Alright then. Here's Chapter 2, and all I can say is that I'm going to make it better than the first one (hopefully). I've taken a leaf out of Neon Daisy's book, and I think I'm gonna actually THANK people from now on. It's just much better than just ignoring people!
BarleyShadow: Why hello again! I do hope you're still writing strong. If so, that's brilliant, and if not, get to work! And you're right, reviews are everything – we would be lost without them. Thanks about the "going places" comment. And I'm sorry that Roux had to have a bad relationship with his dad but, what else would make him leave? Sorry, but I needed a reason, and I distinctly made it so that Roux was never physically hurt by his dad.
Dawnie-7: I'm sorry I've got your tearing up! Lol. Don't feel so bad, Peter will get over it. He's a tough kid. Thanks SO much for reviewing!!! You're an awesome reviewer, going around, reviewing all my stories. It's spiffy, lemme tell you.
Elraralia: Bless you for reviewing! And you're my first, too! ::gives gold star:: Feel special! And I'm immensely glad that you like it so far, I'm going to make it better, too, so hang tight.
Chapter 2: golden-foiled sweets.
Long ago in the depths of Southern France, a culture was born amongst the murky river water. Some came from the towns, where they weren't wanted; others came from the Far East, where they were put down because of the color of their skin; and still others came down from the north or the south, to get away from the lives they were leading. But there had always been one thing that they all had in common – they all wanted a place to belong. These were the Gypsies or River People – depending on their location. They were a family, and that's all that counted, at least to them.
One of these so called gypsy Families was comfortably occupying their Bateau, which was floating down one of France's many rivers at a slow pace. Several other boats circled the larger, and so they moved in a closely huddled group. It was late spring, and the gorgeous blossoms of nature were in high stock. They swayed back and forth in the warm southern breeze. The moon above was shaped in a thin milky crescent, hanging in the air with an ever-near presence. Though its light was faint, it still managed to illuminate the many small boats that sailed beneath it. A stocky man stood at the bow of this largest Bateau, overlooking the wide river as they surged with its current. He was the lookout for the night. Most men would be frustrated about this shift, especially tonight, but this man didn't mind in the least. He loved the sights and smells of the French moonlit night more than anything the Family was doing inside. Three long tables could be seen on the boat's upper-most deck, covered with plates, empty food trays and used silverware. A woman wearing a very conservative dress could be seen on the poop deck with three or four little children running in circles around her, shouting and laughing about some unknown humor.
These were the only gypsies to be seen on deck. All the rest were down below, enjoying a well-deserved party. Now make no mistake, a gypsy party wasn't much different from your regular citizens'. They had their entertainment, refreshments, dancing, the whole works. Gypsies simply weren't the savages that many respectable townsfolk made them out to be. They were decent people, and had their get-togethers just the same...
A young girl jumped on the table, nearly knocking it over, and lifted her skirt just high enough to dance with ease. Many of the men stared at her ankles – both they and the girl was clearly drunk. Drinks were being handed around from nowhere, and every once in a while, an older man would snatch back a glass of stolen beer from his grandson.
People danced, people laughed, and a single man sang in some eastern language at the head of the room. Four men sat on either side of the singer, pounding low beats on their drums. A boy with maracas and a girl striking a tambourine stood by the drummers. More men were set up by the lead singer, some clapping their hands in beat with the music, others with bells, wooden flutes, or more drums. And there, one man sat on a crab crate, by the girl with the tambourine, strumming a wooden guitar with skilled fingers.
The music was so addictive, no one could possibly resist. Soon enough, the crowd of gypsies were singing along, and most of them had joined in, clapping their hands and stomping their feet in perfect rhythm with the rest of the band. The song ended, and another quickly began as the singer went to get a drink. Meanwhile, the rest of the band played and played, never stopping the music for more than a few seconds. The sound of the guitarist could be heard more clearly now. He struck each note with meaning, sending it ringing around the room, followed by the next and the next at a fast, precise pace.
This went on for hours, until the guests started to filter out of the main room in small groups. They were traveling back to their own boats, their own beds, to sleep for the remaining night. The children and their parents were the first to leave, and so most of the single folk were left to their dancing. But in the end, these would disappear too. And then, the only ones left would be the few members of the band that had enough energy to keep them going.
The girl with the tambourine was not among those that remained. She had left quite early on to get back to her little boat and her father. He had left her at the party, trusting that she would be alright by herself. And this was true, nothing would happen to her here, on their itinerant territory. Any gypsy that knew her face had the responsibility of looking after her, whether they knew her personally or not. But of course that was the way of a gypsy Family: they had unconditional trust and love for one another.
The girl climbed over the side of the Bateau, still holding her tambourine, and clung closely to a rope that hung down from above. From here she shimmed carefully down, until her feet felt the hard, polished deck of her home. Their boat was one of the smallest in the Family, and it was nothing compared to the Bateau that towered above her now. She turned around, wiping a sheet of dark hair around her head, and squinted through the darkness. The moonlight just barely lit up her face; she couldn't have been older than ten. However, the crescent moonlight from above wasn't nearly bright enough to light up the boat fully, and she couldn't make out anything past forms and outlines. The girl started to walk forward, letting her hair fall into her face when she leaned ahead. He could be in the back, she thought, and headed in that direction. Calling out his name was a last resort, seeing as her other sleeping kin were in such close proximity. So instead she tried not to make a sound, and crept on.
A few seconds passed, and she reached the back of the boat. He wasn't there. Then, from out of the darkness, the pale moonlight hit a hand as it snuck out to grab the girl's shoulder – and it was not her father's. She screamed.
That scream had caused more damage than calling her father's name could have ever had. A couple of snores ceased in the background, and there were more than a dozen different growls, followed by several inaudible curse words. The guitarist from the party laughed into his sleeve, and the girl turned.
"You..." she whispered in a cold tone that surpassed her years.
The guitarist looked down at her, still smiling. "You shouldn't have screamed, little lass. You've gone and woken up our neighbors."
"That's your fault." The girl pouted, folding her arms in distaste.
But this wouldn't put a frown on the guitarist's face. He tilted his head down, eyes still on her, and put a hand behind his back. "Will you forgive me? I've brought you a present..."
A small round something wrapped in golden foil appeared from around the guitarist's back. The girl's eyes lit up. "Oh wow!"
She snatched the piece of candy and put it hastily in her dress pocket. "Now don't go eatin' it right away," said the guitarist sarcastically.
The girl grinned broadly and wrapped the guitarist in a hug. "I'm saving it," she said.
There came a loud 'SH!' from a couple boats over. "Alright!" Said the guitarist loudly, and another inaudible curse word drifted across the water toward them. The guitarist turned back to the girl.
"What sort of candy is it?" Said the girl excitedly.
The guitarist shook his head. "It's a surprise."
The girl stomped her foot and heaved a great sigh. "I hate your surprises."
"That's just because you're impatient, little lass." The guitarist reasoned. "And patience is an impor'ant virtue, you know."
"You sound like Papa," the girl mocked. She started to giggle, but the guitarist quickly hushed her for fear of another outburst from their neighbors.
"You wouldn't be lookin' for your father, now would you?" He asked.
"Of course I am!" The girl squealed.
"Well you won't be finding him on here." The guitarist said before throwing a glance around the small boat. "He's still on watch up on deck."
The girl scowled and looked at her feet. "He said he'd be down here before the party was over."
"Don't fret, Roslin. I'll go and fetch him for you. And eat your candy." The guitarist patted her head.
He stood up and started to make his way to the rope Roslin had first climbed down. Her hand quickly shot down to her pocket, so that she could feel the foil of her candy once more. "Roux!" She said suddenly.
The guitarist turned. "You called, little lass?"
Roslin bit her bottom lip and tried not to smile. "Don't tell Papa about the candy, okay? I'm not sure he'd like me having sweets so late..."
Roux smiled and gave her a little salute. "Aye, aye, Madame Roslin."
Then Roux turned and started to climb the rope with ease, and was back up on the Bateau in a matter of seconds, disappearing with the shadows. As for Roslin, she was left in the misty twilight, still fondling the piece of candy in her pocket. Slowly, almost secretively, she pulled it out and let its golden foil glint in the moonlight. Followed by the very noisy sound of crinkling plastic and a happy smile from a little girl. A pint-sized chocolat sweet lie in Roslin's hand next to an empty wrapper. Chocolat... her favorite.
There. Not as long as I would have liked it, but it got the job done. Please R&R!