01 months 15 days
(November)
* warning of attempted / robbery

. __________________________________________________ .

"Get back," the woman warns, wielding her pepper spray with clammy fingers. She trembles minutely, eyes looking over the group once more with growing dread.

The male in front - the leader, she assumes - scoffs at her, drawing closer fearlessly.

"We just want to talk," he urges, smirking. He reaches a hand out, gesturing at her weapon. "What's that little thing going to do anyways? Come on. Let's have a chat."

An arm appears from deeper in the alleyway, looping around the female's coolly. At the same time, the other hand carefully covers the pepper spray when the woman fearfully and instinctively raises it. Eyes match the woman's, and it takes only a second for her to recognize the navy mask affixed to the newcomer's face. The woman visibly relaxes.

"She's with me," the stranger warns, stepping out of the dark.

The group of males visibly startle, grimaces flitting over their faces with recognition.

The stranger is short, barely 5 ft, and has a navy eye mask obscuring her features. Her black hair is clipped half-back with a silver barrette, five distinct tentacles painted on its surface. Her black dress is a high-waist a-line designed at the bottom to flair out and curl inward with a stitching that resembles tentacles. Silver leggings and a silver thin rope belt finish the ensemble, a navy whip hanging from the belt.

"You're just one," the leader of the gang states, stepping forward and growling. "If you leave now, we won't chase."

The stranger hums, stepping closer so that she is not quite between the woman and the group.

"Normally I'd say power in numbers, but this time it's quality over quantity," another voice chime in from above.

A few curses slip between lips at the arrival of yet another stranger.

He jumps down from the rooftop above, landing lithely on his feet.

The second stranger, in contrast to the first, is nearly an entire foot taller and has a light brown eye mask. His dark hair is artfully messy, and a black armlet with five large cheetah spots curled around his upper arm. He is topless and wears baggy pants the same color as his mask. Resting on his head is a hood that travels down his arms, covering his hands and forming claws. The jacket is patterned with cheetah spots and three distinct stripes run& down the back. He has a golden chain for a belt and a cheetah tail that hangs in the air, moving casually.

"Hey, man," one of the group's members mutters, looking to the male in front. "Maybe we should go. It isn't worth-"

"Shut up. There's only two of them," the male growls back before turning his eyes forward again. "Last chance. Move before I make you."

"I tried, Octa," the cheetah-male sighs. The octopus-female shrugs and makes a motion with her hand, as if shooing him away.

A moment, then the leader lunges.

Cheetah-male dodges the incoming fist, placing two hits in quick succession to his opponent's throat and chest. He swings his foot casually, and the would-be attacker falls to the ground in a heap.

There is a pause.

"Anyone else want to take me on? It's not every day you can challenge King," the male smirks.

In the back, Octa makes quick and soft conversation with the woman, unhooking her whip and swinging it out so that it wraps around some distant structure.

"Homebase?" she questions, one arm looping around the woman's waist.

"Sure," King declares, not taking his eyes off of the rest of the group who is slowly pulling out pocketknives and switchblades. "I'll even race you."

Octa shrugs, the woman's arms coming up around Octa's neck with a squeak as the two swing away.

"I guess no one is running," King notes after another moment. He falls into a fighting stance. "Well then. Let's dance."

. __________________________________________________ .

"You guys are earlier than usual," King notes, lounging back casually on one of the two couches of a rather-bare apartment - one bed, one bath, and one half-living room-half-kitchen furnished with necessities but nothing personal except a generic potted plant in the corner. The news plays softly in the background, the light of the small television casting sporadic flashes of light on the occupants.

"Just a few pickpockets," a female declares, taking the other free couch.

Her hair is up in a ponytail, her silver mask distinct. On top of a silver top, a black skirt, and silver leggings is a black furred jacket that covers her hands and turns into claws. Her belt is the same silver, and a black furred tail swings in the air behind her. Two furry wolf ears pop up from her head, swiveling towards sounds, and a quiver and bow hang on her belt. Silver bracelets and a black necklace with a 5-toed claw mark complete the outfit.

"And an elderly woman crossing the street," another male reminds, grinning and settling for balancing on the back of the larger couch. "She gave Alpha and I a cookie."

The male wears a segmented golden shirt and pants a shade darker. Sleek green arm guards and leg guards hang on his limbs with a small bag looped around his waist. His middle fingers extend out into sharp points, and a bronze bracelet with five leaves wraps around his wrist.

"That's nice," Octa comments lightly from the kitchen, two large pots set to boil on the stove. She turns one off, picking up the bulky pot with unexpected ease and pouring its contents into a waiting strainer.

"That smells delicious," a newcomer twitters, flying in from the window. "Octa, you're the best!"

The newcomer bears a sleek and iridescent suit of whites and greys with a soft blue on her abdomen. Wings extend from her arms, feathers of a similar blue matching the knee-high boots resting on her feet. She has on a pair of silver, star earrings - each point overlayed with a blue feather. Her tail feathers shift as she touches down, and her hair, this time, has been pulled into a messy bun.

"Just pasta, Hummingbird," Octa replies, blushing and shrugging off-handedly. Another blur comes in through the window, and a second later, two hands gather hers, a light press of lips against her knuckles.

"Anything from your hands must be good," yet another male purrs, eliciting a darker blush from the female.

He is dressed in grey armor over white clothing, a white leather tail belt wrapped around his waist. Elbow and knee pads protect his joints in a metallic grey, not unlike his armor. Tusk-shaped nunchucks hang on his tail belt, and large faux ears curl back against his head. White boots and a watch - bronze with five symbols on its face - finish the garb.

King growls threateningly from the living room half, and the male smirks in return.

"Knock it off, Haati," Alpha snaps before yet another argument could break out between the two, rolling her eyes. "Someone was laughing when they gave you the Elephant Miraculous instead of the Dog."

"I think you're enough of a 'top dog' for us," her partner jokes, half-smirking and half-smiling when she narrows her eyes at him, tail bristling.

"Down, Mantis," Alpha throws back at the male, smirking and growling coyly. She is rewarded with a yelp and the male falling off the back of the sofa to the floor.

King rolls his eyes (fondly, of course) at the duo and steps into the kitchen.

"Need help, Octa?" King offers, already moving to help the female lift the second of the pots.

"Table," she states, putting a hand out and stopping him mid-movement.

"I'll do it," Haati declares, stepping to one of the cupboards and pulling down plates. He smirks at King.

The two glare at each other, a low growl emerging from King's throat.

"Boys," Hummingbird laments with exasperation, stepping around the duo to pull out forks. Octa picks up the large strainer full of pasta and opens the lid of the second pot.

The scent of marinara and food is too much. Six stomachs growl in unison.

They set the table and scoop pasta out in quick, smooth work. Bowls pass hands until everyone is seated around the table with generous portions, the news providing enough background sound that they don't feel the need to talk.

"Once again, Ladybug and Chat Noir-" the news reporter declares as first servings are polished.

"I wish we were approved by our government just as quickly," Hummingbird sighs, helping herself to a second bowl. "We were active a month after they were but it's been a month and a half without a peep about our official statuses even after that media fiasco."

"Hawk Moth," Octa states in reminder.

"Explains the government's reaction," Mantis agrees, pointing his fork at the group. "I mean, they don't really have a choice given the police are ill-equipped to deal with the Akumas. Still but."

Another moment while a clip of Chat Noir and Ladybug swings across the screen, fighting the Akuma and bathing the room in a reflection of colors.

"I wonder if they know each other's identities," Haati voices, voice carefully neutral.

"We don't," King states almost as if informing. A pause. "Yet."

"Yet," Hummingbird repeats firmly. "One day. Maybe."

"-has finally released a statement regarding the group of Miraculous users roaming the streets of New York City," the reporter continues.

Alpha, King, and Haati swivel to the television immediately, their superior hearing catching the news. Mantis, Octa, and Hummingbird follow their respective partner's reactions.

"Despite their assistance to the police and the citizens of New York City, due to their declaration to avoid submitting under United States jurisdiction, they are now officially declared to be vigilantes."

"What?" Mantis voices, the indignation clear.

"This is utterly unfair, and I call bull," Alpha declares as the caster drones on, asking the public to keep an eye out, stating that the group is dangerous, etc.

"Well, I mean, I don't know what you expected," Hummingbird replies, shrugging in reference to when all six had first donned their masks.

"Oh, I don't know. A 'thanks' would be nice," King jokes, half sarcasm and half wish.

"We all knew what we were getting into," Mantis reminds softly, a rare moment of quiet and lamenting.

"I thought we did," Haati murmurs carefully. "I don't know anymore."

The rest of the night is silence.