Gypsy Fever
No human being in his or her right mind would miss this type of entertainment. It was a whipping. The victim was no common thief or prankster or protester, but a Gypsy. The Gypsy. Clopin Trouillefou.
Clopin came up the stand not the least fearful. If fact, the Gypsy King was waving to the crowd and grinning, as though he was a full time celebrity. In a way, he was. Clopin held the Parisian record for having been caught and tortured the most times in one year, yet he was always at the peak of health. He let himself be secured to the platform, giving Frollo, who stood nearby, a playful wink.
The crowd gave wild cheers with every lash. The Gypsy himself erupted into a frenzy of crazed laughter every time the leather hit his barely clothed back. Even he was not quite sure why he actually enjoyed the pain, but it must have simply been a part of his twisted nature. He liked being caught.
Many officials had driven their victims insane over time, but Clopin had the exact opposite effect on Frollo. The minister had longed to just kill the little goat-spawn for a very long time, but the Gypsy had never given Frollo a charge heavy enough for an even half fair execution. Frollo just hoped Clopin's neck would snap under the whip or something. It never did.
When the sound of the last blow faded away among the crowd, a sore, bloody, weak, but very happy Clopin was cut loose. His knees gave way and he fell to the ground in a fit of giggles. Frollo, annoyed that the fool had received only pleasure from the affair, climbed up the stairs to the platform and kicked some blood-covered, unidentifiable part of Clopin, resulting in more giggles.
"Gypsy! Get out of my sight before I have that giggling tongue removed from your mouth!"
Clopin rolled over, choking but snickering, and gave Frollo a smug little look.
"I don't laugh with my tongue, Your Honor."
"You worthless pest! Go back to the sewers, where your kind belongs!"
The 'King' heaved his shaking body to standing, turning to the steps as though to leave. He threw one last glance at Frollo and something mad streaked through his green eyes. Turning sharply, Clopin leaped on the confounded judge with yet another serving of hysterical laughter. He clutched on like some wild beast, ripping Frollo's robes and trying to bite him. Disgusted, Frollo swung the arm being attacked and knocked Clopin hard against the cobblestone street. The unconscious Gypsy kept on laughing.
The essence of a cool wet cloth brought Clopin back to reality. He was back in the Court of Miracles, but Deus was he sick. When his vision cleared at last, the king saw the figure of a tall woman with messy hair. And one heck of a voice.
"What the hell did you think you were DOING?! Look at you! Your cuts wouldn't be half as bad if you'd gone back here sooner, instead of spendin' the day soaking in a puddle! What the hell's got into you?"
"Relax, Lolo. I'm fine. . ."
"Fine? FINE?! I wouln't have spent the entire damned DAY tryn' to heal ya if you where 'fine!' You're boiln' up!" Lolo slapped him hard across the face with the rag and kissed him.
Clopin's head hurt. Lolo was right. He felt very, very hot. The heat was going to his brain, making his thoughts go haywire. One thing that kept going around and around in his head was Frollo. That loathsome, bias freak. Clopin would have given anything to look at him again. He did not know, in the least, why. Lolo was ranting somewhere in the distance.
". . .And how you jumped on him like some rabid dog, what the hell was with you?"
"Ah, Frollo. . ." moaned Clopin. "Here, pull me up." Lolo grabbed his wrists and pulled him into a sitting position. Clopin moaned in pain. Wounds were hell, but they were the price he payed for his moments of fun. "I was just being friendly, Lolo baby."
"Friendly? You BIT him, Clopin!"
"You don't think I will turn into a wolf, do you?" whimpered Frollo, examining his bandaged arm. He was pacing around the room, wearing dark navy. His usual robes were still being resewn as needed.
"Anything is possible." Said a guard, who was not at all intrigued by the topic of conversation. With one angry stride, the judge grabbed him by the collar and shook him.
"You IDIOT! Why where you not THERE to protect me?!"
The guard shivered a bit. "Y-you seemed to have dealt with the Gypsy well on your own, S-sir. . ."
"Imbecile! Who knows what sort of demon that fiend has planted into my arm! Leave my quarters! NOW!"
The guard, rather thankfully, left the room, leaving Frollo to himself. The minister collapsed into a wide gray armchair and rubbed his bad arm lovingly.
"HHII!" Screamed a high pitched voice. Frollo looked up, to see a tiny puppet of himself just inches from his nose.
"What in the name of Maria?!"
Clopin's head poked through a window. "Give me your hand. Or hands. I'm sick and weak."
"YOU!" Frollo screamed. "Get off my property this minute!"
"But I want to look at you."
"Go to HELL!"
Frollo slammed the window shut, knocking the Gypsy unconscious a second time and letting him plummet down the 17 foot wall he had scaled. He heard the thud of a body and huffed in contentment. Perhaps he had killed him.
Clopin saw gray. He could not think. Correction. He could not think of anything but Frollo. He had gone completely insane. His fever raged.
Hardly able to move, and defiantly not able to trudge half across Paris, Clopin wandered aimlessly around the Palace of Justice, looking for Frollo, avoiding guards and laughing like a maniac. Half the inhabitants of the dark chateau were quite convinced that the grounds where haunted by the ghost of some vengeful Gypsy prisoner. They were not that far off, for Clopin was imprisoned in his own madness.
The Gypsy's laughter was toying with Frollo's sanity as well. He saw him gaping from somewhere down below every single night, and laughing at the sight of the judge. After about a month of this mind-twisting affair, Frollo had at last put his mind to simply killing the fool.
He passed like a shade through the courtyard of his adobe, looking warily for the thin man that had been driving him mad for so long. A distant shadow extended into the shape of a quivering man. Sick laughter rolled through the night air. Clopin made a weak leap, then, grabbing a bit of Frollo's robe with each hand, let his legs dangle.
"Don't make me go away!" he gagged through fits of giggles. "Let Clopin stay with you! Where I'm happy!"
"Gypsy. . ."
"WHERE I'M HAPPY!"
He continued laughing. Frollo flinched. "Oh, for all god's sake! Stop that infernal bawling!"
Clopin stopped his sobbing laughter and drug his face into Frollo's robes. Now that he had stopped making such a racket, the minister finally took into notice how unnaturally warm Clopin's body was. He thought of pulling away, but found he rather like the feeling of another's body pressed so close, so willingly against his own. Only half thinking about what he was doing, Frollo rapped his arms around the trembling Gypsy, sighed deeply, and closed his eyes.
Somewhere off in the distance, a little girl stood. She watched the pair for a few moments, then shrugged, and continued on her way.