You accompanied Marinette back to the centre of the city, where she rushed to the park, and acquired a bird feather, for her Derby. Then, you stepped back onto the bus, and waited patiently to get back to the girl’s house; except, for some reason, the trip was taking longer than usual.
Marinette was visibly aggravated, since the school would be presenting the designs in about a few hours, and she still needed to actually make the thing; however you were just humiliated, because your dad’s brown fedora was still sitting lopsided on your head, as you’d forgotten to take it off before you left.
(Safe to say it wasn’t particularly well matched with your jeans and hoodie.)
“Oh, come on!” Marinette exclaimed, stomping over to the front of the vehicle, “What’s taking so long?!”
Second hand embarrassment slapped you across the face, as you awkwardly stood up as well, and held up a hand pathetically, preparing to ask her to sit down again, but the driver suddenly announced that everyone would have to get off. You stepped over to the automatic doors, and stared out at the mass of pigeons crowding the roads, stopping all transport.
“What in the name of…?” you asked blankly, taking off your glasses and putting them back on again just to make sure you weren’t seeing things.
“This… is weird,” Marinette admitted, cautiously exiting the bus, and moving through the mass of birds.
You could only nod in agreement, utterly baffled by the amount of them, and followed Marinette as she stepped towards the screen in the square, which was displaying a news report. According to the authorities, another crazy villain had turned up, who was to you, clearly very unhinged, considering he was wearing a swimming suit, and was talking about giving Paris back to the pigeons.
“I’ve heard of animal rights, but this is taking it too far,” you snarked, folding your arms skeptically.
“You said it,” Marinette sighed, shaking her head, before turning to you apologetically, “(Y/n), I, uh, I really need the toilet, but if you could go back to my place and wait for me there—"
“No, no, I get it,” you gave her a cheeky look, “go do your business.”
Marinette was thrown off guard by your acceptance, but quickly disappeared, and shortly after, Ladybug emerged, which just made you smile slightly. Then, you glanced around, wondering how to get yourself to the Dupain-Cheng bakery; a sigh escaped you, and you placed the fedora properly on your head, before beginning a relaxed walk across the streets, strolling through the flocks of birds.
Despite the ensuing chaos, you were somehow perfectly oblivious to the surprised shrieks of citizens, and the copious amounts of bird shit on the buildings, though you jumped over the white splatters on the pavement.
Once you arrived at the bakery, you were a little nervous, peeking through the entrance uncertainly at a Chinese woman at the counter. You knew that she was Marinette’s mother, her features were very similar to your classmate’s, but that somehow made you even more anxious. So, you slipped inside quietly, glancing around at the various pastries within the shop.
“Bonjour! How may I help you?” the lady asked in a friendly manner, noticing your somewhat silent entrance.
“Oh, I, uh, I’m a friend of Marinette’s, and… she told me to wait here while she go — I mean, goes and does something ,” you gabbled, tripping over your own words, smacking the side of your head at your idiocy.
(Curse your awful French.)
“Ah, you must be the new British student she was talking about!” Mrs Dupain-Cheng spoke, now seemingly enlightened, “I’m happy she’s making more friends! You can call me Sabine, what’s your name?”
“I’m, uh, I’m (Y/n),” you smiled awkwardly, stepping towards the counter warily.
You two shared some conversation, mostly about the troubles of immigration, before Marinette came in, after about fifteen minutes, and pulled you upstairs to her room; up there, you helped her construct her hat, which was a rather stylish Derby, made from the assortment of fabrics within her room. Marinette was a good designer, that was obvious enough, but the way she laboured with her limited resources astounded you, and you couldn’t help but respect her for her work ethic.
Once she’d completed it, you and her both hurried back to the school, and rushed into the entrance hall, where the competition was starting — Gabriel Agreste was nowhere in sight, which did cause you some confusion, but you didn’t pay it much attention, and instead only sprinted over to Alya, who was standing next to Marinette’s podium.
“Girl, where have you been?!” the brown haired girl exclaimed, before turning to you in confusion, “(Y/n), what are you wearing?...”
You paused, glancing up at the fedora still on your head, before posing overdramatically, and replying, “I’m cosplaying Micheal Jackson, you uncultured swine.”
Alya had to turn away to hide her laughter, while Marinette placed her hat on the stand with finality, pleased with the results of her efforts. It was at last complete, all that was left to do was to present it to the famous fashion designer; if Chloé didn’t win, that is.
She was the daughter of the mayor, there was more than a chance her patriarchal, white privilege would give her a foot in the door.
Alya rolled her eyes when Chloé rambled to the screen Mr Agreste’s secretary was holding, and Adrien just sort of stood there, either uncomfortable or tired. It wasn’t that Chloé’s hat was bad, it was just too… over the top. You figured if she’d been allowed, she would’ve put a sparkly ‘Adrekins’ on the front of the hat.
But that wasn’t any of your business.
At last, the assistant came round to you three, and Alya straightened up confidently, as Marinette shrank in on herself, and you stiffened, all too aware of the fedora still on your head. Adrien glanced at you, and gave you a brief smile, and you managed to fake a small grin, before returning to your anxious state; Marinette anxiously explained her design, relaying her drawing process, and then finishing off her explanation with her secret feature, which was her name stitched inside the brim.
“... very interesting. Your design has a very specific fit for a certain type of person.” Mr Agreste finally said, and you almost cringed at his stern voice and appearance. “So, who was your model?”
You almost threw up, but Marinette quickly placed a hand on your shoulder, and spoke, “My very good friend, (Y/n)! They come all the way from Britain, and they gave me some influence to make an English hat!”
All you could do was a tiny, shaky wave.
“I see, so it’s influenced by British culture,” Mr Agreste realised, actually seeming a little impressed. “A very exquisite design, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Congratulations. Adrien will wear your Derby during our next ad campaign.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Marinette cried out, absolutely elated; in relief, you practically fell over, having to lean on the podium, your fedora tipping over your eyes.
“Errr, (Y/n)? You ok?” Alya asked, giving you a nudge.
“Who me? Oh, I’m fine, I’m feeling like a,” you held up a finger gun, and clicked your tongue, “a smooth criminal.”
Adrien shook his head and laughed, flushing slightly, before taking the hat from Marinette, who turned bright red at the contact, and prepared to put it on; but then, he let out a humongous sneeze.
You, Marinette and Alya all consecutively blinked.
“Sorry, I’m allergic to feathers,” the blond spluttered, wiping his nose.
“Bless you,” you finally mumbled in English.
Marinette giggled, and thanked you again — but your attention was on Adrien, who gave you a bashful smile — what it was for, you weren’t sure, but it made you feel hotter even more than wearing a Micheal Jackson style fedora.