The Servant of Judge Frollo

"Wrong Decision brat"

  "Healia, why are you trying to pickpocket a lord? You're going to get caught." Healia turned to her stepsister Esmeralda and gave a smile, "I've been practicing, and don't you want to buy Clopin that hat he's wanted? Well I do, he's done so much for me. That's why it's important to get as much money and at the moment, dancing isn't going to cut it. If you are too scared then just wait here." Her sister bit her lip and twisted a lock of raven hair in her fingers, forest green eyes shining with worry. Healia's golden eyes noticed and she hugged her sister tightly, the only two seven year olds in the cold February Paris town square. As gypsies they worked hard to find some money but as kids there was a limit to the amount of chores they could do. But one of them had been raised in Paris her entire life while the other had actually come from Greece after the brutal murder of her parents. Healia took a deep breath and pushed her ebony hair from her face, eyes focused on her target, a lord that was conferencing with the archdeacon. "Stay here Esy." Healia murmured, beginning to walk to the tall man when Esmeralda grasped her dress, stopping her, "No, Healia, don't do it, I think that man is Frollo. Remember? The one Clopin continued to tell us to beware and never go to unless we had a death wish?" Healia sighed and shook her head, "I don't really know about that man, all I know is that he's bad, but why? What are his crimes? Until I know how severe his crimes are against the world I don't care, he's a lord and lords carry money. Esy I don't really like pickpocketing but let's face it, this part of the year is the worst, where we have the least amount of money as well as dancing chances. If we want to at least help Clopin in some way this is it. I won't be long; besides, Clopin told me I'm quite skilled at this sort of thing." Healia reassured, stroking her sister's head. Esmeralda gave a small nod and hid beside the fountain that had frozen over while Healia glanced at the lord before walking along with a group of people as they passed the archdeacon and she slid silently beneath the horse, thankful she hadn't grown too much and could still stand up pretty straight, even under a horse. Then again she was thankful that this man had a huge horse. It's was large and black, much to her wonder, a lot like the horse she'd had with her parents back in her homeland. Clasping her hands she thanked Beta Maria, slightly reminiscing at the times she has listened to her mother talk about the Greek gods and goddesses that had been worshipped in the old times. But coming back to reality she began to examine her target. He was very tall and had spindly hands that were incredibly pale. He wore a long robe, Clopin would usually joke that it was a dress and that he was actually a lady, a miss. It was black with purple cuffs and probably tights beneath of black as well. Fashion was very weird here compared to Greece, kitons were really all they wore but here... Well, let's just say there were lots of takes on fashion. But to her dismay he had no pockets, no pockets, no place to keep money. Giving a frown she suddenly noticed that his horse on the other hand had a satchel strapped to one side, the bottom slightly heavy. Healia grinned, and glancing at the lord again, noticing he wore a poufy hat of black and purple that blocked his face, was relieved that he wasn't looking at his horse. Slowly her little bronze hand slipped into the satchel, searching for coins. She felt something sharp, probably a dagger, another few things that were probably papers and a thick smooth item that was probably ink along with a feather that tickled her fingers. Standing on tippy toes she reached deeper within the bag, biting her lip in frustration. Didn't this man carry any money with him? A single coin? Just about to give up she unexpectedly felt the bulge of a leather pouch and by the feel of it, it felt like a small purse of coins. "Jackpot" She thought gleefully, beginning to draw the purse out, inch by inch, each breath as silent and shallow as possible. Finally she has almost gotten the purse out of the bag when a pale, cold hand whipped out and grasped her arm tightly, making her give a gasp as the hand dragged her from under the horse into the view of the owner. She felt her heart quicken when she saw the tall, imposing man, eyes of iron narrowed and a sneer on his thin lips, "Ah, I see I've captured a little brat trying to rob me. Wrong choice brat, wrong choice indeed." He smirked.