Chapter Text
Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Day 2
Today I feel much more like myself. Meaning I have so much to do.
Step one, be presentable.
With a flex of focused anger my red glow dims from grasping at the edges of the room, to matching Green Lantern's intensity, to unperceptable, lingering only in a metaphorical weight in the air. My armored suit shifts into slightly formal casual wear still in a distinctly alien material and only in striking red and black. Two terribly limiting colors. I ponder if I could make it into a thin under suit and try wearing clothes over top of it.
This is good enough for now. I look away from the mirror and start going through his drawers and medicine cabinet, looking for something to deal with my awkward hands. If someone spends more than a few moments looking at me they would notice that my nails aren't painted black and styled pointy, but natural weapons.
The ring is still obvious. I couldn't figure out how to disguise it, if its even possible, and my entire body recoils at the thought of taking it off. But it's fine. Totally fine. Jewelry could be looked over. Burn marks can be looked over. Claws can't be.
"Ready?" I hear Guy shout from the other side of the house.
"One sec!"
I run to his office and struggle to get the stack of pages I left on the desk into the backpack he gave me without ripping either of them. I push past Guy in the hall and start rummaging through his kitchen drawers, finding little but cookware, dead batteries, and loose cords.
"What's that?" Glancing over my shoulder I can see him pointing at a loose page hanging out of the bag.
"I used your printer last night. You should really move the pool table in your office by the way. I had to run the power cord through one of the pockets. Where are your nail clippers? I can't seem to make ones that work.” I start looking through the other side of his kitchen.
“I don't really use that room. Or own nail clippers. Do you want to sit down? You seem a bit… high strung.”
I throw my hands up, not at all being over dramatic. This is serious. "I had my day off, that's plenty of rest. This isn't some vacation! No nail polish? Nothing?!" They wouldn't be my first pick, but anything is better than leaving them as is.
“You can rest plenty more, there's no rush. We could get the phone some other time if you aren't feeling it. Hell I could make us something instead of eating out.” Gardner doesn't seem to get it.
“I really can't rest. I can however reasonably get pizzas to people within thirty minutes, so that could probably get me a bonus with consistency,” I slam shut another useless drawer, “Are you sure you don't have anything? Wire cutters?”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, “Ok. I’m missing something. Talk to me, I can't fix it if I don't know what the problem is.” I spin around to glare at the man. He's looking at me incredulously.
"I have to- and I would- I'm not even on step two-” I dig out and shove a heavily notated page that's detailing my plan to fix everything into his face.
"I need to fix the miraculouses. To do that I need to find magical healers or at least start looking for the direction of anyone magically inclined. I need money so I can finance that search!" I start running my hands through my undone hair.
Guy turns his back to me. He opens his freezer and grabs something.
I continue, "I can't get money without a job, getting a job is already going to be hard, not to mention my luck and I can't possibly be employed if I have black fucking claws. Do I LOOK employable to you?!" I drop the page, grab Guy by his shoulders and shake him. "Are you SURE you don't have nail polish?!?"
In a single smooth motion Guy shrugs off both my hands and shoves an ice cube he retrieved between them. He holding my hands closed around the ice cube, squeezes firmly, holding on as I try to jolt away. The combination of the sudden temperature difference and his pressure breaks me out of my spiral.
“Breath.” I take a poor ratcheted breath, breaking out into coughing when I breathe too deep for my lungs. He move's one hand to my back.
My breathing joins his exaggerated rhythm as he guides me through calming breaths. “Slow down. Step back. Just breathe. It's only been two days.”
Guy smacks my back, "I'm going to help you and everything is going to turn out fine. I’ll make sure, kid." He sounds resolute. With the way he says it, the way he comforts me, I could almost believe him.
Gardner lets go of my now cold wet hands and takes one of my applications sticking out of my backpack. He glances down at it for just a moment. "First of all, 'thirty minutes or free pizza' hasn't been a thing since the nineties."
"Second of all, dumbass," He turns the page back towards me, "This is in french."
The backpack falls off my slack shoulder. I was doomed from the start.
"Let me do the worrying. Now is the time for you to kick back, relax, do things you like, and go behind my back to make bad choices that you will learn from. Teen stuff. Throw rocks at an abandoned building or something, I don't know. Just go be a kid." He says it like it’s easy.
And really? That's his idea of what kids do? "What kind of childhood did you have?"
He leans against the countertop, "I was an amazingly behaved kid, believe it or not. My mom loved me."
Guy looks down for a moment, he brings his hand up, hesitating. It comes down to rest on my shoulder. His firm grasp feels important. It does come across oddly, seeing as he is still leaning against the counter like some moody teenager.
"Don't let the ring, or anything happening to your head, ruin your life. Ok? Please?” He's asking nicely. It sinks in how immensely important this seems to be to him.
"I'll try." I say honestly after a moment, "Bitch."
He rolls his eyes.
"Look, the magic side of the Justice League-" "Did not have a solution the first time.” I interject under my breath.
“Are you blaming them for what happened?” His question isn't accusatory, just curious. I remain silent.
He continues, "Maybe they don't have the solution in a tight little bow. But do you want to go to corner store mystics with only an untrained touch of the otherworldly mumbo jumbo? Or would you try asking professionals that know how to find the solutions they don't yet know." I don't know how he manages to give advice in a way that makes his seem like such a dick. He is truly an artist.
It’s not like I want to spend the next year of my life digging through used book stores and crystal resellers only to find nothing. I’m really finding that I don't enjoy being around most magic. No offense to those napping in my pocket.
The JLD worked with me and Chat after the Paris situation started. Helping some untrained kids, one with no magical spark to even speak of, the best they could. They taught me almost everything I know that I didn't learn myself through the pavlovian pain response that Hawk Moth and my mistakes gave me.
I want a break. God do I want a break.
Just this once I'll say it. He's right. I give a whole body shiver at the thought.
I'm being irrational, I can acknowledge that. They helped me before and I know I can trust them to help me again. It just rubs me the wrong way to drop something I could be handling myself.
“Come on, let's sit down outside. I’ll tell you some embarrassing stories about my buddies in the Corps. It’ll be fun.” His dumb grin is nearly devilish. He really needs to do the world a service and stop smiling.
"Of course, that's after I alert the wizards, monkey, and Wonder Woman who's also there. For some reason." He holds his hand up, silencing me. "Don't tell me why she's there. I don't actually care."
"I was going to defend Detective Chimp's honor. He's an ape you fucking troglodyte."
"Uhuh. Sure." Gardner pushes me out of his front door and locks it behind us. My backpack, and with it my hand troubles lay forgotten inside.
He sits both of us down on the street curb overlooking the me-sized hole in the street. Now sporting traffic cones. “We aren't going today, huh?”
“Do you want to?” He asks.
I look down and pick at my nails to keep myself busy. “I don't want to talk to people right now.”
“Yeah, I didn't think so. We always have tomorrow.” It makes me mad that he's only kind of a dick. If he just called me a pussy to my face, I would feel justified. But he's putting up stupid respectful boundaries and has me take my own stupid time. What an asshole.
I look up from my lap and finally take in the outside world again. The air is refreshing. While the slowly wearing down suburbs block my view of the city proper, at night from above it was quite pretty. A dock surrounded by restaurants, parks, shops, and skyscrapers quaint in size like Paris’ sitting at its center.
“Where are we by the way?” I ask.
“The great city of Baltimore. Smells like shit, but the view is nice, when the weather isn't also shit at least." He hums, "Lots of memories. A lot of those are shit too.” Despite the wording, he has a smile on his face.
Slowly deteriorating brickwork, wood paneling, wide roads, and Parisian amounts of litter. I see a raccoon knocks over a trash can. Spooking itself with the noise, it jumps a solid three feet in the air. Everything is dirty and it smells horrible, but I think if I get the right angle, I can just make out the water reflecting the morning light. It's surprisingly nice.
Hello Baltimore.
Day 3
I’m going to puke. It's so much worse. Baltimore sucks.
Apparently, Guy Gardner lives in the ‘historical district’. Which is a load of bullshit, this is America, it's incredibly new. So when we get downtown the roads are stupidly large.
Ridiculously wide. I was wrong about him living in suburbia. We passed actual suburbs on our way, it was horrifying. So much grass.
I shudder.
We both stand outside the phone store in the city center, waiting for something to happen. Guy breaks the silence with a mutter, “I genuinely can't tell if you're overreacting on purpose.”
He clears his throat and asks me a question, "Do you remember how to buy a phone?"
I barely turn to the man standing next to me. "What? No, my parents got mine. Don't you? You're the adult here."
"Nah, last time I bought one was in high school. I don't remember what the process was."
"How do you function without a phone? Do you never contact the Justice League yourself?” I'm not dumb enough to insinuate they never contact him. When he's not doing his space bullshit, Guy Gardner seems to pursue League work like it's the only thing he does. Which is likely true. Friendless cunt.
My eyes go wide. “Wait. Did you even call Dark?"
"Uhhh? Yeah? I did. My ring does everything I need from a phone, really,” He bumps his shoulder into mine, “Yours would too once it has been broken in. Like shoes."
I slowly turn to him. "It does phone stuff… Why are you getting me a phone?"
"Enrichment."
"For what? My enclosure? Like an animal?"
He condescendingly pats my shoulder. "Yes, kid. Like a zoo animal."
"Now I'm getting stressed out. This is your fault. If we walk in and don't know how to ask, they'll hate us."
He blinks at me slowly. "That's so dumb. Marionette, fast food workers won't remember you next shift if you aren't an asshole. Don't get all anxious because you think you will make their day worse buy ordering a sandwich. You won’t, it's literally their job."
“Marionette.”
Marionette?
“Marionette?”
Marionette!
“ Marionette?! ”
He never asked my name, and then he read it somewhere. Wrong. He read my name WRONG.
Oh my fucking god.
While I'm standing out here trying to blow him up with my mind, Guy leaves me outside. He walks in and just asks the person at the front how to buy a phone. Completely ignoring that I am staring daggers at the back of his head.
Fucking Marionette. I follow him inside, intending to kick his shins the moment it's most inconvenient for him.
While neither of us know what we are doing, the lady is nice enough to walk us through it. It's delightfully mundane and slow. Like the walk here, it makes me feel like a normal person. Separated from the person who flies over oceans uncaring for the wake in the waves created behind her. Not to mention I only tripped once on walk over.
Before I know it, a black box is placed in my hand. Opening it reveals the glossy black screen. Completely brand new. An actual, current gen smartphone. One of the ones that have remained the same for the past five years, besides not being artificially slowed by the phone company.
Nothing like the cheap burners me and Chat used to talk with when we couldn't communicate using our Miraculouses. And what we used to send each other horribly compressed funny videos back and forth.
“Thanks. I guess. You really didn't have to.” I feel practically obligated to say, a new phone is a big deal.
“Of course I had to get you one. What if you went out on your own and got some shitty Apple or Wayne smartphone instead of a proper Android?" He scoffs.
“Look at this,” Guy starts messing with my phone over my shoulder, deleting half of the apps it came with, “I don't need an undeletable Wayne ‘Waytch(™)’ on my damn home screen.”
“I thought you didn't have a phone.”
He hands the phone back. “I’m allowed to have opinions.”
He concentrates on his ring for a moment, visible by the flexing his fist. He smiles at me. My phone buzzes, a message received from a number somehow already in the phone. I use my knuckle to slide down the little notification from the top.
'Stinky' Sent from Lantern Ring.
My eye twitches.
I show him a bras d'honneur. His smile widens. He knows what it means, likely getting dozens any time he stepped foot in Europe.
Fucking asshole.
Day 4
Carefully torn strips of crispy lettuce are placed in a nice layer over the freshly grilled hamburger patty. Salt is cautiously sprinkled onto the thin cut tomatoes, tamped down with a paper towel to remove moisture.
“Watching you is very amusing. You’re like a little creature.” Ignore him. Create the perfect American hamburger. Homemade and elevated over the tourist focused grease traps in Paris.
I carefully squeeze on the plastic ketchup bottle to drizzle onto the buns toasted on the grill by Guy. My eye twitches as the cap pops off. The entirety of the bottle spews onto my lap and burger, ruining both.
Guy Gardner slaps his knees and barks a laugh, “HAH! Oh my god that's perfect. Hold on let me make a camera."
I slowly screw back on the cap of the bottle. “I am going to scoop out YOUR FUCKING KNEECAPS!” I chuck the bottle at Gardner’s damn head. It bounces off with a hollow *thonk*.
“WHAT DID I DO?!?!” He ruins his own burger. Dumping it in favor of using the paper plate as a shield like I’m going to throw something else at him despite my empty hands.
“YOU LAUGHED, YOU OLD FUCK!”
“I’M NOT OLD!?” He struggles to defend himself from the truth.
“YOU'RE LIKE THIRTY!” We start to circle each other around the patio chairs.
“BATMAN’S FIFTY SOMETHING!!! HELL, GREEN ARROW SHOULD BE IN A DAMN NURSING HOME!!!!”
“I'LL CALL THEM OLD TOO, BITCH!”
Day 5
As engaging as it is, after a good two hours of sitting on the couch with Guy while he tries to teach me how to play a song, I need a distraction. I do the obvious thing and try to start an argument. “You have fans?” I point to the pile of mail.
“Yeah, it just doesn't usually get this bad when I'm on Earth duty. I’ve just been out of the house for a while. I’m stuck on overseas duties. Jesus, Europe has some weird villains.” He has been popping out almost every night, though I don't think his search has turned up much yet. I feel like he's the kind of person to brag horribly.
I shrug, “I just didn't think you were the type that had fans.”
“What? Every hero has some fans? You have a damn statue!” He throws up a hand in irritation.
“I don't see how that's relevant.” I stretch and loudly crack my back.
“Listen. I am a very well respected-” He's cut off as his ring starts to blink, catching both of our attention.
“They responded!” I jolt up and let my guitar dematerialize.
"Don't cut my-" Not before it manages to clip the coffee table as it falls, carving a deep groove.
"Fucker. Here.” Gardner gabs my hand and brings it up to press our rings together. The blinking transfers to the head of mine.
“Alright kid. So you- hey. Hey!”
I book it.
“I need some space for this!” I throw open the front door.
I've already started my way down the street. Behind me I hear him call after me, “Close the damn door next time! And call me when you get back!”
Mentally I accept the call. My ring projects multiple small translucent figures in front of me as I walk.
Good grief. They're naked.
Most of them at least. John Constantine is lying bare chested in bed, surrounded by loose pages and old leather-bound books. Zatanna just now finishes slipping on some formal attire while she sits at a desk. Bobo, the one and only Detective Chimp is without his suit, his hat and my mild familiarity with him is the only reason he doesn't look like any other chimpanzee wearing pants, surprisingly he looks fully sober. Wonder Woman is currently flying, not letting me get a good angle to look at her as whatever she is using to call is at an odd angle, at least she for one is clothed. And finally Captain Marvel is late again.
“Sorry we’re so late on the contact. John and I were stuck in a sliding time loop.” Zatanna gives what I think is a sympathetic smile.
I look away as Constantine stands up to throw on his pants and a button up. “Gardner filled us in for most of it. Let's see. The magic isn't divine at least, it's more fundamental. The building blocks. Chaos and order. Soft divinity. It's slippery yet firm, chiral even. Out of most of our reaches.”
I nod like he's actually communicating something, like he's not just saying words that don't mean anything in this context. The moment he starts talking about magic my brain just shuts off. What's going over my head is likely something actually important, as everyone else is agreeing with him and adding on their own assessment.
Zatanna reaches over to grab his tan jacket and toss it to him, revealing that they are in the same room. I ignore the implications. "Very slippery, I ran into an artifact created based on the miraculous years ago. Completely resistant to being imposed upon. Casting magic on them is like trying to sift water out of mud."
Bobo slightly adjusts whatever the projection is getting its image from, likely a laptop based on how it lights his face. “Can't say I'm familiar with the magic, but I have been following the paper trail of one late Gabriel Agreste.”
“So far nothing has come of his purchases or interactions. Nothing that stands out as helping at least. Where he has acquired the ingredients for his obfuscation ritual was a dead end, but I’ve gotten close to uncovering where he found the miraculie in the first place. Figuring out how this man had gotten a hold of Peafowl’s object of power is as simple as following his bank statements.”
He goes to grab a cigarette but puts his hand back when he catches himself. “In a weeks time I will be catching a flight to Tibet to follow up on where his expenses went liquid. Apart from that, and anything else I find to stick my nose in, I won't be of much help. Another psych profile and motive for a dead man wouldn’t do much now would it?”
The last person in call finally speaks up, having let everyone else speak their piece. “How are the Kwami doing? Are they feeling alright?” She breaks away from business.
Wonder Woman is a presence unlike any other. I should expect it by now, even having met her quite extensively, it's always shocking when she talks about anything less than saving the world. Like a story book hero asking you how you like your tea.
I answer her, “They're resting. Duusu is confused, damaged. Nooroo is not handling what happened well, even now he's still forced to be silent. I'm stuck. I don't know how to undo previous orders. Their command words don't work.”
“I’d have you bring them over but without a proper ritual my magic would likely not play well.” Zatanna looks behind her for John Constantine.
“Wouldn’t want to make things worse.” I add. They nod at the comment. I am getting a good grade in magic.
Constantine leans over to grab bound pages set on his nightstand, it doesn't look old enough to be a tome, possibly a recent recreation or transcription. He flips through and points at a page that has already been circled with cheap marker. “Ah, here it is. Can't undo your luck problem, you'll have to wait them out. But at the very least, I could give that one his voice back. It's a simple enough curse to break.”
My eyes go wide, "Oh."
I have to sit down. My aimless walking having lead me to reach the waterfront.
Progress. Things are getting better because I let someone else handle the burden. I never would have been able to get his far within a week.
"Oh." It was really that easy? It's not everything, my problems still exist in force, but it's something.
Constantine sighs. “Yeah, it's great, but we have to be real. Our best bet is bringing them to the Order.”
"No." I shoot him down before he even finishes his sentence.
“You don't like them, I heard. And I get that. But sometimes to do this work, you have to be around shitty people. We have no clue how to fix the broken and unbalanced divinity containers." He motions to the pile of books surrounding him, "None of these books are going to have that silver bullet. They might.”
My nails carve into the concrete I’m sitting on. “I’m supposed to protect them. It's my job to protect them. I wont not trust them in the hands of the Order.” Not while the Order is in the hands of the incompetent. I won't fail.
My breath stands still, worried that the League demand I hand them over.
Wonder Woman cuts through the train of conversation, her words firm, “Then we will have to keep focusing on what we do have.”
I take a deep breath.
Wonder Woman continues, “I've had limited interaction with Miraculous in my life, Peafowl was never one to share his hand. I don't have them on me, but since the mental barrier dropped I have been collecting everything my mother knew about the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Stories, memories. They may not be a fix, but first hand accounts are a step closer."
The call goes silent, no one else having anymore input, “I think that's all, yes?” She receives nods of agreement, “Everyone knows the plan moving forward? The timeline?”
Constantine speaks up first, "We'll see what else we can find. Call in a few favors to see if anyone knows anything. It's a long shot, from what I can tell, the containers haven't been studied by outside hands more than two or maybe three times."
“Just judging from other accounts of luck manipulations, there's anywhere from one to three years for the luck lingering on Ladybug to dissipate. That's depending on how fast the luck recovers naturally and with the probable rate of Chat Noir’s use of his miraculie verses the year of her extended use.” Bobo quickly rattles off, a cigarette now held between his lips. He looks down at it in surprise like he doesn't know how it got there. The look morphs into agitation, he puts it out on an ashtray off screen.
“Perfect. Call if anything comes up.” She presses a button on a wristband and her feed cuts. She's quickly joined by the rest.
Wherever she is going is incredibly important to her if she's ending the call this early. Or she just doesn't want to talk to me. So much about the situation stands unvoiced until our next interaction.
I take a deep breath and blink away tears. Just talking in the surrounding sounds of lapping water and the soft glare of the reflected sun.
The sharp sound of metal high-heeled greaves landing behind me cuts through the silence.
Wonder Woman sits to my side.