This is the story of Clotaldo and Geneviève. Gypsies, in Clopin's troupe. This is their story. Events take place before, during and after the Hunchback of Notre Dame. (1996, Disney version)
Dedicated to my friends and loved ones. I wish that this story would work for me.
Disclaimer- I own nothing. Was there ever any doubt?
She stared down at the water cupped in her hands. Pictures flew across the rippling surface, colors, shapes, sometimes even sounds. She somehow knew that only she could see them. She always saw the pictures in her hands, whenever she held water. Sometimes the pictures delighted her, sometimes they frightened her. But with the innocence of most five-year-olds, she forgot them almost as soon as the water trickled from her tiny hands.
She was now fourteen, a young woman by gypsy standards. She never told anyone about the pictures in the water, even though she would have been revered in the Gypsy band. She might have even married the King of Gypsies. But she did not want that life. She never saw her own fortune, just others or general pictures. Now, she mostly avoided looking at the water in her hands. It wasn't that she was afraid, but the visions that she saw when she was five never played out. It was just different now.
Now she helped her mother in her fortune-telling business, sitting outside the tent, playing mystic tunes on a fife or pan-pipes. She wore purple and black, with hints of green in the skirt and in her straight black hair. She also liked putting green powder on her eyelids to make her sea-green eyes pop at the passersby. Most older ladies stopped at her mother's tent looking to have their palms read or to have her mother divine tea-leaves. (The nuns and men entered in the back.) Her mother knew the secrets of the business; tell the customer what they wanted to hear, no matter how ridiculous it was. The tent was a purple and red affair, with her mother wearing purple and red as well, but with moons and stars thrown about her ensemble.
The tent roughly stayed in the same spot, across from a tavern called "The Helm". When Geneviève played her pipes, people listened. Sometimes they would stop and throw a coin or two at her feet. Sometimes they would go into the tent, and come out a few moments later, giggling and blushing. Her mother would close the tent as the sun set and they did not work on the Sabbath. After all, the streets were empty. They would loose money.
That's when a bunch of gypsy children would sit outside of the cathedral, looking up at the rich church-goers, reaching out with rough, but clean hands. The younger children with their large eyes always got the most money. (They could pick up fifty or so gilders a day if they really poured on the puppy-eyes.) Geneviève remained in the shadows with the other teenagers, making sure that no-one tried to take the children. Once in a while, they would have to intercept a kidnapping in progress. But most of the time, they mostly kept a look-out for the soldiers that Judge Frollo hired to keep them away. A sharp whistle, and everyone scattered.
Mostly, she played her pipes. If she wasn't working with her mother, she was working with one of the dancers that went all about Paris. Sometimes, the neighboring boy, a curly-haired, lanky fifteen-year-old boy named Clotaldo, kept watch for soldiers. His whistle was the envy of all the other boys, even the non-gypsy ones. He was amazing with slight-of-hand tricks, amusing the population for a few guilders. He was annoying and rather proud of his contorting abilities. His mother bragged that he would be the next Master of Ceremonies. Geneviève disagreed heavily, just to annoy him.
It was a winter's night. She sat in the Court of Miracles, next to her family's wagon. She was playing a new song on her pipes, a song that Clopin had played once. She almost remembered all the notes. She sighed as she hit a wrong note. She stopped and prepared to start over again. But before she could start, the pipes were jerked out of her hands. She let fly with a fist. The boy dodged it and sat a few feet away like a cat, teasing her.
"Clotaldo, give them back." she said, sighing. "I'm trying to get the song right."
"Doin' a poor job of it." he remarked, still not relinquishing his hold on her pipes.
"Who asked your opinion?" she asked, holding out her hand for the pipes. He smirked, made a few deft gestures and they vanished. "Clotaldo!" she cried. He stuck his tongue at her.
"Looking for these?" asked Clopin, stepping up behind Clotaldo and producing the pipes from behind his ear. He handed them back to Geneviève. Clopin winked at her as Clotaldo blushed furiously behind him. "The song seemed familiar." he teased.
"You played it two Fesivals ago, I believe." replied Geneviève, cleaning her pipes from Clotaldo's touch on her skirt.
"Always the serious one." said Clopin, smiling and shaking his head. Geneviève smiled shyly. "Now you, Clotaldo." Clotaldo flinched. "How many times must I tell you? You must be faster, or someone will catch you one of these days."
"Yes Clopin." said Clotaldo. "I believe this belongs to you, sir." Clotaldo handed Clopin back the miniature puppet of Clopin that he kept on his belt.
"And I believe that this belongs to you." Clopin handed Clotaldo his earring and engraved leather necklet. "You always find me out, sir."
"And I always will." said Clopin with a smile. Clotaldo reattached his earring and leather necklet. He caught Geneviève glaring at him.
"What?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. He brought out a deck of cards and started to play with them, practicing. She snorted delicately, then went back to playing her pipes. They remained like that for a while, not talking.
"Geneviève!" called her mother from their wagon. "Come help me with something."
"Yes, mama." replied Geneviève. She stood up, her gold anklets jangling.
"Hey." said Clotaldo.
"Yes?" she replied. He remained silent for a moment, playing with the ends of his hair. She sighed, turning back to answer her mother's call. "I'm sorry, alright?"
"What?" she turned, but he was gone. That boy could move like lightning if he wanted to. He was probably back in his mother's wagon, practicing with the giant ball for the Festival in a few days. Geneviève shook her head and went back into her wagon.
"Why won't Clotaldo leave me be?" Geneviève asked her good friend Odette as they got ready for the Festival. Odette shrugged as she searched for a skirt to wear.
"I really don't know. Why does his teasing bother you so?" She asked, holding up a bright red skirt and comparing it to her champagne colored peasant top.
"I suppose it's because we grew up together." she said. "He knows just how to get a reaction. I really can't stand him!"
"Mmm-hmmm." said Odette, staring at the combination of a dark blue skirt with a teal over-skirt with the champagne shirt. "How about this?"
"I guess." said Geneviève, creating patterns with her purple and green eye-powder. She attached the circlet with the sun ornaments around her hair, securely fastening it.
"Just that?" asked Odette, placing many gold bangles on her wrists. She reached for a few more, holding them out to Geneviève. "Here, wear these."
"They would over power the sound of my pipes." said Geneviève logically.
"But you can't just wear that!" complained Odette, still holding them out. "I mean, that's nearly what you wear everyday! Today's the Festival of Fools! You have to dress better!"
"Are you saying I don't look good?"
"No...but you could be a little bit fancier." Geneviève sighed.
"I really don't see the point. Besides, this is what the customers expect me to wear. It sets my mother's tent apart." Odette sighed as well.
"At least let me dress you up for the Feast afterwards!" Geneviève thought it over. The Feast was only among the Gypsies after all. If anything, she should have a bit of a change for the evening.
"Alright Odette. But only after the Festival has subsided." Odette squealed and hugged Geneviève tightly. "Yes, yes, stop that! You're mussing up my hair!"
"No I'm not!" They went through this everytime that Odette hugged her unexpectedly. Geneviève pretended that it was a bother, but she always hugged Odette back. Clotaldo's sharp whistle split the early morning air.
"It's time!" cried Odette, leaping up. She helped Geneviève stand and they ran outside with many other teenage girls, all giggling and laughing. Geneviève took up her place outside of her mother's tent.
"Good luck!" shouted Clotaldo as he dashed past. Geneviève waved as her mother stuck her head out of the tent.
"Geneviève, is everything ready?" she asked.
"Yes, mama. The city is about to awaken."
"Remember to wait until Clopin announces the Festival open. Then begin the music. Oh, and tonight, I want you to try your hand at fortune-telling!"
Tell me what you think, please!