Give Me One Day Out There

“Bullshit. You gotta work on that face.” He grinned. It wasn’t hard to tell Quasimodo had no intention of going anywhere. Boring, but there were worse things than being able to read someone so easily.

Closing his sketchbook with a shut, Quasimodo frowned up at Hook. “You don’t know a thing about me” He huffed, “I might.” He has snuck off before, he could do it again. Though, his heart clenched at the memories of the last outing and how well that ended for him.

“No need to apologize, I assure you,” she told him, her smile softening a little when he seemed to relax.  “It’s a big world, Mo.  Lots of different people, lots of different beliefs.  Back home, my people believed in a lot of gods instead of just one, and they weren’t all nice,” she explained.  “I’ve been through a lot when it comes to religion.  Kinda makes it hard to believe in anything,” she admitted, shrugging a shoulder.  “Maybe you could teach me some French swears.  Might come in handy some day,” she joked, laughing softly.  She quirked a brow when he shifted his attention to her, his question surprising her a little.  “You want to draw me?  Why?”

“I know about people not being nice.” Quasimodo muttered, noticing that some bitterness was rising in his voice but he pushed that down. His father told him that the world was cruel, but it was just hard to accept. Still, when Chel mentioned that she dealt with people that weren’t all nice, it brought up those lessons of people that would probably never accept him and be just awful. “I understand. I had a friend like that” he admitted, “Really my only friend.” And someone he had a crush on but he didn’t want to admit that. It was silly. Esmeralda wouldn’t look at him that way... Would she? Looking down at his sketchbook, he turned to a new page and began to start drawing Chel, “I think I can teach you a few. As long as no one knows where you got them from.” Pausing from his sketching, he only glanced up at her, worried, “B-because you are... P-pretty. I don’t have to. If you don’t... Want me to...” 

His shift had her eyes widening, her heart aching as she realized he thought she was angry or something.  “Hey, hey, it’s fine.  You’re allowed to have a different opinion,” she assured him.  “Around here, everyone’s got their own story, their own beliefs, their own opinions about the big things.  I’d never hold whatever you believe against you,” she promised.  “Just like I’d hope you’d never hold anything about me against me,” she added.  “You can disagree with me whenever you want, Mo.  The worst you’ll get in return is my big mouth and maybe a few Spanish cuss words,” she joked, offering a comforting smile.  “I could use a little boring,” she shrugged.  She just wanted something quiet, something different from her normal routine.  Something that might make her forget about all of the bad stuff in her head for a while.

“I-I’m sorry...” Quasimodo paused, looking at her before taking a deep breath and nodded. “I would never” He shook his head, “N-No. I would not hold anything against you. I just... I-I never thought about... A different o-opinion.” Realizing just how pretty she was, as well as being kind to him, he kept his head down, not wanting to embarrass himself further. “I only know French” He remarked, chuckling, “So I don’t mind.” Adjusting his sketchbook, his eyes glanced up at her, “C-Can I draw you? If you don’t mind...” 

“What d'ya want, kid? A guided tour?” He scoffed, jerking his hook in the general direction of the Jolly Roger. Hook always knew where it was; he could find it nearly dead and drunk as he’d ever been. “It’s in Olympus.”

Quasimodo rolled his eyes, “No I’m good. Thanks.” He looked at where Hook pointed, finding himself decidedly not wanting to go anywhere near there. He already hesitated to the idea but now he really did not want to. It would probably just cause more problems. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Ah. That’s easy. The Jolly Roger.” His smile had more teeth in it than was probably necessary. The crocodile would have been proud. He finished his cigarette and flicked it away because littering was on the bottom rung of things Hook worried or cared about. “You decide you wanna live a little, the first round’s on me.”

He cocked a finger, returning the frown, and Hook’s was at least twice as formidable. “Don’t look at me like that.” He held up two more fingers, one for each item on his list. “Smoking. Drinking. Women.” A contemplative pause, while he plucked the cigarette from between his lips, expelling smoke. “Or men, if that’s your bent.”

“No.” Quasimodo was almost exasperated but he refrained, fiddling with his pencil nervously. He wasn’t even going to question or comment about the possibility of women and men being ‘his thing’ simply because he has never really shown interest. Besides his pathetic crush on Esmeralda. “I mean, I don’t know where to go.” 

“You got a different opinion?” she inquired.  She could tell when someone was holding back, and she preferred a friendly debate over that any day.  “Go ahead.  You think your God is a forgiving one?” she asked, her expression open and far from judging.  She wasn’t sure she could ever believe it, but knowing someone that seemed as good as Quasimodo did believe it would give her some hope.  “You willing to make this one of those things?” she questioned, giving him a smile.  When he agreed, her smile grew, and she gave him a little nod.  “Great.  I look forward to it,” she told him.  “You mind if I sit here and watch you sketch?  It would be better than what I was going to do with my afternoon.”  Maybe some of his goodness would rub off on her in the process.

Quasimodo froze, his eyes widening, feeling his hands starting to shake. “N-No... I...” He paused, looking away and trying to make himself smaller. He did have a different opinion but he didn’t want to anger her because he had a different opinion. “I mean... He is f-forgiving. But I don’t mean to speak out against you. I’m sorry.” Focusing on his sketchbook, he felt himself relax and nodded. “Of course you can... Stay here. I’m sorry if it might be too boring.” He knew that it wouldn’t be too interesting if she just sat next to him. But he did find comfort and a little bit of happiness that someone would even want to be near him for a long time. 

He chuckled at the look on his face, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “Live a little, kid. It probably won’t kill ya.”

“I wouldn’t k-know where to begin...” Quasimodo frowned, looking over at Hook and almost stating that the other man said probably, a keyword. That usually meant that there could be a potential for bad things to occur.

Cue Hook’s total lack of surprise. The kid looked like he’d never had a moment of vice or fun in his entire life. “Yeah? And now that you’re out?”

Quasimodo paused in his drawing, looking up at Hook, confused and a little fearful. “I mean...” He stuttered a little bit, “I-I don’t know. Never thought to ask or go look...” Plus what if Frollo showed up? That was a terrifying thought.

Drunks seemed to have a special sort of protection when they were wandering about utterly pissed. It was something Hook had noticed over time, as he likely should have been dead several times over for one reason or another. “Ever been drunk, lad? You might feel differently.” The meanness had leeched out of his voice. For him, this passed as friendly conversation.

“N-No” Quasimodo shook his head, frowning a little, “That... Would have required leaving Notre Dame and... Going outside.” He wasn’t allowed to, at least back in Paris. Now he stayed in the church because it was familiar, even if it wasn’t meant to be a place for people to stay permanently. Neither was Notre Dame for that matter, but Frollo has told him repeatedly that no one else would have taken him in. He is pretty sure that was still the case here. 

Hook was halfway watching him sketch, in part because he was interested but mostly because he enjoyed making people uncomfortable. He snorted at the question. They’d had exactly one encounter, and the kid already had his number. “No. Bloody shame, isn’t it?”

Quasimodo shrugged, his eyes fixed more on his sketch and trying not to feel too anxious about Hook’s looming over. “I wouldn’t say that” He said quietly, reaching up to adjust his hearing aid with one hand, “But... It’s, um. Nice to see you... Not stumbling.” A part of him was glad that the man didn’t seem to hurt himself walking around the streets drunk. Mostly because he would have felt a little bad leaving him to his own devices. 

“That was my next guess,” he muttered, smoke curling out of his mouth and nose. He raised an eyebrow like the question was impertinent even though it was probably fair. He was the one darkening the kid’s doorway, but that didn’t motivate him to stop. “No. Carry on.” He waved a hand for him to continue with… whatever it was he was doing.

The smoke around Hook was kind of interesting to Quasimodo, making him curious about drawing or sketching the man. He would, if he wasn’t so terrified of him. So instead he continued with his sketch of the church, trying to get the shading of the place at sunset just right. “Are you, um, drunk... today?” He asked quietly, not sure if he could smell booze or not. The man wasn’t stumbling so that was a plus. 

“Oh how I wish I had your optimism,” she replied, releasing a heavy sigh.  “It’s more that I’ve done quite a lot of things that would probably be categorized as ‘sinful’.  Regardless of the religion, I’m pretty sure gods don’t like it when you sleep around and steal from people,” she explained.  She did more of the latter than the former these days, but either way, she was no saint.  “Really?  That means you haven’t had her famous beignets.  You’re missing out, cariño,” she nodded seriously.  “Alright, you make me something and you get a meal and some beignets.  We got a deal?”

Quasimodo looked at Chel, his lips pursed a little in thought. He didn’t necessarily think bad things made someone completely sinful but he was never allowed to express that. Especially not to Frollo. Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head, “If you say so.” Changing the subject to beignets was easier, as Quasi let out a small, quiet chuckle, “I don’t leave the church that much. Except for certain things.” The deal sounded harmless and he already was thinking of ideas of what to make Chel. Timidly he nodded, “Okay. We have a deal...” 

“Really?” she replied.  She wondered what it would be like to be able to spend so much time dedicated to something she was passionate about.  It sounded like a good way to spend one’s life.  At the offer, she looked up at the church, making a face.  “Pretty sure I’d burst into flames if I stepped foot in there,” she joked.  “I’ve never been the religious type, and the religion I grew up around was very different to this one,” she explained.  “How about we make a deal?  You sculpt me something, bring it to Tiana’s, and I’ll treat you to a meal on me.”

Quasimodo shook his head immediately, “No you won’t. The church is suppose to be... Sanctuary...” He frowned, looking at the church before back to Chel, “T-that shouldn’t matter, I don’t think. My friend wasn’t religious and she was okay.” He fiddling with his pencil for a moment before nodding and smiling at her, “I can do that... I’ve never been to Tiana’s....” His eyes immediately went back to his sketchbook, almost nervous about admitting he hasn’t ventured out to many places in this new town. 

“You don’t have to apologize either, hermoso,” she assured, cocking her head to the side as he looked down.  She had thought he was shy when she’d first met him, but perhaps there was more to him than she’d first thought.  “Really?  How often do you sculpt?” she inquired.  “If you’re better at that than sketching, I’d love to see what your sculptures look like.”

Quasimodo bit back another apology, though his face light up at her questions about his sculptures and other artwork. “Oh, all the time really” He murmured, “I don’t have much duties here like I did at the Cathedral.” Touching his ear, his fingers brushed over the hearing aid, a nervous habit. “I mean, t-they are inside the room I stay in if you want to see them.” He gestured towards the church. 

“It’s better than anything I could do,” she told him.  “Don’t be so down on yourself,” she suggested, gesturing to the sketch.  “That’s good.  You’ve clearly got some talent.  You can work on getting better and still be confident in where you’re already at.”

“Sorry” Quasimodo replied, looking down, “I-I thought I was just being realistic.” Most of his work was given backhand compliments, courtesy of his father. “T-Thank you” He shuffled, looking up at Chel, “I am better at, um, sculpting. Wood making. Physical arts than pictures.” 

Chel had just gotten off work and was going to go by the Queen’s Pawn to see if Miguel had any plans to go and… collect that night.  Along the way, she passed by the church and saw a familiar face sitting outside.  She glanced at her watch, decided she had enough time for a stop, and walked towards him.  “Don’t look so nervous, Mo,” she teased, plopping beside him and looking at his sketch.  “Wow…  That’s really good.”

Quasimodo relaxed a little seeing Chel, though he remembers their first encounter rather clearly. Glancing back down at his sketch, he smiled, “Well thank you.” It was a picture of the church, just as the sun began to set. He was working on it through both memory and just sitting on the steps as it occur, wanting to get the lighting down. “I-I am not very good at it” He told her, “Sketching. I mean. But I’m getting better.”