ah, there’s a bead falling off his hat.
There’s a smirk on that little face. “Not all of us have holders, you know.”
“Mmm. I bet.” Where’s her hot glue gun? “I’ve told you over and over again that I’m willing to chip in. Get you all a box of pizza, or something.”
“There’s no need, Princess. We don’t need a lot of food; maybe just Tikki, but we always know where to find a convenient stash of chocolate chip cookies every year, yeah?”
Marinette finished it a few hours ago. It won’t be fresh and warm and melty, but it’ll taste like home, and hopefully Tikki will enjoy it and know that Marinette misses her very, very much.
“I guess so,” she murmurs. Thank god for the silicon cap she has for her finger, it stops any miserably-hot wax from burning up her finger. “Still though… I wish I could be more useful, you know? Like, I wish I could make a costume for Tikki, I think she’d like it. Does she normally dress up?”
She’s the only Kwami that she can’t see on the regular. All the others are with her uncle, and she passes by often to see them as much as possible, just to make sure they’re all okay. She knows what it’s like to stay with her uncle for long periods of time, and no one deserves that type of problem in their life if they can avoid it. But Plagg is the only one she sees every day, without fail, over and over again, because he’s hers. She’s his. And Tikki, poor Tikki, because she’s with Mister Bug, she never gets to see her at all.
She has no idea if she goes hungry… of course, Mister Bug would never do that to his Kwami— Marinette has more faith in her partner than that— but it’s the principal. Tikki is completely cut off from the rest of the family, and only comes by very very rarely when Mister Bug is asleep, or there’s an emergency. Is she okay? Has she eaten any treats? Paris doesn’t celebrate Halloween, but does Tikki take advantage of the idea of candy and ask Mister Bug for sweets?
“She does!”
“Are they good?”
“Usually she dresses up in one of her holder’s old socks. The one with the hole in them. She tells us every time that she’s dressed up as dirty laundry.” Plagg is cackling to himself like the idea is the most hilarious thing he’s ever said to himself. “She sews, too, you know. She’ll make little dresses out of his old clothes, but they don’t look as good as yours. Sometimes she’ll just dress up like she’s going to a tea party, using her holder’s sock.”
Huh. “You know, Plagg, I think you’ve blown my mind. I never realized that Mister Bug would be the type of guy to have holes in his socks.”
“Even the cool ones have weird secrets.”
“Mister Bug? With holes in his socks? The man is perfect in all sense of the word.” She leans back in her chair. “How does someone like him end up with holes in their socks?”
“Running too much?”
“I guess I forgot that he could have normal human problems.” It’s hard to even imagine him as a human at all, underneath all that hexleather. He’s just a superhero, in her eyes. “Maybe I should make Tikki something before the party?”
“You’ll get to one day,” Plagg murmurs, patting her hand. “You’re gonna cramp your fingers if you try to make something on such a short notice. Cheer up, okay? Tikki is going to be very excited when she gets her own costumes from you— I’ll tell her that you wanted to make her something, maybe she’ll have an idea of what she wants.”
“But—”
“You’re amazing at this, you know that?”
She feels herself pinking. “I’ve had a really nice mannequin to practice on.”
“You did, didn’t you?” Ah, he’s gloating in the mirror again! Tail underneath the cape swishing with pride! “I’ve got to say, you’ve got a pretty good Kwami!”
A snort comes out before she can stop it. “Not only that, but he’s humble, too.”
That smile of his is soft. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Plagg.”