Let it be known that Elton, in the musical, is reffered to as "The Gay Bounder". I'm not kidding.

And The Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones

Chapter 13: So Long And Good Riddance

When Coupeau and Mercier entered the house, they found Chauvelin held by soldiers, an annoyed look on his face as he was being frisked by one of them. "Hey, Coupeau. I discovered something new," Chauvelin said in a bored manner. "Soldiers are queer also."

The soldier that was searching the boy backhanded him without hesitation and continued searching. "Chauvelin, what are they doing?" Coupeau asked in shock.

"Preparing me for sex, I think." He was hit again and the highly annoyed boy growled, "Hey, you wanna stop touching the face? I need that." Rolling his eyes as the soldier didn't respond, he said, "I think they're arresting me. Some nonesuch about insulting the clergy, the Royal Army, and a British aristocrat. Haven't the faintest idea where they got that from."

"Arresting you?" Mercier asked. "Chauvelin, that's not a good thing."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it will be quite the adventure." Turning his face up to one of the soldiers that held him, he nonchalantly said, "Oh, hey, when you're done with whatever it is you are doing, there's a corpse on my bed. Would you mind changing the sheets for me?"

"Monsieur, please," Coupeau said politely, stepping a bit closer to one of the soldiers. "My friend has been drinking, and he usually doesn't, and he's never acted like this before. Could you just let him go, and we could talk about this?"

"Don't try reasoning with them, Coupeau," Chauvelin said, squirming a bit at the soldier began examining his lower extremity. "Anyone can see that these soldiers are subhumans who can't find their own ass with a roadmap."

The two boys winced as this time, their leader was hit repeatedly. "Chauvelin, I think you are only making things worse for yourself," Mercier said, cringing as the boy's arm was wrenched up behind him.

"Yes, that is entirely possible…" Gold eyes widening in remembrance, he quickly cried, "Oh, Coupeau! How did it go with the Englishman?"

Coupeau blushed, smiled happily and stared modestly at the ground. "I think he likes me, Chauvelin! He…he kissed me, and told me his name…"

"See? Didn't I tell you all Englishmen were queer?" The soldier quickly stood up and barked a command to the others and pushed the boy forward. "I think that means I'm going now. I shall see you boys soon."

"Chauvelin, we're going to come by and get you, alright?" Mercier said reassuringly to the confident boy who needed no reassurance.

"Take your time boys. I am quite sure I am capable of getting out. But mark my word, once I do, we're leaving."

The soldiers growled and shoved him out the door.

Chauvelin decided very quickly that he did not quite like prison, and he did not quite like his cellmates. The other three men were huge and menacing, and the dark haired boy only came up to the armpit of the shortest one. The soldiers were quite detestable as well, and they quickly took to mocking the little boy, which only got them a sharp tongued response that earned the young prisoner several beatings. Sighing slightly after being returned to his cell after his fourth beating that day, Chauvelin slunk down into the corner.

Smiling to each other, one of the men approached the boy and took Chauvelin by the arm, easily lifting him and holding him off the ground. "My, my, aren't you a pretty little thing?"

Chauvelin didn't struggle, just looked blankly into the other's eyes. Really, it had been quite a horrendous day. "Would you mind putting me down, Monsieur? I am not in the finest of tempers."

"Oh, look at that, boys! He's well spoken. And he's fair enough to be a woman…"

Chauvelin hissed in irritation and rolled his eyes as the man roughly ran his free hand over his body. "I swear, you queer folk are just all over, aren't you?"

The man instantly became angry and hit the young thing, leaving an instant welt on his ribs. "Well, you've got quite a tongue on you, don't you?"

"So I have been told. It's all over the papers. Learn to read, monkey boy."

The three men were instantly upon him, inflicting whatever pain they could on his fragile form before the jail guards came by and forced the men off of him. Quickly springing to his feet and gingerly pressing at a bloody nose, Chauvelin ran to the bars and called to the soldiers, "I wish to complain."

"Oh? And what would that be about?"

"Are all of your jails this filthy?" He sniffed slightly, causing some blood to run far back his nose and he gagged, coughed it out. "Really. What a stench. Oh, and could I have some food that the rats haven't found? I'm thin enough as it is."

The soldiers looked at each other before laughing, causing the little boy to glower in anger. "Who do you think you are? Some sort of nobility? You're the lowest of the low, and that's why you're here."

"Nobility? Ha! I spit on the nobility and royalists such as yourselves! Yes sir, you folks certainly have made a mess of this country." The soldiers went red with rage and with cries of "Treason!" the pointed their riffles at the fearless boy. "Oh, sure, you're going to shoot me, right?"

There was a momentary halt as the captain marched in and looked disapprovingly at both the soldiers and the ragged prisoner. "There is a health inspector of sorts here," he said in an irritated tone. "Stop what you're doing and resume your activities once the nuisance has left."

The soldiers were about to protest but the door at the far end swung open and a doctor strode in, hardly stopping to look at anyone at all. On occasion, there would cross a look of curiosity on his face that broke his bored expression, and he would look a little more carefully at the individual, but he would continue walking. Coming to a quick stop outside the cell that held Chauvelin, he looked the boy over once and commanded, "Open this door. That boy shouldn't be here."

Scowling in contempt, the soldier said, "This one is guilty of treason. He goes nowhere."

"This boy," the man stated firmly, "is, I think, in bad health and should not be here." Motioning for the boy to come closer, he asked, "How old are you, boy?"

"I forget, but I think around fifteen or so."

"Fifteen! Open this door." The guard grudgingly did as he was told and the doctor instantly seized the boy, examining him carefully. "Fifteen and the boy is hardly the size of a twelve year old! Look at this! He cannot be more than five feet in height, and look at how thin he is. You can see every bone in the poor thing's body. I think we have here a case of severe malnutrition, hardly the type to be kept in a jail of all places." Nudging the boy out of the cell, he said, "I can return him when he is in proper health, but I cannot allow him to be treated like this." And with that, he took the grinning Chauvelin away.

"That was rather clever," Chauvelin said as he swung his legs happily from where he sat on the examination table. "However did you think of that?"

"Well," Coupeau said quietly, standing hand in hand with his Englishman, "it was actually a communication error. I tried to have Elton help me find a lock pick, but he took it as I needed a doctor. So I went along with that."

"Ah. Clever. Really, very clever. I imagine that your Englishman shall be rather skilled at removing people from their jail cells if he keeps this up."

Coupeau smiled and hugged the boy, leaning his head against his shoulder. "I know. Isn't that great?"

"Hey! Englishman!" Chauvelin barked, causing the young blonde to jump slightly. "Speak French!" he said in perfect English.

"I can't," the boy responded. "I am here to learn. Why don't you learn to speak proper English? It is an insult to abuse it as you do."

"Have you ever considered that we might be insulted because you haven't learned French?" Chauvelin sneered, squirming as the doctor poked him.

"Can you only insult people?"

"What else is English good for?" Switching back to French he said, "Coupeau, are you ready to leave yet?"

Pulling Elton closer, he whispered, "I don't wanna leave…"

"Too bad, we're going. The soldiers want me in jail, and all the women here are taller than me. We must retreat to a place where the people are a bit shorter. Kiss your friend goodbye, because we're leaving as soon as doctor here feeds me."

"Where are we going?"

"Paris. Where else?"

Coupeau's face fell. "Alright," he said quietly as he gently pulled Elton outside with him, just as Mercier walked inside. "Chauvelin, how are you?"

"Doctor says I don't get enough food, so we have to eat more. I thought of a new commandment."

"Wonderful," he said, rolling his eyes. "Does it have anything to do with jail?"

"You bet," the boy said, nodding. "Commandment five: Thou shall not enter a prison. Ever."

"It's a good commandment."

"I thank you. We're going to Paris."

"Well, that sounds like fun."

"I had an idea," Chauvelin said proudly. "I'm going to go into politics!"

Mercier stared at the boy for a minute in silence before laughing out loud. "Politics! Chauvelin, you're as much of a politician as Coupeau and I are soldiers!"

"Bah!" He gingerly examined an open wound he had on his side. "I think I don't quite like getting beaten."

"Neither do I, my friend."

"I shall have to exact some form of revenge on royalist soldiers someday."

"You and what army, Chauvelin?"

The boy grinned. "Me and all of France!" he said proudly.

Sighing slightly, Mercier ran his hand over his face and calmly said, "Sure you will, Chauvelin. And Coupeau will like women and I will have your hat."

"Just you wait, Mercier. You'll see." He leaned back, closed his eyes, and waited for the doctor to come and fix him.

After twenty minutes of walking, Chauvelin had finally had enough and smote Coupeau with all his strength. "For the very last time, Coupeau, who cares! He was just an Englishman!"

"But we were so happy together!"

"Yeah, for one whole day. Good for you. Excuse me while I vomit over your sentiments."

"But, Chauvelin!" the boy whined, sniffling. "I loved him!"

"New commandment!" Chauvelin yelled in the boy's face. "Thou. Shall. Not. Fall. In. Love! Is that clear?"

Coupeau nodded sadly. "He…he gave me a paper…" he said softly, fishing through his pockets and holding it out to the boy.

Glaring at him, and then at the note, he snatched it away and quickly looked it over and thrust it back in the boy's hand. "It's just an address. If you would get your wits together and learn how to read and write, you could keep in touch with the fellow."

"Really? Oh, Chauvelin, will you teach me?"

Nodding, he said, "Of course. Both you and Mercier should learn." Turning to his blonde compatriot, he smoothly drawled, "You've been awfully quite."

"Have I any reason to speak?" he coldly asked.

"You usually do."

"Huh."

"Oh, hey, I sold that house of ours for fifty Francs!" Chauvelin cried happily. "We made thirty five francs while we were here, not including all of the money I took out of the money dish at the church." He glanced at Mercier. No reaction. "I think," he said slyly, "that Mercier is irritated."

Snarling, he replied, irritated, "I am not."

"Oh, look at that. Point Chauvelin. I am winning."

"Will you just stop it?"

Chauvelin stared at the boy, a sly look crossing his face. "Oh, I get it. This has to do with the women, doesn't it?"

"It does not!"

"It does! Ha!" Chuckling to himself, he quietly asked, "Have you had any women since we came to Calais?" The boy didn't respond, and Chauvelin's grin grew wider. "Frustrated because of the tragic lack of women. I call this phenomenon, 'Sexual Frustration'." Glancing at the furious boy's expression and the timid boy blushing and staring at the ground, a deliciously wicked idea formed in his head. "I don't like you when you're frustrated, Mercier…"

"Shut up."

Grabbing Coupeau's hand and thrusting it into Mercier's he said, beaming, "Take him."

Both sets of eyes widening in confusion and disbelief, the choked, "What?"

"You," he said, pointing at Mercier, "take him," and pointed at Coupeau. "I doubt that our little friend here had the time to sleep with his Englishman, and I am quite sure he could use it as well. And besides," he purred, leering wickedly at the blushing men, "you two have been close before, hmm?"

"I'm not queer!"

"I don't love him!"

"Ah, but boys," Chauvelin said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval, "it's a commandment. 'If in need, thou shall use thy homo friends to sooth thy frustration.'"

Mercier glared in fury at the yellow-eyed boy, and Coupeau blushed furiously. Chauvelin just smiled.

He lay on the ground, shoulders resting on a tree and hat pulled over his eyes, smiling softly and listening to the distant grunts, moans, whimpers and cries that occasionally drifted through the air. The forest was a wonderful thing. The cries for a moment escalated, and then suddenly stopped, and but five minutes later, Mercier and Coupeau emerged, readjusting themselves and breathing heavily, both still flushed and dishevelled. Standing up and smiling, he put his hand on Mercier's shoulder. "Feeling better?"

The blonde said nothing, but nodded slightly as he stared at the ground.

"Oh good!" Humming softly to himself, he led the boys back out of the forest and to the road. "Ah, on the road again, hmm?"

"So it would seem," Mercier said, smiling a bit to himself.

"See, now you're better. Great commandment, if I do say so myself. On the road again…that would make for a good song, wouldn't it?"

Mercier shook his head. "No, no I don't think so. Who would listen to a song about travelling?"

"I would!" Coupeau chirped. "On the road again. It sounds catchy!"

"No, that's a horrible idea," Mercier repeated. "Really, quite awful."