#Poor Everyone except for Phoebus he can go to hell

[ranminfan]

Well I just finished reading Notre Dame de Paris and....

yeah, I'm ruined.

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo, Epilogue

Warning: I’m dying.

EPILOGUE It had been a productive day at the Palace of Justice. Using his trademark methods to make people talk, Claude Frollo finally got all the necessary information out of Esmeralda. Now, he could finally apprehend that gypsy villain and make him pay for his crimes.

I don’t even want to know what he did to poor Esmeralda. That poor woman. She needs a hug.

However, the man was nowhere to be found. Patience...He'll show his face again...He'll truly regret he tangled with Claude Frollo! Esmeralda had left town. For reasons of his own, Claude decided to let her go. Little does she know that she's being used. If I know her, she'll go directly to that gypsy 'king'. And I'll be ready for them all...

Wait, what? Okay, so Esme’s fine, which is good because she’s awesome and deserves happiness. But how is she being used, exactly? Is Malus the “king?” Because I thought that was Clopin anyway. Eh, whatever. Like this author knows or cares.

He then focused on Renée de Chateaupers. Poor child...losing her parents...then her brothers. At least she has Phoebus... Phoebus had managed to pick up the pieces of his life and return to his job as caretaker of the d'Arcy estate. For some odd reason, Claude had offered Phoebus his old post as Captain of the Guard.

Here’s to hoping the events of the first movie play out again, except this time Danisha and Frollo both die. Let Quasi push Frollo into lava, and let Esmeralda kill Danisha. I’d pay to read that!

Even the King made some noises about the possibility of appointing Phoebus to a plum position within the Royal Army, but Phoebus politely refused. As he told Claude, "With all due respects, sir, I feel I need to be with Renée." Claude agreed; Renée had not fully recovered from the loss of her brother.

Okay, so Phoebus’s life isn’t that bad, and Esme’s okay. This is ending better than I figured it would.

Quasimodo had taken up American dialect. He found it amusing to recite the poetry of the American Heartland; somehow, Claude couldn't help but smile at his young charge's new-found hobby. It was Danisha who uncovered that talent -- she should be here, now, listening to Quasimodo imitate the perfect Hoosier twang and drawl.

Wait, so Danisha isn’t the one narrating this? What?

And what's become of Claude's postmodern American lady? She stays in touch with Her Man whenever she can, sending him notes and little gifts to amuse him. He unlocked the drawer that contained mementos of her; he took out that curious sterling silver device. Hmm...I wonder what she's doing now...

Ah, self-indulgent narration telling the audience how great you are. Right.

Claude Frollo then took something else from the drawer. I had meant to give this to her before she left. Well...my work is complete, and I would like to see her again. After all, she did invite me to Thanksgiving dinner... Claude Frollo stood in the center of his study, pushed a red button, and, in a flash of white light, he was gone...

Come ON! Just when I thought this piece of trash was over it spouts another head like a Hydra and attacks me once again! Just end already!

ŽŽ€€€€€€ Where am I? Claude Frollo found himself walking down a now-quiet hallway of a 20th Century American high school. It was nearly four o'clock; school had been out for over an hour. If I had made this trip earlier, I'd be up to my neck in boisterous adolescents! A delighted smile spread across his face as climbed the stairs to her classroom. Hmm...she must be working late. How many times have I told her not to work so hard. She should take her own advice. Now, which one is her room?

Why do I have a feeling random old men wandering the hallways of a school would raise eyebrows? Even if the day is technically over sports are still practicing, clubs are still going on, etc.

Claude Frollo found the door unlocked, the room empty, papers and books neatly piled on her desk. I told her to keep her door locked...Why, ANYONE could simply walk in and...Ah, what is this? Claude picked up a book then sat on a nearby table and started to read. She should be here soon....

She’s probably gone home, seeing as school’s been out for an hour now, and Danisha doesn’t seem responsible enough to actually grade papers or do any work.

****** What a way to start a weekend! I knew this would happen! Stupid copier! I tried to get a jump start on the upcoming work week: finish grading papers, copying work for lessons. I wanted this extended weekend to be as carefree as possible

Like she cares enough about her job to put any weekend effort in anyway.

Besides, this was one Thanksgiving I didn't have to cook everything! Fern had invited me to share dinner with her; Jacki would be there, along with Kyle and his girlfriend. The photocopier kept jamming on me; I'd thought this would be a quick job then I'd be out the door. Just need to get this paper unstuck...Oh no!...Hope I didn't break a nail...Finally got that job done!

Because the audience cares about Danisha’s photocopier issues. This is just more aimless filler to make this thing longer.

I took the elevator back to the third floor. Nearly everyone was gone –– except me. Pack up everything and go home! I wonder if Claude got my message to come this weekend? This should be fun... I walked into my room, and was taken by surprise. Claude Frollo! In my classroom!

Uuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhh.

I immediately put down my stack of papers and threw my arms around him. "Honey! I wasn't expecting you until later this evening. Claude kissed my lips and said, "My darling, I was so anxious to see you, and I wanted this to be a surprise." We kissed each other again; then, Claude surveyed my room. "Charming classroom, Danisha," he favorably assessed. "It's well-organized, attractive..."

I find that hard to believe, seeing as she slacked off all summer instead of putting it together.

[long, boring passage about Jehan, cut for time]

"He's in Italy -- Venezia -- of all places! Apparently, Jehan is quite taken with her, or is it she with him..." I could only comment, "So, Jehan Frollo's found himself a 'sugarmama'." Claude broke down in laughter as he removed his hat and cloak. I then asked about Esmeralda. Claude sighed as he began building a cozy fire. "My dear, I gave that gypsy witch the...what's that expression?" He snapped his fingers as he recalled, "The 'works'!" A wicked smile spread across his face as Claude continued, "I had her revealing things that she'd long forgotten."

WHAT THE FUCK. STOP. I DON’T NEED DETAILS OF THIS. STOP. NO. Have you ever heard that scene in the Star Wars radio drama where Vader brutally tortures Leia until she’s crying on the floor? It was super uncomfortable and hard to listen to. And that’s how I feel right now.

He then went on and explained how he had let Esmeralda go, all in a carefully orchestrated plot to finally capture the man who nearly killed Claude that winter. "I wish you luck, sugar", I said tenderly, kissing his cheek.

There’s gonna be a sequel, isn’t there? Crap.

He then asked me about our exposé, a written account of what really happened that night following the Feast of Fools. "I already have the initial installment in print, detailing how Malus, and that other man, drugged you, and fell for that imposter's scam. I've read Jules' confession, and all I can say is this –– The people of Paris will be totally blown away when they read this."

Ah, the good old “Frollo did nothing wrong and it was an imposter the whole time” theory that makes no goddamn sense.

Claude then kissed me as he sneaked a few pecans while I was putting a pie together. "I knew I could count on you to set the record straight." He then paused, shifted his eyes from side to side, while slowly chewing on a pecan. "Mmm...these are very good", said Claude, adding, "I hope you are baking two pies." "Two pies? You plan on doin' some damage tomorrow?", I asked playfully. Claude Frollo then looked at me with sultry eyes and said in a seductive voice, "Now, Nisha, I had hoped to have a little taste tonight..."

Negative two billion, people.

He flashed a dazzling smile at me as I went to the freezer and produced another pie. "This", I said, indicating the frozen pie, "is for tomorrow. All I have to do is bake it." Claude smiled again as I sashayed over to him, refilled his wine glass, and said in my own deep, sultry voice, "This", pointing to the freshly-assembled pie, "is for tonight...afterwards..."

Negative three billion.

Claude's hand caressed my thigh as he asked, "After what, precious love?" I kissed him deeply, then cooingly replied, "You know what I mean, sugarbritches."

I can physically feel myself dying. I’m withering away.

****** Later that evening, Claude and I shared pecan pie and hot coffee. It sure is good having him with here with me. Claude then produced something he had nearly forgotten to give to give to me. It looked like lace –– crocheted lace. But this was unlike any lace I've ever seen. "Jehan 416 brought this back from his first trip to Italy. He said the nuns do the most exquisite lacework." Claude handed me the lace, adding, "Since you are intrigued by the needlearts, I'd thought you'd like it." I examined this 500-year-old work of textile art, then embraced Claude Frollo and expressed my gratitude.

I don’t care. Stop.

Afterwards, Claude Frollo took a deep breath, gazed into my eyes and said, "Darling Nisha! When you show how grateful you are, you do so with such style!" That said, we soon embarked on another night of passion and romance. He always does such nice things for me. I wonder what he'll give me for Christmas? Hmmm...I wonder if Claude will like the Christmas present I bought him...sure glad I called that order in early. He's gonna be REALLY surprised!

THE END

THANKS BE TO GOD. Let me check the author’s page to make sure I got it all- HOLY HELL THERE ARE OVER THIRTY ONESHOTS, A DECADE’S WORTH OF FANFICTION AND MANY LONG SEQUELS! Kyrie elision.