Misc.

the hunchback of notre dame 1

For a king he sure slept rather uncomfortable.

The crypts were by no means luxurious, though Clopin thought they were much more inhabitable now with all the sheets and fabrics strung up. The walls stretched up arching at the ceiling, sheets draped across. They trapped in some heat, and made the place all the more bearable, as tolerable as possible. It flooded in the springtime and many alcoves were ran to, lots of kids sleeping in corners to stay as dry as possible, urged there by their parents. Candles were set up in crevices where the water that dripped down could not snuff them out, and the fire blazed on steadily, wax dripping down the sides. 

Typically a king has a separate chamber, with many more luxurious items than the group of people he commands. He dresses regally and only speaks to a select group of other very pretentious men. They are a king because their ancestors demand it. 

Clopin was not like such kings.

You would not have been able to pick him out if every single Roma man, woman and child was lined up shoulder to shoulder. 

He was most recognizable in his more colourful outfits, but the only days he really wore those on were during the New Year and his birthday if he was feeling fancy. Otherwise, he was simply clad in a white shirt and brown pants, a belt around his middle and black boots adorning his feet, no fancy hat or mask. Sometimes, he would even tie his hair back, to keep it out of his face. He wore the sort of clothes any other king would scoff at haughtily before flicking a single coin in their direction and marching off. 

Other kings were serious with a set frown and an eagerness for violence, where Clopin carried himself with a gentility many royalty wouldnt even recognize. He was kind and thought mischievous, always put the protection of others before any sort of foolery or antic he'd come up with. Clopin always put the protection of others before anything, period. Above all, they must stay safe, is what he constantly said. 

He was kind, and he was protective, and he was selfless. That's why he was their king, after all, for what other qualities should a king possess?

Caravans found themselves parked in spots across the floor of the crypts, and the only thing that distinguished the king's home from the rest was a slightly larger caravan with a roof that had been painting blue, stationed closest to the entrance of the court. This way, should they need to leave at a moment's notice, it would easy to find their leader, and follow him out as swiftly as possible. 

Yet, the blue caravan was so much more than just a beacon. It was a house of safety and comfort and love with candles everywhere that made the entire place light up. Pillows found themselves on every seat, and a small water basin stood in a corner. Fine fabrics decorated the place, draped across the couches and the bed. The bed was larger than most, enough for two rather than one, and it was here that Clopin was peacefully resting on his stomach, his arms above his head and under his pillow, half covered in blankets in sheets, as the early hours of the morning crept silently onward.

Right next to him, curled up in a tiny bundle, lay a small girl at the very edge of the bed. She had pulled herself into a ball, like she was trying to be more of a pipsqueak than the poor girl already was. In her sleep she frowned and shifted, making a displeased noise.

Moments later, she awoke and screamed for her life. A shrill high-pitched sound filled the wagon and Clopin was awake in an instant. He slept lightly and if something was amiss he would be over before you could explain why to your mother. Except, there was no mother in this situation. 

The little girl Maria had awoken in a panic, nightmare's plaguing the child's mind, and she threw the sheets off, trying to scream the fear away. Clopin quickly pulled her close, picking her up in his arms and shushing her, letting her wrap her arms around his neck like a koala bear. He tried to comfort the girl, stroking her hair and humming a song that he remembered from his own youth, the vibrations of his mothers chest still familiar in his head. Maria was almost five now, and getting a little old for lullabies, but the poor child was frightened out of her mind and Clopin wanted nothing more but for her to feel safe and cared for.

It had been a few months since the horrors that had been unleashed on their sanctuary had occurred, and though the initial threat had passed, the after affects were devastating. Clopin just thought himself lucky that Maria was the only child who'd lost her mother. 

"Shh dragă, I'm here, I've got you." he whispered, holding her close, and the little girl let out a sob, hiding in the crook of the King's neck. "You're okay." Clopin assured, sighing. He shifted to the edge of the bed and let his legs dangle off the side while the child cried into his chest. After a while, everything quieted, the cries turning to quiet sniffles. Clopin held Maria back and looked at her concerned, brushing the hair out of her face and wiping the tears away from her eyes.

"Now, what happened mea dragă, do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head no silently and let out another shaky breath.

"I just miss her." she whispered eventually, whining and hiding in Clopin's arm. 

Clopin held her close once more and smoothed her hair again, feeling an ache shoot through his chest.

"I know honey, I miss her too. Everyone here misses her. Maria, look at me okay?" he asked, tipping her chin towards him. She expected him to say "forget about it" or something like that. That's what the bully boy, Andrei, had told her. The child looked up at Clopin with big tearful eyes, not meeting his, ready for what he would surely say.

"Your mother loves you so much. And it might feel like she's gone but she will always be with you. Do you know where?" he asked her, watching her expression turn from sorrowful to curious.

"Where?" she asked, sniffling, 

He pointed a finger at her heart. 

"Right here."