Sorry! This chapter isn't very good, but I'll get things rolling in the next.

And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones

Chapter 5: Buttons, Buckles, Ruffles and Lace

Despite how close he was to his mother, Chauvelin had managed to put aside grief of her death rather quickly and return to a state of relative normality. Of course, normal is being used in the loosest of terms. He, Mercier and Coupeau became extremely close because of the incident, and his quick recovery was due largely in part to the efforts of the other two to be as good as possible to the grief stricken boy.

The three were never seen apart except for at the end of the day when it was time to return home, and even then, Chauvelin and Coupeau remained together, as the timid boy's mother had taken the orphan whoreson into her home with open arms, much to the horror and dismay of her only son. Mind you, Coupeau loved Chauvelin, but he was certainly not the type that he wanted living in his good, Christian household; the dark-haired boy may well have been the antichrist for the way he behaved.

Though a bit more quite, a bit more morose and bitter than before, Chauvelin continued on in his usual fashion,with the tiny wheels in his head spinning at triple the rate as before, trying to find a way to get out of the miserable hole he called home. He had become broody and reclusive, so when he had finally broken the silence between himself and his friends with his usual cry of, "I have an idea," even the wary Coupeau jumped at the thought that his friend may be returning to his usual state of temperament.

Of course, that hope was fleeting, as the child had instantly began spewing what he considered in his mind to be nonsense, and he merely stared at him gaping. "An aristocrat?"

"Have you ears, boy? Yes, that's what I said."

Heavens, he was serious. "An aristocrat. You want to become an aristocrat."

Chauvelin turned to Mercier with an incredulous look upon his face. Pointing at Coupeau, he asked, "Can you believe this? I do not think he understands. Am I not speaking French?"

"Yes, but I do think you need to elaborate, Chauvelin. The idea seems a little farfetched on its own."

Sighing slightly, he dropped down to the ground, waiting for the other two to do the same before he said, "Look. We can't leave unless we have money, right?" The boys nodded. "And only aristocrats have money, so I think we need to become aristocrats."

"You just don't become aristocrats, Chauvelin!" Coupeau cried, waving his arms about as though it would prove his point. "If it was that easy, don't you think more people would become so?"

"Right. That's why we're going to do it my way."

"Oh God…" Why? Why him?

"And how do you suggest we manage that?" Mercier asked, scooting closer to the boy as he became more interested.

Smiling evilly, he patted the boy upon the head. "You can do that for us, my friend, and I'll handle the rest."

"What? Me? How?"

"You're a tailor, Mercier. All you need to do is fit us with the proper clothing, and I am sure we could pass as them."

"I can do nothing of the sort. My father's the tailor, and I am certain that he will have nothing to do with your games, Chauvelin."

He stared at him for but a moment before having a fit. "Damn it, Mercier! This is not a game!"

"No, but my father would see it as such, and I speak to him as little as possible."

"What about your brothers?"

"Two of them are just like father."

Chauvelin stood up and walked away from the two. They were obviously not going to help him, and he needed this done. Of course, he could think of no other way to do it but like this. Sighing in irritation, he ran back over and swiftly kicked Mercier in the leg, groaning in irritation as the boy yelped in pain. "What about your other brother? Can he help?"

"I don't know, maybe…"

"Good. Talk to him."

"Chauvelin, listen," the flustered boy said as he stood up, rubbing his leg, "he's responsible. He's not just going to go and throw away expensive fabrics so we can pretend we're aristocrats."

"So you tell him that it's an investment."

"A what?"

Chauvelin shrugged. "I don't know, I read it in a book somewhere, but I figured if you used a big word, he'd be impressed and help."

"No, I don't think so."

"Alright, then listen. I've figured a way that we can get rich and free your parents from any debt they owe the Viscount." Both boys were suddenly standing awestruck before the boy, staring at him intently, waiting to hear his secret. Smiling cunningly, he quietly said, "We become aristocrats, get into one of the Viscounts parties, and we gamble for it."

He stared at him for an entire minute in silence before Coupeau whispered, "That's a sin, Chauvelin, and very dishonest."

"Is everything a sin with you?" Chauvelin sneered. "Shall I ask you before I take a step for fear I may be sinning? Oh, I'm sorry, Coupeau! I took a breath! Is that a sin? And besides," he said softly, calming down a bit, "if you win it fairly, how is that dishonest?"

"But, Chauvelin, gambling? What if you lose? You have no money to bet…"

Gently placing his hand upon the boy's shoulder, he leaned in close and quietly said, "They don't need to know that, now do they?"

"You are a wicked child and will grow to be a wicked man."

"I thank you."

"I will not help you with this, Chauvelin," Coupeau said defiantly, turning away and crossing his arms.

"Come. I'll take you to my brother," Mercier said, grabbing Chauvelin's hand and leading him away. Coupeau looked at the boy, stunned, and when they did not return as he had hoped, he went running after them.

"My eyes!"

The three had arrived at Mercier's home, thankfully no one home but his eldest brother, Marlon, who had been the one that was dubbed "the nice one". They had barely had time to say anything before Chauvelin went about the house in a wondrous daze, occasionally pulling things from God knows where and putting them into his pockets. It hadn't been long before the boy disappeared entirely, only to be located again by his sudden yelling. The three rushed about the house and found the boy standing before a long mirror, staring at it mouth agape and terribly confused.

Sighing, Mercier quietly stated, "Yes, that's a mirror, Chauvelin. What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Mercier, they're yellow!"

"Yes, I know. They're quite unusual. Would you mind not wasting any more of my brother's time?"

"Sorry." Managing to pull himself away from the mirror, he excitedly said, "I have never seen one of those before." Pausing, smiling slightly to himself, he happily asked, "My mother's eyes were blue. I must have gotten them from my father." Puffing his chest out in pride, he declared, "Have you ever heard of such an eye color before?"

"Yes," Coupeau said firmly. "Only once before."

"Really? Oh, do tell! Where?" he asked, very excitedly.

"Oh, I don't know," Coupeau said indifferently, lightly kicking at something upon the floor. "Maybe…Satan?"

"Really? Oh, how very thrilling!"

"Boys, if you don't mind," Marlon interrupted gently, "I do have quite a bit of work that needs to be done. What is it you need?"

He quickly abandoned Coupeau, and Chauvelin swiftly said, "I would like very much if you would make the three of us aristo's clothing so that we may pass ourselves off in that circle."

He looked at the boy for a moment and threw his head back and laughed, causing the ebony-haired child to narrow his eyes in anger. "Do you know how much that costs, boy? You must be joking. And to waste that much on a whim? And you couldn't pass as them, even with the clothing."

"What?" Chauvelin hadn't expected that. The clothing made the man, right? "Why not?"

"They come from different stock than us. They look different."

"No, we look the same! Look, Coupeau's pretty enough, and Mercier doesn't look so bad either!"

Sighing softly, he knelt before the boys and looked their leader in his eyes, gently grabbed his chin and examined his face. "You, maybe. You have the features for it. And your other friend, he may as well. But my brother, no, it's not possible."

"But why…"

"He's not fair enough. He's too harsh looking. And even if you could look like them, you don't have the mannerisms. You'd be found out before you crossed the threshold."

Oh, that was it. No, he would not lose now. Calling after the man as he turned to leave, he quickly said, "I can read!"

He quickly turned around, looked at the boy in disbelief. "Can you now?"

"Yup!"

"Well, that's a different matter." He knelt before the boy again, quickly looked him over, and apologetically said, "I'm sorry, but we just can't waste the materials. What is the point?"

"I think I can get the deeds for the house and land you live on so you will owe the Viscount nothing. It can be yours."

The man's face dropped. "You cannot do that…"

"I think I can," the gold eyed child responded.

Those eyes were strangely sincere, and Marlon got the feeling that he could trust the boy, even though he sounded crazy as Hell. Smiling slightly, he quietly said, "Alright, let's take your measurements."