Clopin flipped through a book, desperate for inspiration, turning one page after another so quickly it hardly seemed like he was even bothering to read any of the words. One of the few advantages to Frollo having kept him as a slave since he was twelve was that in his attempts to convert Clopin and cure him of his heathen ways, the late Minister had taught him to read and write in both French and English. He'd tried teaching him Latin, but it being a dead language and Clopin never having known it before, he could only grasp the basics. He could read it, was able to guess at the pronunciations, but he couldn't translate it, though he made attempts at certain words since they were similar to French. He'd learned French, English, and Romani at a young age, so he spoke those fluently, thus learning to read and write French and English was comparatively simpler than trying to teach Latin. He was also taught more complex math than basic adding and subtracting and most people's standard way of counting on toes and fingers. He was quite possibly the only literate Gypsy in the Court which came in handy for times like these when he needed some fresh stories. He had a collection of books (most of them stolen) that he flipped through when he needed new stories to tell and had difficulty coming up with them on his own. So he lay on a pile of brightly colored, tasseled pillows in a corner of his tent on his belly, flipping through a book when Phoebus pushed aside the tent flap and cautiously entered, clearing his throat to get the attention of the distracted Gypsy King.
"Oui, capitaine," the King sighed, sitting up and literally tossing the book aside as he crossed his legs, "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"May I?" Phoebus asked, not sure whether or not he was invited in.
"Entrez-vous," Clopin replied, rolling his eyes and motioning with his long fingers that the taller man could come in, "What is it, Captain? I'm busy."
"I can see that," the Captain said with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "I was told that if I intend to marry Esmeralda, I have to ask you for a blessing and discuss a dowry."
"It is custom," the wiry Gypsy confirmed, grabbing another book and opening it, "And if you wish to marry the girl, then doing so by our customs is recommended. After all, marrying her means you becoming a part of the tribe."
"So in terms of a dowry," Phoebus stroked his beard, Clopin glancing up at him as an invitation to go on, "Shall we say… mmm, one hundred gold?"
"Mon dieu, man! She's a woman, not a horse! Of course, no man in his right mind would take a hundred gold for a horse, but that depends on how good a horse we're talking…"
"You little bastard…"
"Non, I must refuse your offer. Considering this is Esmeralda we're discussing, she's worth at least her weight in gold."
"That is her weight in gold."
"No, that's my weight in gold. She weighs slightly more."
"How much more?"
"For shame, monsieur! A woman never discloses her weight!"
"You have no idea, do you?"
"Nope, she won't say and I'm no good at guessing weight. Come now, Captain, she's the most beautiful woman in Paris, she'll bear you healthy children, not to mention attractive little ones, and she's feisty."
"I'd offer to throw in a goat, but she's already got one."
"Don't tell Djali that."
"Why not?"
"He doesn't know he's a goat."
"Hmm… she does look healthier than you. Of course, people would much rather watch a pretty girl dancing than listen to a creepy, old man tell stories. Small wonder she'd make more than you."
"I'm not old."
"Older than her, and I can't help but notice you're not denying the creepy part or that she earns more than you."
Clopin narrowed his eyes and pulled out his knife, "I have a knife…"
"I have sword."
"And damn good aim."
"You're still older than her."
"Very well, mon capitaine, just how old do you think I am?"
"Thirty-five at least and forty-five at most."
"I'm twenty-seven! I'm insulted!"
"It's not my fault you look like you're almost forty!"
"Esmeralda keeps telling me the beard makes me look about ten years older…"
"Yeah, it's the beard and has nothing at all to do with the receding hairline."
"You keep this up and you'll have to elope if you want to marry Esmeralda."
"Then we'll elope."
"That would make her an exile from the tribe, a pariah among our people."
"So one hundred gold and a goat?"
"She has a goat."
"You said he didn't count!"
"No, no, no, what I said was not to tell Djali he's a goat."
"I'll give you her weight in gold. Fair enough?"
"Bien sur! If you can find out her weight."
"… Merde."
"Good luck with that."
"So… do I at least have your blessing?"
"Oh, now I didn't say that."
"… I hate you."
"I sense some hesitation there."
"I'll be going now. We'll continue this later."
Clopin rolled his eyes as Phoebus left, shaking his head and cursing Gypsy Kings and grumbling about why this scrawny little devil couldn't make anything easy. Clopin put aside his book, folding his fingers together and resting his chin on them; why would the Captain expect this to be easy? Gypsies trust none but their own, Phoebus and Quasimodo were a rare exception to that rule after risking their lives to venture down here and warn them. Accepting a gajo into their tribe was another matter entirely. Generally speaking, any Gypsy girl that ran off to marry a gentile was banished from the tribe and no longer welcome in their community. But with all Phoebus had done for Esmeralda and her tribe, they were willing to make an exception and allow an outsider to become a part of their tribe… if their King allowed it. The blonde soldier didn't understand the honour he was being given or the gravity of what he was asking for and it was clear Esmeralda hadn't told Phoebus the entire truth. Surely, the war hero wasn't naïve enough to believe she was a virgin, but Clopin was certain she had yet to tell her husband-to-be who she'd been with, who she'd been engaged to marry before they'd met. Despite his looks, he was only four years older than Esmeralda, a little foundling raised by his aunt Gaia, he'd known they girl her whole life.
Since she was sixteen, she and Clopin had been on and off until a couple years ago when he offered her the match to his earring, a proposal by Gypsy custom. Knowing Clopin her entire life, she knew he was restless and easily bored, knew in her heart that his was an untamed spirit to belong to no one, to never be tamed by one woman. She'd accepted long ago that he'd be a wayward husband, his definition of fidelity being to always return to the same woman. She felt she could live with that, had accepted Clopin's proposal of marriage, they'd planned to wed after the festivities of the Feast of Fools had died down, but then she'd met Phoebus. As she'd spun with her tambourine, the emerald eyes Gaia had named her for locked with the soldier's cerulean orbs and she'd fallen hard, harder when he'd protected her in the cathedral. She'd always loved Clopin, but the flame of passion that burned for her King paled in comparison to what she felt when she looked at Phoebus. She'd discussed it with Clopin when she returned to the Court after Quasimodo helped her escape the stone walls of Notre Dame, one reason Clopin had been so delighted to hang the good Captain. A reason she didn't suspect since Clopin was slightly paranoid and trusted no one with his life, though he would certainly trust a fellow Rom before he trusted any gadje.
"My dear Esmeralda!" he'd gasped, "I didn't know you went for pretty boys! Ah well, I guess brains and personality aren't everything."
Typical Clopin had passed it off as a joke and Esmeralda had gone on her way, shaking her head at the usual insanity of her King, a small smile on her face as she tried not to laugh. Clopin, however, was seething inside and had then gone to spend the night drinking with Quasimodo, of all people, as they both bemoaned their unrequited love for the voluptuous Gypsy girl.
Now, here was Phoebus, expecting it to be simple to steal away a girl Clopin had long since staked a claim to, unaware that he was Esmerlada's first and her scorned fiance. Heaving a sigh that was threatening to turn into a sob as he mulled over all this, he returned to his book, marveling at how easily she'd forgotten about him. How little he must mean to her that she didn't deem it necessary to tell Phoebus she'd been engaged to him. Ah well, at least he'd retrieved a small part of the expected dowry, he smirked as he pulled out the purse he'd nicked from the Captain… speak of the devil, Phoebus's blonde head burst through the tent flap.
"Why, Captain! Back so soon?" Clopin exclaimed with feigned glee, throwing himself onto his stomach, feet in the air behind him, "Oh, did you miss me?"
Phoebus felt like he was going to gag as the Gypsy King batted his eyelashes, then his eyes landed on the purse still Clopin's hands. The very reason he'd returned after discovering it missing, not that he'd thought the man had actually stolen it.
"That's my purse!" he snapped, pointing to it.
"Well, we were discussing a dowry," Clopin answered, idly watching it dangle from his thin fingers, "And dowries are essential in a Gypsy marriage. Don't tell me you don't want to get married! And here I thought you loved Esmeralda…"
"I think me still standing here dealing with you proves I do," Phoebus returned.
"True, but," Clopin paused, "Shut up."
"Look, Clothespin…"
"It's actually Clopin."
"And I actually don't care. About this dowry…"
"I'm not giving the purse back."
"I'm plotting your death as we speak."
"Oh please! I already plotted yours."
"And it was foiled."
"Doesn't mean I'm done plotting it."
"Back to business. I'm well aware Esmeralda's no longer a virgin."
"Couldn't wait till you were married, could you?"
"Not by my doing! I'd figured when I met her that she wasn't. I'm not stupid."
"You're blonde."
"So?"
"Could've fooled me."
"So… I'm blonde, therefore I'm stupid?"
"That does seem to be the pattern. Blonde girls are usually rather dim."
"Except I'm not a girl."
"You're not?"
Clopin took a glance at Phoebus's crotch, earning him a rather nasty glare to which the King responded with a smirk.
"Prove it."
"… Are you not into women or just one of those that will fuck anything with a hole?"
"Such language from your mouth!"
"This coming from a Gypsy."
"What're you trying to say exactly?"
"Oh, nothing. Am I going to get an answer?"
"Oh, you mean that wasn't a rhetorical question?"
"No."
"I love women… but admittedly I swing both ways. Swinging one way gets dull."
"Just not blondes?"
"No, I do prefer intelligent, strong women and honestly blonde hair just doesn't do it for me. I can't see the appeal."
"Oh, so you do speak something other than riddles and sarcasm."
"There is often truth hidden among them."
"We seem to always end up off track…"
"Look, Captain, if it will get rid of you, you have my blessing! Now, take the girl and leave me be!"
The outburst was entirely unexpected, all good humor gone from his face to be replaced by a fierce glare that would've intimidated almost anyone if not for the pain that now showed clear in his black eyes. It was the first time Phoebus had ever seen a hint of emotion in those depths that were usually masked to betray nothing that he was feeling.
"Clopin," he said softly, stepping forward as Clopin tossed the purse aside and angrily began flipping through his book, "Look at me."
But Clopin seemed to make a point of avoiding the Captain's gaze even as the taller man knelt in front of him and reached out to hook a finger under his chin.
"You have what you wanted," the Gypsy snapped, pulling his head away, "Now go."
"Clopin," Phoebus sighed, sitting cross-legged, "We're friends, aren't we?"
"And why would we be? I tried to kill you."
"And I can forgive that and forget it."
"How?"
"I'm a soldier, I was at war for twenty years. You're not the first person to try to kill me, the first one to put a rope around my neck, but not the first one to try and kill me. Frollo did, too, less than a day before you. You… you were just trying to protect your people and your secret. I'm no fool, you're a dangerous criminal, but that's just one side of you."
"Yet you hate Frollo and not me. It makes no sense."
"Frollo gave me a heartless order I couldn't obey, he was ready to murder an innocent family."
"I was ready to murder you and Quasimodo, both of you innocent people."
"You inflict the same justice on them they inflict on you. How many of your people, innocent people, have been killed for something they didn't do? Far as you knew, we were still loyal to Frollo. I don't condone what you tried to do, but I understand. So how about you try burying the hatchet somewhere other than my back? Can we be friends?"
"If there's a point you're trying to get at, spit it out! Otherwise, take your leave and stop wasting my time."
"You loved her, she told me all about it. I didn't bring any of it up because she said you'd taken it well and seemed willing to just let her go."
"Because when you truly love someone or something, that's what you do: let go."
"I kind of figured you might be hurting or jealous or… something, you just didn't want her to see."
"You're a soldier with brains…"
"Thank you."
"I don't like it."
"So… you don't like blonde?"
"Not in terms of women, but you…"
"Let's not go there. I don't swing that way."
"I'll bet I could fix that." Clopin gave a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.
"And on that note, I'm out of here."
"That's what I was aiming for," Clopin muttered as Phoebus left.
