#clenches my fist. looks off into a beautiful sunset. stews about it

[ittybittybumblebee]

unspoken dispute to settle

[storiessomeoneshouldwrite]

@charles-bear I’ve proofed your work, everything original is bold except formatting and spellcheck things that I let word fix for me. Everything I added is in italics, and the things i added in parenthesis are just my thoughts. Also, sorry if I change too much! Feel free to message me if you have any questions!

I’m putting this under a read more because it’s a little wordy!

Ebeth (not finished yet but tumblr is being a pain in the ass fml)

Prologue

The taste of vomit sticks in my mouth like glue. It takes so much to keep my hands clenched around the cold railing, I was so lightheaded I felt as if I could collapse at any moment. The grey mess of the sky was shaking with the crashing waves of the ocean. I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. With each second the ship shook worse underneath me and worse as they went on. I could feel every drop of water running down my face, my back, the moisture coating my hands, cold trails working their its way under my palms. My whole body rocked with the ship, my hands clutching the rails as tight as my body would let me. and Yet, the air was still knocked out of my lungs chest as my back was pounded against hit the water, a single bubble escaping as my lips as I went under. 

Chapter One

The colors of sunset stewed blossomed on the edge of the horizon, tainting the clouds above.

Where am I?

I could feel the soft touch of grass between my fingers and rub against my palms. The sting of cold water immersing my trousers around my feet and legs.

What is this place?

I hear what I assumed must be animals, but it was unlike any I had ever heard. I lifted myself stumbled to my feet and took in my surroundings. There were trees everywhere, somewhat resembling almost reminiscent of redwoods, but larger and with what appeared to be hollow trunks. One could almost live in them, they were so large. I looked back at the lake where I had woken. My dress shirt was covered in dirt, my pants soaked through with mud and water.

A quick glance at my reflection in the water gives me a rough idea of my appearance. My eyes could almost blended into the pure blue water, and my hair was as pale and yellow as the flowers blooming on the water’s edge. It’s getting dark, I should need to find some shelter. The canopy of leaves would protect me if it were to rain, but in this strange place, a little water is the least of my problems in this strange place. Any kind of animals could be lurking in beyond the shadows of the large trees… 

I walked between the trees, looking for some kind of human life, someone—something—that could help me. It seemed impossible in this isolated forest. But I needed to find some way to protect myself from the wildlife too. Night was creeping closer with each passing second. There were so many trees, everything each step looked appeared the same, like a maze. The blue sky began to yield to a darker color and it began to wield stars; the moonlight touching the earth ever so slightly. I need to get out of here, now.

Then Just as I was about to turn back, I felt it, the strong pressure of compacted dirt and gravel pushing against my feet, there was a path leading through the trees. It looked well worn, perhaps this will would lead me to a town. I started down the path, I had and got the feeling that eyes were watching me, but a quick glance around told me that there was no one in sight. I continued as quickly as I could dared, trying not to without drawing unneeded attention, who knows what kind of creatures may be here. The stars had begun to consume the sky, each step I took felt like it echoed for miles in the silence of the night. 

The further I went, the more extraordinary and terrifying everything seemed. Giant roots twisted and before diving beneath the earth, leaves swam throughout the canopy, beautiful plants freckled the lush grass. The wind brought the smell of damp wood and wildflowers that to fill my nostrils. The falling leaves softly kissed the ground all around me, just so that the wind could sweep them up again. This forest felt so utterly magical. Spider webs were ignited by the few slivers of moonlight that managed to breached the treetops, small creatures riddling the thicket. 

One of the creatures stopped just meters in front of me, it was so different from anything I’d ever had seen before; long serpentine body, thin tail, thick metallic scales glowing silver in the night. It had slender limbs accompanied by three digits for on each hand—foot—paw? Its tail carried an extension much like an arrowhead and fanlike wings rested on its back. Its eyes denied even a glimmer of light. Instead of ears, the strange creature had gaping holes on each side for hearing. Its head housed had two large frilled membranes, one on each side, framing its face. It darted for the edge of the trail as I moved closer. They appeared to live in the hollow of trees. 

I continued, one foot in front of the other. Whatever this place is, it’s far from normal, and I need to find a way to get out. I seemed to be walking on forever, how long could one path go? With every minute I was getting more weary exhausted, my eyes barely staying open. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on.

One foot in front of the other. One foot, then the next. One foo--oh no—I felt my balance shift. My foot slid across whatever I had stood stepped on, peircing the skin of my foot, knocking me to the ground. This is it, this is how it ends. I was too tired to even try to get up. I looked at the lights in front of me—wait, lights? I quickly tried standing to get to my feet, slipping a few times in the process. In front of me was  Before me stood a small building, its outer structure was made of whatever trees were in that the forest. It looked old but inviting nonetheless. 

As I walked through crossed the threshold I was greeted by a horrific scent and mixed with something familiar; the smell of alcohol. The man behind the bar had dark messy hair he and was cleaning glasses. Or rather, he was attempting to that is, they surely were not getting any cleaner with the raggedy cloth he rubbed through on them. The walls were covered in what appeared to be memorabilia, however they were covered in what one could only assume was decades of dust. There were few people residing in the building, all seemingly drunk.

I hurried towards the bar, grateful that I had finally found something I recognized in this strange place. I was in need to have of a word with the bartender. However my clumsiness got the best of me as I tripped and my hand quickly slid across the dusty bar top. Before I knew could stop it, the sound of glass shattering filled the room. as I had accidentally tipped another patron’s drink to the ground.

I began to retreat and apologize profusely apologize. After a few seconds however, it was clear that this man clearly wasn’t going to accept my apology. I understood From his muscular build and his towering height it was clear what was to come, yet I still was unprepared for what was to come the fist that met my abdomen. Before I knew it, my lower abdomen was in and the intense pain as if it were in a grinder that accompanied it. His fist had caused my blood to rush through my body, almost as if my veins were going to burst. My breath left me in a rush and I found that I couldn’t make a sound.

His fist continued to puncture abuse my entrails until my liver relieved him of reaching my spine. My legs gave in and I fell to my knees, i had a metallic taste in filled my mouth, coupled with saliva and vomit. I took another a blow to the cheek causing blood to gushed from my lip. My head was pounding and I couldn’t could hardly make out the shouts and spurs coming from all around. I couldn’t feel the floor under my hands. I was much too so focused on staying out of this the man’s grasp that I was unaware of the presence looming behind me. I felt the cold sting on the back of my head, felt more than heard the shatter of glass. My vision was fading and all I couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

~~~

Sunlight burned through curtains, the heat of the day was beginning to take effect. Suddenly I remembered the events I’d just experienced. What happened? How am I still alive? I sat straight up—a careless act. My head was started pounding and my stomach was filled with an intense pain. I looked down. My shirt was gone replaced with bandages covering my abdomen, and my left hand too. Gentle probing tells me that my cheek felt was probably badly bruised and my lower lip was began to bleeding again.

Where am I? The mattress I was laying on was thick, but without a frame. The room was small, two meters square at most. The walls were bare wood paneling, the floor too. The curtains appeared to be made of stray remnants of fabric sewn together. without warning i heard A muffled yelp comes from the other side of the wall. Cautiously, I rise rose from the bed and began to investigate. Standing there by a fire pit was the scruffy haired bartender from last night, sucking on his finger in obvious pain.

He notices my presence and immediately removes his hand from sight. He straightenes and brushes dirt off his white button up and coffee colored pants.

He clears his throat and spoke speaks in a deep voice with an accent I couldnt can’t quite pin down. Irish perhaps? After a moment of my staring at him in confusion he repeats himself. “Oh, hello, uh I’m Gabriel.” he said with a rush.

“Elliot.” I mumble, somewhat confused.

“Sorry to sorta kidnap you.” His cheeks held had a pinkish tone tint to them. 

He extended his arm to shake hands, but visibly winced as when I touched his hand. He pulled back and began looking through cabinets. After a moment, it hits me; he’s the reason I’m not dead right now.

He explains he’d been the one to break up the fight moments after I’d be beat out of lost consciousness. The man who’s drink I had tipped was very drunk and had a tendency to overreact. Prior to my waking he had taken me to his home and treated my wounds.

He pulls a small vile out of the cupboard, what i assumed was some type of solid crushed to a paste. He applied smeared the paste to on his finger with great discomfort, then applied a small bandage.

I had completely forgottten the reason I went had gone into the tavern. “Excuse me, Gabriel? Where exactly am I?” I questioned asked, running my fingers through my hair.

“Oh, you’re not from around here? Figures, your accent is very peculiar. Well you’re in Esteros. It’s a short way from Rueling if that’s where you’re headed.” He placed a pot of water over the fire as he spoke. 

I wasn’t familiar with either of those places. “I’m sorry, but what country are we in?�� I was thoroughly confused. i thought Perhaps I had simply stumbled upon an area I wasn’t used to, but it appears that, that was not the case.

“Oh, so you’re really not from around here. This is Hy-Brasil, how’d you get here anyhow?” He finally turns around to look at me.

“I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything except waking up on the edge of a lake in that forest. What time is it anyway?” 

- end to chapter with 1912 found at bottom, new ending from here -

“Lake? There’s no lake in Sìthiche grove.” He seems to ponder that for a moment before continuing, “it’s around noon, though you’ve been uncurious for several days. I wasn’t so sure you’d make it to be honest, you were pretty bruised banged up” his tone was slightly had a bit of a humorous tone at play, I suppose to lighten the mood. “I have to go back to the bar soon, but I can fix up some food for you if you’d like, before I go” he was already fetching pots and pans from various cupboards. 

“Are you sure? You’ve done so much already, I’d hate to be a burden on you…” I spoke so shly quietly, I wasn’t sure he had heard me. Though, I was half expecting him to agree, he had already saved my life.

“No, no its fine, honest. I don’t have many visitors these days anyway. Company is nice.” he seemed a it sad by the way words he spoke. 

“I’m be fine to do it, I don’t want to keep you from work, I feel like I need to do my part to help anyway.” I was glad that he was happy for me to be here, but I couldn’t let it damage his career.

He looked a little worried but gave in after a moment. “Alright, there’s some vegetables in that cupboard by the door” he said while gestures to a small cupboard missing a door. “You can make soup if you’d like. I guess I’ll be off then.” He rose and donned a jacket he had left slumped in the corner. “I’ll see you” he smiles as he walks out the door.

“Goodbye!” I half shout to be sure my voice had reaches him.

~~~

I saw something—no, someone—approaching in the distance, no, someone. 

“Gabriel!” I sprint out the door and fling my arms around him. It felt like it had been forever since I’d last seen him. I had to tell him what’d happened. 

(Not sure when in the timeline this happens? But it seems like their relationship is progressing rather rapidly at this point if it is in the first chapter?)

Chapter 2

The megalopolis was a beautiful sight. Rooftops and walls built from magnificent amber shaded timber, stone pavement adorned with delicate pale blue wildflowers. Over a hundred people striding by one another (Not sure what you’re trying to say here, but it seems a little awkward, but not too bad).

A majority of the men donned wore three piece suits consisting of a coat, waistcoat, and trousers. Other men, however, wore clothing quite similar to Gabriel’s choice of a dress shirt with a as well as matching coat, trousers, and suspenders. The women wore lose dresses with relatively high waistlines. Many Most of the women I could see paired the dresses with a form of stockings and ankle height boots.

It felt like I was in a dream; my surroundings were so drastically changed in such a short amount of time. There were no cell phones in sight, no one in vehicles besides those on pulled by a horse or two. There was were no women wearing trousers, no men wearing shorts. Even the pathways were so different. There were no neatly made cement paths as there are were in the 21st Century. Instead, there were stones placed in the ground, grass thriving between the cracks. 

Gabriel received many looks of pity as we travelled through the layers of citizens, offhandedly, I wondered why. Though compared to the well dressed and fancy men we passed, Gabriel and I looked shameful and untidy. We came upon a small cabin around on the edge of town. Gabriel had mentioned the resident was something of a cartographer. However, it was strange to me that these people seemed so advanced but still so far behind, could it really only be 1912? 

“Gabriel?” I ask

“Yes?” he inquires back.

“How do you know what year it is and why does this place seem so different from the rest of the world? I thought surely they’d even have cars in 1912 or something.” I had so many questions I barely breathed between the words I was saying. 

Gabriel had a slightly shocked expression on his face, “how do you know of the word ‘car’?”

I shrugged, it seemed like common knowledge.

“We have currently no concept of the ‘rest of the world’ and we were given our years by a man named Damian.”

“Damian? How does one man give you your years? I’m not sure I understand...”

“This island has a long history. Its old and isolated and looking from our shores, it seems like there isn’t even any other land out there. However, around a century ago, a man washed ashore. He called himself Damian. With him, he brought great knowledge, he thought us how to cook, build, and travel more efficiently.” He paused for a second to be sure I was paying close attention before continuing. “ We do not have what you call ‘cars’. However Damian did mention this them. But he came to realize this island has far too little few resources to create such things. We already had the concept of years, hours, and minutes before he arrived, but he claimed the island looked like the 1800’s, so we began to start counting from his words. He gave the island the name Hy-Brasil.” 

Gabriel seemed to know this topic very extensively. But I was still confused, how could it be that a single man taught them all so much? Where did he come from? And is it really still 2014? I wasn’t sure how to interpret all any of this. 

“Gabriel, what ever happened to this Damian man?” I ask after a moment

He stops in his tracks. “He was murdered.” His stern voice was troubling and he had no apparent empathy for what seemed to have happened. “Well here we are!” his tone became becomes a slightly bit more cheerful as he changes the subject. 

The house that rising rose in front of me was… disgusting. Half the windows were smashed, the door only had a rope as opposed to a lock, and the roof had numerous holes in it. I’m not sure how much help this man will be. As Gabriel knocks on the door small pieces of wood came crumbling down, falling softly onto the moss covered ground below. 

-consider getting rid of whole cartographer thing like oml what was i thinking-

(It’s not bad, it just feels a bit misplaced without any more information. I’m just not sure why they’re going there? If you’d like to leave it—and I think you should because it explains quite a fair bit—maybe explain more about the significance of it and why they’re going to visit this shady place)

chapter one finish

[“The lake? There’s no lake in the sìthiche grove. As for the time there’s a sundial out in the courtyard… I’m not sure how well it’ll work on such a cloudy day though.” he motioned towards the door where through which I saw an overgrown stone courtyard, a small sundial right in the center. Who still uses a sundial?

“Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

“What year is it?” My voice quivered tremored with each word.

“1912.”

I could not comprehend this. I had not simply drifted from my home, but alternatively, I had stumbled upon an utterly unknown country. It was roughly 100 years prior to my birth, and yet here I am was, standing dumbfounded in the home of a man who saved my life.

The ocean was currently the only thing I can could recall previous to my waking in that lake. I don’t know how or why I got here, but I need to get back. ]

 ---

“We did all this, and you want to fucking stay?! You know what, Fuck you.” Gabriel storms off, leaving me standing, staring after him dumbfounded.

“Gabriel, wait!” I call after him. Just as my heart sinks into my stomach he’s racing back, running straight towards me. A small part of me is afraid, but a larger part of me is divided between not caring if he hurts me and knowing that he won’t.

I was still staring at him as he stalks up and grabs my face. “I’m still fucking pissed.” He breathes before smashing our lips together.

Gabriel walks off, walks back and kisses him.

(I took the liberty of adding this last part, just to flesh it out a bit, but if you don’t like it no hard feelings! Esp because it’s your story and it’s really good!!)

[sadrien]

falling sun

on ao3

hey whats up! this was written for the @meowraculouschatnoirzine​, which you can download now for pay what you can!!!! all profits will go to charity~

back with a classic adrien (or chat in this case) and chloe friendship fic. its been a bit since ive written one of these and honestly? missed it

enjoy~

Chloé decides to spend the night on her balcony. Not the whole night, that’d be ridiculous, she could never sleep with the sounds of the city so loud, but just a few hours. She actually watches the sunset for once, which is nice and pretty and probably emotionally moving or something, and pretends to do a few homework problems. She told herself she’d start being better about that.

After a while, she finds herself staring off to the horizon, the skyline of the city permanently burned into her memory. She blinks in surprise when something on that horizon starts moving.

Chloé squints into the growing darkness as the slightly darker thing starts moving closer. It takes her an almost embarrassingly long time to realize it’s not just a thing, it’s Chat Noir.

Strange for him to be out, he doesn’t usually patrol on Thursdays, and there haven’t been any sounds of akuma.

She calls out to him when he’s close enough that he'll hear her with his freaky cat ears. “Hey! Noir!”

Chat pauses and then leaps a few rooftops closer to her. He hesitates before making the final leap to her balcony. “Can I help you with something?” he asks, crouching on the railing.

Chloé tilts her head. “What are you doing?”

Chat narrows his eyes. “…patrol?”

“You never patrol on Thursdays,” she says with a flip of her hair. “As Ladybug’s biggest fan, I would know.”

Chat rolls his eyes and Chloé pretends not to notice.

“I wanted to,” he says. “There’s no law against taking an extra patrol.”

Ladybug might say otherwise. In the past few weeks, Ladybug has been a lot harsher about the other heroes taking patrols. Chloé assumes it’s because there’s been so many akuma attacks lately, but it’s still annoying. Chloé just purses her lips instead of commenting.

“Besides,” Chat continues. “Who wouldn’t want to see the hero of Paris during the most romantic time of night?”

Chloé raises her eyebrows. “Ladybug is out?”

He sits down on the railing. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, gay.”

She shrugs. “Two things I’m known for.”

Chat snorts. “Fair enough. Would you rather watch this beautiful sunset with Ladybug?” He gestures to the sky behind him.

Chloé stares at the setting sun for a long moment before she shakes her head. “I’m good.”

He blinks in surprise. “Okay, that…was not what I was expecting.”

She smirks. “I live to be unpredictable.”

Chat stretches his arms to the sky. “Why are you out? I never see you out.”

“Maybe I thought I would grace the city with my presence. You aren’t the only loved one around here.” A smile pulls at the corner of her lips. “You and I are more alike than you think.”

“Blond and attention seeking?” Chat jokes.

Chloé mimes shoving him off the railing. “No, famous, sought after, and beautiful.”

“Aww you think I’m pretty?” Chat asks, batting his eyes.

“Duh.” Chloé rolls her eyes. “I only talk to pretty people,” she says sarcastically.

Chat scoffs.

“You’re very pretty,” she says seriously. “I don’t joke about beauty.”

He stares at her for a long moment, with large, unblinking green eyes. She always forgets how captivating his gaze is. “I know you don’t,” he says softly.

For some reason, she has a strong feeling like they’ve done this before.

Chloé swallows and looks away. “You sure you just wanted to take an extra patrol tonight?” They rarely take extra patrols, because it means patrolling alone. Patrolling alone is always dull. There’s nothing to do other than run around and listen to your own thoughts, it’s too late at night for civilians to be out and interested in interacting.

It’s another thing entirely when you want to be alone with your thoughts.

There’s nothing quite like sitting atop Notre Dame and watching the city’s lights twinkle below you as you stew in your own thoughts and let them swallow you and eat you whole. It’s strangely calming and healing.

Not that Chloé would know.

Chat looks out to the skyline. “I was having a bad night,” he murmurs. He rubs his fingers along the edge of his mask where it meets the skin. Chloé wonders if he ever has the strong urge to rip it off like she sometimes does.

Chloé rests her chin in her hand and follows his gaze to the horizon. She’s no good at comforting others. If anything, she’s always the one being comforted. She’s trying to get better but— her immediate plan for helping Chat is not one Ladybug would approve of.

And both her and Chat strive for Ladybug’s approval too much for that.

“Did you know I ran away once?” Chat says suddenly.

Chloé looks up in surprise. “You mean you aren’t running away right now?”

“Ha ha very funny.” Chat tugs on one of his ears. “I was nine. I was mad at my dad. I filled a bag with comic books, my Nintendo DS, and candy, and climbed out of my window using a sheet rope.”

She frowns. She’s heard a similar story before. It must not be that uncommon for kids to run away when they’re mad. “I ‘ran away’ because my parents were getting a divorce,” Chloé says when it doesn’t seem like Chat’s going to continue. “I took my blanket and wrote a really dramatic note that I sealed with wax and left with a rose I stole from one of the vases in the lobby.”

“Of course you did,” Chat mutters.

Chloé sticks her tongue out at him. “I walked to my friend’s house. I was so mad that no one came for me until the next day, and then my parents weren’t even that worried. It turns out my friend’s mom called my dad and told him where I was.” Then Chloé had been mad at Mrs. Agreste, but at least getting away from her parents for a while had helped.

Chat rests his chin on his knees. “I didn’t go to anyone. I sort of just…walked around the city.”

“Sounds like it’d be nice,” Chloé murmurs. “If, you know, you weren’t upset. And also nine.”

Chat snorts. “True. It turned out okay in the end. A really nice woman who owned a bakery gave me a free pastry and called my mom for me. My mom called my dad and yelled at him.”

Chloé raises her eyebrows. “Wow.”

He hums. “She was away on a business trip. I just remember…” He shakes his head. “It just all seems kind of pointless sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Chloé starts at the sudden subject change. Or maybe not so sudden. It’s not like she knows anything about Chat’s life. They don’t exactly talk, even while she’s transformed. This, the whole heart to heart gushy emotions thing, is very new. “What seems pointless?” she asks. “If you start quoting Shakespeare at me, I’m pushing you off my balcony.”

He mulls it over for a moment before saying, “I’m not really sure.”

She sighs and rests her arms on the railing. “Helpful.”

Chat glares at her. “Very comforting.”

“Do I seem like a comforting and caring person to you?” she asks, returning his glare?

Chat’s expression softens. “I think you could be,” he muses. “If you wanted to be.”

Chloé narrows her eyes and looks away.

“Can I get deep?” he asks.

“Does it matter if I say no?”

“Isn’t everyone capable of kindness?” Chat continues, barely having paused to let her slip in her snarky response. Which Chloé had been expecting. She knows him too well at this point to expect anything less. “Don’t all human beings have the ability to be good?”

Chloé resists the urge to scoff. Chat is working through something, right now is not the time to be bitter and cynical. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Despite her best efforts, “My father works in politics” slips out.

“That doesn’t make him a bad person,” Chat counters. “He still cares about you. At least a little bit,” he amends when Chloé makes a face. “He’d tear down half of Paris to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need him to,” she mutters. “Maybe there are other ways he could show me he cares that would mean more to me.”

Chat’s ears droop. “I know what you mean,” he murmurs softly. “My dad doesn’t get it either.”

Chloé remembers that the women in the bakery called Chat’s mom, who was away and working, and not Chat’s father. Who was still in Paris and should’ve been taking care of his son. She clenches her fist. “Adults never do.”

“And that is the line of thinking that lead to the Bubbler,” Chat says with forced enthusiasm.

Chloé tries not to smile.

Chat swishes his tail. “We should probably be trying to learn from history or something like that.”

She shrugs. “Have people ever done that? I mean, we keep having wars and stuff. Bad things keep happening. History repeats itself and all that garbage.”

“Is it bad that I wish for once we’d just learn?”

Chloé furrows her eyebrows. “Chat Noir are you trying to change all of mankind?” She shifts her weight. “Because I have news for you.”

Chat sighs. “I don’t know. I just wish people were better.”

“Not happening,” she says flatly.

“I think you underestimate people,” Chat says. “I think people are capable of more than you think.” He gives her a once over. “I think you’re capable of more than you think.”

Chloé looks away, cheeks hot. “I think you’re being dramatic.” She bites back the pun on the tip of her tongue.

Chat laughs. It’s a little bitter and hollow. “Have you never met me? I’m always dramatic.”

“You already get to change the world,” she points out. “You’ve got the whole defeating Hawk Moth thing going for you. That’s more than most of us get.”

“Defeating him isn’t the same as changing him,” Chat says. And Chloé thinks they might finally be circling toward what’s actually wrong tonight. “We can lock him up and take away his power, but how do we change how he thinks? How do we get rid of his hunger for power. His willingness to manipulate people to get what he wants?”

Chloé stares at him. “Okay, you weren’t kidding about getting deep.”

“Saving people is important,” Chat continues. “Helping people is important. Stopping Hawk Moth is important. But is it selfish to want to make one person reevaluate their life and life choices?”

“I don’t think so,” Chloé says softly.

His tail swishes slowly as he stares out at the sunset. “I want to do that.”

Chloé casts her eyes to the ground. You already have.

—«·»—

It hasn’t even been five minutes since Chat left her balcony and Chloé is already restless. It’s like there’s something inside her that’s itching to go, to make sure that he’s really okay.

If there’s one thing she’s learned about half of Paris’ Dynamic Duo, it’s that Chat Noir is very good at acting if he wants to be.

Chloé paces for a few more minutes on her balcony before she tosses her homework into her bag — she got half the problems done and that has to count for something — and transforms. She’s never going to sleep if she doesn’t.

It doesn’t take her too long to find him. She’s noticed that they all have their spots; private little places they each like to go when they have something on their minds. Hers in particular is a nice little alcove that overlooks a garden that’s currently in bloom.

Chat’s is near the top of the Eiffel Tower.

She hovers by him for a moment until he shifts to the side, giving her space to sit down next to him.

“What’s up QB?” he asks, not moving his eyes from the building he’s staring at. Probably not staring at. Probably looking past into nothing.

Bee rolls her eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t American?”

He turns to her with twinkling eyes— a good sign. “Pawsitive.”

She groans. “I walked right into that.”

“You really did,” Chat says with a laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I was bored,” Bee says with a shrug, pulling a knee up to her chest. “I saw you were out. I decided to join you. What about you? What’s up?”

Chat leans forward and looks down. She still doesn’t know how he does that without gripping the metal edge. He’s so much more sure of his abilities and limits than she is and she’s more than a little jealous. “Us, apparently.”

Bee snorts.

Chat leans back with a smile. “A little of this, a little of that,” he says, motioning with his hand. “Overall, a little of everything.” “Too much of everything?” she asks coolly, keeping eye contact.

Chat looks away. “I don’t know.” Bee hums. “I don’t know,” he goes on, “it’s just nice up here, isn’t it? Above everything? Kind of like you have nothing you have to worry about.” She watches him as he closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“You can sit up here and watch the world turn below you. And know that you’re watching out for everyone. And sometimes, that’s all you need.”

[blisserial]

One

The first time I dropped a ball Ross simply plucked it back from the grass and returned it to my hand. The second time I dropped a ball, he knocked me across the brow. The third time he awarded me a clap in the jaw. And after the fourth slipped ball, he took his belt to me.

The beatings made his point. I never dropped a single colored ball again. The spheres became a part of me, as integral as the fingers on my hand and yet as unimportant as the freckles across my chest.

"Eat with them, wash with them, dream with them." Ross reminded me every night before candle snuff. "Treat them as king or whore. But never let them out of your sight."

He sewed for me a juggler's pouch from a clutch of velvet I’d stolen in the King's Market, and used horse hair as thread and dirty ribbons from his travel case to tie it about my waist. The pouch chafed at first, but soon my flesh became used to the scrape. Eventually I began to feel naked without it.

"The balls are your foundation and your luck, Bliss." Ross repeated in my ear, a mantra. "They will always keep you fed."

Well. Perhaps not always. Ross was, deep down, a scoundrel who enjoyed the sound of his voice.

But I never forgot his lessons.

When Shaara dropped his first ball, I retrieved it from the straw and placed it back on his palm. When he dropped his second, I cuffed him across the face. The third drop earned him a knock into horse muck. And the fourth, a whipping to rival even Ross's strength.

Shaara  will not drop a fifth. 

                                                       *****

“She’ll be drunk by sunset,” the boy complained, frowning over his cider.  “She’ll break something. And we’ll have to sleep in the stables.”

“She won’t break anything.” Maurice forked up a bite of thick stew. “She’ll remember the last time.”

“She won’t. She never remembers.”

“She’ll remember.” The stew tasted strongly of Southern salt. Maurice wondered how the tiny inn had managed to beg, borrow or steal even a handful of the precious stuff.  Last he heard the king’s whores were going for less than a teaspoon of Southern spice.

“Ten hands!” Bliss crowed from across a herd of plank tables, directly on cue as always. “Ten hands, and we’re out! That, my young gentleman, will lose you your purse. Hand it over, beautiful.”

The ‘young gentleman’ gave a shout of disbelief. Shaara’s thin shoulders slumped. Maurice swallowed another bite of stew before meeting the innkeeper's concerned gaze.

“Bliss,” Maurice warned without turning around. “The rooms are bought and paid for.”

“And isn’t that a wonderful thing. Hand over the purse, man, and we’ll go another round.”

“I’ve no coins left!”

“Your word is as good as the king’s.” To Maurice’s jaundiced ears, Bliss sounded like Temple bells when she laughed. “One more round before supper!”

“Supper’s nearly gone, Bliss.” Shaara ventured, “Better come before Maurice cleans out the bowl.”

“Shut your mouth, boy.” Maurice picked up his own cracked mug and washed the salt from his tongue.

“Shaara!” Bliss blinked as though she had just now recalled her apprentice’s existence. “Come and entertain us. And bring me the last of the stew.”

Maurice watched as the boy rolled his shoulders and shoved back from the table.  Even balancing a heavy bowl of stew and his mug of half-finished cider Shaara had grace. If only the lad could discover confidence as well.

Maurice glanced the innkeeper's way again.  The wiry man appeared not to notice the gathering trouble, but Maurice knew better.  Likely the missus was already in the back room totting up possible losses. Four nights spent in Auberg Town and Bliss was already a legend.

“Another cider,” Bliss called from her perch before the fire. “And another jug of ale for my pretty friend. Shaara, sit there. And for Trout’s sake, don’t step on the bugs.”

Maurice tilted his head, watching Shaara through wreathes of stale smoke. The boy stepped gingerly around the gaming ribbons and set the bowl of stew in Bliss’s lap. She snatched it up and bent, using long fingers to dig mutton free, while dirty curls fell over her face. The avid look in her eye had Maurice coughing back a sigh. Apparently, it would not be drink tonight after all, but fighting.

She had picked the perfect stage. The Inn of the Star was packed from bar to window, patrons slowly crushing shoulder to shoulder as more weary souls abandoned the dusk in favor of heat and warmth and entertainment. The somber missus returned from the back room and installed herself before the keg, pulling ale with practiced ease and taking coin with a greed that mirrored Bliss’s own.

In a far corner, safely away from the roaring fire, a clutch of young wealth played a loud game of Catch and Drop. They wore the elaborate finery of the lucky, all feathers and satin; they gleamed with easy coin. Closer to the warmth of wood and flame those with less to call their own played simple cards on wooden bench and table. Farm folk and king’s infantry, free of servitude until dawn.

Just beyond the planks Bliss sat high on a stool, deep on the hearth, nearly in the fire itself. A handful of admirers crouched at her feet, pretending interest in the game. Maurice noted the expressions on their young faces and marveled that they could find any beauty behind Bliss’s coat of grime.

Crickets milled about in a box clamped between the knees of Bliss’s young gentleman. He was a gentleman in truth, Maurice realized with some surprise. Despite a dusting of grit his hose were plainly silk and he wore rings on his fingers. His soft hands fluttered, one tenting the box in an attempt to keep the bugs from escaping, the other cradling the jug of ale Bliss had cajoled from the innkeeper’s tight fist.

Shaara settled himself behind Bliss, his back to the flames. Four tasseled spheres rolled from his threadworm sleeves. A flick of one wrist and he sent the balls leaping into the air. Beads on the tassels clicked and hummed, persistent even beneath the mutter of the crowded tavern.

“The brown hopper, this time,” Bliss decided, licking mutton juice from one finger. “He looks a veritable Granda. Let’s see what the old man can do.”

The young lord wet his lips as he teased a bug from the box. One of his companions straightened the ribbons laid out on the hearth.

“For or against?”

Bliss snorted. “And what did I just say? For. Fifty says he’ll make twenty hands.”

“There isn’t room,” the lord protested. “Twenty hands will land him under the boards.”

“Watch him then,” Bliss said. Above her head Shaara’s spheres spun and twittered. “Take the bet?”

A chorus of ayes and nays rose above the popping fire. Three more crickets were added to the lineup. Maurice watched as coins changed hands. The young lord slipped an amethyst from his finger and set it at the foot of Bliss’s stool. The jewel, if genuine, was surely worth more than the rest of the pot combined.

Maurice briefly shut his eyes. They would be sleeping not in the stables but in the young gentleman’s scullery, there indentured until winter.

“Odds up?” Bliss grinned, unperturbed.

“Aye!” A farmer’s lad laughed back, smoothing the ribbons straight. “Give ‘em go!”

The crickets did not much like being set legs to fire. Maurice wondered if Bliss hoped the heat would make her champion jump all the farther. She slithered from the stool and crouched with the others, fingers arched loosely around the frightened bug.

“For king, for country,” the young lord chanted, voice gone high. “Jump!”

The crickets, set suddenly free, sprang. They were mute souls jerking in instinctive fear, flashes of shadow against the brighter fire light.

A shout went up. Bliss climbed the lord’s shoulders, lithe and laughing. Throat dry, Maurice set down his mug and stood up to better see.

“Granda! Granda!” Bliss whooped. “Legs of iron! He went twenty hands at least! Where’s the chalk? Mark it!” She squirmed, dropped free of the young gentleman and pushed forward. “Mark –“

Shaara loosed a ball.

Free of Shaara’s hands, the tasseled orb had little speed. But it had weight and direction. Maurice had to give the boy a nod for aim.

The ball clocked Bliss between the shoulders. Bliss was strong but she was near drunk, and distracted. She stumbled, grunting, knocking the young lord with one sharp elbow. He hissed and sidestepped, and the resulting crunch of bug beneath foot was audible even beneath calls for more drink.

The group before the fire froze. Then Bliss’s scream of rage split the smoke.

“Idiot! Wretch! Twice cursed son of a – “

Maurice took three quick steps, forded an already overturned bench, and grabbed Bliss before she could send Shaara tumbling into furniture.

“Fate,” Maurice warned, a low murmur into one grubby ear. “Let it go.”

Bliss twitched beneath his hand. “He dropped it! Horrid’s tits, he dropped his ball! Did you see –“

Maurice flexed fingers against her shoulder blade and she paused. Before the fire the lord picked crushed brown insect from the bottom of his boot.

“Mine,” Bliss groaned. “Did you see? Twenty hands if it was five.”

“Let it go,” Maurice said again as he righted the overturned bench with elaborate care. Shaara and his errant ball had wisely disappeared.

“Game forfeit,” the little lord drawled. “We cannot possibly take the measure now.”

“Because Granda’s smeared all over your boot, you clumsy arse!” Bliss clenched her fists. “Twas a clear win! You saw it! You all saw it.”

The indentured, the nobility and the king’s infantrymen all kept silent. The tavern waited with obvious expectation. The young gentleman smiled and reached across the planks for his purse. Bliss cursed and snapped dirty fingers around his pale wrist.

“Hands off. That’s mine. Won fair and square last round.”

“Entire game’s forfeit,” the lord replied, smug. “S’written in the rule books. ‘In event of unfortunate accident –‘”

Maurice grabbed and missed. Bliss’s knuckles burst the young man’s pedigreed nose while her knee found his groin. The unfortunate man went down, screaming, doubling halfway into the flames. Velvet and lace flared up. The crowd released bated breath in a roar.

“Fox take us!” Maurice lunged past cheering gamblers and tackled the young fool, snuffing angry flames with hands and chest. Out of the corner of his eye another bug twitched, smoking. Past the lord’s panicked whimpering he could hear the missus’s angry shouts and Bliss’s rising vulgarities. “And hang us all.”

   “You needn’t scowl so.” Bliss picked bits of straw from her curls. “It might have been worse.”

“I’m not exactly sure how. You missed his purse.”

“I didn’t miss it.” Bliss said, “I left it. After a shock like that the man might have forgotten his teeth but never his purse. It was a decoy.”

“For?” Maurice frowned as he spread his cloak at the foot of the bale. The wool was charred, blackened in patches; punishment for a good deed done. The night air blew ice cold. One pasture over cows grumbled at the coming winter.

“That,” Bliss said, pointing one slender finger.

Maurice turned. Shaara, settled with his head on his pack, held a gleam of amethyst up to the moon’s faint light. The boy’s eyes were very round.

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” Shaara answered, full of wonder. “It’s bigger than my thumb.”

“A family signet.” Maurice stretched lengthwise on his bedding and wrapped up tight against the chill. “We’ll never pawn it.”

“Not here.” Bliss tilted her chin, appearing to study the moon. “Next town over. Maybe two.”

“Not as easy as coins.”

“Worth more,” Shaara opinioned, suddenly wiser than his years. “Perhaps we can pry the stone free.”

“Perhaps.” Bliss tucked her own cape around worn slippers. She sighed.

“What is it?” Maurice asked, knowing the answer already. She had no trouble burning landed gentry on a tavern hearth, but her heart had its own moods.

“The crickets,” Bliss said to the stars. “I regret the crickets. Did you see that poor Granda leap? Like a stag in the king’s woods. Tomorrow he’ll be scraped up with the offal, just so much grease on the bricks.”

Shaara snorted. “You’re no philosopher-priest, Bliss.”

“No.” Bliss rolled over and closed her eyes. “I’m much, so much more.”