As a thank-you for your waiting, here is the token 'funny chapter'.

Disclaimer: I own neither the concept, the setting, the title, nor most of the characters. I may as well bear no responsability for this fic, which luckily means that I can blame other people for how bad it is!

The Way We Live Now
-Tales of NDCSH-

14

Apparently, the new guitar blisters on his fingers had not been enough.

Phoebus had taken considerable care in making sure he had the time for tonight's Miracle Worker meeting right, since there had been a football schedule to work around. And yet when he arrived at the HQ's impressive, heavily decorated door, he found it unlocked, and the room within strangely empty. He frowned, glancing from left to right.

And then, from behind him, someone said "Now!" in an intense whisper, and before he could react, a thick cloth bag was pulled down over his head and someone was holding his arms behind his back with a grip that was gentle but utterly unshakeable.

Phoebus could see nothing. He began to struggle, but it was like trying to fight a wall.

Wait a minute…

Phoebus stopped struggling entirely. "Guys," he began, his voice muffled by the

cloth, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Ah, merde," said the voice of Clopin, "He knows it's us."

"Damn right I do," said Phoebus, trying to sound very unamused. "This bag smells like horrible old onions."

"That's because normally we keep the horrible old onions in there," explained the voice of Quasimodo, as if speaking to a child. Then, "Take it off him, Clopin, I still don't know why you wanted to do that."

"It's a Quebec tradition," said Clopin.

"Was that meant to be an FLQ joke?" asked Phoebus. "If so it was in very poor taste."

"You're just saying that because you're an Anglo, and because you have a bag on your head."

Phoebus could taste the inside of the bag; bits of lint were getting on his tongue. "C'mon, take the bag off, it's really pretty nasty in here."

He felt the sack shifting, and then it was tugged off and the world had light and fresh air again. Clopin balled it up and tossed it away. "You will do everything we tell you to, and you will not scream. In exchange, we will let you live."

Phoebus, knowing that some sick prank was about to be perpetrated, was caught between amusement and worry. "Oh God," he said, in an utter deadpan.

"I think that's a yes," said Quasimodo, who seemed to be enjoying himself almost as much as Clopin was. He let go of Phoebus's wrists. "Take it away, Maestro."

Clopin, grinning wickedly, directed them to a chair with a high back near a corner of the room that normally held a broad wooden desk. There was a curtain slung haphazardly in front of the desk, as if to prevent him from seeing whatever was on it.

"Assis-toi, and hold still," said Clopin.

Phoebus rolled his eyes, and sat.

"Ice," said Clopin, who was obviously giving the orders. Quasimodo nodded and scuttled behind the curtain, emerging with a plastic cup filled with rapidly melting ice cubes. He picked one carefully from the cup, and held it to Phoebus's right earlobe. The cold was shocking for a moment, and then slowly seemed to fade as the flesh numbed.

Phoebus had a moment of horrible, freezing realization.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," said Clopin.

"Why?" demanded Phoebus, hysteria creeping into his voice.

Clopin leaned in, grinning. "It's sort of like a religion, being Romany, you know. You date one of us, you become one of us. And, as everyone knows, we wear-" he tugged gently at the gold hoop that dangled from his own ear- "An earring." He bowed briefly, then disappeared behind the curtain.

Phoebus thought of his own ear, unremarkable, clean, unblemished, and of the great whopping needle they were surely about to poke through it. "How come Quasi doesn't have to?" he asked, indignantly, "He's Roma by blood."

Quasimodo snorted. "I'd look like a total poser, obviously."

"And I won't?" said Phoebus, his voice cracking pathetically.

"But you are a poser. So that's okay."

"I hate you two," Phoebus whined.

His ear was now mostly numb, but he felt the wetness go away as Quasimodo removed the ice. It was almost completely melted by now, and he dropped the shrunken remainder into the cup, flicking water from his hand.

Clopin re-emerged, holding a small piece of apple and a three-inch darning needle. The needle looked evil. Its tip was blackened, as if it had been held in a flame, and viciously sharp. He knelt, holding the apple to the back of Phoebus's earlobe, and stared down the length of the needle, aiming it like a tiny spear.

Phoebus's head was spinning. He opened his mouth, and got out the words, "Wait, don't-". Then a biting pain speared through his left earlobe, burning hot and oh god it was in his ear-

He fainted.

--

Clopin pulled the needle out, glancing at Phoebus. "A perfect piercing, and- Hey, what happened to him?"

Quasimodo, whose face was in his hands, groaned. "Wrong ear, dumbass."

Poor Phoebus. We like to pick on him.

-Mostly harmless.