Archdeacon Claude Frollo slowly sat up with a groan, one white hand pressed to his pounding forehead. He felt awful... Hearing an answering mumble, he looked around the room to a scene of violent disarray.
From his vantage point on the floor, Claude could see that Jehan lay on the bed, Claude's bed, half of his body dangling off the edge and snoring gently. On the floor lay several precious books, torn from their shelves haphazardly in an apparent fit of insanity. And two bottles of wine lay empty on the floor. The rich sour scent of alcohol radiated from the form on the bed. What in the name of Maria had happened last night?
"Jehan," Claude growled dangerously. He pulled himself up off the ground, ignoring the painful stiffness of his back and neck.
"Jehan! What have you done to my books?"
Claude massaged his painful neck with a grimace. "And why was I on the floor?"
No answer from the reeking Jehan. He stirred fitfully.
"See what your drunkenness has achieved? You disappoint me! ...Jehan, are you listening?"
Jehan grunted and shoved his head under the pristine white pillow.
"Jehan! Get up now!" Claude bellowed, stomping his foot though it hurt his aching head. Rising blearily, the man gazed at his older brother and mumbled something surly.
"I beg your pardon, Jehan?" Claude looked dangerous.
"I said, 'you're a damned old hypocrite'," Jehan said, sitting up fully and scratching his head. "'My drunkenness'. Bloody hell." He shook his head.
"Watch your language," the Archdeacon warned.
"I must admit myself impressed though, Claude - I thought you were a total stick-in-the mud. But you proved you really do know how to par-tay," Jehan smirked, picking up a bottle and peering into it to see if there was anything left. Snorting, he threw it to the ground. The clink grated on the Archdeacon's shot nerves.
Claude crossed his arms. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he replied coldly.
"Yeah, I guess the first time can be a little hard. But going into denial, isn't that a bit extreme?"
First time? What did he mean, first time? Claude felt a sinking feeling in his chest. And why was it that his memories of the last night were blank?
"First time doing what?" Claude questioned haughtily. He frowned disapprovingly despite the sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind.
Jehan raised one eyebrow at his older brother in an expression that radiated condescension. "Uh, getting drunk?" he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Spluttering indignantly, Claude gaped at his brother. "I never- I don't- you're- this is insane, totally- how dare you-"
Jehan didn't change his face. He just stared condescendingly at Claude until he stopped rambling on.
Taking a steadying breath and recomposing his wide-eyed visage into a look of immaculate and detached scorn, Claude refolded his arms tightly. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by this ridiculous statement? I am a holy man, free of sins such as the drink."
Jehan snorted amusedly, "That's what you said last night after your fifth glass." He flopped back down onto the bed, grasping his head. "Damn, Claude, your competition sure leads to a hell of a hangover, though. I feel sorry for you, what with it being your first time it must be even worse. And, you know," Jehan smiled slyly, "The fact that you drank even more than I did."
Claude remained frozen, the paragon of disapproval despite the memories beginning to return. Jehan had come to visit, and had convinced him to take a glass of the communion wine "for old times' sake," whatever that meant. But Claude knew he had not consumed more than two or three glasses... Well, he could remember four clearly, and after that things got a little fuzzy.
Inwardly acknowledging there might be some truth to Jehan's words, Claude chose to ignore them.
"Well, Jehan, why did you do this to my books? These are priceless."
"Me?" Jehan rolled his eyes. "You did that, brother dear. I believe you were trying to prove something about how Jesus was really a girl, but you couldn't find the right book."
"Still your blasphemous tongue!"
"You did say that, though. I think it was about the same time you were trying to sell me your cassock," Jehan grinned mischievously, standing up and stretching.
Claude massaged his temples, still throbbing painfully, and growled in annoyance. Jehan was an awful influence, and ought to be removed from his sight before his corrupting aura could further damage Claude's immortal soul.
"Anyway, thanks for the booze and money, Claude. You're the best big brother anyone could ever ask for," Jehan smiled sweetly, breaking into the Archdeacon's thoughts. "I'll be sure to visit again very soon."
Alarmed, Claude scowled. "Oh, don't feel obliged to. I'm certain I'll survive without you."
Jehan strolled across the room.
Money... Why did Jehan thank him for money? Claude never gave him any...
Realization dawning, Claude shouted, "Give it back, you little sneak!" and raced after his younger brother. "I didn't mean to give you any money!"
Jehan reached the door in record speed, gave a debonair wink, and slammed it behind him.
Stomping over to the bed in frustration, Claude tripped on an empty wine bottle and fell hard on his back. Head aching more than ever, Claude finally realized the stench of alcohol hadn't just been coming from Jehan. He would need a new cassock before the service...
"Oh, Claude, there's one more thing," Jehan called, poking his head back in the door. Claude started angrily towards his brother.
"What do you want, Jehan?"
The younger brother smiled like a spider that has caught a fly in his web.
"Who is Esmerelda?"
Fin.