It was amongst the merrymakers that a single boy of sixteen could be found, hiding behind the overshadowing girth of a rotund little man who was too busy eyeing the plump bodice of the woman twittering in his ear to notice the swift little hand sneaking forth to snatch up the fat purse practically begging Kisarazu Ryou to take possession of it.

The gadjo, Ryou was certain. Didn't deserve the privilege of being the sole possessor of such a fine collection of coins and it was his life's mission to strategically find new homes for each and every last one. The longhaired boy who sported a head full of raven hued locks lived by several such skewed mottos; the simplest of which was never trust anyone besides yourself and maybe, just maybe, your mother.

And only her when you're doubly sure that something you have done won't be called to the attention of the tribe because then, mother or no, she'd hand you over faster than she'd avoid a screaming mob of Englishmen. He'd learned this lesson the hard way in the last town they'd camped outside of before hitting this little rinky-dink village in the middle of nowhere.

Ryou had just started down the street again when a heavy hand grasped his shoulder. The man was fairly tall with well-tanned skin, which told nothing more of his trade than his stocky physique. "Just a minute there," he spoke. The tone was amicable, his mouth half quirking into a smile. "What's your hurry? Going to head off without saying hello?"

Ryou froze when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, putting a stop to his very well timed departure from the scene of his latest crime. He nearly panicked before he realized the stranger was speaking to him a pleasant tone of voice and was actually smiling at him. Smiling at him?

Had something as far fetched as hell freezing over happened? Nobody but nobody smiled at him besides his mother and the odd girl or two who actually found the combination of midnight black hair and pale skin pretty if not downright sexy.

Perplexed and stunned beyond what getting kicked by a stubborn mule would have left him, Ryou stood there, looking like a fish out of water. His mouth dropped opened, a small ‘o’ of surprise formed by lips suddenly lacking the ability to speak a single intelligent word.

When it finally hit him that the people surrounding him, a gaggle of well-dressed English twits as well as lowly born paupers, were starting to stare in avid attention, Ryou snapped his mouth shut. Gulping to force back the cold hard knot of fear growing and squeaked out a hasty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there…. Mr?”

"Mister?" the man echoed, the word tinged with laughter towards the end. "Mister?" he repeated one more time, looking around at the crowd as if to make certain what he had heard and received a few congenial nods in return.

"No need to put on airs now. I know your father's big on formalities but there's no call for that now." Not waiting for a response, he turned, making sure Ryou moved with him and started towards one of the shops. "Never mind that now, I just finished this morning come take a look."

His father? Ryou was quite certain his captor was as batty as his grandmother was rumored to be. He didn’t have a father. Not one he’d ever met nor one he’d readily acknowledge as being the bastard who had contributed his sperm in order to bring about his conception.

He should have ran instead of leaving an opening for the stranger to take control but running might have drawn attention to the velvet pouch tied to his side. A pouch that a mere gypsy couldn’t have afforded to have made even if he spent the better part of a year saving every last farthing he earned playing the fool for people like this.

It was best just to play along, pull on another of the many masks he was capable of donning and set about fooling this idiot as easily as he conned all the others. “I’m sorry. You know how father is. He’s such a stickler for good manners.”

"Aye, that he is." The man cocked his head, mass of brown hair falling every which way. "Among other things, I won't get into here."

He led the way, passing under a thatched awning and into a darkened room lit up by a fire in the back corner. A heavy anvil sat on the floor not too far from a large stack of wood. Strewn about were various hammers and tools, large barrels of water lining one side, and not to mention a variety of weapons displayed along the wall.

"Here we go now." He crossed over to a wooden table, unwrapping a mass of fur and leather, and splaying it out across the length to reveal a finely forged broadsword.

The young gypsy boy standing inside the sweltering room stared incredulously at the blade being put on display for him and him alone. Only it wasn’t meant for him was it? It was finally dawning in Ryou’s mind that the man thought he was someone else. Someone he obviously knew, trusted and respected enough to bring into his shop and give him a gander at the piece of workmanship whose sleek and deadly lines demanded it be the center of attention.

”It’s,” His tongue fumbled as he sought the words to describe what he was seeing. The slang he used on the streets of England’s many villages and townships just wouldn’t do in this instance or it’d give the game away. “Superb.” Although Ryou much preferred the lightness of a small dagger in his hand, he couldn’t deny the deadly beauty of the broadsword.

Polished to gleam, the finely etched pattern seemed to shimmer on the blade as it caught the firelight. The hilt was finely crafted with dark leather wrapping around the metal creating a strong grip.

"Well go ahead," the man urged, slapping Ryou on the back to push him a few steps forwards. "It doesn't do anything if you just look at it. I think you'll like the weight of this one."

Stumbling forward a step or two, he hesitated in placing his hand on the sword. “I’m sure I will.” He mumbled through the knot growing in his throat. It wasn’t fear or some other inane emotion that caused his words to be so stilting. Instead it was a flash of excitement so strong he could taste it.

That sword, beauty that it was, could provide him with a pretty shilling or two if he hawked it at the right place to the right person. He could buy his mother a gift for her upcoming birthday; restock her rapidly dwindling food supply, or even splurge on a rare indulgence for his personal pleasure if he wanted.

The possibilities were endless and tempting enough that a hand used to handling blades of all shapes and sizes finally took possession of the sword. Ryou hefted it up and skillfully tested the weight of it before a flick of his wrist and a nimble shifting of dancing feet threw the silvered weapon into a rapid succession of varying pretend attacks and blocks.

A delighted smile began to grow adding a light of pure unadulterated appreciation to his eyes. “I’ve never held one like this. It’s almost weightless.”

"Then I've done my job." Contented, the blacksmith stood off to the side with his arms crossed. He nodded his approval as he watched the complex motions. "You have a good handle on it already. Ach..." he waved a hand in dismissal, "Sorry, of course you do."

Ryou grinned impishly and finished off the flurry of motions with a strike that would have been decapitating if there had been a head beneath the sword when it swooped down in a blind arc of silver caressed by firelight. “Father,” he was starting to enjoy this little role. “Wouldn’t be too happy if I fell behind in my studies.”

The gypsy had learned the art of swordsmanship through trial and error while performing on street corners or within poorly lit rooms rented for the span of a week or two while his familia rested and gathered new supplies. The boy this man thought he was had probably learned at the hands of a gentler kind of teacher.

Nevertheless the skills were the same, or at least on par to maintain the illusion-- something that could only be beneficial at the moment.

"Right then," the blacksmith said, beckoning for the sword. "I'll just wrap this up and send you on your way, and you'll be a good lad and be sure tell your father to drop in to see me later to discuss payment?"

Reluctantly, Ryou handed over the weapon. “Yes sir. I’ll tell him as soon as I return home.” It did cross his mind that somewhere out there was a boy who looked like him in some odd way and that this lad would probably be very mad at learning his sword had been given away without a by your leave. But Ryou didn’t care.

This unknown kid was probably spoiled rotten by a rich set of parents who gave him anything he wanted. Losing one little bitty sword wasn’t going to kill him.

Especially when it was being presented to him, wrapped up nicely with a leather cord. Honestly, how was he expected to turn down a gift such as this?

Ryou, who wanted nothing more than to snatch up the lovely little present fate had tossed right into his clutches, resisted the urge and all but reverently took possession of the bundle. “My thanks. I’m sure father will be just as pleased with the sword as I am.” And then he was gone, confidently strolling out of the shop as if he did it every day.