~*Chapter One: Of Fools and Thieves*~
There was no whirlwind of colors or lights, no weird noises or sounds – just the awkward feeling of being sucked into her television and then the strangest sensation of lying down. She blinked once as something cold and wet seeped into her sock-clad foot, and pushed herself up on her elbows. She was lying on a cobblestone street, her left foot immersed in a slushy, frigid puddle, her violin case a few inches away. Her hair was soaked at the tips, and she stood up, brushing herself off. The thick, fluffy blue pajama bottoms were scuffed from being sucked into – well, wherever she was. As she scrubbed the grittiness from her eyes, she began to slowly take in the sudden change in her surroundings. She was standing on a cobblestone street, holding a violin case, in the middle of what appeared to be a city. A horse and buggy passed by, the iron-shod hooves ringing out frostily against the hard, cold stones, and she squinted. A horse and buggy? Whose got the what now? She thought to herself. A few soldiers – also on horseback – were accompanying the buggy, and she stared stupidly until the entire little party was out of sight. There didn't seem to be many people around; ahead of her, there was the sound of fast music and laughter, but she stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by her new surroundings. A wooden sign swung slowly, creakily, in the stiff zephyr of breeze that froze her wet sock and made her skin pebble. A storefront was filled with crusty loaves of bread, artfully displayed in a wheelbarrow and a basket; a bistro held a couple of shadowy shapes stirring restlessly in the gloom of the store. Overhead, the sky was cloudy and gray, downy gray skies knitting together to form a quilt of overlapping shades of silver. Amelia shook her head blearily, and then pinched herself hard on the arm. There was a stinging sensation, and she yelped a little. Okay, so this isn't a dream... She told herself, and then groaned. Oh, why couldn't I have put Star Wars in the VCR? I could be schmoozing with Qui-Gon Jinn right now, not sitting in a filthy street in the middle of nowhere! Not to mention I'm soaking wet and dirty, my hair is a mess, and my violin – Oh, my god, my violin!
Hastily, she popped open the snaps and checked her glossy instrument. It was intact, not even the slightest nick or scratch to mar the smooth, buffed surface. She heaved a sigh of relief and closed the lid again, hugging the unyielding black case close to her chest. She hesitantly picked her way around the puddles and made her way over to the sound of the music and laughter. Maybe once she got there, she would wake up. Or maybe, if she slapped herself really, really hard, then she would wake up. She ignored her ridiculous thoughts with practiced ease and stopped short when she saw a dense crowd laughing, eating, and drinking. Most of them appeared to be children, all dressed in ragged clothes with dirty faces. A few men and women were dressed in faded costumes with bright colors, wearing jester's hats or other silly outfits. There were clowns and jesters, stilt walkers and mimes, all of them laughing, dancing, singing, or telling jokes. Several couples were dancing to the fast music seemingly coming from nowhere. Absently, Amelia identified the rather crude notes in the simplistic song, scratching her nose and peering myopically around her. Most of the people there were blonde, with curly hair and fine features, but there seemed to be a select few who were mysteriously dark. These dark people had the brightest clothes, and thick black hair, along with strikingly beautiful faces. They looked, Amelia mused, a bit like the pictures of gypsies she saw in Disney movies. The Dark Gypsies (as she called them mentally) were doing most of the dancing, their ruffled skirts or trousers garnering them showers of gold coins. Everyone around her seemed to speak English, but with a heavy French accent, which was weird in itself. She made her way through the crowd, uncertainly stepping between a costumed horse and a man wearing stilts.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle!" Amelia heard a chirruping voice say. She turned and saw a Dark Gypsy child, complete with a brass earring in his ear and thick curly black hair. He had the plump, cherubic features only children under ten can obtain, and he smiled with a mouth full of flashing white teeth. One chubby arm was around the neck of a small goat, and Amelia saw with something like horror that the goat's ear was also pierced. "I like your costume, mademoiselle!" The little boy shouted over the hubbub of the crowd.
"Costume...?" Amelia said, bewildered, looking down at herself. She was wearing her fluffy blue sweatpants that she always wore to bed, along with a raspberry-colored tank top that was providing her no protection against the biting winds. The goat looked at her with a surprisingly human expression of skepticism on its face. Okay...I'm talking to a little kid and a goat with human eyebrows and a pierced ear...What's wrong with this picture? Amelia asked herself.
The little boy laughed. "Oui! You are a woman, dressed like a man! It is a perfect costume on Topsy Turvy Day!" With that, the boy skipped off, his arm still around the neck of the goat. Amelia blinked. Topsy Turvy Day? What the blinking heck? She said to herself. Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but she found her elbow being roughly jostled by an eager young girl desperately trying to push past her.
"Move, madam!" The girl snapped. "Judge Frollo is passing!"
Having not the vaguest inkling who or what Judge Frollo was, Amelia found herself chivvied backwards until there was a respectable pathway through the heart of the thick crowd. The large buggy that had passed by earlier was passing by now, and Amelia frowned, confused, as the soldiers clip-clopped past her once more. The carriage was iron gray, with windows along the sides, but black curtains had been drawn and gave no hint to what sort of person was inside. Half out of curiosity, and half out of annoyance, Amelia began following the small shoal of people tailing the carriage. With her luck, she would recognize someone and be able to wake up out of this dream. The horses in front of her abruptly stopped, and one of the soldiers twisted in his seat. "You there! Girl! Stand back!" The soldier shouted, and Amelia leapt back into the crowd like a frightened rabbit in a thicket. The carriage opened, and a tall, gray-haired man stepped out. Long black robes brushed the ground as he stalked slowly up a few steps to a seat connected to the stage. Several rings flashed and winked in the dim light, and Amelia felt a little twinge of fear as he passed. Judge Frollo – or whatever his name was – had a cold, ruthless expression, with a lip curled into a sneer and his long, thin fingers folded in front of him. He swept imperiously past her, and Amelia dropped her eyes to the scummy cobblestones. The soldiers broke apart, ringing the small pavilion where Judge Frollo was seated, and Amelia drew closer to them, like a moth to light.
"Excuse me," She shouted as politely as possible to one of the soldiers. She had been careful and selected the nicest looking one there, a tall, broad-chested man with blonde hair and beard. "Could you tell me where I am?" The soldier raised an eyebrow and laughed a little.
"You're in Paris, France, little one," He said, without a trace of an accent. She felt her brow quirking in spite of herself. "Are you all right? Does your family know you are at the festival?" He asked, a concerned look on his face.
"Uh, yeah, sure," Amelia said, waving her hand. "Thanks anyway." She forced her way back through the crowd. "Paris, France, my left butt cheek," She growled. "Since when do I pass out in New Hampshire and end up in France?" She asked no one in particular, finding herself by the corner of the stage. A tall man (He looked like a Dark Gypsy) leapt on the stage, his black hair grazing his jaw, his face covered by a mask, his head covered by a purple hat with two gold feathers stuck in at a jaunty angle. His clothes were a patchwork of the bright and ridiculous, resulting in a jester's costume with long black gloves. His voice was clear and ringing as he sang out above the crowd, his song strong and happy.
"Hurry, hurry, here's your chance,
See the finest girl in France,
Dance, Esmeralda...Dance!"
He flung down a handful of glittering white powder and a plume of purple smoke shot up, his tall frame suddenly disappearing. But when the smoke cleared, instead of the tall man, there was a breathtakingly beautiful woman in his place. Her black hair was roiling free down her shoulders, spilling like ink down her back. Her green eyes were vividly green and rimmed with a careful layer of kohl, making them seem larger than they really were. Her skirts were crimson and violet, deep ruffles hiding her long, slender legs, her breasts full and clearly visible through her bodice. Amelia felt her jaw drop at the sight of her hourglass figure, but she couldn't believe how amazing the woman looked when she began dancing. Her motions were fluid and graceful, sexy and taunting as she sashayed her hips and shook her thick hair. She felt a little inadequate at the face of such beauty, especially such graceful beauty; All at once Amelia realized she was clumsy and silly looking with a violin case in her arms, while this woman was, in a word, gorgeous. The woman – Esmeralda – flounced daringly in the lap of Judge Frollo, her silken blue scarf looping around his neck and drawing his lined face close to hers. Her expression went from sassy to playful as she pushed the stricken Judge back in his seat with his hat in his face, parading back up to the stage. The golden-haired soldier who Amelia asked for directions seemed to be very taken with her.
When the dance ended, Amelia felt herself coming back to reality. She shook her head blearily, stumbling back through the crowd. The song was starting up again, but she didn't feel like going back near the stage. She was confused and befuddled, wondering for the first time if this wasn't a dream. What if she had somehow been pulled through the movie and into the real world? It would explain how everything was "Disney-fied" – humanized goats, no French-speaking natives, gypsies, wicked looking villains. Amelia leaned against a nearby building and felt her heart rate increase in speed like horses escaping from a barn. Her palms, which had been dry up till now, began to sweat, and she shuffled her violin case from hand to hand as she wiped her palms on her pajama pants. Her eyes felt moist as she looked around her. Was this all real? A young man pushed roughly past her, hurrying away from the crowd with an excited look on his face. Amelia went sprawling inelegantly in the mud, scraping her arms and cheeks on the gritty cobblestones, and splashing dirty slush on her face, slopping it down the front of her shirt. She spat out a mouthful of disgusting tasting muddy water.
Yup. Most likely real.
Amelia got to her feet and clung to her violin case, wondering how much damage this violin could take. No instrument was indestructible, and violins were especially fragile. She didn't want it to be damaged; if she actually was in another world, this was the only replica that she had of her old home. Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, Amelia sat down on the streets and clicked open her violin case. Again, it appeared to be undamaged, and she stroked one smooth side fondly. It would relax her greatly to play, but she didn't want to let her guard down for a second. Also, the crowd was now screaming wildly, and the noise was terrific. She scowled at the shouts, and then took her violin out of the case, turning it expertly over to check the bottom. There was a minor nick on the bridge, but that was from several years ago during a rather awful recital. With a satisfied sigh, she nestled the precious violin back in the firm nest of velvet, dragging a finger down the slick side. When a voice sounded near her elbow, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle!" A familiar voice crowed. When Amelia finished hyperventilating and carefully piecing herself back into her skin, she saw it was the cherubic little boy who had commented on her 'costume'. On the other side of her was a thinner, angular boy of about the same age, with similar looks and earrings in his ear. "We like your pretty toy. What is it, and what does it do?" The little boy asked. Amelia scooted her violin a little bit away from him. She didn't like children as a rule, and this child was about to make her dislike them even more. If he laid one sticky finger on her violin, she would scream.
"It's not a toy," Amelia said brusquely. "It's a violin. And it plays music. Don't touch it, please."
"Can you play us a song, mademoiselle?" The other boy said, his hollowed cheeks filling a little when he looked at the instrument. "It looks very strange. How does it play music?"
"It's hard to play," Amelia said, burying her face in her hands. "Now please leave me alone. I'm kind of having a crisis, right now."
There was a childish giggle near her ear. "You talk strange, mademoiselle!" The plump boy laughed. "Where do you come from?"
"New York," Amelia said. "Where am I now? And don't you dare say Paris!" She warned. The little boy shrugged.
"You are in New York." He answered. Amelia blinked.
"What? Really? Where?" She sputtered. The boys laughed uproariously together, and Amelia slumped back on the gutter.
"You said not to say 'Paris'," the thinner boy chuckled. "Pierre was only saying what you wanted to hear. You are a funny lady. Can we play with you again sometime?"
Amelia shooed him off distractedly. "Enough! Leave me alone and let me have my meltdown!" She said angrily. The boys laughed and took off like twin comets. For a long while, Amelia didn't understand why they had taken off so quickly. She sighed and leaned back, her hand reached automatically behind her to make sure her violin was safe.
It wasn't there.
She peered at the spot, unable to believe that her violin had been stolen by two thieving little boys. When her muscles unfroze, she jumped to her feet with a shout of alarm. "Thieves!" She screamed, making the nearby pigeons flap lazily away. "You little thieves, I swear to God I'll kill you!"
She took off after them, her sock-clad feet pounding on the slush-covered cobblestones of her new home.
A/N: New chapter! And let me know what you think of Amelia. Her personality will develop in later chapters, I promise. And I know the descriptions are absolutely worthless, I'm so sorry for that. But my life is kind of falling apart at the seams (My children are fighting, James is having a tough time at work, bills are due) and my other stories are getting trashed by a really awful flamer. Anyway, I feel bad about giving you guys a sub-par chapter, but I've rewritten it three times and this is the best way it comes out. Enjoy, despite it's shortcomings.
~ * Special Thanks * ~
Firestorm N. Oh, honey, I can't explain how grateful I am for fans like you. You're reading a story you don't even KNOW just because I wrote it. I almost cried when I saw your review. There used to be the full movie on YouTube, and there might still be, but I couldn't find it. The only one I could find was a dubbed version that's all right, but part of the charm of Clopin is his voice. Anyway, if you want to find out a bit of Clopin's personality, go on YouTube and look up the songs "Topsy Turvy", "Court of Miracles", and "The Bells of Notre Dame". Those are the three songs he sings, and he sings them smashingly, if I do say so myself. Anyway, good luck, and I hope you enjoy this story!
Nostalgia's Mah Best Friend: Phoebus will get his share of luvin from his Gypsy girlfriend, believe me. Although that's not the main pairing in this story, there will be little hints to them here and there. Clopin definitely needs more love! I can't believe there aren't mobs of fangirls about him. GAH!
Fireheart Ninja: I hope you continue to enjoy it! And I hope I haven't totally ruined your liking of girl's getting pulled into movie ideas, because I'm just SO UNINSPIRED! It's not even funny! :/
kaitamis: Here you go! 8D
Eva Sirico: WOW! I'm not the only person who uses 'wicked'! I grew up in the Boston area, so my accent still twinges every now and then. But I cling to 'wicked', even though I don't write it very often. Yeah for wicked!
Fickle'Fan'Girl: I am soooooo grateful that you've decided to give my story a chance! I hope I can change your ideas of bad 'girl-gets-pulled-into-movie-and-ends-up-with-smexxi-character'. I'll admit, I thought of you when I wrote this chapter, mostly because this chapter is really below my usual standard. I can't seem to get a firm grasp on my muse – he's a slippery little booger these days – and I feel so bad that you guys get the short end of the stick because of my faults. Anyway, Amelia will get more personality in later chapters, just give her time. Enjoy!
