So yes, there is a reason why I'm not updating Paper Faces as quickly, and this is it! This has been stuck in my head for a while and I'm super excited to finally be writing it. I'm trying to take some of the constructive criticism you guys have wonderfully given to me in the past and put it to good use - longer chapters and hopefully a faster romance, though I've always specialized in slow-burning relationships, so I can't promise that one. This fic will also be longer overall than Paper Faces, since it has a longer plot. Chat/Adrien may seem a little OOC in the beginning, but I promise it'll get better - I wanted to play around a little with the idea of a darker Chat Noir, one who has gone for a long time without a Ladybug to balance him out. Please review, it helps me loads and you guys are always so sweet that it's a huge motivation for me to keep writing (also, bonus points to anyone who can tell me why I've decided to call Marinette's superhero form Scarlet instead of Ladybug). I hope you all enjoy!

dazzle me, dazzle me

dazzle me with gold

you'll never be what you want to be with

all that money, that money

In the dead of night, the only thing he could hear was his own breathing.

Sometimes, when he was walking the halls of the manor, he heard them whisper. The called him many things - a shadow, a ghost - but his favorite was Chat Noir. Those who had encountered him had spread the word of how they had seen him with their own eyes, seen the ears and the tail. He grinned, a flash of white against the darkness, as he imagined what they must have thought of him. They'd probably believed they'd seen some kind of demon. He much preferred Chat Noir. He'd even taken to using the name himself.

Hovering in the branches just above the road, Chat felt as if the the entire world was waiting along with him. An occasional breeze danced through the leaves around him, bringing the smell of dandelions and sweet summer along with it. He was happy for the warmth even if it made him sweat beneath his black suit. It was better than the winter months, when he had no leaves to hide him in the trees and was forced to crouch in the snow behind crumbling walls along the side of the road, biting his tongue to keep his teeth from chattering. Even the cover of night could not hide him in the winter, when the world was draped in nothing but white. He much preferred the warmer months, even if they raised a stench like no other back in the village.

His ears twitched when he heard the distant clomp of hooves. His claws shot out and his lips twitched up into a crooked smile, every muscle going tense in anticipation. He whispered, so softly it was nearly carried away by the breeze. "Cataclysm." The darkness bloomed against his palm like a flower and it felt dangerously similar to holding hands with an old friend.

(Sometimes Plagg would warn him that his abilities were originally meant to be used for good. He would always quickly retort that they made him good money, and that was the end of the conversation.)

As soon as the carriage came into sight Chat dropped from the trees, landing soundlessly. The driver saw him, opening his mouth to shout, but it was too late. With one swipe of Chat's hand one of the front wheels rotted away and deteriorated, causing the entire carriage to dip one way and the horses to buck in alarm. He smirked as the older, balding man was thrown from his perch on front and landed with a soft thump on the ground. He was still conscious, but he pretended otherwise and that was just fine with Chat. It made his job easier.

"Elric?" Chat grimaced at the sound of the voice. Female. "Elric, what's going on?"

He hesitated. When no other male voice rang out to accompany hers his ears drooped slightly. He hated this kind of situation more than any other, but he'd already gone to the trouble of breaking the wheel. Chat heaved a sigh before swinging effortlessly through the thin fabric veiling the carriage's window. The woman inside pulled back with a gasp, clutching her hand suddenly to her chest. Chat guessed she'd just been reaching to pull back the curtains. The carriage was cramped, but he casually fell back against the seat opposite of her and shot her his most charming grin, pretending he didn't notice the way she was shaking. "My most sincere apologies, but I'm afraid this particular road has a tax."

The woman - more of a girl, really - stared at him. She had wide green eyes and small lips that were pursed together, her brown hair combed back severely into a painful looking hairstyle. "A w-what?"

"A tax." If it had been a man Chat would have made his claws more visible and said something smart, but this was a lady and ladies were always to be handled with care. His mother had taught him that, once upon a time. "Just a trinket, perhaps, or gold if you have any."

"Y-you're a b-b-bandit."

A smart one, then. Chat resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead leaning forward slightly and trying to add a little more warmth into his smile. "Such a harsh word. If I'm a bandit for taking a trinket from the rich, then what is the king who taxes peasants all that they own?"

The girl blinked at him blankly and Chat finally gave up on her, his eyes catching on the pendant at her throat. It was red like blood and glittered in the dim light against her pale skin. Reaching forward, he grasped it delicately with his claws, careful not to scratch against her flesh even as her breathing hitched with panic and she jerked away. He took the opportunity to yank it, snapping the chain and grasping it safely in his palm.

"Y-you - you can't take that!" she cried out, but he was already standing to leave. "It's been in my family for centuries!"

Chat didn't glance back at her or spare her a word, instead slipping back out through the window and leaving her to stutter into the darkness alone. His gaze was drawn down to the pendant as he moved swiftly away, dodging past the anxious horses and leaping over the driver's trembling form. There was something about it, strangely familiar in a way that made his stomach twist. He wrinkled his nose and closed his fingers around it. Familiar or not, it was worth a good sum and he fully intended on keeping it. Just as he reached the edge of the trees the ring on his finger gave its familiar warning. His eyes flickered toward it, unconcerned.

He had what he needed.

"I've tolerated you for a long time, Chat Noir, but you're beginning to push at boundaries."

Chat didn't jump - not visibly, anyway - but his heart did skip a beat. He spun around, eyebrows shooting up when he saw a girl clad in scarlet leaning up against a tree, arms folded over her chest. She was covered with black spots, making her look not unlike the spotted red beetles that he was used to seeing in the forest sometimes. How had he not heard her approach? His eyes immediately darted away, out of habit. Chat Noir may not have been a perfect gentleman, but anyone would have been startled by a woman wearing something other than a skirt. He kept his voice even, though, trying to sound casual. "Who are you, then?"

She pushed herself off the tree, and as she stepped a bit closer Chat caught sight of vivid blue eyes. "It doesn't matter." Another step forward and she was only a few feet away. Chat considered simply fleeing, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. "What does matter, however, is that you're starting become less of a local legend and more of threat. I don't particularly care for people who terrorize this town. It's very important to me."

The pieces clicked together quickly. He'd heard of someone like her - even more shadowy and mysterious than he was, spotted only once or twice. A young woman who brought good fortune to those who needed it, though she never took credit. Unlike him, the peasants adored her. "Ah. I must be in the presence of the famous Lady Luck, then. Though I doubt that's your real name?"

She surprised him with a smile. "Just as I doubt Chat Noir is yours." She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the carriage. Watching her profile, Chat was startled to realize she was beautiful, her dark hair glimmering in the light while her eyes lit up with a confidence he'd never seen anywhere else. "I see you've gotten into the bad habit of stealing family heirlooms."

"Heirloom is just a nicer way of describing something old and dusty."

She raised an eyebrow. "A few coins here and there I could ignore, but this is getting out of hand."

"Oh?" Chat reached for his staff, extending it. He watched her go tense, eyebrows drawing together in suspicion, but he simply planted the base in the dirt and leaned against it. "And what are you going to do? Stop me?"

"I don't want to fight you, Chat." She left it at that and he surprised himself by not pressing the matter. "Truly, I'm not sure I even understand your actions. How is this helping anyone?"

"Helping?" His eyebrows shot up. "Who said anything about helping?"

She gestured to his ring just as it made another warning noise. "You were given that gift for a reason. To help the people. By using it to steal, you're only hurting them."

"I'm stealing from nobles." Chat felt himself bristle slightly, but forced himself to keep his voice level. "They can afford to lose what I take. They have plenty more back at their lavish manors."

"Who are you to determine what they can afford to lose? What if that pendant is vital to her family history?"

"Better to be taxed your history than everything you own," he snapped back. "King John runs the peasants into the ground, and more and more nobles are supporting him every day. Are we to forget those who work our land simply because they drew the short stick in life?"

She listed her head, considering him. Her eyes caught the dim light of the moon, the blue a sharp contrast to her red mask. "Of course not. But you were given the gift to save people, not punish them."

"I'll do with it what I please."

She was silent for a moment. "I'll let you go this time, Chat, because the damage is already done. But I'm warning you now that if I catch you doing something like this again, I won't be nearly as lenient."

He was about to snap back that he didn't even follow the orders of the king, so why should he follow hers, when his ring gave its final warning. She smiled, watching him knowingly. He grimaced before turning toward the woods, swallowing down the thousands of words bubbling in his chest. "You have a strange sense of justice, my lady."

She sighed. "I'm not of noble rank. If you truly need a name, call me Scarlet."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You think I'll be seeing you in the future, then?"

Scarlet hesitated a moment, then smiled. "I hope not. But I'm afraid I know you better than that."

Chat turned back toward the woods, grinning. "In that way, yes, I'm afraid you do."

And then he was gone.

(o)

"I need you to go into town tomorrow."

Adrien looked over at where his father stood on the far side of the room, watching a seamstress as she worked. He'd been directing her for nearly an hour, and for a moment Adrien thought he was still talking to her. He was looking at him, though, and Adrien gave a reluctant nod. "What for?"

"With the Lady Royse staying at the manor, the merchants will be putting out their finest goods. I need you to arrive before sunrise and purchase some new threads. Stop by the wool mill, too, while you're at it."

"Yes, sir."

And that was that. It had been that way for as long as Adrien could remember - no sentiments, no smiles. Just simple orders for him to follow. Sometimes he hoped his father had been different long ago, if only for his mother's sake. After her death he'd thrown himself into his work, eventually earning a place within the manor as the official tailor. Adrien had spent his childhood years wandering long hallways and making friends with the servant children, though he never understood why they always had to leave during the day. It wasn't until much later that his father, concerned about the company his son was keeping, impatiently explained that those children were peasants and were not to be associated with. It was then that Adrien had started to recognize the way that the manor no longer seemed so wide open and adventurous. It was then that he began to feel the stone walls closing in while his father's coldness suffocated him.

Adrien felt a flood of relief when the door finally opened. He would have been glad for any company besides his father's and that of the seamstress who was always too terrified to speak a word to him. His heart lifted a little higher when he saw Lady Alya swoosh in with one of her closest friends, the timid Maid Marinette, only a step behind her. Marinette had no title, as far as Adrien knew, but she often acted as though Alya were a queen and she was her lady in waiting. It baffled him, since oftentimes she was dressed just as finely as the young noblewoman.

"Monsieur Agreste," Alya greeted, and even though her voice was respectful Adrien noticed a distinct lack of warmth. He'd talked with Alya often while she came to be fitted or order more garments, and she had a way of infusing her every word with enthusiasm. Toward his father, though, she was distant and formal. "I've been told my gowns are ready. May I see them?"

Adrien's father nodded and gestured for his son to show them to her. Adrien rose, grimacing at the stiffness in his legs, before leading Alya and Marinette toward where the gowns were hanging in a corner.

"They're beautiful," murmured Marinette. Adrien glanced at her in surprise. He'd always thought she'd had problems stuttering, which was why she so rarely spoke, but staring at the gowns her voice was steady, if somewhat soft.

Alya smiled approvingly. "They're wonderful, Adrien. As always."

"Thank you, m'lady."

The young noblewoman reached out and took the skirt of one of the dresses between her fingers. It was crimson and silky, beautiful against her skin tone. "This one reminds me a bit of that story they tell in town. The one about the woman who brings good luck."

Adrien went tense despite himself, but before he could say anything Marinette glanced at her friend in exasperation. "It's just a story, m'lady. The result of some overactive imaginations." Realizing he was listening, as well, Marinette seemed to pale slightly. "At l-least, that's what... that's w-what I've heard."

In his mind he saw those bright blue eyes, a flash of red against the darkness, a smile that made him feel a bit too warm for his liking. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Maid Marinette, m'lady. She's just a legend."

"Such a shame," Alya sighed, releasing the fabric. "It's wonderful to think about. A woman who protects the manor from harm."

Adrien fought to keep himself from smirking. If she protected the manor from harm, then what did that make him? The humor faded quickly, though, replaced by irritation as Adrien focused on the red fabric and remembered her warning. He would go out again that very night, he decided as he watched Alya admire the other gowns. There was said to be villein family in town that was becoming just a bit too comfortable, even with the higher taxes. Surely a few missing coins wouldn't hurt them too much.

Scarlet had spoken to him much like his father would, an order that she expected him to follow blindly. As if he were nothing important, just something to be controlled.

But he wasn't. And that night, whether she came for a fight or not, he intended prove that he never would be.