Work Text:
Adrien ran. His lungs burned fiercely, but he couldn’t afford to stop. If his bodyguard found him now, he’d never make it to the theater in time to see his mother’s movie. This was his only chance.
Speeding up, he ducked into an alley, climbed over a pile of wooden pallets, and crossed the street on the other side, nearly getting hit by a car for his troubles.
“Sorry!” Adrien called, laughing out loud from a mixture of adrenaline and relief. He was so close. He just needed a disguise.
That was when he noticed the dingy little shop at the end of the street. Coldstone Charmery, said the sign above the door in a flowing, old-fashioned script. Below that, in smaller letters, it added, Magical supplies, charms, and love advice at reasonable prices.
“Jackpot,” Adrien said aloud. Some kinds of magic required specific outfits. If he was lucky, this place would sell them.
A bell tinkled somewhere deep in the shop as Adrien opened the door. “Welcome to Coldstone Charmery!” called someone in the back.
From the road, the shop had looked like a small, dingy thing with more dust than items of value on display. Inside, it proved to be shabby but clean. The familiars in their tanks and cages looked well taken care of, and the smell of something sweet hung in the air, intermingling with the scent of old leather.
Adrien lingered by the magical sewing supplies for quite some time. He weighed a package of silver needles in his hand, wondering at how something so small could weigh so much. A spool of thread made of some unknown material glimmered at him. Adrien was the son of a fashion designer, but that wasn’t why he was so interested in sewing supplies. For a reason he couldn’t quite name, they felt comfortable to him, like a piece of home.
He frowned, returning the needles to their shelf. This was a real magic shop. All the residual energies in the air probably explained his powerful case of deja vu. There was no other reason for a collection of thread to feel so familiar.
Caged familiars stared at him as Adrien wound his way deeper into the shop. The aisle he was following snaked and twisted until he was certain that the shop’s innards had been magically enlarged.
“Impressive,” he said to himself. The shop was musty and cluttered, but it had taken some real charm-work to construct it. His mother would have been delighted.
For a moment, Adrien let himself sink into his memories. Emilie Agreste had been one of the finest charm workers of her generation. She had loved to take him to magic shops when he was little. Adrien would sit on the floor, petting an especially patient familiar or laughing at his reflection in a crystal ball, while his mother haggled over the price of a measure of powdered manticore talons.
A bittersweet feeling wrapped around Adrien’s shoulders like a heavy fur coat. He hadn’t entered a shop like this since his mother’s death. Gabriel Agreste’s magical supplies were delivered to their door.
Adrien was so lost in thought that he nearly bumped into the girl. “Oh!” He said, jumping back. “I’m so sorry!”
The girl jumped too, hitting her head on a shelf of postcard albums and dropping her duster. “Morgana’s talons!” she cursed. “Shit!” She blushed. “Hello. Welcome to Coldstone Charmery. Can you pretend you didn’t see that?”
Adrien laughed. “Definitely.”
Another flicker of deja vu passed over him as the girl bent to pick up her duster. Adrien frowned. Did he know her from somewhere? By the time the girl straightened up, the flicker of recognition was gone. He’d never seen her before in his life.
“I’m Marinette,” she said, gesturing to her name tag. “And I promise I’m not usually this clumsy. How can I help you?”
Adrien blinked. His strange turn and Marinette’s injury had kept him from noticing the other odd thing about her: either she didn’t recognize him, or she was the best actress he’d ever met.
“I’m here for a disguise,” he said, lowering his voice at the last word. “Or a new outfit, at any rate.”
Marinette stuck the duster in a pocket of her apron. She frowned, considering. “That’s a nice change of pace,” she said at last. “Most of the day shift customers want ice cream, love advice, or both.”
Now it was Adrien’s turn to frown. Why did a magic shop sell ice cream?
Marinette saw his expression. “One of the owners is an empath. He uses ice cream to read people’s hearts.” She shrugged. “Or so he claims. It looks like a basic divination variant to me, but it makes the customers happy.”
Adrien grinned. “Sounds cool. Maybe I’ll get my just desserts while I’m here.”
“Ugh!” Marinette hit him with the duster. “Why do you always—” She stopped abruptly, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ow. Fuck.”
Adrien hovered worriedly nearby. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it would definitely be inappropriate for him to touch her. So why did he want to? What was going on?
Marinette groaned. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was about. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought?”
From her expression, Adrien could tell there was more to the story. It would be rude to pry.
“Costumes!” said Marinette loudly, waving her duster like a conductor’s baton. “Right this way. You were almost there.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “What kind of thing do you need?”
Adrien chewed his lip. “Something to cover my face, at least.”
Marinette stopped in front of a rack of masquerade masks. “How about these? If you stay in the magic quarter, no one’ll give you a second look.”
“Perfect,” Adrien decided. He studied the masks with a critical eye, holding a few up to his face before selecting a black mask with pointed cat’s ears. Bright green ribbons trailed from its edges. “How do I look?”
“Conspicuous,” said Marinette, studying him. “But not like yourself. Black suits you.”
Adrien grinned. “Then you’ve just made a sale. How do I pay?”
“The counter’s this way,” said Marinette, taking Adrien’s hand to guide him there. Neither of them noticed anything abnormal about the gesture. “Now, will that be cash, credit, or memories?”