Miraculous Ladybug: Get me out of here

My new fear of pigeons

I have a confession to make: I like knitting.

Yeah, I know, it's not the most manly hobby, but I still enjoy it. And guess what? My dad actually introduced it to me. He was a big fan of sewing, knitting, and crocheting. He even owned an online store where he sold his hand-knitted products.

"Going well?" Dad asked, peering over my shoulder. I was working on a scarf that I'd been making for a while. Yeah, knitting is pretty time-consuming. But it was turning out pretty okay: nice colours, good form, my poor fingers...

"I guess," I shrugged.

Dad clapped my shoulder. Like me, he had olive skin, but his brown hair was a lot darker. His name was Abbé Couture, and he had a rounded beard, hairy arms, and brown eyes. He was kind of on the chubby side, wearing a red sweater, tracksuit pants, and brown sneakers. He lived in a much smaller house than my mom did, a lot junkier too, but I actually liked his house more than my mom's.

It was nostalgic, since he'd lived in the place since I was a baby. He'd been using the same old red walls and wooden floor for years. He had lots of junk lying around, even in his room. The living room was kind of a mess, with an old TV, a half-dead computer, and a surprisingly comfy couch. He always made a good dinner for the two of us, and we'd sit on the couch, watching TV and eating our food. Even though the TV had crap quality we could still laugh over old cringey movies.

As much as I liked my mom's house, it was always full of people. Either Avril or the vermin twins or some of her friends, I didn't get to see Mom as much as I might've wanted. But at my dad's? It was just me and him. And I liked that. It was good. I didn't want it to change.

Today's story starts in my bedroom, with me sitting at my super-messy desk. My desk was right in front of the window, so I could people-watch whenever I wanted. My bed was next to me, also kind of messy. It had way too many pillows, for a start. The red walls had a few old Metallica and Pink Floyd posters, and maybe a car poster or two. The floor had a grey mat under the bed.

"Looks like it," Dad agreed. He put his arms behind his head. "Y'know, John, if you get good enough at knitting, you could start your own fashion line."

"It's more of a hobby, Dad," I rectified. "I don't want to get too serious with it."

Dad shrugged. "Well, it's up to you. You're pretty good, kiddo. You take after your old man."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"You could at least check out Adrien Agreste's next photoshoot," Dad told me. "Who knows? You might get some inspiration. After all, I think that boy's the same age as you, and he's already modelling."

"A photo shoot?" I snorted. "No thanks."

And besides, the previous two times I'd seen Adrien, bad things happened. I don't believe in superstition, but I was not risking a third time.

"Aw, c'mon John," Dad grinned. "Give it a go. You can't knock it until you try it!"

He had his 'dad eyes' on, so I gave in.

"Fine," I groaned. "I'll go."

You'd think after the last time I wouldn't go for anymore walks, but there I was.

This time I decided to avoid the park and instead, I went over to the Trocadéro. The Trocadéro is an area of Paris, across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. In case you've never seen it, the Trocadéro is pretty much a bunch of buildings surrounding a park. There's plenty of places to sit around and people-watch. (Trust me, I don't people watch that much.)

So anyway, I went over there since I like the Trocadéro a lot. And you'll never guess who I saw. It was Mar- gotcha! It was a weirdo who looked like a pigeon feeding pigeons! I'd seen the guy before. He was technically not supposed to be feeding pigeons since it was illegal, but he continued doing it anyway.*