Author's Note: Hello dellee! Bad song attempt coming up!
Just a warning. I am not the best of poets and, as I mentioned so many times before in most of my "literary" works, Mr. Neiby Camat Poto is refusing to work with me! It makes me so ANGRY, but I guess this chapter is okay. I was hoping the fourth chapter was going to be the last, but then I got really annoyed and decided against it. Annoyed is another word for "lazy" if you don't know me well enough. So, here it is, the fourth chapter. READ AND REVIEW OR I WILL SIC MY HELL HOUND ON YOU!!!!!
Clopin stood before the two "audience members" his lips curled into a smile fit for a madman, though inside he felt a pool of anger within him, bubbling like a stew in a cauldron. A stew that made him want to stick a knife down that fat assed man's throat and hang his sister upside down by her big toes from a cliff for a few hours, for good measure, if not for the sake of sadism. Clopin did want to help the young girl, and wished sadly that there was some way that he might help her find the strength to defeat her brother, but that was not a priority at the moment, nor was it truly a possible dream. After this charade, he would have to avoid the siblings for at least a year or two, until there was a good chance that they had forgotten completely about him and what he had done. And anyway, as much as he wanted to seem friendly to them at the moment, she was being a bit of an annoyance to his plan, having suggested against it twice already. But, that just meant she was a smart little lass. But nevertheless... he was just lucky that Malique was a complete and utter idiot to have acted accordingly. Ah well... scratch out that bit about wanting to hang her upside down. The poor girl's went through enough already.
"So, are we ready then?" Clopin asked, smiling widely, leaning forward, and putting his hands together. Malique nodded, leaning backwards on the caravan from his stool in an attempt at a tough appearance. Cassandra on the other hand showed no response, only staying by her horse, pulling her cloak closer about her, frowning deeply in annoyance and disapproval.
"Wonderful responses," Clopin said aloud, laughing, but inwardly frowning. They could at least show a little happiness for his contribution to their night. He could have just let them burn his wagon down to the ground and ignored them completely, after all. See what he was doing for them, without their thanks or even approval? What an insult!
But he digressed. After all, he needed to get this started.
Suddenly, a somber look took the expression on his tanned face, his lips falling into a frown, his eyes grim and dark. Clopin bowed his head quietly, and let the brim of his currently crumpled hat cover the topmost half of his face, the fire casting eerie shadows upon his frowning mouth. He outstretched his hands to the sides, and bent his knees gently.
"There is a story that I would like to tell..." Clopin started, his words whispered audibly, but somehow loud and clarion despite the distinct crackling of the campfire. "It would not be considered an 'epic' by most, besides a few small circles ((Hello, Emily!)), but it remains still so very close to my heart. It is a tale, a tale of pain, of sadness, of fright, of horrible, nightmare inducing discomfort, but mostly, it is a tale about..."
Here, Clopin took a dramatic pause and lifted his head to the sky, staring up at the twinkling stars, their gentle, far away glow reflected in his ebony eyes. Cassandra leaned in quietly, an interest arousing within her childish soul. She did feel a discomfort toward Malique's instant trust toward this colorful gypsy man, and wished somewhat against the whole thing, but she couldn't do anything about it, could she? So, as the saying went, "If you can't beat them, join them", right? Besides, it was beginning to sound a bit fascinating, this tale of pain and discomfort..."It is a tale about..." Clopin began again, his eyes breaking away from the sparkling sky, "Bad Weather."
Cassandra shot backwards in her seat, teetering on the edge of an anime dropdown. Bad Weather? What was that about? What kind of good, respectable story was about, no matter how annoying, something so simple and stupid? She straightened herself out after knocking the back of her head on her horse's knee, drawing a neigh of discomfort from the old mare. She patted the horse gently on the leg, whispering gentle apologies to her mistake, and turned back to the scene before her, shaking her head.
Malique, on the other hand, was annoyed about the subject as well, but was so much more verbal about it. He scoffed it completely.
"What the hell kind of story is that, Gypsy?" he asked. "Even I can write a story about bad weather, easy! And it would probably be better than this!"
"That last comment was uncalled for, mon ami. How can you say such a thing?" Clopin asked, mock sadness in his fluted voice. "Besides, we are only at the beginning. You shall see significance, perhaps, later on... when I'm actually telling the story."
Malique just released a sharp breath of air, rolled his eyes, and motioned for the gypsy to continue. Cassandra moaned, leaning her head down so that her hood covered her face. Her brother was such an asshole.
"Bad weather..." Clopin restarted, holding back a quiet glare that was mysteriously drawn toward the pig with clothes, "It is the bane of all working people, more of a nuisance than anything else, drawing forth even destruction. This is the story of such a bout of bad weather... a rainstorm, actually, one that lasted for so long. This is the story of the last day of that rain..."
So, Clopin tapped his foot on the ground, and did a fantastic, high flip backward, landing squarely on a stick jutting out, untouched, from the fire. This force started a small chain reaction, the limb resting on another to create some sort of a teeter totter effect, sending another flaming piece of wood flying through the air, the unmarred end finding its way in Clopin's gloved hand.
"Look at it... fire... this stick had more flame than what I had during this tale..."
And with that, he licked a finger and pinched the flickering flame into nonexistence. He did a sudden twirl, his movements so fast that he seemed no more than a blur, and in his hands, the second he stopped, was a dusty old violin and it s bow. Clopin had found it, in his caravan, from the days when he was but a young lad, traveling Spain. He had completely forgotten about it for so long, but it would come in handy at the moment. He plucked a few notes on the old violin, then, brought the bow to the fiddle, he began to saw a sudden tune from the strings.
It was a lively melody, sweet, ingenious, full of life. Spicy and impish, like the gypsy who played it, his fingers moving quickly upon the neck of the violin. Malique sat up straighter in his chair, interested, and Cassandra followed suit. The gypsy began to dance suddenly, as quickly as the music that spilled from his violin strings, laughter escaping his mouth.
The rain was falling loudly
And the sane men all would stay
In their warm and comfy quarters,
But I went out anyway!
Cassandra lifted an eyebrow at his mention of "I". So, this story was about him?
Perhaps I didn't notice
All the puddles at my toes
Or the rain that fell in droplets
Ever dampening my nose.
But I left, and waited, sighing
For the children to appear
But the rain fell, far from dying,
And the skies stayed ever drear.
So I drank myself straight silly
To ignore the pouring rain,
And the sound of clinking bottles
Soon monopolized my brain.
A drunk man's lullaby it was
And my eyes rolled slowly back.
I slept upon the floorboards
And, I let my mind go slack.
Clopin's melody had been changing throughout the song with each verse. The same melody, played slowly and sadly, next a drunken quickness, then a tired sluggishness that passed over his face. Cassandra listened with more interest. It was a beautiful melody, and he played out the song and intertwined the tune and mood perfectly.
I was torn from dreams so lovely
By a horse's clopping hoof.
I could barely hear the pounding
Of the raindrops on my roof.
For the wine was strong and hearty
So my head had hurt like hell,
And I cursed the horse's walking
And its owner's head as well.
I had opened up the doorway
Feeling cold as witches' tits,
Bent on getting back to Le cour
But I quickly lost my wits!
For no cobblestones had met me,
Nor the solid city street
But the mud and grass of wilderness
Almost sullied both my feet!
Cassandra's eyes opened wider. Interesting verse... so he had been taken away from the city out into the wilderness... There was something rather fascinating, not to mention familiar about the whole thing... Something very familiar...
Where the hell was I, I wondered
As I clutched my beating chest,
And I hyperventilated,
My heart pumping in my breast.
But I heard a pair of voices
And I rushed along to hide
On my wagon's cold wet rooftop.
How I wish I stayed inside!
For the rain fell down so hardly
And to add along to that,
I was dying from my headache,
I destroyed my favorite hat!
And with that, he pointed vehemently at his crumpled purple cap, a frown taking his mouth for a second or two.
But I waited 'til the night fell
And the rain had ceased its fall
When the moon was out and glowing
And had cast its silver pall
When the fire was warm and blazing
(How I wish I had just that)
Just to jump into the mud bath
And to straighten out my hat.
Cassandra listened closely, watching from beneath the edge of her cowl, her fingers weaved together in interest. She knew... she knew what he was talking about, this last storm day, watching as he flipped about, and sawed his fiddle happily. There was laughter in his eyes, but there was also an underlying anger... she could sense it every time he cast a glance at her brother. Whether or not Malique caught the story that he was telling, she could not tell, though she thought it would be rather difficult not to know. But Malique's expression did not reveal anything.
And I sang, I did, I sang loud
And I told my story here,
To a brother, strong and, er, handsome,
With his lovely sister dear...
Clopin stopped his fiddle playing and lowered his violin so that it nearly fell to the ground from his loosening fingers. He walked gently toward Cassandra, who sat closest to the white stallion and his caravan. He smiled at her and leaned down so they were face to face, and his eyes took a deep glance into her overshadowed own.
Cassandra felt so uncomfortable that moment, when he stooped over and looked past the shadows into her eyes, blocking the flickering of the fire from her view. She sensed that he didn't want to hurt her, that he wanted to tell her something with that glance... to be brave? No... she felt that message, but would that make sense? Why would this gypsy tell her to be brave... Did he understand?
And as I relive this story,
I release a plaintive sigh...
For this night is ending quickly...
His smile became ever the wider, and Cassandra had near lost herself in his eyes. She was so young a girl... she had never understood a feeling like the one she felt now... she had never had a beat in her heart that went so quickly as it did... what was happening? There were messages in his eyes, those gentle pools of coal black with diamonds half-hidden in the darkness...
And I must now...
Clopin hoped quietly that she got what he was trying to tell her... He reached for the stallion's reins...
Say...
He lifted a foot to the holder that hung off the saddle, readying himself.
Suddenly, from behind he could hear Malique spluttering for words. Oh yes, Clopin thought, shaking his head. He forgot that there were two people there. Cassandra may have been a little preoccupied; Malique had a perfect view of what he was doing from behind. Cassandra shook her head, as if coming out of a trance, and glanced up at Clopin in wonder. He grinned sheepishly, and, with a last glance at Malique, and a poke on the Cassandra's cheek with his nose, he pulled himself up onto the saddle in the blink of an eye, and kicked the horse in the flank.
The steed neighed loudly, and started sprinting off, the caravan trailing, bumping behind.
GOODBYE!!!!!
Clopin screamed back happily, and laughing like a madman, he pulled the reins, turning the horse and carriage round, and rushed back, wind screaming at them, back to Paris.
Author's Note: Woo! The end of the fourth chapter! I will work on the fifth when I'm not bored anymore! YAY! I'm thinking on restarting on the Hawaiian and the Hunchback, so it might take a while! Sorry! Now you REVIEW! Or else I'll start crying and Cerberus will have a new chew toy... okay, I can't threaten you, because that's wrong and mean and evil... But please. Me es desperate. So very desperate.