[ adrien wakes up from the haze in a both unfamiliar but familiar area; plagg's knocked out, fatigued, on his chest, though that soon changes when his charge bolts up. costume-less. he had been chat noir... there was ladybug, the danger and he— like always he just acted, and then there was a blackness like his name. he's adrien as he peers very carefully onto the streets, sinking back as he recognizes the area as marinette's family bakery.
his head isn't the only thing that protests at such quick action. plagg recovers just as adrien lifts a hand up to the pain that hits him at the back of the head so suddenly, though the boy's hardly giving any thought to that. he's fully aware of every detail of the injury, and even as he sways somewhat grasping the armrest of the chair he had woken up in for stability, he's not thinking about the gash or the blood at all. ]
What a rude wake up! All this hard work, but I can't even get a proper nap—
Plagg... [ is adrien's distracted response. did he mess up? if he was here, that meant it had to be ladybug that brought him. that brought all the thoughts rushing forward, a million explanations and maybes and implications buzzing through his mind.
ladybug brought him to marinette's house. did that mean ladybug was marinette? no, no, his lady was always so careful about her identity, so maybe instead she brought him to a place she knew was safe, which was marinette's place, which meant marinette at least knew ladybug, that would make sense from that time with le dessinateur wouldn't it and god, his head. ]
And now you're overthinking it all again. Do you even know what you did?
I know, I know— [ did that mean marinette knew who ladybug was? ladybug knew who he was, maybe, unless she just left him here and then bolted but he doubts she would've, not without knowing he was at least okay and had someone who could handle him, so did marinette know who he was or... ugh. ]
Tell me when you've got some cheese and you're done giving yourself a heada—
[ sounds from below. ]
— Plagg. [ he says again, as a warning, though adrien finds it almost silly that he's motioning for his kwami to disappear into his clothes when he'd been sitting there unconscious and exposed for who knows how long, but it's a habit and a reflex.
he's not sure who's coming up. there's a part of him that expects ladybug, and there's a part of him that expects marinette, and then there's a part of him that's saying is there a difference while another tells him that of course there is, there's no way what he's been waiting for would be this simple or this clumsy or as easy as getting clobbered on the head—
it's marinette. she gasps, and maybe she knows, but he doesn't know if "it's marinette" is the answer to the question beyond just "who came out of the trapdoor". the buzzing doesn't stop. the only thing he can muster together in the muddled everything that is this entire situation is a very lame, weak: ]
... Uh. Hey.
[ I'M CHAT NOIR! is not what he proclaims from the rooftops. everything about adrien at the moment betrays his absolutely reeling inside.
u3u ugh i tl;dred im sorry
his head isn't the only thing that protests at such quick action. plagg recovers just as adrien lifts a hand up to the pain that hits him at the back of the head so suddenly, though the boy's hardly giving any thought to that. he's fully aware of every detail of the injury, and even as he sways somewhat grasping the armrest of the chair he had woken up in for stability, he's not thinking about the gash or the blood at all. ]
What a rude wake up! All this hard work, but I can't even get a proper nap—
Plagg... [ is adrien's distracted response. did he mess up? if he was here, that meant it had to be ladybug that brought him. that brought all the thoughts rushing forward, a million explanations and maybes and implications buzzing through his mind.
ladybug brought him to marinette's house. did that mean ladybug was marinette? no, no, his lady was always so careful about her identity, so maybe instead she brought him to a place she knew was safe, which was marinette's place, which meant marinette at least knew ladybug, that would make sense from that time with le dessinateur wouldn't it and god, his head. ]
And now you're overthinking it all again. Do you even know what you did?
I know, I know— [ did that mean marinette knew who ladybug was? ladybug knew who he was, maybe, unless she just left him here and then bolted but he doubts she would've, not without knowing he was at least okay and had someone who could handle him, so did marinette know who he was or... ugh. ]
Tell me when you've got some cheese and you're done giving yourself a heada—
[ sounds from below. ]
— Plagg. [ he says again, as a warning, though adrien finds it almost silly that he's motioning for his kwami to disappear into his clothes when he'd been sitting there unconscious and exposed for who knows how long, but it's a habit and a reflex.
he's not sure who's coming up. there's a part of him that expects ladybug, and there's a part of him that expects marinette, and then there's a part of him that's saying is there a difference while another tells him that of course there is, there's no way what he's been waiting for would be this simple or this clumsy or as easy as getting clobbered on the head—
it's marinette. she gasps, and maybe she knows, but he doesn't know if "it's marinette" is the answer to the question beyond just "who came out of the trapdoor". the buzzing doesn't stop. the only thing he can muster together in the muddled everything that is this entire situation is a very lame, weak: ]
... Uh. Hey.
[ I'M CHAT NOIR! is not what he proclaims from the rooftops. everything about adrien at the moment betrays his absolutely reeling inside.
C'EST LA VIE. ]