God Help the Outcasts: A Disney Crossover Fanfic

Chapter Eight: Festival of Fools

"So, what is bringing you to Paris?" Nakoma asked curiously after she'd settled into her seat.

"Oh, I'm just staying with a friend for a while," replied Drizella. She wouldn't meet Nakoma's gaze, although she tried her best to keep her answer nonchalant. Nakoma had only known the girl for a couple of minutes, but it was obvious that there was another reason hidden in her words.

"May I ask why?" Nakoma asked.

Drizella glanced up, seeming a little surprised, but quickly returned her gaze to the carpeted floor with a blush.

"I-I don't want to talk about it," she said. An awkward tension filled the cabin. She began to shuffle her feet, while Nakoma stared hard out the window.

"I'm going to see the cathedral," Nakoma said after a moment or so. She felt for the crucifix she wore around her neck and smiled gently. "It's my newfound dream."

"Wow," said Drizella. She smiled as well. "That's a good dream to have."

The two women fell silent, but the lack of conversation was no longer awkward. Nakoma busied herself with studying the buildings that passed before her eyes. This entranced her for a few moments, but she soon found herself nodding off. The horses' hooves created a dull, monotonous rhythm that slowly and subtly lulled her into a light doze. She didn't fight it and let herself sink into unconsciousness.

"Whoa!" The call of the driver startled her awake. Glancing across the cabin, she noticed that Drizella was soundly asleep and slumped over her solitary bag on the seat.

She gasped, though, when she directed her gaze out the window. She'd never seen so many colors in one place in her life, except for perhaps in Pocahontas' English wardrobe. There were tents in yellows, purples and greens, streamers and banners in garish pinks and oranges, and people dressed in garments that seemed to be made from a combination of all these materials. There were men standing on long, wooden poles, walking about haphazardly, men with painted faces and men doing complex flips, men juggling and performing tricks, and men running about everywhere tooting on pipes and strumming on strange stringed instruments.

It took her a moment to grasp a fact that had amazed her even more. They were all standing in the courtyard of the majestic Notre Dame cathedral, which towered forgotten and lonely above the festive scene. Nakoma frowned as she recalled Captain Lewis' remark about the 'dusty old cathedral'. Turned out he was right after all. She couldn't properly appreciate Notre Dame until the Festival was over.

"You can get out now," the driver prompted snobbishly. "I have places to go too, you know."

Nakoma shot him a glare that he didn't see, and then reached across the cabin to nudge Drizella, who woke with a start.

"We're here," Nakoma said gently, "and the driver wants us out."

Drizella made a face and grabbed her pack.

"How rude!" She reached for the door and stepped out, but just as abruptly stopped. Her mouth hung open in astonishment, just as Nakoma's had when she'd viewed the scene from the window.

"Sorry, I forgot to prepare you," Nakoma said with a chuckle as she stepped out of the cabin.

"Nothing could prepare me for this," Drizella replied when she'd regained her composure. The coach rolled away behind them; there was no other way to go now but forward.

"Shall we?" Nakoma asked, holding out her arm. Drizella took it and inhaled deeply.

"We shall."

The music became louder and louder as they approached the many tents and booths set up in the courtyard. They were stunned into an awed silence, but that didn't last for long. Soon they were both pointing out exhibits, such as a juggler or a magician, and laughing at the many displays of comedy and merriment. There seemed to be no organization to the chaos, but there was an underlying rhythm to it all that Nakoma couldn't explain.

Eventually they stumbled across a puppet show.

"I used to love these when I was small," Drizella said excitedly. "Well, when Mother would let us watch them."

Nakoma glanced at the woman; she'd detected a hint of whatever had been troubling her earlier in her last words. But she was staring determinedly now at the puppeteer, and Nakoma decided to drop it and do the same.