As chat noir, the blonde teenager landed on your balcony, his sleek black shoes lightly skidding against the railing, as a black leather gloved hand moved to grab tightly ahold of the bar he landed on. He was in his chat noir costume, his staff attached to his belt. He clenched his hand anxiously, his ring pressing into his palm. His ring; it held his kwami, the source of his powers and magical costume. With a small huff, he slid off of the railing, wondering where in Paris he was..?