"They Call Us Gypsies" (closed)

Inga had yet to even sleep after the eventful evening before. It wasn't unusual as she had the talent that seemed to intrigue most of the people that came to the gathering. However, she had also been concerned for her cousin when he had been dragged back into the camp during the night and had left so early that morning. No doubt, he was still pining over the woman that he seemed to be infatuated with.

"It's about time you drug yourself back home." Inga murmured, glancing up at Gregor as he made his way towards her after a short conversation with Papa. "At least tell me that you didn't do anything stupid."

At the look in his eyes, she sighed and shook her head. He would never let a pretty face go. He would die for a pretty face if he had the chance. That redhead had a possessive husband and she was sure that he wouldn't hesitate to put Gregor in his place or in the ground. She hoped that neither actually occurred while they were there.

She was making coffee on a fire as Gregor asked her questions about her conversation with the Sheriff. "He just asked how things happened around here. It seems that other groups have come through in the past and have made an absolute mess of things. I assured him that everything was on the up and up. He wasn't interested in the art of fortune telling, though. Even when I offered it for free."

She paused and looked over at Gregor, her hands settling on her hips as a small smile quirked her mouth. "The farmer, however, was." She glanced towards the farmhouse in the distance, remembering when the handsome farmer had ended up in her tent.

Jason had surprisingly ended up in her tent sometime before closing and Inga had been absolutely smitten. He was handsome, perhaps a little wholesome, but he engaged her in a conversation that she hadn't been expecting. He had known that what she did was a fraud and as he sat on the other side of her table, he had wanted to know how she had done it. With a few more coins to assure his silence, she had told him. It was perhaps the first time she had ever told anyone outside of her family.

"And then Marla came along with one of the other girls and my fun was ruined." Inga said, spitting in the direction of Marla's vardo.

"And then Marla came along with one of the other girls and my fun was ruined."

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Gregor laughed at that, responding quickly, "Well, someone has to pay the piper."

Gregor imagined the farmer in a vardo or tent or even in his own house, with one of Marla's girls tending to his pipe. He studied Inga for a moment and was certain that he saw jealousy in her expression. When was the last time his cousin had taken to a man, whether Romani or not? Gregor couldn't recall.

This life of constant travel was hard on all of them, but sometimes Gregor thought it was harder on the women. Often, they had only other Romani from which to find a mate. And more often than not, the chosen Romani wasn't from the Family. And choosing a mate from another Family meant that one or the other of the lovers had to leave the Family they knew to become a member of the one they didn't. And that was often harder than not finding a mate in the first place.

As he begged Inga for some of her coffee, Gregor thought of his own long time, likely-never-to-be-fulfilled lust for his cousin, then thought of how the bachelor farmer might have lusted for Inga as well. Oh sure, he'd gotten his pipe cleaned by Marla and, surely, was getting it cleaned again by one of the other girls whose skills made men weep with joy.

But sometimes Gregor thought that just sitting and talking with his cousin and imaging the possibilities of having her as his for all time was enough to forgo all of those other women. Had the bachelor farmer felt the same, sitting opposite Inga at her little table with its silk cloth and fortune telling devices?

"I will invite our farmer friend back," he said, already backing away as he knew he was about to be savaged by his sometimes violent cousin. "I will invite him to the carnavale tonight ... and he will want you to tell him his future ... and you will use your magic ... and when he leaves he will know that you are the only gypsy for him."

Gregor dropped the still half full metal cup of coffee as he turned and ran, fearful -- figuratively and maybe even literally -- for his health and well being. He laughed loudly, knowing he'd be paying for this yet not caring. He knew what he had to do: Jason and Inga were meant to be together, and Gregor was going to make it happen. Because deep in her soul, although she would never tell Gregor this, she would have to admit that he was right. And that was something she'd never said about her often arrogant cousin.


A bit later:

"Look at that," a woman in the café said just loud enough to get the attention of her breakfast partner and -- incidentally -- the district judge and his wife, who were in the next booth over. The second woman followed her friend's gaze out to the street where a pair of Romani women were moving slowly along the sidewalk, accompanied by four little girls as they peddled hand made goods from a little cart they pushed before them. The first woman growled low, "Disgraceful, dirty, ugly people."

As the pair of women continued talking low about some of the rumors already spreading through town about the carnavale, one of the women looked into the café and made eye contact with Grace Townsend. She smiled politely, handed a little bouquet to one of the girls -- Grace might recognize her from earlier in the morning -- and urged the girl inside. The little gypsy hurried inside, ignoring the chastising of the woman behind the counter to stay outside.

"Please, sorry," the little girl said as she stepped up close to Grace and offered her the bouquet. Just as Grace may have recognized the lass, she certainly would recognize the flowers that had been picked from her own garden. The girl thrust the bouquet at the young redhead and repeated her apology as she'd been directed, "Please, sorry. Forgive."

The girl wasn't going to leave until Grace took the flowers. But the flowers weren't the reason for the interruption. Out of sight of the man across the table from Grace, the little girl reached her other hand to Grace's hand and pushed a note into her palm. Once her mission was complete, the little girl ran for the door, turned to the breakfast diners, gave them a curtsy, and headed quickly out the door that was again held open for her by one of the adult Romani.

And Gregor watched the entire event unfold from the shadows of the alley across the street. He didn't know whether or not Grace would even read the note, or if she did whether or not she would give it any thought. He could only hope that she would read the invitation to come to the carnavale and believe that the gypsies -- and this particular male gypsy -- were someone about whom she should learn a bit more ... and with whom she should spend a bit more time.

With this job done -- and the little Romani girl paid off with yet another coin for her shopping at the candy store -- it was back to the ranch and his quest to bring Jason and Inga together. He found the bachelor farmer huddled with a pair of Romani men, looking over a broken plowing implement. Jason was looking for an inexpensive way to repair it, and the gypsies were looking for a way to make it appear fixed for a price that was higher than Jason was offering.

Gregor and Jason greeted one another -- they hadn't spoken since the former set up the latter with Marla -- and spoke of the carnavale thus far. Then Gregor asked out of the blue, "You liked my cousin, Inga, yes?"

Jason went silent, his eyebrows rising in surprise. After having had sex with two of the Romani in just two days, his first thought was Oh, I didn't know Inga was one of THOSE, too.

Gregor recognized the confusion in the man's face and quickly clarified, "My cousin is a good girl. She would like you to visit her tent again tonight. Let her tell you your future."

He didn't know that Jason had called Inga's talent a fraud, only that he'd paid her a visit and Inga had been smitten. Yes, smitten! Inga wouldn't have admitted that to Gregor, but then she hadn't needed.

Jason began, "Oh, I, um ... I don't think that--"

"You go," Gregor cut him off. He grasped the farmer's hand and pressed a coin into it, saying, "You have no reason not to go. Free, on me. A gypsy doesn't just give money away without a reason."

Jason laughed, adding quickly without thinking about the offensive ramifications, "I bet!"

Gregor ignored the comment, and after he studied the man a moment, Jason asked, "And ... what would be your reason for me visiting the fortune teller? If she going to convince me to let you stay longer without any more ... payment?"

Jason's cock twitched a bit at the memory of the unbelievable sex he'd enjoyed over the past 36 hours. He continued, "Or ... if she going to convince me that God will look kindly upon me and give me a dozen strapping sons to help me with the farm if I make a donation to the camp's feast tonight ... perhaps a hog or a couple of goats?"

Gregor smiled at the insinuation and began backing away, saying only, "Go visit. Good for you. Good for Inga. Good for all."

"For you?" Jason asked with a knowing smile.

Gregor thought for a moment: would having Inga finally matched up with a mate end his constant desire to bed her himself? Probably not. He only laughed, telling the man as he turned to head toward the camp, "Go!"

Grace had taken the bouquet from the smal girl and hidden away the note that she had pressed into her palm. Jake seemed to take everything at face value, lending validity to her story of the young girls picking the flowers from their garden that morning. He said nothing as they continued with their meal before leaving to go to his office.

She chose to wait in the car as her husband tended to some quick business at the courthouse. When she was absolutely alone, she dared to pull the note from her hiding place and unfolded it. She had no idea who would have needed to get her information in such a way, but she felt like it might have been important.

Earlier:

Dropping in on the beautiful redhead's home like he did had been a mistake. Gregor knew that now. After he and the two girls had returned from town; and after Inga had wordlessly chastised him about what he'd done with only a meaningful glare; Gregor had returned to check on Father before sitting down at the little dining table inside his vardo.

The tip of the quill pen in his hand hovered over the paper for the longest time as he attempted to figure out how to make this right. He had three tasks: first, make the beauty understand he was no threat to her; second, make her believe that he was someone with whom she should become acquainted; and third, find a way to get close to her without her husband suspecting foul intent on the part of the gypsies in general and Gregor in particular.

Finally, he wrote:


Gregor hesitated a moment, wondering whether there was any chance whatsoever of her believing that second line. The Romani -- the gypsies -- were not exactly known for their honest reputations. Oh, they weren't all liars and cheats. But, to be honest, it was a significant part of their culture.

So, when the vast percentage of the non-Romani population believes that a Romani can't be trusted as far as he or she can be thrown, what is a gypsy to do when he is madly in love with a non-gypsy woman who won't give him the time of day?

He continued:


He let the ink dry for several minutes while he went searching for the women who were heading into town to do some business. Seeing the two girls from earlier, he engaged them in his little plan to get the note to Grace. It cost him another coin for candy, of course, but honestly, Gregor would have given far more to see that the note got to the beauty.

He only knew that her husband had said they were going to breakfast. They all rode in the borrowed buckboard to town, then unloaded the push cart to the ground and loaded it with their wares. Gregor was ready to search the entire town for the redhead, yet it only took turning one corner to see her sitting in a window booth with her grabby husband.



Now, at the carnavale:

The crowd was nothing like the one from the previous night, nor was the atmosphere. After dark, there was more of an adult feel to the camp, with alcohol and prostitutes and such; but now, during the light, the fun was centered more around family activities, with goat and pony rides, tossing and racing games, and of course face painting and costume wearing.

Oh, it all came with a price tag, of course, but generally speaking the cost was low. The Romani knew that the real profit today would be made as it was yesterday ... after dark.

Gregor was helping with the competitions -- strength, speed, agility, and the like -- but his attention was constantly shifting to the entrance of the field. He knew the chances of the redhead coming to see him during the daytime -- when someone might see her -- were small, infinitesimally small. His hopes for her arriving this evening weren't that much higher.

But he'd done what he could do. Anything more might get him arrested and jailed ... or, as Inga would fear, killed. All he could do was wait and see what happened.

Grace read the note and felt a strange twinge in her belly. There was no way that she could get away from Jake without him asking where she was going. The only times that she was alone was when he was at work. Perhaps when he went back to the office, she could go to see this man...

Crumpling up the note she chastised herself. Just because someone sent her a nice note, telling her that she deserved better, didn't mean that anything would change. She had married Jake and she would have to deal with the consequences. He was cold most of the time, but he did take care of her financially. He put a roof over her head and made sure that food was on the table. That was all she really needed, even if she wasn't happy.

Before Jake came back out of his offices, the note was thrown out the window and she gave him a small smile as he started the engine and drove off. She was trying her hardest to make sure that what had happened the night before never happened again. That meant being on her best behavior and simply trying to make him happy. As his wife, she would do what she could to make sure that he never thought she was doing anything that might reflect badly upon him. If she was really good, she could keep up the act until the end of her life.

As evening approached, the camp was growing busy. It was full of families for the moment, but Inga was getting prepared for a more adult crowd come sundown. She was cleaning her small tent when she heard the flap open and she turned, pausing when she saw Jason standing there.

"I thought you said this was all a hoax." Inga said, her hands resting on her hips. "I even told you how it was all done. Why have you come back?"

She had changed into a more richly adored dress for that evening. She found on the slow days after an opening night and a boxing bout, she could draw a crowd with something more exotic.

"Why have you come back?"

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Jason contemplated the question for a moment: why had he come back? As long as the Romani were set up in his field, Papa Don and Gregor would continue to send gypsy women to fulfill his sexual needs, so ... why was he returning to this woman, Inga, who wasn't a prostitute.

That was simple: he wanted more from life than the occasional opportunity to put his cock into a woman who -- at the end of the ecstasy and payment -- would leave him while he himself was still breathing hard. He wanted a lover, not just a fuck, though the latter -- particularly these Romani -- was always more enjoyable than his curled fingers and a ball of his own spit.

What Jason truly wanted was a woman who would be his bed partner every night. A woman who would help him with his farm, with the crops and the animals and the chores and the constant maintenance and who would smile through it all because it meant to her what it meant to him. What he wanted was a woman who would sit close to him at night and talk about the day that had passed and the days that would come. What he wanted was a woman who would give him a son who would grow up to be as strong in body and soul as he and a daughter who would grow up to be as beautiful on the outside and inside both as she.

What Jason wanted was a wife.

Which again brought him back to why he was standing in the entrance to Inga's tent. She was a gypsy. Not just a Romani. Jason actually knew of Romani who had settled down on the land and abandoned their vardo and their travels. But Inga was both Romani and travler: she was Gypsy.

She wasn't going to abandon her family and settle down here in Clark County with him. He knew that. Or, at least, he believed it. He didn't know her, of course, so ... maybe he was wrong.

There was an old saying, something about an eagle that fell in love with a salmon, leading to the question where would they live if they married? Inga wasn't going to stay here with the farmers and store clerks and district judge types; Jason wasn't going to go on the road with the fist bare knuckle fighters and chicken thieves and card cheats.

"I wanted to see you," was the first thing that came out of Jason's mouth. Immediately upon saying it, he blushed hot. He smiled nervously -- women still in their clothes weren't his strong suit -- and added quickly, "I, um ... wanted to ... to clarify ... to, um."

He had no idea what to say, so he quickly threw out, "I actually do believe that what you do is real. I mean ... that it ... it might have a real element ... and ... I, um ... I wanted you to tell me my future."

He stepped inside letting the flap fall shut behind him, pulled from his pocket and displayed out before him a silver dollar, and said, "The sign out front says four bits ... so ... this should buy me two futures. Right?"

As he waited for her response, he looked Inga up and down in her richly adorned dress. It hugged her body tightly, causing Jason to imagine doing with Inga the things he'd been doing with the other Romani women. And, as a result, he began swelling below his belt line. Jason didn't think it would be conspicuous, but he did nothing to hide the growing excitement, knowing that that would be conspicuous.



"Badge!"

Harold was near the front entrance of the carnavale as usual, watching the locals as they appeared at an increasing rate. He looked down the lane to one of the lookouts, finding the boy giving him an inconspicuous gesture toward an approaching car. Harold turned to find a pair of boys doing knife tricks for pennies and gave them another signal. One ran off to find Papa Don while the other snatched the pennies piled upon a stool and ran off, causing their audience to holler at them in disappointment.

"Mister Carter has reported that his buckboard stolen," Sheriff Barlow Baker told Papa Don when the two met near the field's entrance. "He, of course, automatically suspected that some of your boys may have nicked it last night, but ... after our discussion last night, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt."

The two men -- patriarchs both to their own communities in their own way -- had talked about a great many things during Barlow's hour long wandering through the carnavale the night before. In the end, when he'd turned and left, the two men had agreed that so long as the shenanigans remained within the barbed wire boundary of this field; so long as no one was the victim of serious foul play or suffered physical harm; and so long as the honor of Barlow's own family of locals was maintained -- "Particularly the honor of its women, if you understand my meaning" -- then the Sheriff, his Deputies, and the angry mob that he could assemble at the drop of a hat would remain at bay and allow the Romani to do their business in peace.

"I thank you, Sheriff," Papa Don said with an appreciative tone, continuing, "And I assure you ... that if, let's say, some of my boys happened to have found an abandoned wagon on the side of the road ... an orphan in the world of transport, seeking purpose and meaning ... that if those boys put that poor, lost vehicle to use, not understanding that it may belong to one of our neighbors ... that that wagon would certainly be returned ... by, let's say, sunrise?"

Barlow's lips had been spreading slowly at the old gypsy's flowery method of admitting that the Romani did have the buckboard but that Papa Don would also ensure it was returned to avoid any legal entanglements.

"Mister Carter had some work he'd needed to do with his wagon..." Barlow continued, now negotiating probation for the thieves of the vehicles. "It didn't get done, obviously."

"I believe I have a couple of boys ... men, hard working men," Papa Don continued, understanding what the Sheriff was demanding, "who would be more than happy to aid our good neighbor with his delayed work."

As he had at the end of their previous discussion, Barlow offered out his hand. They shook, made their farewells, and went their separate ways: Barlow toward his vehicle to pass word about the agreement to the Deputy -- the speeding lawman who had nearly killed Inga that first day -- who would get word to Mister Carter; and Papa Don to find Gregor to inform him that the wagon and a few young men needed to be at the Carter farm at sunrise.



Gregor was in the boxing tent, participating in an arm wrestling competition that had been advertised by word of mouth throughout the three towns nearby the Townsend farm. More than 60 men had registered, though only 15 or so had what it took to put on a good show.

Despite the lack of blood and brutality, this event would net the Romani almost as much as the fist fight of the night before. There was a admission fee of two bits for those entering the tent, either as competitors or viewers; there was an entrance fee of two bits to compete in each bout; for the first three hours of the competition, wresters could enter as often as they wanted, and some entered again and again whether they were winning or losing.

There were initially six stations set up for simultaneous bouts. But at 10pm, the Championship would begin. Again, there as an entrance fee to compete, this time $1. The winner would earn $100 and his last competitor $30, both of which were unheard of prizes and had been causing buzz throughout the carnavale for hours.

The tables would be whittled down from six to four to two to one as men fell to the double elimination competition. The Championship was double elimination rather than single, presumably to give wrestlers a do over after having lost a tough match. But in reality, double elimination was all about doubling the Romani's opportunity to use deceit and deception to earn more coin.

Gregor was competing tonight, of course. Gregor the Great's name and fame for having defeated the local fighter Carl the Club had made its way to all three of the local towns by midday. The Romani had visited all three towns and told the bare knuckle fighter's tale again and again until finally the townsfolk were spreading the story between themselves.

It was one of the reason tonight's carnavale crowd was getting larger with each passing hour and why the fighting tent was standing room only. Of course, except for within his own small town, no one had known that Carl the blacksmith was in fact Carl the Club: that hero building had been Papa Don's doing. But that didn't keep the story from spreading like wildfire across the county.

While Gregor and some of the Romani were competing, most of the wrestlers were local men. And yet ... some of them weren't!

A handful of Romani men shed his traditional clothes and jewelry, pulled their hair up into their caps if necessary, and entered the tent looking like regular ol' normal boys and men from one of the towns or local farms. No one would question the unknown fighter's origin: although most of the locals knew their neighbors, they certainly didn't know every man from every town or farm in the county.

Physically, the faux-farmer type would appear absolutely incapable of beating his bigger opponent. Yet, after the bout was announced and the bets were placed -- with the knowing Romani betting on their own man, of course -- the unknown competitor would struggle and struggle ... and just baaaarely inch out a victory to move onto the next round. He would repeat this once or twice with victories against seemingly stronger men, raking in more bet winnings. And then, when matched up against an opponent who he certainly had to be able to defeat, he would lose ... and the Romani who had knowingly bet against him would continue to fill their pockets with their ill-gotten gains.

Inga stared at him for a long moment, tilting her head to the side as she tried to figure out just what kind of game Jason was playing. Who had put him up into coming to her tent when he had his choice of any of the eligible ladies of the camp for his pleasure. She was sure that Gregor had some kind of hand in this situation and she would certainly give him a piece of her mind for meddling later.

Walking up to Jason, Inga took his coin and turned back to the table where all of her things were organized. “You want to know your future? A Gypsie woman will suck your cock tonight and you'll enjoy it. It will probably happen tomorrow evening too. That’s all you need to know. Goodbye.”

Inga picked up a cigarette and took a seat, lighting it with a silver lighter before she blew out a puff of smoke. Jason stood rooted to his spot, perhaps waiting for her to warm up to him. She was the jealous type. As long as he let other into his home, she wouldn’t go give him the time of day.

“And you tell Gregor you won’t take his coins the next time he offers. I can smell one of my cousin’s schemes a mile away.”

“You want to know your future?"

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Jason knew from Inga's tone as she spoke just that one question that his reading was not going to go as he'd hoped.

"A Gypsy woman will suck your cock tonight and you'll enjoy it. It will probably happen tomorrow evening too."

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Yeah...

Jason had known that his time spent with Marla and the other Romani woman, Gerta, was going to be an issue even before he entered the tent. The Family had offered up Marla's very skilled services as payment for using the field without any suggestion of such from Jason; and Marla had sent Gerta so that the former could make some coin from other potential paying clients while the latter did her part for keeping the travelers in place another night.

Inga may have been a member of this Family, and it may have been the way of the Family to do business in this way, giving their short term landlord something plentiful at hand and easy with which to part: the sexual services of one (or more!) of their (willing?) female members.

But Jason knew -- and had known even before walking inside her tent -- that Inga was going to be conflicted about becoming friendly with a man whose cock had recently and would again be inside the various holes of her cousins.

And now she was showing Jason that conflict within her.

"That’s all you need to know. Goodbye.”

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Jason stood there for a long moment, searching for a proper response. There wasn't one. Well, actually there was.

"Please forgive me for the intrusion, Miss Inga," he said, nodding politely to her before turning to leave.

He could have tried to explain that he'd never asked to spend time with Marla and Gerta. Or he could have tried to defend himself by pointing out that it was her culture that had made this happen so easily. But ... why? Inga might agree with him, but so long as he was being serviced by one of her Family, she wasn't going to become his friend, let alone his lover ... let alone anything further.

So, Jason only opened the flap of the tent and began to step through it.

“And you tell Gregor you won’t take his coins the next time he offers. I can smell one of my cousin’s schemes a mile away.”

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Jason hesitated again, his gaze set upon the activities taking place outside. Even in just the few moments it had taken him to get up the courage to come in here, enter, suggest they try again, and subsequently be told to go to hell, in a manner of speaking, the field had noticeably become more crowded. Tonight was going to be an even bigger night for the Romani than the previous one.

He looked back to Inga for a moment, watching her draw on the cigarette and send another cloud of smoke into the air. The Romani were such an intriguing people to Jason, and none more than Inga. Oh, Marla was quite something, Papa Don very interesting, and Gregor extraordinary. But Inga...? She was mysterious and alluring and so ... exotically erotic.

Rather than respond verbally to the woman's very accurate assessment of how he'd gotten here tonight, Jason only nodded politely, turned, and stepped through the flap.

"How was it?"

Jason didn't catch the question immediately. He looked to a couple that stood at the head of the line forming near the fortune teller's tent. A young girl quickly reached up to take their coin, just in case the response from the previous patron -- Jason -- was not what the couple wanted to hear.

He looked back at the flap, imagining the possibilities that could have been had he told Gregor two days ago that he would have preferred dollars to dames as rent payment.

"Soooo...?" the male half of the couple asked before the female half jumped in, "We're wanting a child, and we're hoping the Seer can tell us whether it will happen. Did she tell you your future? Did she help you?"

Jason looked to the pair and forced a smile. He told the couple, "Yes, yes, she did. She helped me a great deal."

As he headed away from the line -- still within ear shot of Inga who was only just on the other side of the tent's canvas wall -- Jason added to his answer, "Yes, I believe she has set me on a new path..."

Inga watched as the farmer disappeared beyond the flap of her tent. She couldn't really put into words what she felt what he had entered wanting to know about his future. She could have been nicer and given him what he wanted, but she wasn't that sort of girl. She had been raised to speak her mind and never back down. It had gotten her in trouble a time or two, but she wouldn't compromise herself for anything.

She had no idea why Jason messing around with Marla mattered so much. It wasn't as if there were anything for the both of them when Papa decided to pull up stake and move on to the next location. A woman like her would never have a true home. She would probably travel until the day that she died. They would bury her and continue on their way when that happened. It was the way that they all lived. Her parents had both lived and died in a vardo. Her grandfather would probably do the same.

She snubbed out her cigarette as the tent opened and a man and a woman entered. They were both eager looking and she knew in an instant that they were probably there to ask about their intimate moments. Couples like them always had a look about them and she wished she could simply tell them to go fuck until something took, but that would be bad for business.

Instead, she listened patiently as they asked her about having a child and she conducted her reading, telling them that they would be blessed with a healthy child in less than a year if they continued their intimacy many times a day. They seemed pleased with that answer, each grinning like a fool and holding hands as Inga spoke. As pleased as she should have been at the money that she would make, she still couldn't get her mind off the farmer that had left without a fight just a few short moments before.

Marla was bathed and perfumed and dressed in an elaborate gown that highlighted her womanly features. She exited her vardo and was about to head for the tent in which she performed her primary service to the carnavale's visiting men. It was located with four others in a remote section of the field, far away from the main entrance and the attention of those entering it.

But no sooner had she exited her vardo than she glanced toward the carnavale and caught sight of Jason exiting Inga's work tent. And he didn't look very happy. She smiled, thinking to herself, I bet I can make him smile.

"Mister Townsend!" she called out

She caught his eye, waved, and began his direction. He came to a stop, and though Marla expected a happy smile from him, he only stared at her with an expression that puzzled her. He hesitated before heading her way. When they reached one another, they chatted a moment before she asked him quietly with a suggestive tone, "Would you like to take a walk to my wagon?"

"Thank you, but ... no," Jason answered. He detected disappointment in Marla's face, and -- after glancing about for eavesdroppers -- told her quietly, "I very much enjoyed out time together, Marla. But..."

He hesitated, amazed that he was actually about to say this.

"It won't be necessary anymore," he told her. When she didn't respond, he clarified, "You and me ... together ... in your wagon."

Marla finally showed some emotion: obvious disappointment. She'd enjoyed fucking Jason, which she couldn't say about her work with most of the men she serviced at carnavale. But more than that, by servicing him, she minimized the number of men she had to fuck or suck to earn her contribution to the Family's general fund.

"Please don't be upset with me," Jason continued. "I just--"

"Shall I send Gerta to you again?" she asked sharply. She hoped to hide the touch of jealousy in her tone but failed as she continued, "Perhaps you would be more satisfied with her ... or ... one of the other girls."

"No ... no, that's not--" He went silent for a moment, then continued, "That's not it. I just..."

He hesitated again, backed a step, then only told her, "I wish you a good night, Marla."

Jason turned and headed away with a bit more hurry in his step. He needed to get away from the carnavale before he changed his mind.

Behind him, Marla only glared with building anger. She watched Jason disappear into the crowd, then headed quickly for Inga's tent, arriving just as another seemingly happy customer was exiting. Begging the next-in-line's forgiveness, she entered the tent and crossed to stand over her side of Inga's table.

"What did you tell him?" Marla barked, certain Inga would know about whom she was inquiring. "What future did you tell him that has him avoiding my parted thighs, you twat."

Inga was putting her things back in place for the next customer when the tent was opened and Marla entered. The other woman looked pissed, but Inga refused to acknowledge her at first. She had never truly gotten along with Marla, especially after she had hung onto Gregor for far too long. She saw Marla as conceited, lazy, and only wishing to have the best things in life without having to work for them.

She cooley looked up at Marla as she hissed at her, asking what she had told the farmer to get him to decline sex. She had said nothing to him. She had simply stated the obvious that a Gypsy would service him. She hadn't expected that he would decline that service.

"I said nothing to him, Marla. Perhaps he's finally wised up to what a viper you can be when you put your mind to it." Inga answered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, there's probably a line of men waiting for you to part your thighs right now. Why don't you go and make sure that they aren't there too long."

"I said nothing to him, Marla..."

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Although most people would have questioned Inga's honesty about something like this, Marla knew the other woman was telling the truth ... or at least something more truthful than not. Marla had known Inga long enough to know that if the latter had something she wanted to tell you, she would. Inga's honesty -- even when it was hurtful or brutal -- was one of the things Marla liked about the woman ... probably the only thing.

Marla had always resented the fact that while she herself had wanted Gregor so badly, Gregor in turn had always wanted Inga even more so. When it had become clear to her that Gregor would never take her as his woman, let alone his wife, Marla had quietly blamed the Seer for her disappointment. Sometimes, when she was angry at the world, Marla still put that blame on the dark haired woman. But, as soon as the fury within her abated, Marla chastised herself for those feelings and let the hate go.

"Why don't you go and make sure that they aren't there too long."

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Marla had always been quite comfortable with what she did for a living. And although being a whore wasn't a profession about women bragged being a part out in the greater world, it wasn't a source of shame within her Romani Family. Still, when members of her family were upset with her, as Inga was now, making a living with parted thighs or lips still jumped at as a way to demean her and send her packing.

"At least they want between my thighs."

Marla practically spat out the comment at the other woman before spinning on the low heels of her sandals and stomping away. Outside the tent, she searched the line of future seekers, made eye contact with several of the men, then stepped a bit closer as she pulled one side of her dress aside to show a young, firm breast and the golden ring piercing its large nipple.

"Any man who follows me to my tent," she began, turning and heading away as she finished, "...two dollars for the best you've ever had."

The reaction amongst the three dozen people waiting varied widely, from shock amongst most of the women and some of the men to laughs and cat calls and lewd gestures and comments. One man even reached down to cup his groin as he elbowed a male friend and called out, "You'll have to pay me more than that, gypsy!"

But as she departed and glanced over her shoulder, Marla saw that her vengeful act was working as intended. Five men who had been in line alone or with buddies were suddenly falling in behind her, while almost half of those -- including almost all of the women -- faded away toward other areas of the carnavale, fearful of having even been near such lewd, suggestive talk.



It was almost midnight before the arm wrestling tournament was concluded and a champion crowned. Despite all the gypsies having been eliminated, the Romani had profited very handsomely with their well placed bets. As the tent cleared out, the dozen or so Romani gamblers moved to the last competition table, counted out their winnings, and forked over 20% to Gregor.

He made his way toward Papa Don's vardo -- Inga's vardo, as well -- to have the patriarch add the winnings to the Family's General Fund, which most called the treasury. The treasury paid for those expenses which were common to the Family, which -- because of the communal life they lived -- was most of the Family's expenses.

Gregor didn't know it yet, but the treasury would soon be paying coin to Jason. With his rejection of service from Marla and her type, the Family was going to have to pay him off in another way.

There was no one about when Gregor arrived at the wagon. Papa Don had a lover amongst the Romani, so -- seeing the hour and the man's age -- he was probably there already, curled up next to the young thing's warm body. He had nothing more to do for the evening, so ... he just waited, knowing that Inga would show up eventually.

It had been a long night before Inga made it home. She was dead tired, even though she had only told fortunes through the evening. It was exhausted to concentrate that hard, to be as cheerful as she could, and to send each customer home happy. As she got nearer to her vardo, she paused with a long sigh, spotting Gregor sitting on her steps.

"Go home, Gregor." She muttered as she mounted the steps and opened her door, seeing that her grandfather was nowhere to be seen. "Or go visit one of the girls. I don't want you sniffing around here tonight."

She threw her coin purse on her bed, patting Koshki as he hopped up on the bed beside her and mewed until she gave the black cat some kind of attention. She simply wanted to brew some tea and change into her night clothing, sleeping until dawn.

Gregor had stood and stepped aside as Inga approached the vardo's steps. He'd then followed her up the steps and stood in the doorway, watching her play with the cat as she sat. When she looked back to him, Gregor shook the coin bag with the wrestling match's proceeds.

"For the treasury," Gregor said unnecessarily. He tossed it onto the table, the slam of the significant weight of coins -- in addition to the paper money -- causing Koshki to flinch and glare at him before settling down with his mistress again. He nodded toward the bag, telling her, "We did better than normal tonight, for a wrestling match. Just short of four hundred there."

He asked Inga how she did, not sure whether or not she would tell. It really wasn't his business. The only person in the Family who knew how much each and ever member earned was Papa Don. And few were brave enough to hold back that information from the patriarch, knowing that eventually -- if they cheated the treasury enough times -- they would get caught.

"I met a man tonight you might be interested in hearing about," Gregor said, taking a seat at the little dinner table without risking asking to stay and being told again to go. "He's got a business in town. Not important. What's important is ... his father is old and about to kick the bucket ... my words,, not his. I believe he said elderly and infirm. Point is ... the old man has heard of us ... of you ... and he'd like a reading."

Gregor reached out to jingle the coin bag, as if to emphasize how much was in there. "But, the old man can't get here. The son ... the man I met, will pay you fifty dollars to come to his home and do the reading there."

"I don't do readings outside of the camp. There's too much that might go wrong." Inga countered, looking at her cousin as if he might have lost his mind. "Why would you even consider their offer, Gregor? You know how all of this works, no matter that amount of money that they've offered."

She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him for a long moment, letting out a long sigh as she considered how much money that really would bring. It would help them in the long run and she might be able to actually take a night or two off. It was an intriguing concept. Especially considering that she was thinking about Jason and how he had come to her tent that evening looking for his future.

"If I went, I would demand a guard go with me. I don't trust anyone outside of this family."

"I don't do readings outside of the camp. There's too much that might go wrong."

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Gregor understood Inga's concerns. The Romani survived the same way a herring did in the sea or an antelope on the plain: safety in numbers. There had been many an incident when a male gypsy had been caught alone amongst a venomous group of locals wishing to impart some punishment for some wrong the Romani had committed. And the punishment that could be done to a female Romani ... well, it could be a great deal more personal and intimate and simply horrific.

"Why would you even consider their offer, Gregor?"

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One of Gregor's eyebrows raised in surprise. Was she toying with him, or did she really not know. Money! It was always about money for him.

"If I went, I would demand a guard go with me. I don't trust anyone outside of this family."

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"I will take you," Gregor said immediately. "Of course I will take you."

He had an idea that Inga had expected that. It was Gregor's idea to go so, of course, he would be the one to go with her. He had full confidence in all of the men who typically provided some sort of security or muscle to the others in the Family. Despite this, Gregor would never risk Inga's health or safety to anyone else.

"I'll go to town tomorrow morning, make the arrangements," he continued, stepping to the door and opening it. "We can probably go tomorrow evening. He wants this done soon."

Gregor waited for Inga's reply, made his farewell, and headed out, closing the door behind him. He descended the ladder and stood there for a long moment, just surveying the camp. It was amazing sometimes how radically it changed throughout the day. The mornings were all about the Romani doing their daily chores; the midday was about pleasing the children of the neighboring towns with games and fun, making their parents think good thoughts about the carnavale; and then the evening came around, and the nature of the crowd shifted to a more adult complement.

He considered Inga's earlier comment about going to see one of his girls. He'd love to do that, of course: find a warm, wet hole in which to expel his seed with euphoric results. But the thought of sex sent Gregor's thoughts to just one place:

Grace.

He headed off to his vardo with thoughts of the redheaded beauty ... and of how he'd probably never see her again...

The next morning, things were quiet around the camp. It seemed that the late night that many of them had undertaken was coming back to haunt them in the light of day. A few of the women, especially those with small children, were tending to fires and cooking breakfast for those that were still fast asleep. It was the way that it always was after the long days of the carnival. They gave it their all, and even when it wasn't enough, they would take whatever they could get.

As Jason stepped onto his porch, completing his own chores that morning, Inga sat there on his front steps. She blew out a cloud of smoke from one of her cigarettes, turning her head to look up at him. Her clothing was still colorful, but very different from what she normally wore in the evening time. This was for comfort and not for seduction. She had no reason to put on any airs when it came to Jason.

As she heard the door open behind her, she turned her head and looked at the farmer. She didn't say anything at first, simply taking another drag before she turned to look back over the farm land that was beyond them.

"They didn't fix your plow yesterday. It'll be good for a few uses, but it'll break just as easier. Talk to my Papa and he'll give you the money to make sure it's fixed for good." She murmured, gesturing towards the plow that was beside his barn. "And you sure pissed Marla off last night. I hope you know that."

She could care less how pissed Marla really was. Jason didn't deserve to be taken advantage of and she was going to make sure that none of her brethren took him for any more than they already had. There was honor to be had and times were good. When times were bad, she knew that everything was fair.

"I'm sure Marla would rather see me dead and thinks that I'm probably taking her spot in your bed." The cigarette was finished as she said that, standing to look at Jason with her hands on her hips.

She had painted her nails and her toes red, her feet bare as they normally were. She was a free spirit and felt the best when she had a connection with the earth. For her, that meant feeling the first and grass beneath her as often as possible. It was definitely eccentric, but it was how she had been raised.

"Are you just going to stand there or invite me in?" She asked finally, knowing that he very well might send her on her way as she had to him the night before.

In town, Grace sat on her porch, working on a pile of mending in a basket beside her. Jake had long left for the office, telling her that he would be back late after he had dinner with a few important people. That meant he was going to the country club and couldn't be bothered to see her. That suited her just fine after the time that they had gone through after visiting the camp on Jason's farm.

She still felt so awkward and jumpy around her husband. It was getting better, but he hadn't apologized nor had he acted like anything was wrong. She could only hope that it was a one off event and it would never happen again. Surely it wouldn't.

She let out a sigh and looked up, surveying the street up and down. It was a lazy morning with no one in sight. It meant that everyone was off to bigger and better things, leaving her behind. She wished she might see a familiar face, one of her siblings or even her father. Anyone that might lift her spirits.

Everything remained quiet save for the sounds of her farm animals beyond the back fence and the distant sound of a dog barking down the street. Glancing down at the string and needle in her hand, she was unmotivated to lift them from the skirt of her dress. Maybe she would simply return to bed and sleep the day away. That sounded like just as good a plan as any.

Jason hadn't been able to get to sleep when he'd gotten home the night before, his mind filled with what had happened between him and Inga and then him and Marla. He'd seriously struck out with the Romani, first being denied even a civil conversation with the woman Gregor wanted to bed, then denying the woman he had been bedding the opportunity to repeat such activities in the future.

You're an idiot, he'd told him. Bird in the hand and all that.

Of course, when he'd only been able to finally discover sleep after putting his bird in his own hand while fantasizing about Inga slipping that incredible dress off her (presumably) also incredible body.

Needless to say, stepping out onto his porch and finding Inga there was not something the bachelor farmer had expected. He simply stood there wide eyed as she sent a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air and spoke of the repairs the Romani had insufficiently performed upon his plow. The mention of Marla caused him confusion for a moment: it hadn't occurred to him that the prostitute would approach -- let alone chastise -- the Seer for having cost her an easy and more preferred gig parting her thighs for Jason.

"I'm sure she doesn't," he responded to Inga's musings on Marla's presumptions that the former was wanting the latter's place in his bed. "I don't know you well, Miss Inga ... but..."

He was going to say you don't seem like the whoring type. But then ... didn't she? The first day he'd seen her she'd been dressed in a way not unlike Marla had been, and they all knew how his first evening of entertainment with Marla had gone. The Romani women were a mystery to Jason. You could put all of them side by side under the light of day in their day wear and -- while exotic compared to the women of Clark County -- they all still looked liked just regular girls and women going about their daily duties. Then, you could do the same with them under the dark of night in their carnavale clothes and -- now having no comparison to the women of Clark County -- they all looked like something out any real man's ultimate fantasies.

The most innocent of Romani girls could so easily seem the woman of a man's dream, and the most experienced of whores could just as easily seem the purest of girls. It could all be so confusing to Jason at times.

"Are you just going to stand there or invite me in?"

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Jason didn't realize it, but after Inga has stood to face him, he'd simply become entranced by
her in yet another incredible dress. She may have donned it this morning for comfort, not seduction, but Jason still couldn't help but begin to stiffen as he admired how it clung to her womanly curves.

"Oh!" he suddenly said, stepping back, then to his left to open the screen door. "Of course, please."

He smiled broadly, embarrassed and so very pleased at the same time. After she passed by him and was no longer facing him, Jason looked out toward the field occupied by the dozens of members of her Family. He didn't know why he looked: did he fear she shouldn't be here and that, somehow, this wouldn't be good for him; or did he fear that she'd been sent here and, again, this wouldn't be good for him; or...

Hell, as he followed Inga into and through the hallway to the kitchen, he really didn't care one way or another. Inga was visiting him in his home. Why? he wondered. Last night she'd essentially told him to get out of her life. Had he done something wrong yet again? He'd told Marla that he would no longer need her or the other prostitutes' services, but Jason had no idea that that news had already--

Oh...! I pissed off Marla last night. Word had gotten to Inga about Jason's rejection of the other Romani. So ... what did Inga's visit mean? She'd essentially said that as long as he was finding his pleasure within one of her Family's women, she'd have no room for him or his friendship in her life.

Could this mean he had a chance with her?

It was too early for that. But, it wasn't too early for lunch. No, no, of course it is. But it wasn't too late for breakfast. Jason hurried past Inga and pulled a chair out at the kitchen table, asking her if she would like to sit and eat with him and quickly beginning to list off all he had: sausages, bacon, bread -- "I have one of those new fangled toasters" -- fresh and jarred fruit, milk -- "From Spot ... yes, I named my milk cow Spot" -- and all the flavors of jams and jellies and...

He realized he was rambling on with Inga, but Jason was lost with how he was supposed to act right now...

(OOC: time for work. Will respond to Grace's portion asap.)

Inga looked around the old farmhouse as Jason rushed around her, pulling out a chair at the table and asking if she wanted to join him for breakfast. She hadn't eaten yet. She hardly ever ate breakfast because she slept late, but that morning she had been up and ready to go. Perhaps it was because she had wanted to come and see Jason.

"Anything is fine." She said as she continued to look around at all of the items in his kitchen.

Half of the decorations did not seem like something a bachelor farmer would pick out. She supposed he either had a wife before or they were leftovers from his mother. Considering he owned a large farm, it was likely he had been left this place when his parent's died.

"You live here alone?" Inga asked, turning to look at him as he scurried to fix her some food. "What about that man and woman that were with you the other night at the boxing match?"

"Anything is fine."

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A woman after my own heart, Jason thought with a smile. Being a bachelor -- and, to be honest, not a very good one at that -- Jason had a tendency of dining on what ever happened to be available in the cupboards or Kelvinator, an expensive device that Jason had only gotten after his more progressive brother pressured him to join the 20th century.

"Sausage and bacon and eggs and ... anything it is," he said with a chuckle, eager to ensure that Inga enjoyed what he hoped would be only the first of many meals with him.

Jason still cooked over a cast iron wood stove, despite the new innovations in gas ovens and ranges like what Jake had. He waved his hand over it surface to find it was still plenty hot, yet tossed a couple of more chunks of wood into its belly just to be sure. He globbed a spoonful of lard into the iron skillet and -- glancing occasionally to his guest -- moved about the kitchen fetching all he needed to make a breakfast fit for a queen.

Inga seemed intrigued with the kitchen's decorating. He took a quick look about it again for himself. He never really thought much about it: he was more concerned with what was happening outside of the house rather than within.

Just as Inga was thinking, most of that at which she was looking had been leftovers from his parents' years in the house. The paintings, figurines, tatted cozies, and so much more had either been picked out by his mother or made by her own hand; and most of the furniture and fixtures -- including all of the shelf work -- had been the result of his father's handiwork with a hammer and saw.

"You live here alone?"

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"Yes," Jason said quickly, fearful that Inga might fear that a wife might come surging into the room quickly to ask why this gypsy tramp was in her kitchen. Of course, as soon as he remembered that last night he'd been serviced right here under this roof by one of Inga's Family members, Jason felt kind of stupid and realized that had never been Inga's worry. Relaxing, he explained, "It was my parents' home before it was mine, and it was their parents' home ... my father's parents to be more specific, before it was theirs."

He flinched as a speck of grease popped out onto the back of his hand, then continued, "My grandparents and their kin were one of the first white families to settle Clark County ... before it was Clark County, of course ... even before the Oklahoma Territory was joined with the Indian Territory ... before statehood in oh-seven."

He cracked some eggs and dropped them into the pan, asking Inga how she liked hers cooked. She asked...

"What about that man and woman that were with you the other night at the boxing match?"

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"Jake and Grace ... my brother and his wife," he answered. "Jake's a judge in town."

He didn't say what Grace was: she was just a housewife. Better than two thirds of the adult females Jason knew were just housewives. The rest ran businesses, most of them owned by their husbands or their family; and others -- particularly widows and single women -- worked as laborers at what ever job they could find.

Jason had always thought that was just what women did: take care of their men. Oh sure, there were a few extraordinary females of whom he was aware: one from farther east in the County was an unmarried lawyer; and another -- also unmarried -- had been an opera singer in New York City before coming to Clark County to live our her years in retirement.

But they were unique, and Jason thought he'd never see many women like them. Until the Romani came to town. He glanced to Inga and -- catching her eye -- smiled to her before blushing and going back to his food as he continued, "Jake's contemplating higher office, I think. He doesn't talk about it much. He's just that way, until he's made a firm decision to do something. It was that way with Grace."

Jason had to hesitate for a moment, contemplating those earlier days. It had been Jason who had first met Grace; it had been Jason who had first fallen for Grace; but it had been Jake who made the effort to secure Grace as his wife and -- obviously -- make it happen. Jason often cursed himself for not having gone after the beauty himself. But, she was his brother's wife now, and that was just the way it was.

Jake's abuse of Grace hadn't gone unnoticed to Jason. But ... what could he do about it. Unless she asked for his help to deal with his brother's obsessive need to control Grace at every turn, what was Jason to do?

His mind wandered ... from not having Grace as his wife ... to not having a wife ... to having someone like Inga as his wife ... to...

"Are you married?" he asked suddenly. He was so nervous about asking that question and the one that followed that his gaze was firmly set upon the eggs sizzling in the pan before him, "Or ... do you ... do you have a man in your life?"



Gregor had been up well before dawn to deal with the borrowed buckboard situation. He hadn’t been one of the Romani who’d originally taken the vehicle from the Carter farm, but -- ironically -- Carter himself had been the runner up in the arm wrestling Championship the night before, so Gregor had had an opportunity to get to know the giant of a farmer. He was hoping that the man’s familiarity with him would make the return a smoother, less potentially violent and angry event.

But before returning the buckboard to the farm located to the east, Gregor had one last chore with which to use it to the west. He and four others headed for town to do some shopping, of both a conventional and a gypsy style.

“That way,” Gregor told the man with the reins when they reached a junction on the edge of town. When the man corrected him, saying the commercial area was the other direction, Gregor only gave him a glare and pointed, repeating, “That way.”

The chosen path took them past Grace Townsend’s home, of course. And while Gregor’s only hope was to look upon the home and imagine standing before the beautiful redhead there for a moment of conversation, he never imagined that she'd be out on the porch doing ... well, whatever it was that she was doing there.

Without thinking, Gregor stood straight up to his feet in the still moving wagon, his inner self wanting to ensure that the young woman caught sight of him. The wagon shifted on the rough road, Gregor teetered, and then fell right over the side to the packed dirt shoulder of the road. He rolled a couple of times -- to the dismay of some of his kin and laughter of the others -- and struggled to right himself as the driver slowed the horses to a stop.

Gregor stood to brush the dirt and grass from his clothes, still teetering a bit as his head spun. The others were still either laughing or telling him to get back into the damn wagon as he looked across to the porch and his lovely angel. Smiling with embarrassment but never one to let a good show go to waste, Gregor peeled off the hand that had somehow managed to remain on his head and gave Grace the deep, exaggerated bow of a circus performer ending his act.

"I'm here all week!" he called out loudly across the road, a line one of the Family's now deceased magic performers used to say at the end of his own carnavale shows. He continued with one of the barker's own lines, "Get your tickets for a front row seat!"

Gregor headed for the buckboard -- which was beginning to again move forward -- doing a little dance all the way to it in an effort to cover for his clumsy spill, jumping aboard as he looked back to Grace and smiled with joy at the sight of her. Before they left her sight, he removed his hat yet again ... and bowed his head to her.

Inga stopped in her tracks as he told her that his brother was a judge. Of course Gregor would try and get involved with a judge's wife. The idiot would get himself in a hangman's noose before too long. She turned and looked at Jason, struggling not to let her concern show on her features. She would have to tell Gregor to stay as far away from the redhead as humanly possible when she saw him the next time.

"A husband? No." She murmured as she took a seat at the table, watching as he diligently worked on the breakfast that had been promised. "Nor do I have anyone else in my life. There is no one in my family that interests me and there are few men that want to follow around from town to town as we travel. It's a lonely life, I suppose."

She had no idea why she was confession that to him. Nothing would change for the either of them. She would pack up and leave when the order was given. It was how things always were.

Grace glanced up from her project as she saw a wagon turning the corner. Gregor was there with them. Had she honestly expected any different from him? She got nervous as they drew closer and gasped as he tumbled out of the wagon on accident. She actually got to her feet as he suddenly rose and made a show of what had happened.

Her heart was actually racing in her chest as he hurried towards the buckboard and was soon nodding to her again. She needed to tell him to stop. She needed to tell him that she was a married woman and that her husband wouldn't appreciate him coming around as often as he did. As the wagon trundled into the distance, she made up her mind to go to Jake's farm and tell Gregor that he needed to leave her alone for good.

"A husband? No... Nor do I have anyone else in my life.

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Jason had to turn his head a bit farther away from Inga to hide the smile that suddenly began to spread his lips. He was sad for the dark haired beauty, that she didn't have someone special in her life. But knowing that he didn't have someone with whom to compete for Inga's affections pleased Jason. He still had only a single chance in hell of landing her, but at least now he'd have time to be rejected without another man in the way.

"There is no one in my family that interests me and there are few men that want to follow around from town to town as we travel. It's a lonely life, I suppose."

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"Have you considered quitting?" Jason asked without really thinking deeply about the question. When she didn't immediately respond, he turned to look at her. With total sincerity and seriousness, he asked her, "Have you ever considered settling down? Staying in one place? It, um..."

He couldn't hold the gaze any longer. He diverted his eyes, then turned back to the pan, using a fork and then a spatula to begin filling the two plates with the food he'd cooked. He said with a more timid tone, "It ... it might make finding a man easier. A good man ... who would care for you ... take care of you."

"There are those that depend on me." Inga said with a simple shrug on her shoulders. "My grandfather mostly. Not to mention all of those that depend on me to bring in money to help support everyone else. If I were to even consider leaving, I would have to provide a large sum of money to the entire community to ensure that my loss of income didn't effect them too much."

Since she lived in a very communal situation, there was more to think about than simply finding a man that she liked and settling down. This is why many of the Romani married within their own family, making sure that they could provide for everyone without leaving entirely.

Jason turned with the plates in his hands and delivered them to the table. He went to the Kelvinator for a glass jar of whole milk and another of orange juice that he'd just squeezed that morning.

"I can understand that," he said as he set the containers in the middle of the table. He studied Inga for a moment, unsure of how else to respond, then turned to retrieve four glasses from a cupboard and return to sit in the chair to her left. "Our society isn't much different, I guess. We have our ... I guess you would call them rules of supporting those who depend upon us."

He asked Inga whether the breakfast was sufficient, then began pouring the glasses full of liquids as he continued, "Jake and I ... my brother ... our parents were older than most for men our age. That was good on one hand. They'd had time to begin their life and make it financially comfortable. But it also meant that we lost them ... that they passed when we ourselves were too young."

He took a small bite of a sausage link and continued as he chewed, "They had always wanted one of us to run the farm while the other was back east continuing his education. I had no interest in university, so ... Jake went. That, of course, meant that I and the farm supported him while he studied for his degree."

Another bite, and more explanation, "It was my duty to support my brother, and ... someday, when his career allows it, he will repay me for that."

As he'd been talking, his tone had shifted a bit toward the less hopeful. Jason had never regretted staying behind to run the far, not for a moment. The family farm was the only place he thought he'd ever want to be. But the money the two brothers and their now departed parents had hoped his legal education would fetch hadn't yet happened. And to be honest, Jason didn't expect it would.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. Jason was certain that Jake was already earning enough money as a District Judge to send a few dollars Jason's way. And yet, except for footing the cost of repairing the tractor a few years ago and covering half of the cost of the Kelvinator, Jake's only contribution to his compensation for his expensive education was covering Jason's half of the property taxes since his return to Clark County.

Jason resented his brother's lack of appreciation for the financial support during those six years away. But Jason loved his brother far more than he resented him, and therefore would never in a million years speak badly to other about him or ask for more support now. The money would come one day. Hopefully, Jason reminded himself often, it would come before the recently minimally profitable farm would fail ... or before Jason's still-young-but-always-aging body did.

"Maybe I'll give up the farm and come on the road with the gypsies," Jason said with a smile as he lifted his orange juice to his mouth, swished it around, swallowed, and politely returned a pit to his fingers for disposal onto his plate. "I could ... I don't know ... take care of the stock while traveling ... maybe help with the fisticuffs matches while you were stopped for your carnival. Carnavale, yes?"

A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he corrected himself, "Romani. You prefer Romani to ... well, the other word. Yes?"

Although Jason had only had experience with two Romani Family before this -- one had passed through when he was a child, another just a couple of years ago -- he'd been subjected to all the discriminatory talk about their culture every time one of his neighbors ran across them somewhere else in or near Clark County.

They gyped me, had become one of the more common ways of people referring to having been cheated by someone else. And these days, it didn't take a Romani perpetrator to lead to such talk. Anytime anyone cheated or conned someone else, the result was the use of the word that had come from the other word used to identify the Romani people.

Ironically, Jason had a backward understanding of from where the words gypsy and gyped had originated. He'd grown up believing that gyped had come first as a description of cheating and that -- because of their reputation for being criminals and con artists -- the Romani had then come to be known in whole as those who gyped others: the gypsies.

In truth, long ago in far distant lands, the Romani had once mistakenly been thought to have come from Egypt, to have either actually been Egyptians or one of their lesser minority populations. Egypt, Egyptians, gyptian, gypia, gypsies: no one really knew how the name came to be. And truthfully, no one in Clark County -- except the Romani, of course -- really gave a damn.

He smiled as he sipped again at the juice, then -- with his gaze firmly upon Inga's incredible eyes -- he asked with what was a sincere tone, despite the absurdity of the question, "What do you think ... would Papa Don would make me an honorary Romani?"

"You don't want to live this life." Inga said simply as he teased her about becoming an honorary Romani and what he might do on the road to help them. "It's long days and long nights. You work to entertain people who would sometimes rather see you dead. It's been this way my entire life."

Inga ate the food that had been provided without comment. She appreciated his effort and her silence was perhaps the best compliment that she could offer him. Cooking for one another was simply something that the Romani did. It was basic survival, often without praise or thanks from those involved.

"My parents died when I was very young. They were Romani. Papa basically raised me on his own after my grandmother died as well. I feel compelled to make sure that he is well taken care of because of everything that he has done for me." Inga paused and looked across the table at Jason for a moment. "You might become an honorary member, but they would never accept you fully. Respect you, yes, but you can never be like the rest of us."

Jason had lived on this farm his entire life. He would never know the heartache of having to leave a place that you loved simply because there was an angry mob on the way. He would never know what it was like to starve because times were tough and there wasn't enough food to go around. He would never know how much it hurt to bury someone you cared about and only be able to pay your respects every few years.

"I was born in a vardo. I have lived my entire life in a vardo. I will probably die in one as well. However, that doesn't mean that I often don't wonder about what a normal life might be like." It was all she could really say about her life and her feelings about her life.

She finished her plate in silence and then looked across the table to Jason, a serious look crossing her features. "A man like your brother takes you for granted. In our culture, you must pull your weight and a promise is something that is to never be broken. If he does not repay you for what you are owed, you should bring it up to him."