Title: all the pretty bells

Author: Digimon Empress Yaten (de yaten)

Notes: Giftfic from khrequest on livejournal. Demyx/Esmeralda, nongraphic violence. This is bookverse!Hunchback of Notre Dame, not the film version. Bookverse Esmeralda irks me to no end… I guess that shows in this, hah. Reviews welcome, especially if you favorite.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, Hunchback of Notre Dame, or their characters. I don't claim to own them.

It was an unusual mission. Perhaps a punishment, Demyx thought, for saying that he felt guilty about taking hearts: Capture and steal the girl's heart, Number Nine, in this world already tainted with its own Dark.

The first time he arrived, she was dancing on a dirty street corner in faded rags, matted-coat goat beside her, and with only a faint jingling tambourine with missing bells to keep the unsteady beat. A few mud-caked coins lay on an equally filthy rag near the animal, and occasionally a bare-footed child would dash past and grab a few for himself, although curiously she never bothered to stop them.

He watched with the small crowd that had gathered, having ditched his coat for something ordinary. She danced well enough, with eyes half-closed and her mind was probably somewhere else, but her arms swayed with grace and her rags swirled around her to create an unusual almost-mockery of fine silken skirts.

She reminded him of a butterfly - maybe not those striking orange-on-black or brilliant seaside blue ones, but a dull brown with specs of sewn-on purple and blue dotting her dress. She was captivating in the way she flitted about, light on street-blackened feet that spun her round and back and sideways, keeping time with the odd music she was beating out with the instrument.

She was captivating enough, he supposed, to keep the attention of the simple peasants and occasionally a well-off merchant that was strolling by and wondered what everyone was crowded around.

Well, if he was going to steal her heart, he might as well make it more worth the while... he approached her as she made to leave, much later in the day, and pressed several silver coins into her soft hand. He held a finger to his lips at the questions almost daring to bubble from her lips, and disappeared into the shadows of an alley and back into the Darkness.

The second time he arrived, she was dancing near the open markets in a new brown cottoned dress, animal dirty as they were prone to be but combed and cut, and her tambourine rang louder and more steady with the new shiny silver discs adorning the sides. A small hat held a modest collection of coins inside, but she still did not bother to stop any of the street children that crept through the crowd and snatched a few for themselves.

He watched with the crowd that had gathered, again donning the clothing of this World. She danced just as well, looking more alert and there than before, and her eyes occasionally locked onto him with a small accompanying smile on her lips.

She reminded him o f a butterfly – still not a striking orange-on-black or brilliant seaside blue, but certainly a rich brown with a belt of purple framing her hips. She was captivating in the way she twirled, eyes open and dark and feet carrying her across the small makeshift dancing square she had made.

She was captivating enough, he supposed, to keep the attention of the merchants and well-to-do citizens who wandered away from the stalls, following her music and the hushed-excited crowd-words about a beautiful Gypsy dancer with a goat that could count to twelve.

Well, if he was going to steal her heart, he might as well make it even more worth the while… it was she who approached him as he made to leave, stopping mid-dance and springing through the crowd to grasp his arm.

"Please tell me your name," she said, "a name, any name, sir, so that I may thank you for your generosity."

Her voice was high and light, and he guessed she couldn't have been much older than sixteen, if that.

He swiftly pressed his lips to hers, brief and unreturned, but her face had turned a soft shade of pink with the gesture.

"Demyx," he said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a handful of coins. He pressed them into her free hand and disappeared into the crowd before she had time to voice any confusion.

The third time he arrived, she was dancing in the town square in a glittering orange dress that sparkled with gold bells, goat snow white and fitted with a leather belled collar, and tambourine new and glittering. Coins were almost regularly tossed into a small hat near the animal, enough to fill it to the brim and spill over. Children still ran by, snatching a few coins here and there, and she hushed any angry crowd member with a smile and told them to pay no mind.

He watched amongst the large crowd that had gathered, having to push himself through a tight mass of people before making it even relatively close to the town square and the girl. Her dancing was as graceful as ever, gold skirts swishing in time with the steady tambourine beat, but her eyes remained open and searching through the crowd. For him, Demyx thought. Searching for him.

She reminded him of a butterfly – now striking orange-on-black hair, gold trinkets around her wrists and ankles, pretty little winged-baubles sewn into her skirts that jingled with her music movements.

The crowd was captivated entirely, not a soul taking their gaze away from the dancing princess in the square. Even the high and mighty had come down to watch her – he didn't know who they were, but he supposed the most important was the man swathed in black robes, sitting high on a throne-like chair. 

He, too, was watching the girl—although he looked to be almost scowling, and kept making thin-lipped comments to a gold-armored man sitting next to him on a lower seat.

It was this gold-armored man who approached the girl at the end of her dance, before Demyx could shove through the dispersing crowd to greet her. It was this gold-armored man who gave her a charming smile, tossed a few coins into the hat she now held, and cooed something into her small ear. It was this gold-armored man who, after Demyx took a hiding spot behind a small food stand to watch them, led the girl into a nearby inn with a casual glance behind to see if anyone watched.

He left swiftly after, and told the Superior that her heart had already been stolen by another and what could he have done with that guy around? and yes, Superior, I'll be sure to visit one more time and take her heart.

The fourth time he arrived, it was the last—she was wearing a filthy white dress, lips full and dark, dancing at the end of a hangman's rope.