Don't Blame the Moon

Drakien Lusk · 01-17-2012, 06:41 PM

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Set in Europe somewhere. :3 :: Word Count → 423

Drakien was beginning to get the hang of being a gypsy. It hadn't taken him long to be accepted into the caravan itself, but outside it, the Romani were treated with a certain kind of fearful respect, and he'd yet to earn that from anyone. He doubted he ever would; the others were cut-throat, vicious, and he simply...didn't have it in him. He stood apart from the others now, smoking a cigarette that had been handed off to him, and watching them dance and sing among each other. Even the children had some place in their society, were granted some kind of respect, and he felt...left out. Unwanted, alone; though he knew it wasn't true, he had his own friends in the caravan, sometimes it felt like he was just another outsider, just some gorgio peering in through the window onto their colorful lives.

He pinched the smoke between his first finger and his thumb, taking one last long drag before throwing it down and crushing it under his paw, wincing slightly at the burn. Then he tucked his hands into the waistband of his pants and began walking away up the lane, his head bent as though against a strong wind though it was a cool, crisp autumn evening, the skies clear and the air still. He was almost completely away from the circle of wagons when an old, deceptively frail-looking hand grabbed his elbow, and he was reeled around to face Baba Agnessa, the oldest woman in the caravan. Her face was drawn tight over her bones, and she was graying around the muzzle and under the eyes; but he knew better than to think less of her for that.

"You are leaving? Her voice didn't quiver, and he stared at her for a long moment before looking away. "Nu, Baba. I am only walking." He promised, and he felt her grip tighten but didn't dare look up to see what expression rested on her face. "Do not go too far, copilul meu." She released his arm, patting it gently, before turning and wandering away, and he was left standing just outside the circle, feeling as though she'd blown icy wind over the fires of his soul, before he turned and continued on his way.

Copilul meu. She'd called him her child. He felt a slow smile spread across his face, and paused when he was a good distance from the caravan, looking back at their dancing shapes. Perhaps...perhaps he wasn't such an outsider, after all.

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