A bit of info:

This version of Clopin is approximately 30-35, and he runs a gang/performance troupe called the Miracle Gallery. They're a Bohemian lot that frequently reside in warehouses around the city and they make ends meet through a mixture of street performances, stealing, and good ol' fashioned begging for money. As you might have noticed, Clopin is a pretty avid believer in cigarettes and more intense drugs, though he can't hold his alcohol worth a dollar.

He's also almost frequently being watched/pursued by the police, and constantly drives them to drink with his mysterious ability to simply vanish. This is, of course, because Mister Trouillefou knows every shortcut in the city, being a good hide-and-seeker.

As for the setting of this, just picture a typical big city like New York. My modern Clopin's usual playground is Ocean City, a fictional place in California(hence why he can skip wearing a real shirt most of the time). I have absolutely no interest in spilling all the goods on Ocean right now, since it would take forever, but rest assured it's a HUGE city.

I'll probably never write any fics similar to this again, since I have role play forums to vent this variety of muse. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

CAUTION: This fic contains mention of illegal drugs, foul language, and other mature topics

DISCLAIMER: HoND is not mine, regretfully

There were days when you simply had to sit down for hours and watch your life float away in puffs of smoke. Those were the days when you had the feeling that the world was waiting anxiously at your doorstep, and you wanted to give it a proper and friendly welcome. Or they were those days when you woke with the feeling of wanting to completely forget what you did all afternoon as well as where you were.

Whatever this day might have, or might not have been, Clopin Trouillefou was effectively sitting alone in a closet of their current warehouse abode, laying against the wall and watching with a great deal of delight as tendrils of smoke played across the expanse of air above him. The day was so far a success. Two packs of cigarettes were gone, an entire two-liter of Pepsi, and a wide array of other substances that may or may not have been legal. That was to say, Clopin was effectively on his way to being completely brain-fucked, if one might excuse the language.

Since he had barred himself in the closet(literally speaking), several attempts had been made to garner his attention for matters that were apparently important. He had watched with increasing mirth as individuals entered. Robby had first come in with a complaint about leaks in the roof, had taken a whiff of the place, and had promptly slammed the door. Regan had later popped up asking about the rights to sleeping arrangements; he had hacked for a moment, taken a completely harmless-looking bag of interesting green plantlife that Clopin would refuse any involvement with, and left. His personal favorite so far had been Rachel, who had entered only an hour ago.

She was still outside wheezing, gagging, and ranting that "Goddamn Clopin Fucking Trouillefou is a machine" to a highly amused crowd of spectators. He considered that the sign that his day was a complete success and nothing could possibly-

"Clopin? I'm opening the door. You'd better come out because I'm notcoming in."

Shit.

He squinted at the sudden influx of light, as he'd only had a flashlight and a Zippo to keep him company so far. Clopin looked up when the sting cleared and smiled rather sheepishly at Esmeralda, who looked none-too-impressed as smoke billowed forth into the warehouse. "Want some?" He asked, holding out the cigarette he'd been halfway through enjoying.

"Non," She snapped, waving a tanned hand through the smoke and covering her mouth in an exaggerated manner. "God, what are you trying to do? Kill yourself?' After waiting a moment and discovering much to her apparent malcontent that Clopin had no intention of rejoining the land of the living, she propped a hand on her hips. "Are you coming out?"

He beamed up at her. "Nope." Clopin deliberately exhaled towards her, and she scowled. "Sit down, you won't get a contact high."

Esmeralda huffed, but hunkered down opposite him in the closet, folding her arms over the white skirt she was sporting for the day. "You know, what you did to Rachel is cruel. She's still coughing, you know."

"She opened the door, not I."

She sighed. "Well, listen. Can you drive?"

Clopin pondered the question with some thought. Could he drive?Could he drive? "My license is expired," He began to her positively wrathful glare. "Mais, it has been since I was nineteen." Clopin grinned cheekily. "Oui, mon amour, I can drive."

The Miracle Gallery had several vehicles at their disposal, and she could have asked any number of candidates for a lift, but Esme always tracked Clopin down anyway. Unless he was too drunk to see straight, let alone drive, it usually fell on him to bring her all across the city. Though not exactly a task he leapt at, they had a friendship that extended through thick and thin.

No one was entirely positive where little Esme the dancer had come from, but she had popped up on the Gallery's doorstep as a child without the slightest clue as to how or why she was there. Clopin, an admitted child lover, had immediately taken an entirely brotherly liking to the cheeky girl, and in the ten years since they had become family in all but blood.

"Good." Esmeralda said matter-of-factly. "Can you take me to that little café downtown? The one with the umbrellas that look like candy canes?"

Clopin looked her over again, starting with the unruly black ringlets that were much tamer than usual, and working to the pretty face, which was remarkably clean(was that makeup?). He surveyed her red shirt, made from a flowing material normally saved for special occasions, and his observations ended in the long, frilled skirt that hung just over her sandaled feet. He looked back up with a raised eyebrow. "Who are we impressing today, mon amour?"

She flushed, which set off an alarm in his head, and Clopin took the liberty of raising both eyebrows. Esmeralda was notoriously picky about the boys she dated(or rather, Clopin was picky and she fed off him for approval), so this was a bit of a shock. Not that she didn't have flings like the rest of the world – Esme was an active partaker in one night stands, even at the tender age of eighteen. "No one important." She finally muttered. "Listen, can you just bring me there?"

"Non, come on!" Clopin leaned forward eagerly, "Who is it? God, not that Billy salaud again. He was a complete-"

"Not Billy!"

Clopin fell back, genuinely stumped. "Mark?" Headshake. "Laurence?" No. "Tim?" Nope. "Not the lumpy church kid!"

"No, Clop! Can you stop asking?" She looked away. "His name's Phoebus, okay?"

His eyes widened, and Clopin couldn't keep his jaw from dropping phenomenally. "Not that Phoebus!" He gasped. "Esme, are you crazy? He's a cop! He's a law-man! He's older than you!"

Esmeralda rolled her eyes, an act she had perfected over the years. "He's also nice, believe it or not. He's not like other guys. He doesn't just look at my chest." She pouted and his lip curled. "He is! He doesn't care about the Gallery!"

"That's why he tried to arrest me. Twice."

"You deserved it the second time."

"It was one little bag! Everyone has one little bag!"

"Clopin, it was a Zip-Loc."

"So?"

"Of cocaine!"

He had the dignity to look slightly mollified. "He's still a cop. And he's still male."

Esme grinned mischievously. "He isn't going bald." She tapped the brim of his fedora and pushed it over his eyes.

Clopin flailed to fix it and frowned unhappily. "Bald jokes. Not cool at all." A moment passed and he stretched his legs lazily, then stood up. "Well, Esme, mon petite ange, if you think he's so fantastique I'll simply have to meet him." Clopin sauntered to a nearby table, one of several strewn around, and pulled on his jacket, sticking both arms into the purple sleeves at once and flipping it on in a gesture that was all his own.

"What?" Esme screeched, bounding after him. "Oh, Clopin, don't do that! Please? This isn't the middle ages! I don't need a chaperone!" She pouted as best she could, but he brushed by. "You're going to do something nasty! Or say something nasty! Or both!" She continued. "Clop, he'll hate me! This is supposed to be a date!"

He glanced back with a sharkish smile. "It will still be a date! Want me to bring someone along?" Clopin glanced around. "Kelly! Mon amour!Wanna go on a date?" The redhead looked up from where she was counting coins and flushed, then nodded eagerly. "See?" He looked back at Esmeralda with a look of utter mischief.

She hid her face in her hands. "No! Just you, if you have to come!" Everyone knew that dates with Clopin Trouillefou didn't last long, nor were they particularly different from flings.

He shrugged with a sense that he had just won an argument, and looked around for his 'date' again. "Nevermind, Kelly!" Clopin hollered, assuming that wherever she was she would hear him. Maybe later though. She was very pretty, after all. "Now, come on. You don't want to be late!"

"Could you at least wear real clothes?"

Clopin looked down at himself. Bare chest, jacket, tight purple pants and army boots. For him, this was exceedingly tame. Still, he grinned and approached the door. "Nope!"

"Er… Esme… What's going on?"

The café had been crowded when they pulled up, but the joy of motorcycles was that they didn't need much room. While Esmeralda had taken Djali out of his pouch on the side of the bike, Clopin had sidled the machine into a space next to the curb. It stood out like a sore thumb anyway, all manner of colors, with the words "Miracle Gallery" etched onto the tank in black paint.

He had gotten off amid Esmeralda's little dog yapping ferociously at anyone nearby, doing all that a terrier could to sway people from daring to so much as brush against his mistress. Clopin had only enough time to fix his hat before their victim came trooping over, looking entirely confused.

"Phoebus… er… this is Clopin. Clopin, this is Phoebus." Esmeralda introduced awkwardly.

"We've met." They both answered, though were Phoebus looked completely distasteful, Clopin merely grinned a Cheshire Cat smile.

They stood in an awkward circle for several seconds while Djali asserted himself vivaciously over Phoebus's golden retriever, who seemed rather stunned by the arrangement as well. Almost a minute went by before someone got up the will to speak again.

"Listen, I didn't think that he was coming, but he wasn't going to bring me if he couldn't tag along." Esmeralda asserted, shaking her head. "I promise, promise, promise he's not going to say anything. Right?" She wheeled around to glare at Clopin, who chose that moment to look away innocently.

Phoebus looked between them for an instant and finally nodded, shaking some blond hair into his eyes as he did so. "Yeah, alright. It's up to you." He smiled and held up his dog's leash and a Frisbee. "I knew you'd have your dog too, so I figured we could go to the park for a while. Achilles needs some exercise." He glanced back at Clopin, who was eying the dog rather boredly.

"See something interesting?" Clopin interjected rudely.

Phoebus raised his eyebrows slightly. "No. Smell, actually." He leaned a bit closer, compelling Clopin to shy away and glare at Esmeralda, who watched with a hint of mortification. "Tobacco," Clopin grinned.

"Pot." The smile stretched further.

" And…" Phoebus frowned and narrowed his eyes as Clopin began to hoot with laughter. "You know, I should arrest you. You're practically a pile of drugs anyway." Esmeralda planted her face in her hands again as Clopin giggled.

"Sticks and stones, mon capitaine! Now lead the way! The day is still young!"

The day wasn't a complete fiasco by any means.

Clopin proved remarkably true to his unspoken word and for the most part stayed out of their way, instead vouching to lean against a tree at the park and watch them play with the dogs. True, he made frequent comments about Achilles, who seemed incapable or simply unwilling to steal the Frisbee from Djali, instead running to the site of the landing and waiting until the smaller dog caught up and claimed it.

There were stolen moments in which Esmerald and Phoebus got to enjoy time together apart from their unwanted companion, such as when Clopin fell asleep for almost half an hour, and when he ran off to chat with a 'friend'. In the latter case, of course, Phoebus had dragged the self-proclaimed Gyspy King away by the collar, muttering all the while about breaking protocol and the nerve of people doing deals in broad daylight around kids.

When they had progressed to an outdoor café as the afternoon continued, Clopin had been admittedly taken aback when Phoebus bought him a slushie, and was content to drink it at another table while they did the sickening romantic tradition of saying sweet nothings that would have made him sick anyway. Now, this was not to say that Phoebus was at all growing on him, despite the friendly gesture. Any amiable feelings were effectively doused when the giant oaf had to again haul Clopin away from an innocent dealer, whileagain muttering mutinously about the gall of some people.

Yet, Clopin looked at the situation with a much lighter mood as the date wore on. Esmeralda seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself, and she had been quite true in saying that Phoebus seemed to admire her mind rather than her body. The blond dolt seemed to make up in manners everything that he lost in intelligence, and when they returned to the park as the sun was setting, Clopin even took the initiative to watch their pets while they strolled off hand in hand.

Phoebus, of course, hadn't been thrilled to come back and see Clopin breathing smoke into his faithful companion's nose, trying to see what it took to make a dog stoned, but the aftermath had been positively worthwhile in Clopin's mind, as Achilles flopped on the grass with seemingly not a care in the world. He had then had to hand over what remained of his personal stash of goodies to Phoebus, of course, which had resulted in much mutinous muttering and Esmeralda going so far as to bean him on the head for being absolutely vulgar.

At last the time came to part, which Phoebus, still in a foul mood, did without any sort of regret. As Esmeralda ran to fetch a drink for Djali, however, Clopin sauntered over to the cop, who was tucking in his grass-stained white shirt. "Do you like Esmeralda?" He asked plainly enough, playing with the hem of his jacket.

Phoebus shot him a glare. "Of course I do. Why else would I tolerate a day with you?"

"Non, mon capitaine, you misunderstand." Clopin looked up at him, finding absolutely no disadvantage despite reaching only so far as Phoebus's chin. "Do you like her?"

The question hung in the air for a moment or two before Phoebus's eyebrows stitched together above his nose. "Yes, I think so. Who are you to even ask th-"

"Think? Well, mon ami, I hope you become sure very soon," Clopin's eyes narrowed abruptly and he stepped forward. "Because if and when she comes to me, even the slightest bit heartbroken, you will be counting your life in hours." The smile was gone, and his expression had become set in stone. "I hope you understand that."

For some time, Phoebus seemed at a loss for words. At last he backed up and frowned. "Is that a threat?"

"Damn straight it is."

Esmeralda began approaching from the nearest fountain and Phoebus pursed his lips. "Then… I'll take it into consideration." He began walking, with Clopin following his moves like a hawk. "But I don't think you'll need to get your hands dirty anytime soon. Not with me, anyway." With that he turned completely and left the park.

Esmeralda watched him with a perturbed expression before rounding on Clopin. "Please tell me you didn't just threaten him."

"Nope. Not even a little bit." Clopin lied brightly. He turned back to Esme with a beaming grin. "But I think I could learn to like thatsalaud." He scratched the back of his neck and they began walking towards the opposite park entrance. "But you know… he's still a cop. And he's still older than you."

"Clopin, shut up."

"Oui, mademoiselle."