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"And Clopin will tell you.."
Bonjour, mes amis! I am Clopin Trouillefou, self-proclaimed “king” of the gypsies. My personality is what many would call “strange”, but I pride myself upon such a title. Now then, are you going to stand there like a bottle-ale rascal, or will you give me some coins for telling my story? Current RPs: 1. Road to El Dorado 2. Paris Sparkles Bright |
Puck quirked an eyebrow in the gypsy’s direction, but said nothing. If he were to tell the truth(and he most certainly would not), he was just a hair uneasy himself. The fae had little to fear, he kept telling himself…but something just didn’t seem quite right about this place. There was an odd chemistry in the air…thought he was unable to fathom just what might be so unusual.
Turning his lip in a smirk, he brushed the invading thoughts from his mind and floated closer to the gypsy, still not wanting to take any chances with the floor here. “Please, love….I’m quite sure I’m far more frightening than anything we’ll find herein,” he replied, with a devilish hint to his tone. His gaze flickered for a moment, eyes flashing bright yellow in that strange way of theirs, before they returned to normal, lighting up with the familiar curiosity that usually sparked within the trickster’s eyes.
Whether or not he honestly felt as confident as he sounded was another question entirely.
“You’re right.” Clopin admitted, with a laugh. “Whatever it is that’s in the air, can’t even begin to face up against the two of us. Now, we really should be catching up to Taylor…who knows what she’s gotten herself into this time around.” The gypsy clenched his teeth, and ignoring the chill that traveled down his spine, he bent down to avoid the door, dragging the fae along with him. Once they were through the doorway, the gypsy stood up again, his eyes scanning the darkness for Taylor’s familiar shape. He found her moving at the edge of the hallway, and he took Puck’s flashlight, shining the bright beam of light on her shadowy figure.
“Taylor! There you are, cherie!” Clopin said, in a cheerful voice. But just as quickly as his smile appeared, it faded once more, and the gypsy felt a strange dropping feeling.
“Taylor?”
But the shadow wasn’t the assassin. It was actually much smaller than Taylor herself, and it had a piercing white gaze, as it looked towards Puck and Clopin. The gypsy squeezed Puck’s hand out of habit. Before the two of them could even blink, the shadow was gone, and a cool breeze pervaded the hallway. From the opposite end of where the shadowy thing had been, Taylor pushed her way out of an empty classroom, and walked into the beam of light, as Clopin was still holding the flashlight, even though his hands were shaking.
“I was wondering when you two would catch—hey, are you two alright? You’re both looking really pale.” Taylor said, stepping closer to them. She had the other flashlight in the sheath for her dagger, alongside the weapon itself.
“Hello?” she asked, waving a hand in front of their faces. She then reached out to touch Clopin’s shoulder, (him being the closest to her), and he jumped back, apparently having been broken from his trance.
She begins to laugh with a large blush. A blink of mischief appears in her eyes “I suppose so…” With that, she gently takes the hand with the puppet, and places a good-natured kiss upon its face. The kiss lingers, and her eyes are closed, when she begins to realize the intimacy of the affection to, not the puppet, but his hand. She slowly lifts her lifts from the puppet, blushes madly when she averts her eyes from the gypsies. The children give a deflated “awww!!!” Unhappy by the outcome. Her smiles lingers as she keeps avoiding the king’s eyes, but her blush fails to subside. “Now, now, children, I’ve upheld the tradition. You put it over me and the one under it!” She begins to laugh hysterically when the children protest, and she dares a gaze back to Clopin.
Clopin took quick notice of how Belle’s kiss seemed to last a little longer than normal, and he could feel his face getting warm. It was amusing how that simple little act was making it hard for him to hold on to his usually cool demeanor. Looking up above, the mistletoe was actually hanging above his and Clopet’s heads, meaning one thing: he had to uphold the tradition as well.
Before he could rein in his own emotions, Clopin found himself leaning over to kiss Belle on the cheek. The children, satisfied with the outcome now, gasped with delight, and a little girl approached the two, with a big smile on her face. “Princess, I think our king has taken a liking to you. He doesn’t usually take a liking to a lot of ladies, so you must be someone special.” she said.
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Clopin watched as the children left them with knowing glints in their eyes, and even Garnar, who’d followed the two of them, slowly crept away, knowing that his master…
Clopin knew the children were up to something; he’d known it since they began following him and the princess. But as usual, he had kept quiet, waiting to see what they would do. Looking up, he noticed the berries and leaves hanging over Clopet and Belle’s heads, held by a little girl who wore a huge smile on her face.
“Now you have to kiss!” they cried. Belle was at a loss for words, but Clopin himself had been hoping for a moment like this to occur, ever since he had come across her by the Seine.
“Well, if the children say, and if the mistletoe is hanging over our heads, I suppose it’s the only thing we can do.” Clopin said, with a smirk.
Clopin watched as the children left them with knowing glints in their eyes, and even Garnar, who’d followed the two of them, slowly crept away, knowing that his master would probably want to be left alone. “Perhaps the Gypsy King does want to spend this Christmas with the fair princess he has found.” Clopet says, waving his small gloves. Behind the puppet, Clopin could only smile more, as Belle seemed to have revealed that she was actually happy that he had stolen her away. “And he is also quite happy with what he hears.” Clopet whispered.
“Yes, Quasimodo. I don’t hate the poor boy, because it really wasn’t his fault. It was more the fault of Frollo.” Clopin said, frowning a bit at the mention of the judge’s name. “As for what happened to my father…and my mother as well…I don’t know. All I was told by the gypsy who escaped was that they were taken to the Palace of Justice, and he never saw them again.” Clopin said, his eyes drifting down from Belle’s gaze to the cobblestone floor. He kept them there for a little bit, only raising them again when she began to speak about her own mother’s early death, and the ribbon that was her mother’s favorite.
“It’s a very beautiful ribbon, Princess. Your mother must have been just as beautiful.” Clopin said, with a small smile.
She smiles, recalling the portrait her father had specially made. “I believe she was most beautiful woman who has walked the earth. I think the reason I love reading stories, hearing them, it’s because she would always have a new one to read. A new adventure to begin. We’d act out those stories during the day after I wake up. Then, she got sick…” Her heart beats with a dull ache. “I never stopped reading since.” She turns back to Clopin, turns the history on a more light note. “I’ve read so many adventures, I eventually went looking for one!” She turns to him, gives him a playful patronized glare.
She then enhances her voice to a dramatic baritone. “For the gypsy king has taken away the princess on a sparkling Christmas night, to hide away in a world full of entice, and children!” Belle nuzzles her nose playfully to a small girl who had comfortably settled herself to her side. “What is she ever to do?” She turns back him, a light blush painting her cheeks.
Clopin’s expression fell a bit as Belle mentioned that her mother had gotten sick, and presumably passed away from that very sickness. But he couldn’t help but smile a little as she turned onto a lighter note, about adventures. Adventures were something he’d always loved, even when he was a child.
He smiled when she continued along in a dramatic baritone, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Summoning his own storytelling persona, he pulled out the puppet he’d made of himself. “Well,” the puppet began, “perhaps the princess would like to spend her Christmas here?” The gypsy king himself could feel a slight blush rise in his cheeks as well, but he was trying so very hard to hide it, to no avail.
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“Yes, Quasimodo. I don’t hate the poor boy, because it really wasn’t his fault. It was more the fault of Frollo.” Clopin said, frowning a bit at the mention of the judge’s name. “As for what happened to my father…and my mother as well…I don’t know. All I was told by the gypsy who escaped was that they were taken to the Palace of Justice, and he never saw them again.” Clopin said, his eyes drifting down from Belle’s gaze to the cobblestone floor. He kept them there for a little bit, only raising them again when she began to speak about her own mother’s early death, and the ribbon that was her mother’s favorite.
“It’s a very beautiful ribbon, Princess. Your mother must have been just as beautiful.” Clopin said, with a small smile.
When I think of festivals I think of nudity and really awkward sex.
Once a year we throw a party here in town
Once a year we turn all Paris upside down
Ev’ry man’s a king and ev’ry king’s a clown
Once again it’s Topsy Turvy Day
It’s the day the devil in us gets released
It’s the day we mock the prig and shock the priest
Ev’rything is topsy turvy at the Feast of Fools!
