Kamikazi-djali: What if the crowd had never turned against Quasimodo at the Feast of Fools?

This reminds me it has been too long since I've watched this movie. It's up there too in my top 10 favorite Disney movies, top 5 maybe. It's just so dark and different from anything else I can't help but love the movie. So I apologize if there's minor inconsistencies in the scene. I'm working mostly off memory here.

I may have made Quasi a little more awkward here than he is in the movie. But if someone spent as much time in isolation as he does, to the point he hallucinates gargoyle friends, I can't see him having the strongest social skills.

Quasimodo was the happiest he could ever recall. He was cheering upon the platform, smiling as the crowd cheered and laughed. The entire atmosphere of the festival was just as intoxicating as he always dreamed. The smells of food, people, and drink filled the air. The sounds around him, laughter, music, and cheerful voices. He couldn't see or hear the evil Master always warned him about. Why didn't I do this years ago? He mused. There as no darkness, no heartlessness, no cruelty here. For the first time in his life he didn't feel lonely.

In time, the crowd moved on to the next spectacle, leaving Quasimodo to jump down from his platform with his makeshift crown and sceptar made of painted wood. He pulled the cloth crown down over his head tighter, fearful of losing the object as he tightened his grip on the wooden scepter. He wanted to remember this day forever.

"So, having fun?" a voice managed to ring above the cacophony of the crowd. The young man turned and looked up to the source of the voice. It was the same young woman whom he had accidentally stumbled into while she was changing, and helped remove the masks during whatever strange contest he had accidentally found himself a part of. A lot of happy accidents today. He thought to himself, and bit his lip nervously, feeling the flush that burned his cheeks. I shouldn't blush. Master says it's a sign of weakness of the spirit. He chided himself, but was brought from his self-chastisement with a warm hand on his shoulder, "you look a little overwhelmed," the woman's voice continued.

"Oh! Sorry... yeah, I'm having a great time," he nodded, meaning his words. Lies were not his forte, anytime he tried to lied to Frollo the judge could see through it so the young man had assumed everyone could simply tell when you were lying. "I've always watched the festival. Never actually thought of visiting it," He admitted, "Very nice of everyone to give me these," He said, gesturing to his souvenirs.

"Wait... are you the bell ringer?" The young woman asked, looking from him to the bell towers of Notre Dame. He felt the head in his cheeks get worse, and he avoided her eyes wondering what she was going to say to him. Frollo always told him that everyone called him the monster of the bell tower, that they would hate him, chase him away. The only reason they let him stay in the cathedral was under the protection of Sanctuary that Frollo had called for him on the day of his mother's abandonment. "You are, aren't you?" her face broke into a grin and she chuckled. "Half the city thinks you're just a myth, the other half a ghost," She placed her hands on her hips and looked up, "people aren't very smart,"

"Oh, they're very smart," Quasimodo defended quickly with a shake of his head. "They know what every single bell toll means without anyone telling them they just recognize the sound. The baker, from Francois's Boulangerie goes to the bookstore every day. He must be smart to read that many books. Annabelle, she teaches all the schoolkids. You have to be smart to teach. Like Master teaches me," Quasimodo stopped his rambling at the look on her face, "Did... I say something wrong?" and after the briefest pause he covered his mouth, "Oh! I'm sorry, I never asked your name,"

"I'm Esmeralda, and no you didn't say anything wrong. I'm just... surprised you know so much about the townspeople,"

"I watch everyone from the tower when I'm not ringing the bells or cleaning them," The young man explained.

"Well what's your name? I feel rude just calling you bell ringer," Esmeralda asked with a smile. She was intrigued by the fact the bell ringer had come down from his tower. She wondered how he managed to sneak past Frollo's iron fist. She knew that this boy certainly wasn't here on the judge's blessing. If Frollo ever did something kind she had a feeling the world might turn inside out.

"Quasimodo," He replied cheerfully. The young woman stared for a few moments, brows furrowed as she felt a sudden and deep pang in his heart. He said the cruel name with that unbroken smile on his face. Half formed. She thought to herself. The bastard named him half-formed?!

"I'll call you Quasi," She answered, unable to bring herself to call him by his full. He seemed a little confused and she continued, "It's a nickname,"

"I know. Just... no one ever gave me one before," He answered. Another gift? He wondered. "Should I give you one?" He asked, trying to think of one that didn't sound strange to him.

"You don't have to," She replied. He was almost like talking to a child. "You're very nice by the way. Most people don't like a Romani girl," She expressed, feeling surprisingly at ease around him. Careful now. He's Frollo's protégé.

"A what?"

"a gypsy," she clarified, and Quasimodo noticed her expression changed at the word. "Judge Frollo says our people are filthy thieves, most people hate us," she admitted, wondering why she was prattling on. Quasimodo shook his head at her,

"That can't be true. Isn't it mostly gypsies at this festival? And everyone has been so kind. They gave me these gifts, you're talking to me, the food smells wonderful, and the drinks, and the songs are very pretty. I watch people from the tower all day, I don't see them doing bad things," He admitted. This got him thinking. Frollo is always warning me about the gypsies. But when I watch them from the bell towers all I see are happy people dancing and performing. Walking with families like anyone else in Paris. I try to see why he calls them evil and I can't figure it out. Maybe I'm just not as smart as Frollo. But this girl doesn't seem evil to me. Maybe only some of them are? He had never felt so conflicted. He wanted to believe Frollo wouldn't lie to him. How could the man kind enough to take in an abandoned monster be a liar? But the festival was full of kind people, and this girl talking to him was the kindest he had met. How could her people be evil?

Esmeralda bit back the half-dozen replies that came to her lips. Shewanted to admonish him for speaking of Frollo like he was human. To praise him for his kind words about the Romani people. To show envy of his optimism and innocence.

"Come," She finally replied, taking his hand, "They're playing more music down here. You said you like the music?" She asked. He nodded, and followed her. Even Frollo never held his hand. He enjoyed the warmth of it, and the warmth that spread across his nose and cheeks, burning his ears. She led him further down the main boulevard to where a troup of men were playing a variety of instruments, a lively tune filling the air. People were pairing off and dancing to the beat, others clapping and stomping their feet as they watched various couples dance. "Dance with me?" She asked, "If you're at the festival for the first time enjoy all of it," she encouraged.

"I don't know how, and Frollo says dancing is sinful... it's about the body not the spirit," Quasimodo replied, feeling rude telling this kind girl 'no'.

"Quasi close your eyes," He closed his eyes. "Listen to that music,"

"Okay,"

"What is it making you feel,"

"Happy," He replied. "It's like when people laugh. The music is just... happy,"

"And where do you feel happy," She probed,

"I don't know, it's just a feeling," He answered her.

"That's because you're feeling your music in your spirit," Esmeralda explained, "You can't tell why you feel it because it's not sinful or only about the body. Just because you move your body to music doesn't mean it's sinful. You're just acting out what your spirit wants you to do," She explained. "Does that sound sinful to you?"

"Not when you put it like that," Quasimodo replied, "But Master says-"

"Frollo also says gypsies are evil, but you already said you don't believe that," She cut him off. "It's possible that Frollo can be wrong occasionally," She urged,

"Oh no! He's my kind master... he wants to only teach me the right things. He took me in when my mother abandoned me, he was willing to take in a monster when anyone else would have drowned me in a well," He answered, beginning to knit his fingers.

"Who said you're a monster?" She asked gently.

"Master. It's why I'm named Quasimodo. To remind me that I'm a monster and how kind it was for him to take me in,"

"Call you a monster and naming you Quasimodo doesn't sound kind to me," She replied, and the young man looked like he had been slapped.

"No! He's very very kind," he immediately defended. "He gives me new clothes every season so I always look clean, helps me cut my hair, gets me new shoes when mine wear out so my feet don't hurt when I run along the bell towers. He feeds me and brings me wine. He even taught me how to read and gives me books to read," He was counting off on his fingers as he listed the acts of what he believed to be altruism. Esmeralda sighed, deciding to change the subject. It was clear she wasn't going to turn this boy against the judge with simple words. But that had never been her intent. She only wished to show him some kindness the judge surely never showed him. Maybe give the boy the courage and motivation he needed to sneak out of the tower more often.

"Well. Back to my original question," She began, her voice lacking it's earlier confidence. "Dance with me?" Quasimodo looked at her outstretched hand, worrying his bottom lip.

"I don't know how," He answered,

"There's nothing to know! Here, just take my hand, and just move the way the music wants you to," She answered. She pulled on his hand, grasping his other in her own and began to lead him in a simple, joyful, disorganized dance. The crowd seemed to recognize their King of Fools dancing with a beautiful woman and there was more clapping and more stomping as the music enveloped them. Quasimodo forgot about warnings of carnal desire and sin, forgot about propriety, forgot about the watching eyes of Notre Dame. He allowed himself to be guided by the music, laughing like he did when the crowd had crowned him their King of Fools. He returned the kind Romani girl's smile, bouncing erratically on his feet as she guided him in simple circles. The music played another cheerful tune, and he was more eager to accept Esmeralda's request for a second dance.

He let go of his inhibitions. He stopped questioning every action, every request. He pushed the warning angry words of Frollo to the back of his mind. He wanted to absorb everything about the festival. He accepted the offers of food, wine, more music and dancing, he watched performers entertain the crowd, farce players tell their stories, and for the first time in his life he felt like he belonged to Paris. He wasn't the bell ringer of Notre Dame, he wasn't the monster who Frollo was kind enough to take pity on. He wasn't the creature everyone feared. He wasn't a waiting victim of gypsy tricks. For one blissful day, he was Parisian.

I hoped you liked this reply to the question. I hope it wasn't too short... I had a lot of fun writing this one, and can almost see it spinning off into Quasimodo questioning Frollo and eventually running away from the bell tower as each and every lie and warning he was told begins to fall apart.