Needless to say, these characters aren't mine. Let's get on with the
story.
~Preface~
Diana slid through the crowds, dressed in the muted browns of a gadjo child. She hovered near large families, so she wouldn't be noticed, but her sharp brown eyes caught everything. She glanced at the elderly tiger in its cage, shaking her head (like she had seen her papa do) when the cat yawned and revealed missing teeth. Poor thing. It would not create the needed distraction tonight, so she had to find another. The unwashed smell of the Robello gypsies made her wrinkle her nose as she passed. Her family would never be that filthy. No wonder no one liked them. Following along with a gadjo family chosen momentarily, she found herself wandering in the direction of the freak tent. As the curtain was pushed aside to enter, an achingly beautiful song on violin drifted towards her. It was soft, gentle, but so sad! Her papa had played like that when her mama died. The man who played that must be an angel. Still in the back of the crowd, she didn't understand why there were gasps of horror and amusement when the song came to an end. Using her sharp elbows and tiny size to her advantage, Diana pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She didn't care if she was noticed-she wanted to see the angel.
What she saw greeted her with a terrible shock. She stood there, openmouthed, watching one of the Robello gypsies bring a big whip down on the angel's back. The man's head hung, his jaw set, and he didn't even flinch, but his long, elegant hands grasped the bars in front of him until his knuckles when white. Tears welled up in her eyes; the man looked like the dog she had rescued last year: thin, bony, and unhealthy. Scars were visible over his body, and his clothes were in tatters. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, not even the dirty straw pile in one corner, and the thick chains around his ankles. The violin lay discarded to one side, set neatly on the ground, the bow next to it.
"Look at them!" shouted the Robello, bringing down the whip again. The man slowly raised his head and faced the crowd, and again came the gasps and muffled laughter. Diana's eyes filled and spilled over, and she ran sobbing from the tent. She soon outdistanced the Robello camp and found her own family, hidden in the darker woods. She raced into the camp, crying like she hadn't in years, and fell into her papa's astonished arms. Trying to get out her story around all the tears, she knew that her papa would do something about it. She couldn't erase the mental image of the poor angel, his face twisted to one side, his golden yellow eyes staring out into the crowd with anguish. Her papa looked over her head at the rest of his clan, and they nodded back. They had found their distraction.
-------@
Erik felt himself flung to the floor of his cage. His back was afire with pain and he could hardly move. In his mind the jeering crowds came back to him, echoing in the recesses of his head. Javert had even taken his violin-even if he could move, he could not calm himself with music tonight. He thought back to the tiny girl who had been in the front for only a few minutes. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, and she had cried and ran at the sight of his face. The mental image of her long dark brown hair streaming out behind her as she ran pricked his interest. She almost looked of gypsy heritage, if she hadn't been wearing normal clothes.
Erik gritted his teeth against the pain and moved slightly to drink down some water. He shifted so that the slight breeze would move against his aching and probably bloody back, and tried to sleep. He knew Javert would come to his cage later that night, drunk and enraged at his unenthusiastic 'performance'. He felt despair wash over him: how could he continue to do this if children ran from him in horror? He shut his eyes and did not even bother to replace his mask.
A slight metallic creak awoke him as his cage door opened. He opened his eyes just a slit, and could tell it was dark outside. The slight breeze indicated that the door was open, and he closed his eyes again so he could not see his torturer come towards him. But there were no heavy footfalls. After a few heartbeats, he raised his head and glanced at the door. A shape stood there, silhouetted against the light from the open tent flap. Erik blinked. It was the little girl. She had a set of lock picks in one hand, obviously how she had gotten in. She was wearing an odd mix of gray and black clothing, and it struck him as she stood there, an air of uncertainty around her, that she was clearly a gypsy. Her large mass of uncontrolled brown hair rose and swirled around her shoulders, almost dwarfing her already small figure. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded lightly towards him. She fell to her knees at his feet and swiftly but surely made short work of his manacles. Then, staring at him, she drew out a short knife. The sharp edge glinted in the torchlight as she handed it to him, hilt first. Before he was about to take it, she spoke.
"Angelo," she said, her clear young voice having that strange, almost Italian, gypsy lilt. "Papa says only for vengeance, not for revenge." She stared at him solemnly until he nodded and took it quietly. Excitement was rising up in him. Here was his chance: freedom and an opportunity to get back at his captors.
"What're you doing 'ere?" came a voice. They both spun around to see Javert stare at them drunkenly from the tent opening. "Whose brat are you? I'll teach you to poke your 'ead in 'ere!" He unfurled his heavy bullwhip and pointed it at the girl.
Red fire flashed across Erik's vision. Standing up quickly and silently, he placed himself in front of the child. Javert's jaw dropped open, working silently. As the gypsy tried to control himself and stepped forward menacingly, Erik smiled grimly. Quickly he dove at the man, kicking his legs out from underneath him. He let the light fall on the knife blade, and grinned horribly at Javert, knowing the uneven light really did make him seem like a corpse. He would have let the man die slowly, as he had imagined it in his dreams, but there was a noise behind him. Spinning, his eyes met with that of the child. She looked at him anxiously, and Erik felt the weight of her expectations on his very soul. Vengeance, not revenge. Sighing, he returned to Javert, who soiled himself in fear, and mercifully slit the man's throat. As the man died a quick death, Erik felt a small hand take his empty one. He looked down to see the child smile peacefully up at him, and then she slid her hand from his and padded out the tent. Erik followed her, but lost sight of her as soon as he stepped out of the freak tent. That was alright-he had other things to take care of.
He tracked down the others who had a hand in his torture, killing them all in the same quick and fairly painless manner. He set the other animals in the "show" loose. It was when he set the toothless tiger loose that the other gypsies streamed out of their tents and attacked him. He fought them off the best he could, but he was weakened, and they pressed closer. Suddenly help came from an unexpected quarter. Another band of gypsies, dressed in black and gray, slid silently into the camp and made short work of the ones surrounding him. A body fell on him, trapping him to the ground, and by the time he awoke from his daze and started to struggle out from under it, the gypsies were dead.
A small noise came from his side, and he looked up to meet the dark eyes of the girl he had seen earlier. She tugged on the dead body on top of him, showing no squeamishness or repulsion. An older man came over and helped her, and then gave Erik an assessing look. Fear raced through him as the man's eyes lit on his thin frame and ruined face. He didn't react either, showing the same cool glance that the girl had. Using a burst of fear as adrenaline, Erik pushed the gypsy aside and rose.
"Angelo--" He turned and saw the little girl hold out a bag to him. Hardly thinking, he scooped it up and raced out of the camp, his long legs putting distance between him and the gypsies, who did not even follow him.
Later that night he stopped, sank to the ground, and opened up the bag. To his surprise he found food: lots of traveling bread, a tin of butter, and some dried fruit and meat. Half-eaten greens were piled underneath it, and with his amusement he realized the girl had gotten rid of her vegetables by hiding them in the sack. There was enough food for three or four days. Under the food was a set of clothing, warn and patched, but clean and plain. A small pouch jingled as he pulled it out, and he emptied it into his hand to see some money, three rings worth a few francs, and a delicate heart-shaped locket on a chain. He replaced the rings (which were obviously supposed to be used for money changing) and the money, and strung the necklace around his neck, tucking it under his shirt. The bottom of the bag was padded with a blanket, and as he removed it, he saw it was a warm woolen one, with an odd-shaped bulge in the middle. He carefully unwrapped it, and saw the violin, strings relaxed and packed for moving. There were a new set of strings wrapped around the bow, and he clutched it to him. He had freedom, and he had music.
~Preface~
Diana slid through the crowds, dressed in the muted browns of a gadjo child. She hovered near large families, so she wouldn't be noticed, but her sharp brown eyes caught everything. She glanced at the elderly tiger in its cage, shaking her head (like she had seen her papa do) when the cat yawned and revealed missing teeth. Poor thing. It would not create the needed distraction tonight, so she had to find another. The unwashed smell of the Robello gypsies made her wrinkle her nose as she passed. Her family would never be that filthy. No wonder no one liked them. Following along with a gadjo family chosen momentarily, she found herself wandering in the direction of the freak tent. As the curtain was pushed aside to enter, an achingly beautiful song on violin drifted towards her. It was soft, gentle, but so sad! Her papa had played like that when her mama died. The man who played that must be an angel. Still in the back of the crowd, she didn't understand why there were gasps of horror and amusement when the song came to an end. Using her sharp elbows and tiny size to her advantage, Diana pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She didn't care if she was noticed-she wanted to see the angel.
What she saw greeted her with a terrible shock. She stood there, openmouthed, watching one of the Robello gypsies bring a big whip down on the angel's back. The man's head hung, his jaw set, and he didn't even flinch, but his long, elegant hands grasped the bars in front of him until his knuckles when white. Tears welled up in her eyes; the man looked like the dog she had rescued last year: thin, bony, and unhealthy. Scars were visible over his body, and his clothes were in tatters. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, not even the dirty straw pile in one corner, and the thick chains around his ankles. The violin lay discarded to one side, set neatly on the ground, the bow next to it.
"Look at them!" shouted the Robello, bringing down the whip again. The man slowly raised his head and faced the crowd, and again came the gasps and muffled laughter. Diana's eyes filled and spilled over, and she ran sobbing from the tent. She soon outdistanced the Robello camp and found her own family, hidden in the darker woods. She raced into the camp, crying like she hadn't in years, and fell into her papa's astonished arms. Trying to get out her story around all the tears, she knew that her papa would do something about it. She couldn't erase the mental image of the poor angel, his face twisted to one side, his golden yellow eyes staring out into the crowd with anguish. Her papa looked over her head at the rest of his clan, and they nodded back. They had found their distraction.
-------@
Erik felt himself flung to the floor of his cage. His back was afire with pain and he could hardly move. In his mind the jeering crowds came back to him, echoing in the recesses of his head. Javert had even taken his violin-even if he could move, he could not calm himself with music tonight. He thought back to the tiny girl who had been in the front for only a few minutes. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, and she had cried and ran at the sight of his face. The mental image of her long dark brown hair streaming out behind her as she ran pricked his interest. She almost looked of gypsy heritage, if she hadn't been wearing normal clothes.
Erik gritted his teeth against the pain and moved slightly to drink down some water. He shifted so that the slight breeze would move against his aching and probably bloody back, and tried to sleep. He knew Javert would come to his cage later that night, drunk and enraged at his unenthusiastic 'performance'. He felt despair wash over him: how could he continue to do this if children ran from him in horror? He shut his eyes and did not even bother to replace his mask.
A slight metallic creak awoke him as his cage door opened. He opened his eyes just a slit, and could tell it was dark outside. The slight breeze indicated that the door was open, and he closed his eyes again so he could not see his torturer come towards him. But there were no heavy footfalls. After a few heartbeats, he raised his head and glanced at the door. A shape stood there, silhouetted against the light from the open tent flap. Erik blinked. It was the little girl. She had a set of lock picks in one hand, obviously how she had gotten in. She was wearing an odd mix of gray and black clothing, and it struck him as she stood there, an air of uncertainty around her, that she was clearly a gypsy. Her large mass of uncontrolled brown hair rose and swirled around her shoulders, almost dwarfing her already small figure. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded lightly towards him. She fell to her knees at his feet and swiftly but surely made short work of his manacles. Then, staring at him, she drew out a short knife. The sharp edge glinted in the torchlight as she handed it to him, hilt first. Before he was about to take it, she spoke.
"Angelo," she said, her clear young voice having that strange, almost Italian, gypsy lilt. "Papa says only for vengeance, not for revenge." She stared at him solemnly until he nodded and took it quietly. Excitement was rising up in him. Here was his chance: freedom and an opportunity to get back at his captors.
"What're you doing 'ere?" came a voice. They both spun around to see Javert stare at them drunkenly from the tent opening. "Whose brat are you? I'll teach you to poke your 'ead in 'ere!" He unfurled his heavy bullwhip and pointed it at the girl.
Red fire flashed across Erik's vision. Standing up quickly and silently, he placed himself in front of the child. Javert's jaw dropped open, working silently. As the gypsy tried to control himself and stepped forward menacingly, Erik smiled grimly. Quickly he dove at the man, kicking his legs out from underneath him. He let the light fall on the knife blade, and grinned horribly at Javert, knowing the uneven light really did make him seem like a corpse. He would have let the man die slowly, as he had imagined it in his dreams, but there was a noise behind him. Spinning, his eyes met with that of the child. She looked at him anxiously, and Erik felt the weight of her expectations on his very soul. Vengeance, not revenge. Sighing, he returned to Javert, who soiled himself in fear, and mercifully slit the man's throat. As the man died a quick death, Erik felt a small hand take his empty one. He looked down to see the child smile peacefully up at him, and then she slid her hand from his and padded out the tent. Erik followed her, but lost sight of her as soon as he stepped out of the freak tent. That was alright-he had other things to take care of.
He tracked down the others who had a hand in his torture, killing them all in the same quick and fairly painless manner. He set the other animals in the "show" loose. It was when he set the toothless tiger loose that the other gypsies streamed out of their tents and attacked him. He fought them off the best he could, but he was weakened, and they pressed closer. Suddenly help came from an unexpected quarter. Another band of gypsies, dressed in black and gray, slid silently into the camp and made short work of the ones surrounding him. A body fell on him, trapping him to the ground, and by the time he awoke from his daze and started to struggle out from under it, the gypsies were dead.
A small noise came from his side, and he looked up to meet the dark eyes of the girl he had seen earlier. She tugged on the dead body on top of him, showing no squeamishness or repulsion. An older man came over and helped her, and then gave Erik an assessing look. Fear raced through him as the man's eyes lit on his thin frame and ruined face. He didn't react either, showing the same cool glance that the girl had. Using a burst of fear as adrenaline, Erik pushed the gypsy aside and rose.
"Angelo--" He turned and saw the little girl hold out a bag to him. Hardly thinking, he scooped it up and raced out of the camp, his long legs putting distance between him and the gypsies, who did not even follow him.
Later that night he stopped, sank to the ground, and opened up the bag. To his surprise he found food: lots of traveling bread, a tin of butter, and some dried fruit and meat. Half-eaten greens were piled underneath it, and with his amusement he realized the girl had gotten rid of her vegetables by hiding them in the sack. There was enough food for three or four days. Under the food was a set of clothing, warn and patched, but clean and plain. A small pouch jingled as he pulled it out, and he emptied it into his hand to see some money, three rings worth a few francs, and a delicate heart-shaped locket on a chain. He replaced the rings (which were obviously supposed to be used for money changing) and the money, and strung the necklace around his neck, tucking it under his shirt. The bottom of the bag was padded with a blanket, and as he removed it, he saw it was a warm woolen one, with an odd-shaped bulge in the middle. He carefully unwrapped it, and saw the violin, strings relaxed and packed for moving. There were a new set of strings wrapped around the bow, and he clutched it to him. He had freedom, and he had music.