(This is based off the Disney movie with maybe occasional refrences to the book. Also, I own just as much as every other hopeless fangirl, which is to say, nothing. Please be kind and tell me if you like it or hate it, or whatever you think needs work. Pretty please.)

Ah, Bonjour. You are here for a story, yes? Which one shall Clopin tell you. The Bellringer? No, you've heard that one. What about la Belle et la B- non, too simple for you. What was that? A story about me? Well, I have many stories, mon ami, and many that I cannot tell you. But maybe, just maybe, there is One.

Everyone in Paris called her the "La Riene des Ennuis," the Queen of Trouble. She founded the Court of Miracles, and was the thorn in Judge Claude Frollo's side for many, many years. This once, I remember… But non, I get ahead of myself. I shall start where all stories must start, at the beginning, with an introduction.

"Clopin! Clopin Trouillefou! Get your hand off that scarf and come here!" Ashamed at being caught, the seven year old dropped the silk he'd been trying to look at and walked over to his mother, across the busy flow of traffic in the market. She was there, all five foot nothing of her, bustling around talking to one of her friends who held the hand of a girl not much younger than himself. He paused for a second to look at what an odd group they made. His mother, short and plump, her face alive with vibrant energy contrasted highly with the tall, sickly woman she spoke to. The girl was malnourished, and her dark hair was cropped short roughly, but signs of her beauty still shone through. For example, she had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

"Marie, please." The thin woman's eyes were begging. " I cannot feed her on the road. I must leave Paris, it is not safe for me here any longer. Not with her father searching for us every day" My mother stopped, and turned to her. "And if I do? He will only find me! I don't need him causing me trouble, too!"

Clopin felt his eyes wander away, bored with the conversation. They were drawn to a brightly colored corner of the market where a girl with skin too dark to be gypsy sat and sang. Absentmindedly, he grabbed the green eyed girl's hand and pulled her after him, until they both stood in front of the Singer.

"Salut, mon petit gypsies." She finished her song and looked up at them. Her eyes sparkled a little, and Clopin drew himself up to his full height to give her a look.

"My mother said to ignore anybody who called me that." He said, with all the forceful conviction of a child. The little girl by his side shrank down and said, in something barely above a whisper, "People call me and my mama that all the time." The singer's eyes softened slightly, looking at the two of them, but she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I merely call something what it is. That is a goat. This is a coin. You are gypsies. You understand, yes? Whatever else people mean when they say it is up to them. To me, a thing is a thing, and what it does rules how you treat it." The younger girl looked up at the older one, her green eyes wide.

"When people call me and mama gypsies they don't mean nice things. Do you mean not nice things too?" The singer, who Clopin judged to be about 20 tilted her head to the side and scooped up the little green eyed girl, settling her on her lap.

" What is your name, Petit?"

" Esmeralda, Madame"

"Well, Esmeralda, I know nothing not nice attached to that name, and so I shall treat you as something new, and undiscovered. How does that sound to you?" Esmeralda, the green eyed girl, nodded happily, and hugged the singer. Clopin just watched this interchange with fascination. This was SO much better than whatever their mothers were talking about, in his mind.

At that moment, he heard a yell of frustration, and turned to look. Someone was racing through the marketplace, dodging from stall to stall, followed by an enraged baker.

"Damn you, you salaud(bastard)!" Clopin heard him yell, and reflexively covered Esmeralda's ears. She didn't need to hear language like that. The thief screeched to a halt in front of them, panting for breath, and grinning cheekily at them.

The singer rolled her eyes upwards and sighed heavily. "What would father say if he were here now. 'Ah, mon petit larron (my little thief), what names did the baker call you today?'" Her voice deepened in imitation. Clopin examined the thief, who had begun pulling rolls out of his pockets. He wore a long, shapeless tunic of an indistinguishable color, and hose of something slightly darker. On his head, he wore a battered old cap that almost completely covered his hair. He had the same dark skin as her sister, but his eyes were shining blue instead of black. He was a little taller than Clopin, and maybe four years older. Sweat rolled down his face from the run, but he didn't seem to care overmuch.

"Well, he isn't here, is he?" His voice was light, easy, calm. "His last words to you were 'Stay good.' His last words to me were 'Take care of yourself.' Your staying good, and I'm taking care, so he can't really complain, now can he?" Busily, he tore both of the rolls in half, and offered one to his sister, one to Esmeralda, and one to Clopin. Esmeralda grabbed hers and ate it like she was afraid it would vanish at any moment. The singer ate quickly as well, but less desperately. The Thief tore into his also, and Clopin slowly took a bite. It was good, and fresh. 'and Stolen' whispered a little voice in his head, making him feel a little guilty. 'I didn't steal it.' He whispered back, and took a bigger bite.

The thief eyed the children cautiously.

"Can you keep a secret?" All hints of joking were gone now.

Both nodded solemnly. The Thief pulled off his cap, and threw it down into the corner. Tightly braided hair fell down his back. He pulled up something else, something yellow, and hid behind his sister for a few moments. She began singing again, and Esmeralda clapped along to the beat happily. Presently, the thief stepped back out, wearing a yellow dress and unbraiding his hair, and he was a he no more. Clopin stared at the young girl who now stood before him, better dressed and, honestly, rather pretty. She grinned at him, winked, and started singing with her sister. Clopin just stared. The thief, who he'd thought was a boy, had just turned into a girl with long black hair and blue eyes. He thought about it for a moment or two, before asking her her name.

"Jeanne." She sang out, instead of the word she was supposed to be singing, setting Esmeralda off laughing. Jeanne ignored the break and continued the song, substituting her own words.

"And what is your name?" she sang, making them all laugh. Clopin held his sides and tried to stop laughing long enough to tell her.

"They call me Clo-"

"CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU!" His mother. Again. The look on his face must have been hilarious, because even Jeanne could not keep a straight face. He heard his mother bustle up behind him, and sigh a little.

"There you are. Gave me such a scare. Bonjour, girls. Esmeralda, come here, please. I need to talk to you." She dragged the two of them away a little and got down on her knees.

"Esmeralda, I have some bad news, dear. Your mama needs to leave for a while. She would like you to come and live with Clopin and me." Clopin felt his jaw drop. Esmeralda's mother was abandoning her? Her green eyes were calm, and just a little sad.

"She said she'd have to leave." Her voice trembled, just a little. "But she said if I was good enough maybe someone would take me in. I've been really, really good. May I come and stay with you? Please?" Clopin's mother had tears in her eyes as she hugged the little girl tightly.

"Of course you may, love. Of course you may."

There, that is a beginning fit for the story. We went and visited the sisters many times, learning simple songs and tricks, but we didn't see the Thief up to her tricks again for close to three years. But, don't you worry, her part in this story is far from over.