One Day Out There (Part the Third)
Title: One Day Out There
Fandom: Crossover (HoND/Aladdin/Beauty and the Beast)
Prompt: See Part the First.
Quasi had never seen so many people - at least, not this close. He’d seen the crowds at Christmas and Easter Mass, of course, and sometimes the bishop would visit, but never so many people dressed so colorfully, and never so happy as they were today. That happiness seemed to be catching, and he found himself smiling more and more and he and Belle wandered around the square. Everywhere he went, there was something that he’d never seen before: fire-eaters who breathed fire in different colors; jugglers who passed swords between them as easily as scarves; people who walked on stilts and on tightropes; musicians who played such beautiful music that everyone around them started to dance.
It was at one of those stalls that Belle smiled at him again, as she’d been smiling all afternoon. “Dance with me?” she asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Quasi. “I’ve never-”
“Me neither,” she said.
“Well, then,” said Quasi, “We might as well try, right?”
She giggled. “Right.”
They joined one of the circle dances, the kind with multiple partners passed back and forth. Quasi wasn’t exactly sure how the steps went, but after a few turns, he managed. He passed from partner to partner with as much grace as could be expected for someone who had only just learned how to dance. And that was amazing in and of itself. He loved this body, without the clumsiness and heavy stepping of his old one.
The dancing got faster, and the partners broke out of the circle to dance with each other. Belle was in his arms again, her face flushed with exertion, and he spun her around as the whole party moved in a bigger circle. He held her close to him as they began a promenade, and he realized giddily that he could feel her: her warm hands in his, her hair escaping its pins to fall against his shoulder, her heartbeat against his shirt.
He spun her for the last time, and they ended the dance facing each other, sweaty and panting. He had the strangest urge to kiss her, and immediately squashed that idea. He barely knew her - he didn’t even know her last name.
That didn’t mean that she wasn’t really pretty, though.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” cried a voice from the crowd. “Come one, come all! See the finest dancer - no, the finest girl - in all of France!”
Quasi shook himself. “Let’s go!” he said, taking Belle’s arm.
He and Belle made their way to the front of the crowd, where the visiting gypsies had made a stage. Their leader was still enticing any stragglers with promises of, “Mystery! Romance! Enchantment!”
“Witchcraft,” droned a familiar voice.
Frollo. Of course. He’d been enjoying himself so much, he’d forgotten the danger of being here. Frollo was sitting in his designated shaded box, surrounded by his guards. He looked away hurriedly. He can’t see you. He won’t recognize you. Nothing is going to happen, he told himself.
He didn’t see Belle also looking anxiously at the box, and at the captain of the guard who sat on a black horse beside it.
“May I present: Danse la Esmeralda!” cried the gypsy on stage. He threw down some sort of powder, which exploded into a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared, the man was gone, replaced with a beautiful woman in a red dress.
A haunting theme began to play as she started to dance. She moved slowly and sensually at first, swaying her hips and looking lustfully at the crowd. She began moving faster, pulling a glittering scarf from around her waist and dancing with it. She swished her skirt seductively at one of the soldiers, who loosened his grip on his spear. She snatched the spear from his hand and danced with it, twirling it, tossing it from hand to hand, and finally embedding it in the wood of the stage and spinning around it.
The crowd cheered and whistled, though Frollo, whom Quasi was watching out of the corner of his eye, merely sighed and looked bored.
Their leader ran out onstange again. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the pièce de résistance! Now is the time to crown-” he paused dramatically “-the king of fools!”
The crowd cheered again, as various hopefuls for the position clambered onto the stage. One by one they were rejected, until, at last, one stood victorious - a balding man with warts on his face. Quasi watched as the man was crowned, robed, and carried to a scaffold, where he was thrown flowers and gold coins.
As the excitement wound down and the crowd began to disperse, Quasi began to get nervous. He’d seen the festival, he’d been normal for an afternoon, he’d fulfilled his dream, and now it was time to go home.
He didn’t want to.
He’d had a taste of what life could be like without Frollo or his ugliness to get in his way. He could live life every day like this. How could he give that up, when it was so tantalizingly close?
Belle tapped him gently on the arm. “I suppose you’ll be going home now,” she said, looking down.
Quasi made his decision. “Well, I don’t have to,” he said. What a lie. “I mean, there’s always the food stalls and the sword dancers and then there’s the fireworks-” She put a finger to his lips. “W-whatever works for you, really.”
She cast a glance in the direction of the guards, but seemed to make the same decision he had. “Alright. So, where should we go?”
---
The sunset found them laughing outside a tavern.
“That was so much fun, Thomas!” said Belle. “Thank you, for that. I haven’t laughed that much in - in a while.”
“Oh, well, it was nothing,” said Quasi, the name sounding foreign to his ears. “Anyone would have-”
“No, they wouldn’t have,” Belle said firmly. “You’re different. Thank you so much for being different.”
Quasi started. Being different… that was a good thing? He’d been told time and time again that people hated anything that was different that what they were used to. Could Frollo have been wrong about that as well?
“Thank you,” he said. If he was going to remember tonight, he wanted her to remember it, too. “You… you’re different, too. You’re kind, and smart. You know so many words, and so many different stories. So, thank you. For being that.”
“I have to go.” Belle reached out her hand and touched his cheek, and then, very, very softly, kissed it. “Goodbye, Thomas.”
“Bye.” He waved to her as she walked towards the portcullis, then turned back around to go home.
A puff of smoke poured out of his pack and floated in front of him. “Way to go, lover boy!”
Quasi snorted. “'Lover boy’?”
“Of course!” said Genie, now dressed in a striped shirt and beret. “Ah, young loooove, how beautiful eet ees when eet ees new!”
“I don’t even know her full name!”
“Ah, but,” said Genie, now with a mustache and wrinkled forhead, “all dolls should be agreeable, with nice teeth and no last names. Besides,” he said, turning back into himself, “you need to go home eventually.”
“I know that Quasimodo does,” he replied, “But Thomas du Clocher has nowhere to go.”
“Well, I know an easy solution to that,” said Genie. He donned a black hat and pointed to words on a slate that appeared in front of him. “Run-away-from-Frollo!”
“No, no,” said Quasi. “I can’t, I can’t abandon the man who raised me. He took me in when no one else would. I need to change myself back.”
“Who says you can’t do both?” asked Genie. “Who says you have to let someone like that go?”
“And do what? Tell her I don’t actually look like this? She’d never believe me. And even if she did, what then? I’m a freak. I’m ugly. She wouldn’t want me if I changed back.”
“I think you’re projecting just a tad,” said Genie, making himself look like Belle in Frollo’s frock and hat.
“No, I-” Quasi looked at the setting sun. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Vespers. Every night, before vespers - I’m late!” He started to run, thankful that his new body made him taller, with longer legs.
“Late for what?”
He skidded to a stop. A crowd had gathered outside the Palace of Justice, and Quasi had a feeling that it wasn’t another juggler. Frollo stood on the still-erect stage, standing behind his new captain of the guard. The man cleared his throat, and began reading the piece of parchment in his hands.
“Citizens of Paris! Today, we seek to right a terrible wrong. For years, gypsies have run amok in this city and in this country, but now they have gone too far. Three months ago, they attacked a humble village and kidnapped a girl in the middle of the night, and still we did not act. We see now that this was a dreadful mistake. They have grown bold, and taken our lord Frollo’s ward himself - Quasimodo, the bellringer of Notre Dame!”
A gasp rippled through the square.
“How dare they?”
“-from the church itself!”
“Under Frollo’s protection!”
“That poor girl…”
“But,” the man continued, “these actions shall not go unpunished. I, Gaston le Mauvaise, with the full might of the guard, shall find these vermin and bring them to the justice they deserve!”
A cheer rang throughout the crowd, though Quasi could see some shaking their heads.
“From this moment forward,” said Gaston, “all gypsies are banished from Paris. Any gypsies found within the city limits will be arrested. Anyone found harboring a gypsy will be arrested. Anyone found giving aid to a gypsy will be arrested.”
An approving murmur from the crowd.
"Furthermore, the city shall be closed and under martial law."
A confused murmur.
"The gates have been barred, and no one is to leave or enter the city. Curfew is set at sunset each day. The city shall remain in this state until the hostages have been found and released."
A growl from those gathered in the city, though they remained fixated on Gaston's every word.
He rolled up his scroll, and brandished it over his head. “This is war, and we shall take no chances!”
Fandom: Crossover (HoND/Aladdin/Beauty and the Beast)
Prompt: See Part the First.
Quasi had never seen so many people - at least, not this close. He’d seen the crowds at Christmas and Easter Mass, of course, and sometimes the bishop would visit, but never so many people dressed so colorfully, and never so happy as they were today. That happiness seemed to be catching, and he found himself smiling more and more and he and Belle wandered around the square. Everywhere he went, there was something that he’d never seen before: fire-eaters who breathed fire in different colors; jugglers who passed swords between them as easily as scarves; people who walked on stilts and on tightropes; musicians who played such beautiful music that everyone around them started to dance.
It was at one of those stalls that Belle smiled at him again, as she’d been smiling all afternoon. “Dance with me?” she asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Quasi. “I’ve never-”
“Me neither,” she said.
“Well, then,” said Quasi, “We might as well try, right?”
She giggled. “Right.”
They joined one of the circle dances, the kind with multiple partners passed back and forth. Quasi wasn’t exactly sure how the steps went, but after a few turns, he managed. He passed from partner to partner with as much grace as could be expected for someone who had only just learned how to dance. And that was amazing in and of itself. He loved this body, without the clumsiness and heavy stepping of his old one.
The dancing got faster, and the partners broke out of the circle to dance with each other. Belle was in his arms again, her face flushed with exertion, and he spun her around as the whole party moved in a bigger circle. He held her close to him as they began a promenade, and he realized giddily that he could feel her: her warm hands in his, her hair escaping its pins to fall against his shoulder, her heartbeat against his shirt.
He spun her for the last time, and they ended the dance facing each other, sweaty and panting. He had the strangest urge to kiss her, and immediately squashed that idea. He barely knew her - he didn’t even know her last name.
That didn’t mean that she wasn’t really pretty, though.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” cried a voice from the crowd. “Come one, come all! See the finest dancer - no, the finest girl - in all of France!”
Quasi shook himself. “Let’s go!” he said, taking Belle’s arm.
He and Belle made their way to the front of the crowd, where the visiting gypsies had made a stage. Their leader was still enticing any stragglers with promises of, “Mystery! Romance! Enchantment!”
“Witchcraft,” droned a familiar voice.
Frollo. Of course. He’d been enjoying himself so much, he’d forgotten the danger of being here. Frollo was sitting in his designated shaded box, surrounded by his guards. He looked away hurriedly. He can’t see you. He won’t recognize you. Nothing is going to happen, he told himself.
He didn’t see Belle also looking anxiously at the box, and at the captain of the guard who sat on a black horse beside it.
“May I present: Danse la Esmeralda!” cried the gypsy on stage. He threw down some sort of powder, which exploded into a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared, the man was gone, replaced with a beautiful woman in a red dress.
A haunting theme began to play as she started to dance. She moved slowly and sensually at first, swaying her hips and looking lustfully at the crowd. She began moving faster, pulling a glittering scarf from around her waist and dancing with it. She swished her skirt seductively at one of the soldiers, who loosened his grip on his spear. She snatched the spear from his hand and danced with it, twirling it, tossing it from hand to hand, and finally embedding it in the wood of the stage and spinning around it.
The crowd cheered and whistled, though Frollo, whom Quasi was watching out of the corner of his eye, merely sighed and looked bored.
Their leader ran out onstange again. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the pièce de résistance! Now is the time to crown-” he paused dramatically “-the king of fools!”
The crowd cheered again, as various hopefuls for the position clambered onto the stage. One by one they were rejected, until, at last, one stood victorious - a balding man with warts on his face. Quasi watched as the man was crowned, robed, and carried to a scaffold, where he was thrown flowers and gold coins.
As the excitement wound down and the crowd began to disperse, Quasi began to get nervous. He’d seen the festival, he’d been normal for an afternoon, he’d fulfilled his dream, and now it was time to go home.
He didn’t want to.
He’d had a taste of what life could be like without Frollo or his ugliness to get in his way. He could live life every day like this. How could he give that up, when it was so tantalizingly close?
Belle tapped him gently on the arm. “I suppose you’ll be going home now,” she said, looking down.
Quasi made his decision. “Well, I don’t have to,” he said. What a lie. “I mean, there’s always the food stalls and the sword dancers and then there’s the fireworks-” She put a finger to his lips. “W-whatever works for you, really.”
She cast a glance in the direction of the guards, but seemed to make the same decision he had. “Alright. So, where should we go?”
---
The sunset found them laughing outside a tavern.
“That was so much fun, Thomas!” said Belle. “Thank you, for that. I haven’t laughed that much in - in a while.”
“Oh, well, it was nothing,” said Quasi, the name sounding foreign to his ears. “Anyone would have-”
“No, they wouldn’t have,” Belle said firmly. “You’re different. Thank you so much for being different.”
Quasi started. Being different… that was a good thing? He’d been told time and time again that people hated anything that was different that what they were used to. Could Frollo have been wrong about that as well?
“Thank you,” he said. If he was going to remember tonight, he wanted her to remember it, too. “You… you’re different, too. You’re kind, and smart. You know so many words, and so many different stories. So, thank you. For being that.”
“I have to go.” Belle reached out her hand and touched his cheek, and then, very, very softly, kissed it. “Goodbye, Thomas.”
“Bye.” He waved to her as she walked towards the portcullis, then turned back around to go home.
A puff of smoke poured out of his pack and floated in front of him. “Way to go, lover boy!”
Quasi snorted. “'Lover boy’?”
“Of course!” said Genie, now dressed in a striped shirt and beret. “Ah, young loooove, how beautiful eet ees when eet ees new!”
“I don’t even know her full name!”
“Ah, but,” said Genie, now with a mustache and wrinkled forhead, “all dolls should be agreeable, with nice teeth and no last names. Besides,” he said, turning back into himself, “you need to go home eventually.”
“I know that Quasimodo does,” he replied, “But Thomas du Clocher has nowhere to go.”
“Well, I know an easy solution to that,” said Genie. He donned a black hat and pointed to words on a slate that appeared in front of him. “Run-away-from-Frollo!”
“No, no,” said Quasi. “I can’t, I can’t abandon the man who raised me. He took me in when no one else would. I need to change myself back.”
“Who says you can’t do both?” asked Genie. “Who says you have to let someone like that go?”
“And do what? Tell her I don’t actually look like this? She’d never believe me. And even if she did, what then? I’m a freak. I’m ugly. She wouldn’t want me if I changed back.”
“I think you’re projecting just a tad,” said Genie, making himself look like Belle in Frollo’s frock and hat.
“No, I-” Quasi looked at the setting sun. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Vespers. Every night, before vespers - I’m late!” He started to run, thankful that his new body made him taller, with longer legs.
“Late for what?”
He skidded to a stop. A crowd had gathered outside the Palace of Justice, and Quasi had a feeling that it wasn’t another juggler. Frollo stood on the still-erect stage, standing behind his new captain of the guard. The man cleared his throat, and began reading the piece of parchment in his hands.
“Citizens of Paris! Today, we seek to right a terrible wrong. For years, gypsies have run amok in this city and in this country, but now they have gone too far. Three months ago, they attacked a humble village and kidnapped a girl in the middle of the night, and still we did not act. We see now that this was a dreadful mistake. They have grown bold, and taken our lord Frollo’s ward himself - Quasimodo, the bellringer of Notre Dame!”
A gasp rippled through the square.
“How dare they?”
“-from the church itself!”
“Under Frollo’s protection!”
“That poor girl…”
“But,” the man continued, “these actions shall not go unpunished. I, Gaston le Mauvaise, with the full might of the guard, shall find these vermin and bring them to the justice they deserve!”
A cheer rang throughout the crowd, though Quasi could see some shaking their heads.
“From this moment forward,” said Gaston, “all gypsies are banished from Paris. Any gypsies found within the city limits will be arrested. Anyone found harboring a gypsy will be arrested. Anyone found giving aid to a gypsy will be arrested.”
An approving murmur from the crowd.
"Furthermore, the city shall be closed and under martial law."
A confused murmur.
"The gates have been barred, and no one is to leave or enter the city. Curfew is set at sunset each day. The city shall remain in this state until the hostages have been found and released."
A growl from those gathered in the city, though they remained fixated on Gaston's every word.
He rolled up his scroll, and brandished it over his head. “This is war, and we shall take no chances!”