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A stack of comics sat in a criss-cross pile on the edge of Alya’s bed, autumn leaves of color on top of her quilt. She hadn’t touched any of them in years, save shuffling them around, and that was fine, honestly; She liked other things, journalism and chatting with people during student protests, interviewing Ladybug, fighting akumas with Ladybug… An empty paper cup of coffee, one week old, watched over her open ThinkPad R60. On the orange shelves by her bed, a row of Vincennes Zoo stuffed animals huddled together; The TARDIS paint on her door was peeling; On the other side of the room was a Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog poster she’d printed herself; The highlighter she’d used at school that morning only to find it was dry was on the floor.
Alya had set her phone down by her pillow. It was buzzing for the sixth time, and Alya was sure she’d let it go to voicemail to a sixth time, too. Marinette was calling her, and when the first buzz had happened Alya was struck by a funny feeling to just… not pick up.
She just wasn’t in the mood to listen to Marinette that night. Maybe that made her a bad person. In the meantime, she only had her room to distract herself. She’d left one of her Sheryfa Luna CDs on the seat of her desk chair, which had one wheel that liked to misbehave; The only thing in her trash at the time was a candy wrapper; Nino had bought her a pack of 8 Lip Smackers, and she’d fished the grapefruit balm out of the package’s middle, left the rest in the cardboard, and left the cardboard on her dresser; A stack of comics sat in a criss-cross pile on the edge of Alya’s bed.
Alya went to grab her copy of Majestia #1. It wasn't really the "first ever" first ever Majestia comic—The Volume 3 reboot had started its release in the nineties—but for a while, she'd considered it achievement enough until she could find an original first issue, a collector's dream, maybe 50 years old at that point and blanketed in a vinyl pouch. Alya enjoyed comics because they could get to the point; They said something, and didn't like to bury their meaning in stupid flowery language where the purpose was to sound nice first and be true later. Alya didn't like that shit either.
Alya ran her thumb over the cover, letting it spot as it covered the golden M on Majestia's bodysuit. Majestia stood proudly on the cover, grasping in her fist the collar of the gaunt and slick mad scientist Dr. Perfidious Guile. She remembered what she'd said to Marinette all those years ago—
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing."
—And felt this sickening, awful feeling that she'd ruined the phrase for herself forever.
On her bed, Alya's phone buzzed for the seventh time.
"I don't remember the last time she asked me how I was doing," she muttered to herself. It was funny; If she voiced her thoughts out loud, it was like she was in her own comic book, making up her own bubbles. "Sometimes she babysits the twins. She set Nino and I up on a date once when our relationship got rocky. But she doesn't ask how people feel."
"And why is that a problem?"
Alya's other hand went to scratch at an itch on her neck. Her kwami, Trixx, had made a claim on one of her mother's old bowls (which Alya had previously used for other jewelry. Not anymore.). Tucked in his arms was a bundle of red grapes, and once Trixx has twisted himself into a catlike position within the ceramic bowl he began to sniff at the grapes and eat them.
"What...? I mean, I feel like it's obvious," she frowned. "She makes everything about her. And that's- That's fine, she's Ladybug and things are about her a lot of the time," Alya conceded, "but sometimes I feel like I'm responsible for her. And she's never done that for me."
Trixx chuckled to himself as if Alya was saying it sarcastically. He had an odd voice, Alya thought, for some alien-magical creature-thing. Trixx spoke half-helpful wisdoms in a voice that was soft and mellow, a deep purring noise slipping past his snout. She couldn't even compare it to having a tiny old man as her roommate, because she would be insinuating that his presence felt remotely human—It didn't. He was more like a charming demon.
"Well she's not meant to. You are Marinette's keeper, after all."
One of Alya's fingers dug deeper against the rash on her neck. She'd tried everything, creams and bandages and allergy tests, and nothing worked. "That can't be true," she muttered as she continued to scratch.
In an instant, Trixx had disappeared from his ceramic bowl and reappeared on Alya's forearm, laying his head against the meat of her palm. He'd always seemed to weigh less than nothing, and instead of feeling herself hold the comic Alya could feel like she had nothing in her fingers but air. Her kwami snuggled up against her disingenuously, then spoke:
"Let me word it like this, and then it will help you. You have been taught the concepts of 'good' and of 'evil'." Trixx cast his eyes to the comic cover for a moment, as if to demonstrate. "It's a very comforting thought- Not just that the division is clear but that the two can even exist."
Alya crinkled her nose. She had a million things to retort with—Of course there were such things as good and evil! Look at Klaus Barbie or the Bobigny Trial! The Rwandan genocide! Amnesty International!—but when she twisted her mouth shut Trixx continued to speak.
"You think it is 'good' to be listened to, and it is 'evil' to be ignored. Instead, we need to think of it as: What about Marinette? The options are not 'good' and 'evil', but 'Marinette' and 'Not Marinette'. She wants to help you out when it serves her. To help you is 'Marinette'. She does not want to care about your feelings. To listen is 'Not Marinette'."
"What am I supposed to do, then? Just..." The words died in her throat. "Why her?"
"Ignore your feelings, yes. You mind her, you encourage her, you support her romantic endeavors, you take the blame in situations where you are blameless. ...Because she is Ladybug," he explained, "And she was made to be Ladybug, and this world was made for Ladybug to exist within it. In the same sense, you were made to be Rena, so you can't be too unhappy."
“But I am.”
Trixx had no answer.
The next scratch at the rash on her neck snagged on the metal chain of her pendant, and Alya let the chain coil around her finger—Once, twice, four times, enough to draw the silver fox’s tail up to her collarbones. Trixx leapt off her arm and onto the floor as Alya’s other hand dropped. Majestia #1 hitting the floor.
“I don’t want to be Rena anymore, Trixx. I-“ She looked away, her eyes watering and face twitching in anger despite that. “I renounce you.”
“Oh? You really believed us when we told you that’s how it works?”
“Yes! I renounce you, Trixx! I’m taking this pendant off. If Marinette thinks she can do just as good on her own, then she can prove that to herself.”
"If you take my pendant off," he warned snidely, "You cease to be Rena, and the only thing you'll be is Marinette's best friend. I don't think you want that."
Alya hesitated, long enough for the chain wrapped around her finger to let the metal bruise it.
“So what? …I can just make something else out of my blog. I’ll report on other things, I’ll stop talking to her. I’ll do something else, I don’t know.” The metal cinch around her finger started to ache, and Alya dug her teeth into her lower lip. “I don’t need her. She can be Ladybug on her own, and she can fight them and take all the credit the same way she always has and I won’t need to care anymore that she does that. And when she gets everything she wants I won’t have to care about that either. I wish I didn’t care about anything she wants. But I won’t have to, because I won’t be her best fucking friend, and she’ll realize that I never needed her in my life to begin with.”
“Oh, but you do,” he said, “You very much do need her, Alya Thérèse Césaire.. You want a way out of the world and that’s simply not possible. Your friends, your family… you can’t sacrifice them all to get rid of your responsibilities and I know your heart, Alya Thérèse, and your heart would never choose such a thing even if you could.”
Alya’s phone buzzed again. Marinette was still calling.
“Now, there’s a very special girl on the other end of that line and you need to be the one to talk to her.”
“She’s going to talk about Adrien again. I can’t stand him anymore,” Alya whined. Whining felt like the only thing she had left to even do. “I can’t stand hearing about him.”
“And yet you will. I know you will.”
Alya let both hands drop to her sides, and the pendant dug another red line against her rash. Tears rolled in tracks down her face.
“Pick up that phone, Alya.”