Oh, good God, what on earth possessed me to write this hideous thing? Oh, well.

This is an AU fic, Witch Hunter Robin-style, in which the characters are Gypsies. Here's the thing: if you go check out the following CDs from your local library and listen to them as though it's the characters singing you'll get this much better.

Charlotte Church, Enchantment, and Josh Groban, his first CD. The songs are, in order, CC's Papa, Can You Hear Me?, JG's Alejate, CC's All the Pretty Little Horses, JG's version of Let Me Fall from Cirque du Soleil, and, on both CDs, The Prayer. You'll love it if you listen. I'll love you if you review.

The night was sultry.

Heat hung in the air like the full golden moon, and bodies were gathering at a secret place bequeathed to the Gypsies.

Women of high social standing wore masks, to conceal their identities; it was a crime against one's family to be seen at a Gypsy gathering. Men did the same, if their credibility was at risk. However, one could not tell the fine from the common, rich from poor, noble from peasant, for all wore masks.

Tradition held that if word got out about a Gypsy troupe holding a performance, it was a Masque. The Gypsies themselves instigated this rule, for they never wanted recognition for drawing the wrong type of attention.

A young Gypsy girl pranced along the lantern-lit path, giggling as she passed and tossing petals from alien flowers in the air. Her exotic auburn hair shimmered bright red in the golden light, and her green skirts whirled as she danced toward the makeshift amphitheater. The softskin slippers she wore made no noise at all, leaving the hushed tranquility to be broken only by excited whispers and an air of nervous animation.

A great lady, though only the Gypsies knew it, stepped into the benches, settling her skirts about her with little airs, and smiled as her escort sat beside her. This was watched by a young performer, peeking out from behind the curtain. Her ginger hair brushed against the heavy dropcloth, and her misty green eyes took in the assemblage with tension and anxiety. I'll perform again. Tonight. She looked at the moon, asking its blessing, and closed her eyes to add, Great Goddess, Your life dances with me tonight.

Light keepers were given the signal to go and dim the lantern-lights, ready for her song.

Three low notes sounded, and she sang, "God." Three more notes, then, "Oh, God." Three notes, "May the light . . . illuminate the night, the way your spirit illuminates my soul." Her eyes closed, she raised her head high.

"Papa, can you hear me? Papa, can you see me? Papa, can you find me in the night?" She opened her eyes and looked around as though lost. "Papa, are you near me? Papa, can you hear me? Papa, can you help me not be frightened?"

Her face grew frightened as her volume increased. "Looking at the skies, I seem to see a million eyes - which ones are yours?" She turned, in a blind fear. "Where are you now, that yesterday has waved goodbye, and closed its doors?"

Tears came to her emerald eyes. "The night is so much darker, the wind is so much colder, the world I see is so much bigger, now that I'm alone."

She hunched her shoulders, peering out with frightened eyes. "Papa, please forgive me. Try to understand me. Papa, don't you know I had no choice?" She raised her eyes upward, pleading with some great, unknown entity. "Can you hear me praying? Anything I'm saying? Even though the night is filled with voices . . ."

She drew herself up, defiant. "I remember everything you taught me, every book we've ever read." Fear crept into her resounding voice. "Can all the words in all the books help me to face what lies ahead?"

She ran to her right a few steps, begging something for help. "The trees are so much taller, and I feel so much smaller. The moon is twice as lonely and the stars are half as bright . . ."

At the other end of the stage, the dark-haired man watched in hidden amazement as she sang, "Papa, how I love you. Papa, how I need you. Papa, how I miss you kissing me goodnight."

He loved this song, and didn't know why. She, apparently, loved it too, for this was the one that she sang most often.

The lights were relit, and the audience brought out foods they'd taken with, and ate while waiting for the next song of the night. Little did they know, it was a grand show, in store for them, and some of the best acting ever brought on stage.

The light keepers were sent out surreptitiously, once again to dim the lights, and the girl who had sung, another, blonde girl and a tall, dark man prepared and walked out. The blonde opened a letter just as the girl's compatriot's song began.

The wistful melodies of guitar strings fluttered out above the crowds as the tall man stepped out on stage. His hair was inky black and corresponded with the night sky, but his skin was paler than the moon, and his grace was portrayed in every step he took. The young woman watched in silent awe as the second best singer and the best male singer took the stage.

"Jamas senti en el alma tanto amor." His hands came to his chest. "Y nadie mas que tu, mi amor." Gesturing in general at the crowd, he declared, "Por ti rei y lorrei, renaci tambien. Lo que tuve di, por tenerte aqui." His voice was mournful as he declared the extent of his desire for the other. The blonde, facing the crowd, covered her mouth in surprise.

"Ya se que despedirnos, es mejor. Suffriendo, pagare mi error." Closing his eyes, his features collapsed, as though he were about to cry, and she did the same, brows contracting. "Ya nada sera igual. Lo tengo que aceptar, ya hallar la fuerza en mi para este adios."

He opened grey eyes, sadness plain in his voice. "Alejate, no puedo mas. Ya no hay maera de volver el tiempo atras." He half-turned, waving the stricken girl away with his next words, "Olvidate de mi y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad." Turning back, he raised his face to the heavens as he sang vibrantly, "Alejate, ya dime adios y me resignare a seguir sin tu calor." A hurt, confused look came into his eyes, evident to a blind man in his voice. "Y jamas entendere que fue lo que paso." He closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. "Si nada puedo hacer, alejate.

"No voy arrepentirme del ayer." His eyes became hard, with his voice, though pain still resided. "Amandote y se, mujer," his hands came up, asking why as she gasped, "por el amor aquel, por serte siempre fiel, hoy tengo que ser fuerte y aprender." Anger flashed in his face and she looked as though she was about to cry. "Alejate, no puedo mas." His eyes glittered. "Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras." He made a cutting motion with his hand. "Olvidate de mi, y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad." His voice had grown full, full of hurt, anger, and betrayal, and he let it out in the next words, throwing his hands in the air, her dirt off his boots. "Alejate, ya dime adios, y me resignare a seguir sin tu calor. Y jamas entendere que fue lo que paso." Confusion and pain shone in his eyes. "Si nada puedo hacer, alejate."

There was an interlude of guitar playing, in which he stood on stage, head hung, until moments before he came back in, when he raised his eyes to the moon, brows up, asking, why?, and sang. "Alejate, no puedo mas. Ya no hay manera de volver el tiempo atras. Olvidate de mi, y dejame seguir a solas con mi soledad!" His voice soared. It flew with the birds that took to wing as his grief and his hate rose up and passed his lips. "Alejate! Ya dime adios, y me resignare a seguir sin tu calor." Once again his voice turned to confusion. "Y jamas entendere, ¿que fue lo que paso?" Finally, all, and disgust, tempered his voice, thick with rage and agony, but softly. "Si nada puedo hacer, alejate."

The audience was in tears. The ladies wept openly, and the men snuffled gruffly as the dark, lonesome man won a standing ovation. He bowed, a single tear tracking its way out of the corner of his eye, and walked to sit, chin on knees, at the opposite end of the stage from the blonde, who exited right.

Their minute orchestra began the next song, a spirited lullaby. The slender, green-eyed singer rose and walked to center stage, looking at her friend, who affected sleep.

She dipped her head, then looked at him again. "Hush, babay, don't you cry, go to sleep, ye little baby." She began walking toward him, a thoughtful look on her face. "When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses."

The drums and strings kicked in, giving the gently rollicking feel of the melody. "Hush, babay, don't you cry, go to sleep, ye little baby." Kneeling beside him, she brushed his hair from his forehead. "When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses." She tugged him over to lean against her, and in his affected sleep nestled against her shoulder.

"Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, all the pretty little horses." She smiled softly. "Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, coach and six o' little horses."

"Hush, babay, don't you cry, go to sleep, ye little baby." Running her fingers through his hair, she looked up at the moon. "When you wake, you'll have sweet cake, and all the pretty little horses."

His eyes opened, and he lifted his head to look at her. She smiled, singing, "A brown and gray, a black and bay, and a coach and six o' little horses." He laid his head back down, closing his eyes contentedly. "A black and bay, a brown and a gray, and a coach and six o' little horses." She stared down at her resting friend, his head in her lap, legs splayed out behind him. The music slowed and quelled. She took a sad breath. "Hush, you bye, don't you cry, oh, you pretty little baby." She laid a hand on his head and another on his hand, where it sat in her lap. "Go to sleep, ye little baby." Her eyes filled with melancholy and yearning. "Oh, you pretty little baby."

She slowly slumped against him, as though sleeping, and he opened his eyes, standing and settling her alone. He sat next to her sleeping form, which was in front of him, and slow guitar notes rang out.

As though reprimanding her, he sang, "Let me fall . . . Let me climb." It was like he was teaching her about himself, and she was listening to every word. "There's a moment when fear and dream must collide."

His eyes grew unfocused; he only half-spoke to her. "Someone I am is waiting for courage." His eyes flicked to her. "The one I want, the one I will become will catch me.

"So let me fall if I must fall. I won't heed your warnings." He closed his eyes and leaned back. "I won't hear them . . .

"Let me fall if I fall," he stroked her hair, lost in memories, "though the phoenix may or may not rise."

His brows contracted as he hit a high note and told the truth. "I will dance so freely," he looked at her, "holding on to no one." His eyes pierced hers as they opened. "You can hold me only if you too will fall," he held out a hand to her, "away from all these useless fears and chains."

She took his hand and sat up slowly, watching him as he sang. "Ohh, sehaah, ohoh, ohhh . . ."

Standing, he brought her with him. "Oh, someone I am is waiting for my courage. The one I want, the one I will become will catch me."

He grasped her chin in his hand. "So let me fall if I must fall." He stared into her eyes, telling her how very true his words were. "I won't heed your warnings. I won't hear . . .

"Let me fall, if I fall." He wrapped his arms around her, and she returned the gesture. "There's no reason," their eyes met, "to miss this one chance, this perfect moment, just let me fall."

She laid her head on his shoulder. As his voice died away, he rested his cheek against her hair, waiting for the lights to dim.

As they did, the two hurried behind the curtain.

He was greeted by several crying females, a few males trying to conceal the effect his performance had had on them, and a single, amber-haired singer who greeted him with a smile, a tear in her eye and, "Well done, Amon." Conviction laced her voice. "It was beautiful. You acted the words right out of the song."

He nodded, not bothering to return her smile. She doesn't know that I wasn't acting, he though wryly. He muttered shortly, "We're on in a few minutes, Robin."

She nodded gracefully, watching his demeanor.

Amon mentally rolled his eyes at this girl who was forever trying to figure him out. He turned, hearing her sigh at his coolness, and thought, At least she doesn't pester me outright. Doujima is just terrible about that. He glanced over at the blubbering blonde, held in the arms of a mildly uncomfortable Sakaki, who met his gaze and rolled his eyes. Amon merely cocked an eyebrow. The two were madly in love, but denied it to any and everyone, even with displays like that.

As he stalked into his sectored-off 'dressing room', as Doujima Yurika insisted on calling it, he heard the audience's applause begin to wane, and so continued past his quarters to the other end of the stage. Though he'd never admit it, Robin was a wonderful person to act and sing with, and this next song was the best of all. It was a duet. For them. And he got to sing in Italian.

He entered stage left, and she stage right, as the lights remained dim, but were brought closer to the stage. Meeting in the center, heads bowed, they faced each other and out.

The first strains of music appeared, and Robin lifted her head. She watched the audience make themselves comfortable.

She stared at the moon. "I pray you'll be our light, and watch us where we go." Glancing quickly at him, she sang, "And help us to be wise, in times when we don't know."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Let this be our prayer, as we go our way . . ." She looked at him steadily now, a smile gracing her lips at his bowed head. "Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace, to a place where we'll be safe."

He raised his head and his rich voice filled the stadium. "La luce que tu dai."

She echoed, "I pray we'll find your light."

"Nel cuore restera." He swept the audience with his warm, gray gaze, then let it fall onto her.

"And hold it in our hearts."

"A ricordarci che . . ." She turned to him, meeting his eyes, and blushed a little, smiling.

"When stars go out each night . . ."

"Eterna stella sei . . ."

"Ohhh . . ." Robin faced him.

"Nella mia preghier,"

"Let this be our prayer,"

"Quanta fede c'e," Amon lifted a hand,

"When shadows fill our day,"

She looked at him, and when he sang, "Lead us to a place,"

she placed her hand in his and replied, "Guide us with your grace,"

and they sang, "Give us faith so we'll be safe."

Her heart soared as their voices intertwined and climbed to the heavens. "Sogniamo un mondo senza piu violenza," and his eyes hooked into hers with their passion and ferocity, "un mondo di giustizia e di speranza. Ognuno dia la mano al vicino," their hands, clutched in one another's, "simbolo di pace, di fraternita . . ."

Robin stepped into his embrace and they faced the crowds together. He began, "La forza che ci da,"

"We ask that life be kind,"

"E desiderio che,"

"And watch us from above,"

"Ognuno trove amore,"

"We hope each soul will find,"

"Interno ed entro se."

"Another soul to love."

Their voices melded. "Let this be our prayer, just like every child," Robin looked up at the strong man in whose arms she was held, felt the life sweeping through him, heard the words he was singing, "who needs to find a place, guide us with your grace," as though feeling her eyes on him, Amon looked at her, smiled, "give us faith so we'll be safe."

They stepped back from one another, but Robin left her hands on his face and Amon left his at her waist. "Nella fede che, hai accesso in noi . . ."

He drew her close, and their last words flew out. "Sento che ci salveraaa . . ."

His lips touched hers, and the audience went wild.

Her arms snuck around his neck, and as the lights dimmed, they pulled back, staring at each other. The lights went out, and they walked back stage, neither willing to look at the other for fear of doing something embarrassing.

"Aauughhhh OHmiGOD, Robin, Amon, you guys ROCK!" Doujima squealed, flinging her arms around the two of them. Robin smiled, Amon stared at the blonde klingon, and the others laughed.

"She's right, though," commented Karasuma Miho, "you guys are the best of the best, certainly the best we have." She smiled, and walked to the curtain. Idly, she commented, "If somebody doesn't get out there soon, they'll think it's over."

Doujima whirled. "Miho! Can we do the Flower Duet? Please? Pleeeeeasse?"

Karasuma grinned. "Of course. I haven't done that in a while, it'd be nice."

The two stepped out on stage, signaled the orchestra, and began their best performance-song. The high notes were caught perfectly, and soon the audience forgot the romantic songs and scenes that had been performed earlier.

Robin grinned at some joke Sakaki had cracked, then murmured to Michael, "I'm going out for a bit of fresh air, all right?"

He smiled, nodding, and went back to his exercises. He was the troupe's best acrobat, and oh, was he good.

She stepped out the back door, tossed off her thin cloak, and untied her hair. Her dark red dress had short sleeves, and no underskirts, and was very comfortable to do anything in. A full skirt allowed for much movement, so she lifted it, tossed off her slippers, and began to run.

Her hair flew out behind her, and her eyes glittered with joy at the simple movement. A tiny smile danced across her lips as she dropped her skirt and threw her arms out like a bird.

Racing through the trees, light caught on her pale skin, and the moon watched one of her daughters dance in her rays. Robin ran and ran, until finally she found a glade to rest in. She danced into the circle of light, twirling, and laughing, until she collapsed to the ground. She laid back, staring at her protector, the moon. La lune, she thought, e bella.

Amon had heard her words to Michael, and didn't like the though of a member of the troupe going out alone. Someone could see her and they'd all be caught and punished. So, he followed her.

He was surprised when she began to run, but knew that she didn't know he was there. So, he dashed after her, eventually hearing her laughter float back to him.

He wanted to watch Robin - she was an enigma. She had come to the troupe a few months after he had, and he couldn't get a tab on her. She was unpredictable.

She's an amber-haired, green-eyed young woman with the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, far surpassing my own, but that's about all I know about her. Amon came to the edge of a glen, surrounded by indigenous trees, tall and proud.

She dropped to the ground, smiling, and her gaze rested on the celestial body above them. She seemed lost in her thoughts, so he sat silently, resting against a tree trunk, and simply relaxed.

There were night birds chirping, a mockingbird still awake, he could tell, but all the rest were asleep. The night, as ever, was quiet and calm, and the two Gypsies reposed in gentle air.

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