1 – The author does not have any claims over Miraculous: Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir, Trollhunters, it's characters or elements

2 – Tale for entertainment purposes only

3 – A candy for who discovers what Strickler's fake ID name means.

4 - (Spoilers) Imagine a larger gap of time between the Trollhunters finding the destroyed Order of Janus and Strickler returning End of spoilers

4 – Please enjoy

LADYBUG BY DAYLIGHT

Paris. His city. Actually, the city of his familiar mother, centuries ago, but details, details. His beloved London can wait. Walter Strickland marched to a store. Two new sets of clothes, a laptop, a phone, a suitcase – he sniffed his arm, in disgust – maybe some cologne, and he would be ready to make his exile productive.

Next, to see how much power is left in him. He started calling some key contacts.

"You're toxic, Strickler."

He just savored a sip of the hot tea in front of him. The female changeling kept talking. She gave up dying her hair, the gray look making her even more imposing. The tailor made tailleur helped both transmit the idea of power as well hide the excesses of a good life of the City of Light, away from the dangers of Arcadia Oaks.

"The Janus Order wants your head, and for that we need to get in line behind the trolls and gumm-gumms."

"Always a charm, Margot."

"It's Miss Nills for you. Or Madam. Or Senior Director. Or even Lady Nilbergeot."

"But no longer Hotelier, as I see." He made a large gesture showing every sign, menu and napkin now brings the Hotel name with "a Hiliott Hotel" under it, even the deco starting to show the pasteurized look of the huge chain.

"That's another thing. I must now answer to both the Americans and the Order. And neither is happy. No, I can't have you around" Her mouth was shut with the view of two artifacts on the table. Two of the three only magic devices Stricker managed to leave Troll Market with. He kept the most common and less valuable for himself.

"Five days. As a normal guest. That's all I am asking."

Her eyes shone with the idea of power those can bring, before pocketing then discreetly.

"Two days. I will hide you for two days and you are out of here. I believe you come prepared."

The first call Strickler made from his new phone was to Mark. Or, as he likes calling himself, Un-Mark. Thanks to him, the changeling could sled two passports in Margot direction. She chose one.

"Very well, monsieur…" she opened it "Blake Hope. I will take care of your check-in."

"Make sure I have good wi-fi."

"Two days."

That's what he needed. A hot shower to wash away the disgusting smell of Trollmarket, of Angor Rot, everything. Adjusting his new tie, he fished from his old coat the only thing he wants from Arcadia Oaks now.

A Picture of Barbara Lake he stole from her house.

Well, time to work. He opened the computer, thinking how silly troll thinking is. Humans vs Trolls. One thing or another. Worst, his own kind, that travels both words, is slave of this form of thinking. Only few, like himself, knows how to extract the best of both words. It's borderline scary how easy is to make human money with the help of troll magic. And, to improve human system of fiscal paradises and untraceable accounts, the notes could be transported from one country to another via troll tunnels. Opening the bank page, Strickler checks the balance, worth of a Saudi Prince, no one could ever track to a history professor on a small American town.

First thing on agenda, making Hiliott people an offer they can not recuse.

Second, making his kind free and destroying every other troll in the world.

He spent a good part of the night working, getting ready for the next day.

Early morning, Strickler was enjoying everything a good hotel breakfast has to offer when the signals of panic came to him.

"Strickler! What in Merlin's name you did?"

"Good morning, Margot. I see the north-americans wake up early, or they have lawyers around the world. I know Catacombs is no longer the largest Troll city in Europe – far from it, but I want a troll or changeling engineer designing a second and a third level for the hotel basement, and a troll team working on it as soon as possible. You will be running our new nursery, along the hotel."

"To the pit with the americans. You-you are threatening to announce the troll existence everywhere. BBC, CNN, Reuters, New York Times, Al Jazeera,…"

"And now Trolls have a reason to help you building the nursery. And not everywhere. I did not contact Fox News. I have standards."

"Mrs. Nills, a call for you, from the central. They say it's urgent." Said an employee.

"You'll have a busy day ahead, Margot." Strickler got up "Also, change the décor of the restaurant. Carte Blanche, anything you like."

"Strickler, don't leave me in this mess. Where are you going?"

He took an object similar to a compass from his breast pocket.

"I will bring our familiars to safety."

It took a while, but the compass lead him to the place that gathered more magic in all Paris.

He entered the building and knocked on a particular door.

"So… you are a chiropractor, mister Fu?" Strickler entered the small apartment. "My name is Walter Strickler. Please, excuse my poor French, I didn't speak the language in centuries."

"Your French is fine."

"And that was not a metaphor."

Fu raised an eyebrow and got ready to strike.

"Shall we continue the pantomime, or can we go straight to business?"

Fu pointed to a tray nearby

"In a civilized way, over tea?"

"That would be very kind of you."

Fu poured the hot liquid on a teacup for the guest.

"What I am sensing tells me you are one who practices the arcane arts, but… not quite. Care to clarify?"

"Changeling. Half-troll. Impure, for those lacking manners."

"Interesting. And how can I be of your service?"

They both took sips of the tea, studying each other.

"As you may or may not be aware, troll changelings are kind of…bonded to the evil gumm-gumms. They keep… something very important to us locked out of reach to control our kind. Now, to rescue them, even if they were under reach, an army would be needed, causing heavy losses on both sides. Something we all want to avoid, right?"

"The best generals win avoiding wars, yes."

Strickler nodded.

"So, in short, I wish to save my kind."

"Your intentional use of the word 'wish' is duly noted, mr. Strickler."

"Bravo. I would not expect any less from a man granted so much power and responsibility." He took the compass out of his pocket again, and, after studying it, pointed to the old gramophone."It's an exquisite furniture. I don't want to destroy it. So, if you would be so kind to give me the Creation and Destruction Miraculous, it would be on the best interest of both."

"You are aware I can not do such a thing, as well as the present course will take our bout out of the realm of just words."

"A pity, really, so much for chivalry and civilized antagonism."

Strickler took another sip of the tea, before quickly pushing the table over Master Fu, trying to make him fall. The shorter man threw his tea on Strickler, blinding him for a moment. Fu tried to jump on the table for a strike, but his bad back betrayed him. Barely able to see a thing, the Changeling grabbed Fu's arm, right over the Turtle Miraculous.

Fumes started to raise from Strickler's hand, as he reverts to his Troll form, his face showing great pain, as he finally released Master Fu.

"Legends are true, dear troubled Changeling. Only humans can hold Miraculous."

A human Strickler finished bandaging his hurt hand with a napkin, before adjusting his coat.

"I had my hopes it would not be so, after a machine was brought under the influence of an akuma. The battle is yours, Fu"

Once in the street, Strickler chuckled. He still has two places oozing the miraculous magic in Paris. A large house and a bakery. He looked at his hand. Alas, he would need a human to help him. He got his phone and made a call.

"Young Atlas."

Part 1 of 3

Opinions more than welcomed