Chapter Text
“Stop staring, Alya!” Marinette pleaded, gripping the cheap bus seats, “He’ll turn around!”
“I’m not the one staring,” Alya laughed, “I’ve been looking out the window—you’re the who can’t keep her eyes off the back of Adrien’s head.”
It was true, Adrien was sitting with Nino in the seat right in front of the two girls and just the way his hair kept swooshing back and forth was enough to make Marinette swoon. Not literally, of course, but she was turning quite red.
“Alya!” she exclaimed, “He’ll hear you!”
The bus went over a speed bump and Marinette yelped in surprise when she was catapulted forward into the back of Adrien’s seat. The beautiful blond turned around, surprised.
She froze, and waved at him awkwardly, blushing hard. He smiled and nodded, then turned back around.
“I’m hopeless,” muttered Marinette into her hands. Alya put a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“This library houses some of the most ancient tomes and scriptures ever written…” said the teacher, speaking to her students as they filed into the library, “Remember, we are not only here to learn, but as a representation of Collège Françoise Dupont, so everyone be on their best behavior.”
Marinette looked up at the tall roller ladders and imagined it would be a pretty dangerous fall from the top. She took a step forward, only to be stopped by a gloved hand.
“Put your bag in the plastic bin and step through the metal detector,” said the security guard. Marinette unslung her purse and put it in the X-ray machine tray, watching Tikki wink at her from inside as she disappeared behind the black rubber curtain.
“Okay, and step through please, we need to make sure no one has any metal that could damage the collection.”
The detector went off with a shrill beep, and Marinette stepped forward quickly in alarm. She started searching her pockets— she wasn’t carrying anything that would have set off—
“Your earrings, please.”
“Wha— oh, my earrings?” she said, touching her ears, “Could I just, um, keep them on? They’re kind of special to me.” Marinette couldn’t remember the last time she had taken off her miraculous… the last time she had been without them must have been before she even became Ladybug.
To her credit, the security guard actually looked apologetic, “I know it doesn’t make complete sense, but it’s policy. We’ll keep your things safe, I guarantee.”
Marinette bit her lip and stole a glance behind her. Adrien was staring at her. Not looking—staring. She was probably holding up the line, and she didn’t want to cause a disturbance. Marinette cringed and unclipped her miraculous, putting them away in her purse, which has passed through the X-ray machine. Other library workers were already separating her objects and putting them in little cases.
“Tikki,” Marinette whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry, Marinette,” said the little bug, “I can’t stray far from your miraculous… I’ll be right here when you get back. Tell me if you see any books on Ladybug, okay? I think what you find might surprise you.”
Marinette smiled. “Okay,” she said. It felt cold suddenly; she felt lacking without her earrings.
As she walked away, she saw Adrien go next, taking off something of his own with a look of concern. Marinette fiddled with her earlobe nervously; it had been a full week since the last akuma attack, and although she was grateful for the time to catch up on schoolwork, she knew that soon Hawkmoth would transform another. She would just have to hope that Paris wouldn’t need Ladybug for another day.
Tammy walked through the shelves pushing her cart, re-shelving some books. She had memorized the categorizing system in this section by heart, having worked in the library for three years. She walked without looking up, her arms were draped over the cart handles, editing some of her own writing in her notebook. The library was quiet as libraries should be, soundtracked by the flipping of pages and the rolling sound of pens.
The library had recently come under new management, but the system was still the same, it was the same library, and she wasn’t bothered with paying too much attention to shelves she already knew.
“Miss Fleury.” Suddenly, her manager’s hand was on her shoulder. She turned around, startled. He was a poised man with silver hair and wide shoulders, with a hard-set expression carved into his soft facial features. He sounded quite irritated. Her old manager had retired a week ago, and this new one… well, he didn’t like her, and that was putting it lightly.
“Yes, sir?”
“What are you doing?” he gestured to her notebook disapprovingly.
She swallowed hard. “J-just writing some things?” It came out as a question, timid like she hadn’t meant it to.
“I disagree.” He frowned. “I think you are slacking and not paying attention to your work.”
“I know the system well,” she protested, “I promise I’m not—”
“No,” he said sharply. She swallowed hard, already fighting not to break down crying. She’d never been very good at conflict.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No. You’re only sorry you got caught.” He sounded smug. Like he had been waiting to use that line forever, and now he had the stupid chance to use it on Tammy, who for the record, was actually sorry.
“Sir,” she began, this time with more conviction, “That’s not true. I—”
“Let me guess,” he cut her off again. Her anger grew to full hatred. “You are a college student who likes to put thing on her résumé that look good.”
“Well yes, I—”
“And you don’t care about these books, or the history, or doing good work, you only care about music and TV shows, and all those frivolous things that your generation does—”
“Sir, that’s not—”
“—Let me finish! You don’t care about proper literature. You only care about your diary.” He plucked the journal from Tammy’s hands, a startled half-protest bubbled from her lips as he flipped it open. She was going to report this guy to… to someone. She tried to speak, tried to say something, in her mind she was screaming at this bag-of-plagues who didn’t know anything about her, but damn herself too—she was too shy, and she stayed silent. She missed her old management.
“I have managed too many young students who think the world is theirs,” continued her manager, “well guess what? This place has a certain prestige, and I will not allow young fools like you to ruin it just for a paycheck and a line on a résumé! You’re just like every other thoughtless teenager I’ve ever met!” He threw her notebook across the floor, the spine bent and she heard some of the pages rip as it tumbled.
She drew in a sharp breath, anger and shame coursing through her. “Okay, let me get one thing straight,” Tammy snapped, surprising herself, “Or more like a million. You’ve been a terrible boss, always assuming the worst in people. I love literature, I love books, I write my own novels sometimes. I have friends who study new and old art. We aren’t all the same! Listen, you incompetent, narrow-minded old guy, I actually was sorry, but now I’m not. I hate you as a boss! I have written stories about a million ways you could get arrested and locked away for the rest of your life, and failing that, ways that you manage to accidentally fall of a cliff, okay!? I hope you do fall off a cliff so they can find a competent manager who doesn’t delight in bullying employees like a pathetic sadist with no life!”
She swallowed, a cold dread creeping into her stomach. It had felt good to yell at him, but now…
“That is quite enough,” he said coldly. “There are some field trip students’ possessions in the storage room. Sort them, then go home. We will have a talk about your employment tomorrow.” She couldn’t believe this cruel bastard was making her sort before going home.
“I—”
“I do not tolerate outbursts from children in my library.”
His library!? Oh holy hell.
“Yes sir.” Tammy scowled, still very much angry. She was going to lose her job over this, the job she loved. What Tammy needed was just to be alone. She scooped up her journal and pushed past the grey suited brick wall and into the main lobby of the hall, where real teenagers were messing up the library but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She just needed—
“Excuse me, could you tell me where my things are being kept?” A girl with her dark hair in pigtails, practically tripped Tammy.
“I’m really not in the mood right now,” she snapped, “It wouldn’t do much good anyway. You’re not allowed back where they are.” She took a step forward.
“Oh but if I could just—” said the girl, blocking her path.
“Get out of my way!” Tammy said, shoving past her. The girl looked sorry, and startled. “Sorry,” Tammy muttered, before angrily walking off into the storage room.
The sinister mechanized windows of Hawkmoth’s sinister blimp opened, letting sinister light into his large, empty room with no furniture that he apparently used for nothing except to house his millions of sinister butterflies. It was a valuable room with many decorating possibilities and a magnificent view of the Paris skyline, despite this, it was kept empty. The glowing butterflies fluttered awake.
“Ah… resentment towards the corruption of power,” said Hawkmoth sinisterly. A glowing white butterfly landed in his sinister palm and was soon turned into a dark carrier of his dark powers.
“Go, little akuma, evillize her!” he said evilly.
The akuma fluttered out the middle of the window and over the rooftops of Paris as ominous French accordion music played in the background.
Tammy forcefully shoved a tray of metal objects in front of her to sort. She gripped the edges of the counter in the storage room, trying to get control of her emotions so she wouldn’t start crying on the bus home. She wiggled her notebook out of her bag and pushed the tray backwards, placing her notebook in front of her. She wanted to open it, to write maybe, but she had a feeling everything she wrote would come out angry and illegible. Out of nowhere, a black butterfly landed in her notebook.
A black shade soaked into her notebook like a spilled inkwell and her anger began to bubble inside, rage kindling as a flame. A voice filled her head, echoing, consuming, and saturating her brain.
Scriptor, said the voice, I am Hawkmoth… I know how much you despise those who disrespect you. I will give you the chance to prove them wrong… all I want is for you to retrieve for me two objects: Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses.
There was a pause, and she felt a strong pulse of frustration that was not her own leech through the mental bond she had with Hawkmoth.
It’s really not that hard! An image appeared behind her eyelids, showing her the miraculouses, just don’t let your emotions get in the way of my objective.
She felt the strong pull of her vengeful desires, but first, “Why don’t you get them yourself?” she asked Hawkmoth, “You’re clearly very powerful.”
There was silence in her head for a long time, and an ache of indecision and confusion broadcasting constantly, like a mental ‘um…’
Through clouded vision, Tammy reached for the tray of confiscated items, moving almost as if in a trance. She pulled out two cases, containing earrings and a ring. They were the wrong colours—the earrings were black and the ring was silver, but Tammy knew. Half of her thoughts were already the Scriptor’s, and that part of her was sure these things, taken hesitantly from their owners, were the miraculouses.
Don’t question me! Hawkmoth practically shouted in her mind, and in a flood of anger her mind was overwhelmed with the Scriptor’s thoughts. In the back of her mind, she registered a little red bug tug at her closed palm.