A/N: Okee dokee, the third chapter. It's been a while huh? Well, sorry 'bout that... I've been.... Er, busy. Clopin is getting hard for me to keep in character. I keep getting confused, so sorry if he sounds weird in this chapter. READ AND REVIEW! I have nothing else to say.
Chapter ThreeSomeone was watching them.
Cassandra knew it for a fact; she felt it in her bones and skin and the two points in her neck that she felt the two eyes burning into. She pulled the course cloak closer about her, shifting her eyes from one edge of the plain to the other. Nothing before her could be discerned as important, and all that she could see behind was the empty desolation that they had passed, unchanged but for the wheel and horse tracks that they had left in their wake. Only a few squawking birds could be heard from their perches on the few tiny woods that appeared upon the flat land every half mile or so in the distance. Her nose could smell nothing but the sharp odor of wet grass, mud, and the occasional horse droppings. It was nothing but a feeling, and not what one would consider true either. It wasn't a physical sort of "I've got some guys fingers on my ass" feeling, but more of a "Some guy's eyeing my ass" feeling.
Cassandra was understandably uncomfortable. It had been there, that sense, that feeling, for so long a time already, and she had ignored it as naught more than an irritating itch on her nape. But soon it evolved to more than just an irritating degree and it scared her more than she would've found likable. She had tried to scratch it away with her fingers, and she soon came to realize it wasn't an itch, nor was it any sort of rash. She was frightened. She wanted it to stop.
She took a glance at her elder brother, who sat, whistling as if it were naught more than just a daily stroll for him. He didn't notice it. Cassandra knew that he wasn't a good enough actor to fake any courage.
She wondered whether or not it would be a wise decision to alert him to her suspicions. She knew Malique all too well; he probably would strike her for even mentioning it. But she couldn't take it much longer. God, it was so hard against her neck, as if an awl were drilling into her skin. It was too much for her. Much too much. Which explains why her fingers began to reach out and curl around her brother's sleeve.
"What the hell... let go of my shirt, idiot!" Malique screamed, striking her hand in annoyance. Cassandra didn't let go.
"Malique," she said, fright in her voice, "Malique, I think we're being followed."
"What did you say?"
"Malique," Cassandra repeated. She felt a sudden odd addition to the feeling, as if more concentration was being put into the glare. She felt a shiver drive down her spine and she grabbed her brother's sleeve ever the tighter, tugging it harder. "Malique, we're being followed!"
"WHAT?" Malique screeched, pulling the reins of the white stallion with strength unneeded. The horse whinnied in pain from having his head forced upward, but came to a sharp stop, the wooden slats that attached the caravan to him nearly snapping off. Cassandra had to stop her mare as well, though she executed this with much more grace, and she even had to round about to replace itself beside her brother's steed.
Malique reached out and grabbed Cassandra by the collar, shaking her, an odd sort of fright glowing in his usually overly cocky eyes.
"Are you serious?" He asked, his voice a mere shaky whisper. "Where is it? Is it a gypsy? How long has it been following us?"
He glanced backward at the plain behind him, and, seeing nothing, he strove to see if it was perhaps behind the wagon that they were dragging. Cassandra stared up at him with wonder, not sure why he was taking it such a way.
"Where is it?" Malique asked, understandably seeing nothing. "Where did you see it?"
"I didn't see it, Malique," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "I never said I saw it. I felt it. It's somewhere, somewhere behind us, waiting. It wants to do something, I know it does. I feel it; it's like a snake waiting for the right time to bite."
As she spoke, she turned her head to the expanse behind, scanning the distance for perhaps a new clue that she and her brother had overlooked. Again, there was nothing. What was it then? She asked herself. Was it invisible? Could it be hiding in some unknown pit or crevasse, maybe watching them from the sky? She turned her eyes half upward, and caught something, barely perceived to the side. It was on the caravan....
"What the...." What was that? She began to turn her head for a better look. But, before she could, Malique, angry at being alarmed at such a false thing, struck her hard across the back of the head. She screamed in pain and turned her head downward, tears spilling from her eyes, curses spilling from her lips.
"What was that for?" She cried. Malique struck her across the shoulder, the force decreased but the anger still burning with the connection.
"You bitch!" He yelled angrily, hitting her over and over again. "You did that on purpose! You wanted to make a fucking fool of me! Didn't expect this, did you, idiot?"
"I wasn't lying, Malique!" She yelled angrily, pushing him angrily. "I really did feel it there! It's still there actually, and you can't say anything otherwise!"
"Don't drag me into your shit, Ass-andra!" Malique said in an angry yell.
"The only reason you're so upset is because you're scared of gypsies!" Cassandra yelled angrily. "That's the only reason you drag the caravans out here to burn them! You're scared of them! You're a coward!"
Malique was angry, very very angry, at what his sister had just said. The sad thing was that these words rang somewhat true, but he would NEVER, never EVER admit to such a thing. Cassandra was soon sent flying off the saddle of her mare, hard onto the grass below, a dark footprint set across her stomach. She was gasping for air when he jumped from his seat and approached her angrily.
"Don't you fucking DARE say that about me ever again, do you hear me, Ass-andra?" Malique said angrily, planting a heavy boot on her stomach. "If you want to live past your twelfth year you will shut the HELL up and don't even THINK about things like that, you hear!"
"Why the HELL do you bring me on these trips?" Cassandra asked angrily. "It's horrible! I hate it! You don't have to do this, you know. You could've just left me at home and tell me stories later! It's enough that you bring the gypsies home and torture them!"
"It's educational, Cassandra," Malique said, a still angry smile coming to his lips. He took his foot off her stomach and dragged her up by the collar. "Now get back on your fucking horse and let's get this over with."
And, so, with bruises and scrapes to her body and her pride, Cassandra replaced herself on her horse and they both continued on their way.
Clopin remained atop the caravan, mentally clicking his tongue as he watched the sight below him. Oh well, thought he, he'll deal with the bastard soon enough. Poor Cassandra, he thought, shaking his head. She had to have an idiot for a brother. He wouldn't have been half concerned, but then Malique had to go and be violent as well. Clopin felt sympathy for her, despite the crime against him that she was then committing, He always had a weakness for children.
Anyway, it was a close call. He had nearly fallen off the roof of the caravan when he had heard what Cassandra had said, and he was nearly tossed off the wagon when Malique reacted to it. And he could've sworn that the girl had seen him, if not briefly... He'd have to be a little bit more careful next time.
The vagrant king wiggled uncomfortably in the pool of rainwater that had accumulated beneath him, feeling the lump that was his hat push into his stomach. Curses clung in his mouth, biting viciously into his tongue, waiting for a single chance to jump out and strike. But, of course, that time wasn't going to come until who the hell knows when, which made Clopin ever the more crankier. Yes, cranky. First of all, had it been regular circumstances, he would've been able to regain his caravan in a second. But, he had to go and drink himself unconscious and now, because of that, he had one hell of a headache. His mind wasn't working properly. Another thing, he was wet... soaked straight passed the cloth down to the bone. He felt his skin wrinkling and pruning as it absorbed the rain, which still, by the way, insisted on falling on him. Not to mention, he was crushing his hat. One would think that that wouldn't be a reason to drive someone, but so many things had already accumulated, so it didn't matter. And hell, he liked that hat.
Clopin was trying desperately to regain his bearings, and, more importantly, stay awake. Hell knew that if he fell asleep, god forbid, he'd start snoring. It was a thing he didn't want to admit anytime soon... at least not to anyone he KNEW, or anyone else who wasn't deaf for that matter... well, anyone who wasn't deaf or WAS deaf and could lip read, or anyone who was able to... Clopin shook his head wearily. Damn it. His mind was wandering again. Where was he? Oh yes... and then he'd probably get caught and killed, or whatever...
He already had an idea plotted through, and it was a simple one, in a way. Clopin decided that he would distract the two at first, then steal back the caravan. Had it just been Malique, he would've just knocked the damned bastard off his horse and spur off. But Cassandra was there, and she definitely was the more responsible and clear-headed of the two. Clopin knew that she would probably be keeping an eye out, so he had better be cautious with the mission.
Clopin groaned inwardly as he continued. He would have to think up a distraction. He hadn't any fireworks or powder explosives that he usually used on his disappearing acts, and he hadn't any materials in hand. That was, other than a few spools of thread, some fabric, the stick he used to hit little Puppet with, Puppet and his friends, needles of course, and a few apples and such that he kept for a snack in a compartment of his trunk.
I guess I'll just have to do what I do best, Clopin thought, sighing quietly. Charm, beguile, entertain... cheat. He smiled. Whatever the hell worked.
Now all he had to do was think up some form of entertainment... Puppets? No... no, Malique wouldn't care, and Cassandra seemed a little too serious for that sort of thing. Story telling was acceptable through out the ages, so he would go with that... But would they accept just a story? He knew how easily some people were bored to sleep if it wasn't told in the right way. He didn't doubt his capabilities; he knew he could pull it off. But it was so dull...so...blah. It needed a little ostentation. A song perhaps? Yes! A song would do perfectly! And of course, a little choreography joined to it... But then... what story would he tell? What song would he sing? What dance would he dance? It had to be a new one of course. No old story or song would do for this situation. Actually, it would've done perfectly, but it was against Clopin's nature. He hated monotony, though he lived a life of it.
Oh, what the hell was he doing? He was over complicating things! He could just pluck a tune from the great abundance he had in remembrance and just sing it! But, he knew he wouldn't. He knew he couldn't. It needed to be new, and worthy. It had to be good enough for his audience, but most importantly of all, for him. Otherwise, he would be unhappy and mess the whole situation up!
Oh, damn the whole fucking situation to hell! If it hadn't been raining for so long, and he hadn't been an idiot and walk out beside the fact, he wouldn't have drunk himself unconscious, and let them steal his caravan! And if they hadn't stolen the caravan, he wouldn't be lying in discomfort flat against the curve of his roof, soaked straight down to the fucking bone, trying to think up some sort of god damned plan, because he's too picky to just do whatever! He was angry, soaking, crushing his favorite hat, and if he didn't think up some sort of story or song soon, his caravan was going to be burnt to the ground and he probably discovered and killed. Because, he was fast, but he wasn't well enough to get away from two people on horseback. If buildings and such had surrounded him as in Paris, it would've been a piece of cake! But NO... What the hell kind of adventure did he get himself stuck in?
Suddenly an idea struck him like a bolt of forked lightening, and he felt a smile curl upon his face. Yes.... Yes! That would be perfect! He knelt down, laughing inwardly, an impish shine in his ebony eyes. He figured it out. He would pull it off soon enough. But now for the song. He could just pull out a tune... he knew that he wouldn't be able to create a new melody in time. So, rifling through his mind for a good tune to fit the story, the smile became ever the wider. Good tune, good idea, wonderful story! He would be able to do this.
Clopin held back so many excited giggles, and cast an unseen but surreptitious glance down at the two unsuspecting gypsy-haters. Great fun was in store.
It was already past sun set when the two had stopped, the great red circle of the sun sinking down past the mountains that lined the distant horizon. The stars were twinkling in the sky like a thousand watchful eyes in the blue ether, and the clouds that had dimmed the world gray that day had now diminished, as well as the rain. The pour had come to a stop.
Cassandra was ordered to gather firewood from a small cluster of trees that formed a wood near their spot, and she followed orders, still aching from her wounds. She had come back with just enough wood for a decent fire, though Malique said otherwise and gave her a cuff on the ear for that. He wasn't afraid of showing true anger now. She had pulled it out of him.
Soon, the campfire was blazing and Malique unhitched two stools from the back of the stallion. He pulled two cans of food from his bag and opened one deftly with a knife, sitting before the fire, choosing to eat before he executed his task.
Cassandra took her own stool and stood on it, brushing the hair of her mare as it picked a few stalks of grass from the mud.
"How about you do that to my horse too, Cassandra?" Malique asked, glancing at her, but continuing to eat.
"Why don't you do it yourself? It's your responsibility."
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Malique asked. "It almost sounded as if you were refusing. Get it done or else you'll have another footprint, this one on your face."
Cassandra lifted her head up from her work, frowning spitefully at her brother, cursing him extensively within the confines of her mind. Malique was being an ass again, that was for sure. Poor horse, she thought, glancing at the stallion as he tromped his feet back and forth against the mud. He did need a good brushing. Not to mention he was undoubtedly hungry. He hadn't eaten that day just yet... besides a few sparse blades of grass from the mud. Malique hadn't been kind enough, negligible jackass that he was, to pack some horse feed. The domesticated horse had been pampered extensively and the taste of wet, dirt-sullied grass must have left an uncomfortable taste in his mouth. She wondered if there was any food inside of the stolen wagon; after all, there had been numerous bottles, and it was known that gypsies spent long times inside during their travels. Maybe in that chest in the corner she might find something suitable for the poor equine...
She decided that it was worth a look. After all, Malique was just going to burn the damn thing down. Cassandra took a hop from the stool that she was standing on, shuddering involuntarily at the sound of her feet sinking slowly into the mud. She frowned in irritation. She had just about enough of all of this. She stared angrily into the distance, trying to rid her mind of all of the curses and screams that wanted to break free. Damn it all, damn it all, damn it all! Her angry eyes scanned the horizon, and she did her best to ignore the image of her brother, which just seemed to anger her ever the more.
It was then she spotted him. A shadow amongst shadows, barely illuminated by the flickering flames of the campfire. She was able to discern colors, bright but dimmed by the encompassing darkness, and the first thought that popped into her mind was of gypsy spells and curses that might be cast on her and her brother for the task that they were going to execute then. She knew it was a gypsy, she knew it from the clothes that it wore and the eerie aura that she could sense from it. She knew he was there for his caravan, and she knew that he owned those eyes... those two eyes that had been boring so mercilessly into the base of her skull the hours before. It was looking at the both of them now, staring from beneath the brim of a torn and crumpled hat, silent, but nevertheless frightening. Cassandra paled instantly.
"M-m-malique..." She stuttered out, trying to grab her brother's sleeve without taking her sight away from the quiescent creature before her. Her hand missed, unfortunately, swatting the can from her brother's fingers.
"Cassandra, you idiot!" He screeched in anger, giving her a sour look. "Damn it! I can't eat that shit! That's it, I'm taking yours!"
And, with greedy hands, he reached into the pack and pulled her can from inside. He immediately opened it with his knife and started upon it like a famished dog, though he was far from that, one can assure you. Cassandra shook her head, apathetic to her brother's actions at the moment, her eyes still glued on the unmoving, brightly clad shadow. She couldn't find her voice. It was lost in fright somewhere within her, and it didn't seem to want to reveal itself to her. So, she stood staring at the figure in the dark, motionless, as he did the same. But, moments later, she saw it move, taking a step toward their fire. That was when she had discovered she could talk. Or, in this case, scream.
"Malique!" She shrieked suddenly, grabbing the fabric of her brother's cloak and tugging it forcefully. "Malique, a gypsy! God, Malique, it's there! It's there, and it wants us... It wants us, Malique!"
"What are you going on about, Ass-andra?" Malique asked, her tugging making it difficult to get is spoon to his mouth. "Not another one of your fantasies is it? I told you, keep me out of this shit! Stop that tugging unless you want another beating!"
"No, Malique," she screamed, wide-eyed, "you don't understand! He's there! In the shadows! Can't you see him? Malique, can't you see him?"
Malique, having had quite enough of this nonsense, pushed her away in anger and lifted another one of his angry fists to strike her. Cassandra looked up at him with pleading eyes, but of course, the bastard didn't give a horse's ass about her. He took her by the collar and stared into her eyes.
"I thought I told you to shut the hell up! Let me eat in piece you little bag of shit, before I get really angry! Stop muttering like an idiot, okay? I don't give a damn about your imagination, or your stories, or whatever crap you're coming up with!"
"But, Malique," she said, her voice suddenly taking a whisper, her eyes, for the first time, torn away from the gypsy man. "Malique, he's coming. He's trying to take his cart back, I know it."
"What the hell are you babbling about?"
"The gypsy!" She shrieked, hitting Malique with her foot in frustration. "You're such an idiot! He's here! He wants his caravan back, and it's all you're fault!"
Malique was very angry now.
"I'm going to blind you this time, bitch!" He proclaimed irefully. He clenched his hands into an angry clasp, and yelled out. His fist began to speed toward Cassandra's face, and the young girl put her hand before her in fear. She shrieked at the sudden approach, but her own scream was soon a mere whisper, in comparison with her brother's frightened and surprised yelp.
Cassandra opened her eyes, which she had closed just seconds before, and lowered her hands, and saw, with a great deal of wonder and anxiety, her brother's hand hovering mere inches above the tip of her nose. But, it was not just hanging, as if the poor boy had been frozen, but it was stopped, Malique's wrist clutched tightly by the gloved fingers of a gypsy man.
His expression was grim, his face bearded, and frightening like the devil's. What was he doing here? In his eyes burned a sort of intolerance, and she could've sworn that he was angered more by her brother's actions than her own. She blinked. And when she opened her eyes, that expression had disappeared, and in its place was a charming smile and ever the twinkling eyes.
"Don't blind the little one, dear sir!" He said suddenly, his voice fluted and saccharine.
Malique, though frightened, tried to make it seem as not. He puffed out his chest in false bravery and, asked him with a stern and overly forced voice, "Why not? What reason have you for telling me what to do?"
"Because, if she were blind she couldn't see! And if she couldn't see, that means she can't see anything, including me! And she'd miss the wonderful show I've set for you!" He took his extra hand to his chin and glanced from beneath his pink mask at the stars above, as if in thought. "But, then again...half of it is singing... But then she'd never be able to see the beautiful voice's handsome owner, which would be a complete and utter shame, wouldn't you agree?"
Malique stared at him in wonder, overly confused, and unsure if he should still be frightened. He glanced back at the caravan then at the gypsy, and in a sudden leap of courage, he pushed the gypsy toward the flames of the campfire. The man stopped just before the flames, though the edge of his shirt caught fire. It took a while for him to notice and resulted in his surprised screams and yelps for help. He finally put it out by slapping his hat against the spot. He stopped and sighed in relief, proclaiming to everyone that he was safe and that Malique ought to be a little bit more careful when handling guests. Cassandra lifted an eyebrow. Is this whom she had been frightened about?
"I guess you'll be wanting your damned wagon back, hm?" Malique asked, his grip on Cassandra's collar finally loosening itself. He took on a stance, ready to fight, and Cassandra watched him, hoping quietly that the thought wouldn't be entertained. The gypsy took a glance at him, a seemingly amused look on his face, and then he suddenly began to roar with laughter.
"That old thing?" He asked, clutching his sides. "Oh, by all means, burn it to the ground! But let me do my little show beforehand! It won't take too long, I assure you!"
"So," Cassandra asked warily, "you don't want to fight for it?"
"Fight for it?" The gypsy man asked, eyebrow lifted in confusion. Then, he began another fit of laughter and nearly fell to the ground for it. "Fight? Dear me child, but I never would, nor could for that matter, fight for it unless I wanted something broken, which I assure you child, I do not! Why, take a glance at me, then at your brother! I could never defeat this strong, masculine young man!"
He patted Malique on the back and continued giggling ridiculously as if it were all a complete and utter joke. Cassandra glanced at him and her brother as he was instructed (though she didn't say so) and lifted an eyebrow. He was right. He could never stand a match against Malique. But she had always thought those "muscles" that the gypsy had mentioned were naught but fat...
Malique smiled at the compliment beside himself, and returned the pat on the back, though with added strength in an attempt at harming the gypsy. But, had it hurt the man or not, he could not tell; the gypsy was much too busy laughing and seemed not to take notice at all.
"You know," Malique said, after the man had finally stopped, "if gypsies weren't disgusting and you weren't so ugly, I'd almost half like you!"
"That's the spirit!" The gypsy said, though Cassandra noticed a slight twitch in one of his eyes when he did. "So, how about it? Would you let me entertain you for a moment before you commit arson against my home?" Cassandra looked at him suspiciously. He seemed still happy, but she realized that that twitch had gotten worse after that statement.
"What do you think, Cassandra?" Malique asked, grinning. "Should we let this gypsy coward amuse us before we burn his house down before his eyes?"
"I don't know, Malique..." Cassandra started slowly, glancing at the gypsy warily. "He might be planning something... I don't think we should."
"Planning something?" The gypsy asked, and yet another fit of laughter came about. God, he laughed a lot. "What could I possibly plan to make to thwart your clever brother?"
"I still don't think..."
Malique, who sure as hell wanted to see the gypsy make a fool of himself, growled lowly.
"Who asked you?" he turned back to the unnamed gypsy man, grinning widely. "Sure, gypsy. Entertain us."
"Perfect," the gypsy said, smiling mysteriously. Cassandra felt herself becoming uncomfortable as she looked into those two black eyes. "Absolutely perfect!"
A/N: And that ends the crap. I'm sorry for the weird writing style; I just want to get this done! Please review. MY ENGLISH TEACHER HATES ME!!!!!!!!!!! Next chapter es duh end.