The Old Gypsy Tent

[Administrator]

There once was a gypsy fortune teller who set up her tent here. Even though her plan was to stay in New York for a while she recently took her tellings elsewhere. She left her tent behind and now it is empty. Come in and you may find an old candle, picture, maybe a bowl that used to be filled with water.

[decker]

Decker had thought nothing of the iron-clad sky when he'd set out that afternoon, but now that he was in the midst of a downpour he had the feeling he should have given it maybe a passing thought. He pulled his jacket up over his head as he half-jogged, trying to make his way back to the lodging house, or at least somewhere nearby, but the rain was falling so hard it was difficult to see.

He looked up briefly to try and see where he was, and saw that old tent not ten yards right of where he was standing. He knew where he was from the landmark, but his jacket was soaked through and so were his shoes and socks. His trousers were splattered with mud up to the knees. He rolled his eyes, decided he'd make his way back once he was dry and could see the streets again, and ran to the tent.

Inside, he peeled off his jacket and looked at it with disdain. Throwing it to one side and wiping his sopping hair from his eyes, he looked around the tent. There were leaks in a few spots, but it was mostly dry. There was a tall, thick candle on the ground, among other debris from the gypsy woman who had lived here as well as the vagrants and newsies who had been here since.

Decker picked up the candle to see the stub of a charred wick. Thinking even the little flame might help his wet, cold, white hands, he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a thankfully semi-dry book of matches. He lit the candle and waited a moment for the flame to rise. It didn't help much, but it was something a little warm, and a little more light.

He sat on the grassy ground and kicked off his soaked shoes and ruined socks. This was just beautiful, he thought bitterly. He was already here, so he figured he might as well stick it out till he could get back dry.

It was gonna be a long wait.

[Birdie Schaffer]

Bridie didn't have to find Decker. No, he'd found her in the most unique way as she sat in the corner of the tent, having sought shelter there from the rain minutes before he had and coming in form another direction. Bridie was Spot Conlon's little birdie, had had been since she'd been small. She'd never fancied Spot, fancied him like a brother she loved about as much as she could love anyone, but when it came down to it. She'd nearly killed herself with drink, almost died in a small street war. And now she was sitting in a tent, where it was chilly and the air outside didn't help the situation.

She'd lit a smoke and drew on it, blinking when she noticed the heavily sodden form of -- Decker. The blond took a drag from her smoke, her eyes taking in his frame before she got up and moved to his shoulder. She smiled softly, grinning as she took another drag and looked into his hands were he fumbled for the matches. "Little cold out.. isn't it?"