Another hour passed, people came and went but no one tried anything as he waited patiently for the only one who would actually ever deliver him to her royal majesty. Finally he need not wait more. The tension was thick in the air as Reaper took notice of the stranger.

"Well who do we have here?" he laughed a gravelly laughter. Hanzo heard his footsteps, yet the outlaw still remained far out of arm's reach. "Come on, don't be shy?" Hanzo remained silent as he stared at Reaper, it wouldn't be easier if he knew who he was. "Fine." the criminal walked forward and picked him up by the color of his jacket. The scarf he had covering his face moved and revealed his nose and below; the expression of distaste and superiority matched that of the posters, and that of the portrait.

Reaper grinned, the "What's a face like yours doing on all those wanted posters?" he was met with silence, but the look of disgust on Hanzo's face was enough of an answer. "Haven't seen you since you got me here in the first place." Reaper let go of his jacket, and let his hands fall by his side, uncomfortably close to the long knife sheathed at his waist. "The poster didn't specify dead or alive, did it?" His wrist moved and his hand wrapped around the hilt, but before the moonlight could even glint off the silver a thump sounded next to Hanzo and a hand rested on his shoulder.

Reaper's demeanor changed immediately, all confidence melted into fear with this stranger's appearance. "What are you doing here." it was probably meant to be a question, but instead it was a scared statement. The man standing next to Hanzo chuckled, and he tried to glance at him but he could only catch a glimpse of a shadowy silhouette. He looked back at Reaper who had taken a step back.

"Isn't it obvious? Saw the posters, got a little curious myself." Reaper was scrambling for something to say in return, making him wonder just who had his hand on his shoulder. "Reaper, I hate to interrupt, but I'm short on cash so I think it's better if you start walking away." In what dim light was left in the back alleys of the  empty district he made out the shape of a gun raised in the hand of the man. Guns were rare around here, they weren't very noble weapons and they made a lot of noise in such a quiet city. Nevertheless, he recognized that it was, in fact, a gun, as well as what type it was. He would never be able to name it, but it was a six-shooter, not very elegant in design, and was exactly the type of weapon he had heard about coming from across the sea.

Reaper stepped back and grimaced at the man before him, he muttered something and walked off through the thinning crowd. The man didn't put the gun down then, instead he kept it raised and let the weapon let forth a thunderous noise that cut the quiet like a knife. Reaper stumbled and looked back, then he kept walking. Now he was alone of the streets, alone with the man who stood next to him holding a foreign weapon that was still smoking from the gunpowder.

He snorted and holstered the gun, turning Hanzo and grinning. "So, a Shimada? Heard about you before. Truth be told, I don't have a clue what your name is beside that. So, tell me." He crossed his arms and stared at Hanzo who said nothing in return. Though instead of stubbornness, it was now pure awe. This was his first look at the man, he was tall- maybe six feet or so-and his face was covered in a dark blue bandanna and a small cloth mask over his eyes. His head was covered, and he wore a half-cape over his shoulder, making the gun obvious in its holster. He looked completely foreign to him, as if his somewhat crude accent and mix of languages didn't make it obvious enough.

"Don't know your family well enough to know which ones the quiet one." he muttered more to himself. "Well, I don't care." He clapped his hands together and turned around. "Follow me, I don't want to waste any more bullets than I already have." Hanzo didn't follow. The castle was in the other direction, and he didn't know where this man was headed. He looked over his shoulder and frowned.

"It's late, I'm tired, and I am not turning you in tonight. Just follow me or I'll carry you over my shoulder." he frowned, but took a small step forward and followed the man three blocks to a small boarded up basement-unit that must have been a servants quarters in the mansion above it's golden days.

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A/N: Once again sorry if any of the names are different