@randohopelessromantic, I am your Secret Santa in the Left to Write Discord exchange. I hope you enjoy!
There is definitely more of this to come! :)
Marinette let the rich hot chocolate trickle past her lips, savoring the little remaining warmth that lingered as she stepped into the tiny back office. Gloved fingers slipped up into her hair, brushing away the stray flakes of new-fallen snow that had dusted it on her sprint from the Metro to the front door of the department store.
The mug was already growing cold, but she didn’t have time to run out and refresh it. Not if she wanted to get this mending done ahead of her shift.
Fixing it wasn’t entirely necessary—it wasn’t like anyone else would really notice the tiny tear.
But she would know. And since Alya had extolled the virtues of doing this job—mostly financial—she was going to do it right. Besides, she hadn’t come up with any better way to offset the cost of her growing trove of knits and fabrics for University classes and for as many gifts as she could manage to make before the holidays. Wrecking her only costume change seemed like a good way to lose her new job, as it could spoil the illusion.
There were little kids who’d be watching her, after all.
And there were few who knew better just how much little children looked up to her alter ego.
With a long sigh, and an equally heavy glance down at her bag, she muttered. “How do I still keep getting myself into these things?”
Marinette shook her head. She thought she’d been so careful when she’d tried the costume on for the required rehearsal. Yet, thanks to her usual klutziness, it had managed to snag.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to think that Spandex could hardly hold a candle to her Kwami-based transformation. But still.
She slumped down onto the bench, wincing with the noise she made as she set the mug down. Her fingers gripped the uneven wood-grain of the bench before reaching into one of the lockers from the slim row lining the wall. The only thing it contained was the hanger that held the fragile red fabric of her ‘uniform’.
Marinette worried her lip. The sheer prospect of that very thin material being the only thing to truly keep her true identity safe… was troubling to say the least.
It didn’t help much that the fabric had actually torn while she’d been training with a young Human Resources intern not much older than herself.
It had been going so well. She’d been so sure that most of her own challenge would come in tamping down the banter she was exchanging with her mock partner. But thankfully, it wasn’t a problem if her sharper wit should sneak out from time to time.
She was “playing” Ladybug, after all.
The easiest part would be helping out Santa Claus. She’d already done it once before… theoretically, at least…
But the real trick was yet to come. She’d have to play off of a new adversary: a Chat Noir she was entirely unused to.
Setting a determined pace, Marinette let her fingers fly, allowing the calluses and muscle memory—and a very careful bit of pinning—do most of the mental work for her.
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