A Study in Auradon: The Trials of Notre Dame

Chapter One

Location: Jafar's Junk Shop, Isle of the Lost

The hours were bad. The tips were worse, and the majority of her customers left something to be desired. But c'est la vie, que sera sera, insert foreign language cliché of your choice here. Who else was going to run the Junk Shop? With her mama... gone, Jafar has been in a state of catatonia, living his days like a statue subjected to the passage of time. When he was lucid, his mood differed. Some days he was cantankerous, cursing Aladdin and conspiring with his bird Iago. Other days... well, other days he was like a father. Teaching her new terminology in his native tongue, showing Carlos how to make something explode, repairing Dizzy's glasses, and overall, just being there whenever someone needed him.

These periods never lasted long, though. So, the responsibility of the Junk Shop fell to Jay. Her timely intervention saved the shop from going under. It also prevented the various vultures and competitors, like the Slop Shop or Dr. Facilier's VooDoo Shop, from sweeping in and taking over her parents' business. Her friends may help on occasion, but the few times they were able to escape their overbearing mothers were rare. So, for Jaella Esmée ibn Yahya, things remained boring and dull, words which could not be used to describe the unusually precocious teen.

Teenager. Thief. Procurer of rare items. Mal's right hand. Presumed troubled by the adults of the Isle. (Which Jay found rather ironic considering Facilier hears voices in his head and Cruella talks to her fur coats like they're alive.) Reckless. Cunning. Elegant. Quiet. Observant. Smart. Opinionated. Stubborn... Just.

These were all words used to describe the raven-haired daughter of Jafar. Not that she really cared what others thought of her. Jaella lived her life the way she did everything else, with spite and her head held high. There was little else one could do in a place like the Isle. The citizens lived and loathed in a magicless prison of their own making, and Auradon didn't really care what happened to the citizens of the Isle so long as they got their own happy-ever-afters.

And, in the end, being on the Isle didn't change the way many thought.

Cruella was demented, (No shocker there...) convinced her fur coats could speak to her. Evie's mother strived for perfection in the girls she taught, believing that courtly manners and etiquette were the foundation of a civilized society. Maleficent would prank Diaval for days when her escape attempts inevitably failed, always planning something devious in one way if not the other.

And... the customer currently browsing the isles of the Junk Shop, hands twitching by his side, was about to steal something if the way his eyes shifting between her and the exits was any indication.

With practiced ease, Jay grabbed the wooden plank from behind the counter and crept through the isles, bare feet silent upon the otherwise creaky floor, until she came up behind him. Gripping it tighter with her right hand, she lifted the plank and swung. As the customer crumbled to the floor, Jay was filled with a feeling of gratification. Something about the way his head bounced off of the tiled floor was satisfying to watch. And hear... Setting the plank aside, she stooped down to rifle through his pockets. If he was going to steal from her, then she might as well steal from him.

"Evil's sake, Jay. Did you have to kill the guy?"

Jay turned her head to see Carlos walking through the door, bolts and knuts dropping from the pile of sheet metal he was carrying in his arms. Goblin's Wharf must have just received a shipment of supplies from the illustrious Auradon. Well, more like a shipment of scraps, but to each their own. To-may-to. To-mah-to. The Isle couldn't afford to be choosey or picky with what was made available to them.

"When he is trying to steal a fully functional camera, then yes Carlos, I have to kill the guy," she sassed back. She smiled in triumph as she finally found his stash of money. He kept it in his back pocket, like an idiot. Everyone on the Isle knew to hide your valuables in your shoes, in your underwear, or, if you were assigned female at birth, in your bra. No one was desperate enough for money that they had to resort to digging in someone else's undergarments for it.