The Drunkback of Notre Dame

Quasi and Phoebus have a lad's night out down at the tavern. Hilarity and insanity ensue.

Rating: M for some choice language and situations. This takes place after the events of the film.

This was inspired by an exchange I overheard down my local pub. The two guys didn't actually look like Quasi and Phoebus, but I thought it would be funny to insert them into the piece and would be fun to write. There are some modern words, too, but I though they might enhance the fic.

French translations:

Gargouille--gargoyle. Pronounced "Gar-gool".
Tu m'emmerdes--Go fuck yourself. Ask someone if you want to know how to say that one!

Merde--shit.

Paris was unusually hot and muggy that July evening. The bell tower was sweltering, and Phoebus was so drenched in sweat he was relieved when the day's work was finished and he could remove his armour. It was a Friday night, and once in a while, when Esmeralda needed some time to herself and Quasimodo had rung the evening vespers , Quasi and Phoebus took it upon themselves to go out and enjoy a pint of ale, mead, wine or whatever was drinkable.

The Seine was especially putrid, and to seek relief from the stifling heat, Quasi and Phoebus went in to their local tavern. Packed with local men, all with varying degrees of sweat stains, the tavern was very warm but luckily full of cold beverages. Quasi was worried that the patrons would stare at him, which Phoebus dismissed with, "They're all drunk, anyway, so it doesn't matter,".

The duo made their way to the bar and were soon nursing their tankards full of mead. "God, this is so good!" exclaimed Phoebus. Quasi silently agreed. Quasi had never really enjoyed alcohol, but as the water was frequently filthy, he usually did not have a choice but to drink it in moderation. However, Quasi was so parched he probably consumed more alcohol than he had ever previously had, which soon proved to be a mistake. Ironically enough, the manly man Phoebus had a low tolerance for alcohol and was soon slurring his speech. "Hey, gargouille," said Phoebus, catching Quasi's attention. Quasi himself was a bit tipsy, so he hardly registered the insult. "Do you have thing for my woman?" Phoebus leered.

"W-what? I-I--"Quasi started, then paused. His brain felt weird. "Who's your woman again?" he asked.

"You know…what's-her-face. The dark chick with the hair and amazing tits."

"Oh, I know who you're talking about, yeah. Yeah, she does have a nice pair," agreed Quasi. "Hey, tu m'emmerdes! She's mine!" threatened Phoebus, the mead in his tankard sloshing. Quasi just giggled rather girlishly. "You know what I like?" asked Quasi. He beckoned with his finger for Phoebus to come closer. Once he was next to Phoebus' ear, he whispered, "Gypsies,". Phoebus and Quasi began to snort. "Like I would ever be caught in bed with one of those!" cried Phoebus. They refilled their tankards and raised a toast. "To…uh…Gypsies!" slurred Phoebus and the pair clinked tankards and took a long swig. A few minutes later, after a few more swigs, Quasi started another conversation. "I-I-I…can talk to gargoyles." he slurred. "No way!" said Phoebus in disbelief. "Yeah, and they talk back!" cried Quasi enthusiastically. "You've got it made, man," said Phoebus.

There was a pause between them until Quasi spoke up again.
"You know what I wanna know?" asked Quasi. "What?" asked Phoebus. "Why people are so anal about my looks, man. What's so bad about them?"

"Seriously?" asked Phoebus. "You look like the lovechild of the Plague and Peter Abelard."

"Piss off!" yelled Quasi. "You think I enjoy the fact you get to screw the love of my life? I think she'd rather be with that goat of hers."

"You smell like one!" shouted Phoebus.

"So do you, dumbass! We all do!" roared Quasi.

They stood up and faced glaring at each other. Then Phoebus cracked a smile, then so did Quasi. "I love you, man," said Quasi. Phoebus began to tear up. "I love you, too!" he cried. The two friends embraced, then draped an arm around the other's shoulder. The pair headed out of the tavern, singling a lewd song about prostitutes and baguettes in in appropriate places in halting speech.

They teetered off the short walk back to Notre Dame. Quasi stared up at the immense structure with awe. "Damn, can you imagine living up there?" he said with astonishment. "That's, like--" he began. "Whoa," finished Phoebus. He wrenched open the massive oak door and they stepped into the cathedral, empty save for a few lit candles. "Ugh…hold on," said Quasi. He found the nearest baptismal font and got sick in it. Phoebus laughed. "That's awesome, man! You just totally--" he started, then got sick all over the stone floor. The two met each other's stare and then high-fived. They started up the winding narrow staircase, which suddenly seemed longer and more narrow than they had previously thought. After much stopping to be sick several times, the two finally reached the bell tower. Deciding to be rid of their sweat and vomit stained clothing, Quasi and Phoebus stripped naked and collapsed unconscious on the floor. Quasi was lying in an impossibly uncomfortable position on his hump and Phoebus was laid out on Quasi's work table, his head resting on the wooden miniature cathedral.

While the men were at the tavern, Esmeralda decided to do some practical housework, as much as she loathed the task. Two hours later, Esmeralda finished darning Phoebus's hose and repairing holes in several of Quasi's tunics, and decided to deliver the goods to her friend. After the brisk stroll to the cathedral, Esmeralda was undoubtedly shocked--and amused--at the sight that reached her once she ascended the landing in the belltower. She decided to leave them be until morning. Perhaps they would learn a little something about sobriety, and left.

The morning sun dawned on Paris, illuminating the belltower in beautiful warmth. At least, beautiful to sober people. The light hit Quasi's eyelids like a bullet, and he winced. His poor, misshapen head felt like it would explode. He slowly sat up, his back aching, and horrifically realised he was naked. What happened last night? Up on the table, Phoebus began to stir, and had a similar reaction, moaning "Merde,". Phoebus stared at each other, horrified of what they may have done the night before. Quasi didn't even think about his bell ringing duties--he just wanted some answers as to what happened. They heard soft steps coming up the stairs which lead to the living quarters of the belltower. Luckily, Frollo had been dead for some time, but the Archdeacon, while declining, was still alive. Esmeralda emerged on the landing, a mug grin on her face and her arms crossed over her chest. She stared down at them, both men's mouths agape. Quasi, never taking his eyes off Esmeralda, made to cover his private parts. "Oh, relax. You should have seen yourselves when I found you boys last night!" she exclaimed.

Once they had bathed in river water brought in from the Seine and dressed in fresh tunics and hose, Quasi and Phoebus were surprised to see the Archdeacon standing before them, Esmeralda at his side. "I think you know what needs to be done," said the aged Archdeacon slyly.

Downstairs, Quasi began washing the baptismal font and Phoebus was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor tiles under the watchful eye of the Archdeacon and Esmeralda. Suffice to say, the men were more than a little embarrased. The pair soon worked their way to the steps. Once the Archdeacon and Esmeralda were out of ear shot, there was a moment of silence between the two friends. "We're never drinking again," said Quasi solemly. "Shut up," said Phoebus. "Keep scrubbing!" chimed Esmeralda cheerfully. Quasi and Pheobus rolled their eyes. And thus, that was the last time the two friends ever decided to enjoy too much cold mead on a hot night. At least for a while.