Heehee. This is getting good.

Chapter One: Gypsy King of Fools

"Happy seventy-fifth birthday, Trouillefou!"

Clopin slapped his compatriot across the face with a long, black glove. "Very funny," he said in his naturally musical voice. "I'm thirty-five today, Gophan Tartou. And how old will you be turning? Hm? Forty?"

The larger man—no exaggeration; he was at least twice Clopin's size—laughed heartily. "You got me there.'

Clopin grinned. "Thank you, though," he said, drifting into his own caravan. "Although I must ask you what you are doing in my abode."

Gophan crossed his arms, which were nearly the same width as Clopin himself. "Well, it's your birthday, isn't it? Don't I have a right to be in here on my best friend's birthday?"

"Well...no."

The two headed out for a casual walk on the streets of Paris, not really having much to say, but enjoying each other's company nonetheless. That was how most of their walks were; not much talking, but a lot of humming or spontaneous dancing, with the occasional prank upon a poor bystander.

They stopped, however, in front of Notre Dame. The cathedral towered over them like a majestic mountain of stone, marble, and glass. The bells started their blissful melody as if on cue, and a subtle grin flashed across Clopin's face as he gazed up at the bell tower.

"They're beautiful, no?" he murmured to Gophan. "So many colors of sound; so many changing moods..."

Gophan nodded.

"Because, you know, they don't ring all by themselves."

"I know. I've lived here for forty years."

Clopin frowned. "Hush!" He watched the bell tower again. "Quasimodo is such a cruel name," he whispered almost to the tower itself. Gophan glanced at him. "I much rather like the name...I don't know...Ferdinand...?"

Gophan full-out stared at him. "How would you know if Ferdinand would be a better name for the hunchback?"

Clopin looked at him with eyes that said he clearly was hiding something, but his best friend couldn't even put a finger on what it was. "I just like that name." He turned and waltzed away, leaving Gophan to listen to the bells somewhat nervously.

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Quasimodo sat on a gargoyle, watching the sunset over Paris, that familiar loneliness overwhelming him. He wished so much that he could live amongst the people...

He saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned his head to look, he frowned confusedly.

"Hey, little guy," he whispered to the butterfly flitting about near him. "Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" He reached a hand out to the insect, and he smiled when it landed gracefully on his forefinger. "Look at you," the hunchback said, referring to the insect's gold and black wings. "What a beautiful creature you are."

The butterfly uncurled its long tongue on Quasimodo's knuckle, and he laughed.

"That tickles," he chuckled. The butterfly took off again, and as it flew into the sunset, it seemed to wave at the lonely bell ringer.

"Good-bye, now," Quasimodo said, his previous sadness returning once again. Nothing changed.

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Clopin had his head resting against the stage counter of his puppet caravan. He was almost completely asleep when Gophan came and nudged him gently. He got no response, so he felt his forehead and gasped lightly.

Gophan scooped up his best friend effortlessly and took him to his living caravan. He wasn't deeply concerned; Clopin had broken out into cold sweats and was rendered nearly unconscious before. He figured it was from a bout of Bubonic plague he'd never gotten over as a child. Gophan wasn't even sure Clopin had ever gotten the plague...

"Trouillefou?" Gophan said in a hushed voice to his friend, who he carefully set down on his corner of pillows and blankets. "Are you able?"

Clopin opened his eyes a little, and they were unfocused. "Gophan..."

"It's me," the larger man said reassuringly. "What happened this time?"

"I...too high...too small..." With that, he closed his eyes and fell silent.

Gophan chuckled. "You fool," he said. "You are the only one I know who would use his birthday as an excuse to spend half the night with women who are not even close to your age."

Clopin turned onto his side, still very pale, and clutched a pillow. "Tapi," he murmured.

Raising a confused eyebrow, Gophan turned and walked out of Clopin's caravan. "You're lucky your mother was the queen..." He snorted. "Otherwise I have no idea how you became king."