Of Men and Gypsies

[Anonymous]

((OOC: Sorry if I seem like too much of a newbie, but I'm not used to roleplaying on forums. ;-; Sorry if this opening sucks. I have a weird way of describing and writing things.))

The pale harvest moon called to him, slowly driving him mad. The gypsy caravan lay aglow beyond him, the thread-like beams of light from the tiny window barely illuminating his thin silhouette. The burning embers before him beckoned, flames licking the twigs and logs the others had provided early in the evening.

The moonlight caressed him, continuing its relentless call. And he finally gave in. Alden finally stood, calloused hands poised and tanned back bent slightly. He brought his hands down before him, fingers ghosting along his bare chest. Digits splayed, he continued his slow motions until the power raging inside his small body was pounding in his brain, drowning out the sound of the tambourine. Or was it his heartbeat? He was never sure.

With a sudden lunge, he found he was dancing. The bells tied to his wrists clinked in unison with his movements. Feet swept the ground for seconds at a time, never idle for very long. He moved clockwise now. Tick tock, tick tock. Counterclockwise. Tock tick, tock tick.

And just like that, the energy dispersed. The dance was broken. Alden stood motionless for a mere moment, dark eyes cloudy. How he always felt controlled. Such power coursed through his veins when he moved that he could not contain it. Alden’s dances were not beautiful. At least, not the kind of beauty that Fayruz or Damara’s dances held. His were clumsy and sloppy; as unkept as he was. He did not move with the fluid motions of water, as Fayruz did. Her dances were a sight to see. Alden’s were… Well. Better to keep out of sight.

As he lapsed back into silence, sinking back to the ground, he caught Fayruz’s gold eyes staring at him with curiosity. When he simply shook his head and drew his attention to the next dancer, she frowned and drew a few ringlets of slightly oily black hair around her finger and into her mouth, sucking lightly. Alden self-consciously brushed a hand through his own dirty-blonde curls.

The soles of his feet were bleeding. Had he stepped on a rock during his intoxicated dance? It all felt foggy. Fayruz was right beside him now. She reached to touch his hand. “Are you alright?�

“Yes,� Alden said, flicking a clump of dirt away from the open wounds on his feet.

He and his sister were not gypsies. They were just traveling with them. At least, this was what Alden tried to convince himself.

Fayruz squeezed his hand. He gave a half-hearted squeeze back, glancing over his shoulder at the village only a mile or so away, at the base of the rocky mountain that the gypsy caravans had come to rest at this fair autumn night. He found Damara’s morals questionable. She said that they could not stay in the villages they visited, because they were ‘unclean.’

Rather, Alden though, she was unclean. She told of the future and things to come. The rest of them were but humble dancers. Or were they beggers? Begging for coins on the street corners for no real work, simply to look pretty?

The tall trees shielded their caravans from view. Hopefully they would not get torched, as they had at the last village. Alden rested his head against Fayruz’s shoulder, blinking slowly. It would be a long night.

[Anonymous]

The day had waned, replaced by shadows, moon and stars. They caused her to make haste, however, her heart did not move. Maybe it should have - the night was a mystical place, full of romance, danger, mystery, and horror. And yet, she felt little to nothing for it - it was the same, wherever she was, and although that in itself was comforting, it was simply the night. It's beauty was fleeting, and yet it'd come back the next night. Maybe she took it for granted, but so did other people.

Akeringu knew her purpose well enough, she supposed. Apparently, she was supposed to be travelling with Damara's caravan, yet the reasons were rather... unclear. Mama Calogera, and Granny Pastora simply said that she was to be a bodyguard for Damara's caravan, and then had sent her on her way. They only said that it was time they repaid a favor to the woman, and Akeringu thought it best to be left unsaid - she didn't want to intertwine herself needlessly in gypsy secrets. Afterall, she was most certainly tangled, as it was.

In any case, she felt dirty and disgruntled, and she could feel her aggitation and so could her horse. It danced beneath her and she felt unamused when her grip began faltering and the shadows played cruel tricks. The undergrowth grappled at the horse's legs, and what meager threads of control she had were lost as the horse sprung forward, making a crazed dash for God knew what.

Hell no! Er, hell yes! She probably should have paid more attention to Francis and his horse back riding lessons - especially the lesson about suicidal-runaway-hundreds-of-horsemeat-hurtling-through-a-forest-at-lethal-speeds. Yeah, that might have been useful in stopping aforementioned horse.

It seemed to know, yes, know, that when it sprung out of the forest and into the clearing ahead of the caravan that that was its destination - it halted suddenly, throwing Akeringu over its head and right onto her back. If at all possible, she would have felt embarrassed, but she was trying to remember how to breathe again. Her lips and mouth parted and her chest and lunges moved but no air was being taken in, until finally her body responded, and she took a wheezy, difficult breath.

On the other hand, the horse's sides heaved as he shifted and side-stepped away from her, like this was his intention of humiliating her in front of an entirely different caravan. It was bad enough she appeared more like a little girl then body guard. The horse did little for her image - her hair displaced, and her far dirtier then she had been an hour ago, and the horse had nothing to say but a snort (of what was probably satisfaction from seeing his rider made a fool of).

"...I'm glad the ground broke my fall," she coughed, slowly taking inventory of her body and checking it's signs - everything was moving, minimal pain. Yay! No broken bones!

[Anonymous]

At Akeringu’s sudden and rather comical entrance, all sound in the gypsy camp came to a screeching halt. Even the crickets stopped their chorus to observe the lesson in humility the girl was receiving from her audacious horse. Alden had begun to ebb away as the stallion edged nearer to his place in camp, as he was a bit skittish around the equine sort.

Fayruz, who had been frozen with the rest, jumped up as the girl began to breathe again. She rushed over and dropped onto her knees, saying a quick, “Oh, heavens, child, are you alright?� Despite that she was probably younger than said young woman, she had picked up quite a bit of the elders’ way of speaking. Alden rolled his eyes and stood, moving to help the girl up while avoiding getting too close to the horse.

A thin whisper rose up among the group of gypsies as Damara began to rise and make her slow way over to the scene of the crime. Alden, as he grabbed Akeringu by the elbow and hoisted her up murmured, “Good show.� He let her go as soon as she was up and had her balance.

Damara smiled as she came to stand beside them, her leathery, age-worn face contorting into a comforting expression. “Ah. You must be Akeringu. Calogera said you would be joining us sometime soon.� She said in a wheezy tone, her voice just as aged as she was. Despite this, she had a strong spirit. The old woman’s graying black hair was held back in several small braids bound together down the middle of said extension.

Damara clasped her thin, bony hand around Akeringu’s shoulder and pulled her close. Alden grimaced, dully noting that the old woman smelled heavily of incense and the poor girl would be lucky to emerge from the hag’s vice-grip with all of her senses in tact.

“Brothers, sisters, I want you all to welcome this youth to our tribe. Akeringu shall be our bodyguard; protecting us from the vile misunderstandings that come from beyond our caravans.� Damara said with vigor, squeezing Akeringu’s shoulder a little tighter than needed. The others among the caravans exchanged looks and then looked back to the girl beside the old woman. She didn’t seem like much.

Alden muttered something about her being even smaller than he was. The boy snorted sourly. Like they needed the help of some outsider. They got by just fine. Fayruz gave him a pointed look.

[Anonymous]

Standing at, possibly, 5 foot 4, and looking more child-like than womanly, and she looked less then presentable, being scuffed, dirty, with all sorts of twigs and leaves on her person. But it was okay - because even though she was extremely embarrassed and wasn't too keen on looking anyone in the eye, with her cheeks staining the color of crimson, she simply allowed herself to be aided, nodding in a daze.

"Thanks," was all she could say in response to them - they were being kind, afterall. She was just relieved no one was laughing... yet.

The stallion meandered farther and farther away, nibbling on the grass, thoroughly enjoying the sight. Akeringu truly was a land animal - riding or flying was not in her best interest, but they often provided entertainment for those who didn't mind standing around (a good distance away) and watching the following comical events.

The young girl, who was about seventeen, even if her appearance suggested she was actually fiffteen or so, managed to look at Damara. The elder's comforting expression allowed her bruising shoulders to relax and her breathing to become less strained. She was how Calogera said she would be - she could even feel the spirit that was inside her. This was how people should be when they grew old. Hopefully, there sanity would be intact, she still didn't know about Damara's, though. Afterall, her experience with gypsies always said there was at least someone (if not everyone) who was insane.

Then her hazey state returned as she was pulled closer to Damara,  the incense rolled around her, beginning to cling to her own skin, hair and clothing. She grimaced slightly, but dared not to do anything more but lightly return the hug. She didn't want to offend the elder or anyone else who was watching (which was just about everyone).

Akeringu found herself able to smile again - recovering herself, because later she could only expect to be mocked for her fall and for her new role as bodyguard. She looked like a child and her introductory was formed by her meeting the ground (not for the first time). But this was to be expected, and she would smile no matter what. Because it was either that or give some people bloody noses, right? And defending herself violently to the people she's supposed to be defending doesn't really make much sense! Nor does it give a good impression about her or Calogera's caravan.

Smiling was the best option, and afterall, it was kind of funny that she had just fallen off her horse (who more than likely did it on purpose). It took some restraint to not go into hysterical laughter after recounting her fall, her appearance, and the fact the blood bay was acting more holier-than-thou than usual.

"Thank you very much, Elder," she told Damara, trying to ignore the tight grip, glancing at Alden out of the corner of her eye, hearing his mutterance about her height, and although her eyes narrowed slightly, she simply smiled in a toothy manner before her attention was held by Damara once again.

"Mama Calogera said to give you this note of apology for the debt being so late," she said, still in a daze, and vaguely noting the stiffness that would be accompanied by soreness tomorrow. She searched her pockets, jacket and then glanced at the stallion.

"Georgie! Come here!" She said, as sweetly as possible, but the horse ignored her, only taking a few steps closer.

"Ah... excuse me! Georgie doesn't listen..."

If that wasn't obvious enough.

"Georgie," she called again, but once again, he took a few steps in front of him, and only one to the side. After a few more minutes of this, with Akeringu's face flushed, feeling more exhausted and embarrassed then ever, her very strained patience paid off.

Georgie came, if only to promptly stomp on her foot, her yelping and grabbing his bridle simultaenously. Why, oh why, did they have to give her GEORGIE? Penelope would have been such a better choice! The mild tempered mare was such a sweet thing... Not the grumpy (albeit beautiful) stallion that loved to stomp on anyone's foot. Especially her's.

"Just.. once sec," she squeaked out, pushing him off her foot, and limping to the pack that was attached to his saddle, rummaging through her belongings and finally producing a letter.

She hobbled back to Damara and presented, murmuring an apology, her grip loosening on Georgie as he went back to nibbling on the grass, and back to ignoring everyone else. After all, they could just admire his beauty, his sleek muscular physique and his gorgeous coloration! It was what a king deserved. And Georgie expected that, at least.

Damn horse.