Fakir's reaction to the group of gypsies were decidedly different than Ahiru's. To him, the garish colors were an eyesore, the music obnoxious. Overall, it was an overload of the senses--Fakir could already feel a headache slowly forming.
(Who ever heard of blond gypsies, anyway? What was with this city?)

Fakir had decided that he didn't particularly want to buy anything they had to sell. The gypsies maybe had the dance supplies they needed, but he wasn't particularly thrilled at the idea of practicing while clothed in bright orange silk. (The image in his head when he thought this certainly didn't help the headache.)

He turned, quickly trying to walk away from the group. Next thing he knew, however, Ahiru's small but strong hand was grabbing onto his own and tugging him towards the very thing he was trying to stay away from.

"Fakir, let's go see!"

"No, let's not!" he said with a frown as she dragged him towards the group. "I doubt they have any ballet--"

And next thing he knew, he was staring straight at one of the gypsies.

Great.