Disclaimer: I don't own The Thief Lord.

Pulling Off The Mask

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You, too? I thought I was the only one.

-C. S. Lewis

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Scipio climbed out the window carefully, the chilly February wind nipped at him as soon as he was outside. He pulled his old, woolen, grey scarf over half his face as he walked, more from the cold than any need to protect his identity. When it came to protecting his identity he had other, more theatrical, ways of doing it.

Every year around February hoards of tourists made their annual pilgrimage to Venice to celebrate the world famous Carnevale. Every year the streets were full of people in rich, elaborate costumes and beautiful masks, not just tourists but residents, too. Masks were an important part of Venetian culture, although not many seemed to know why.

Around the 13th century the Venetian Republic realized how handy masks were when conducting deals that were outside of the eyes of the law, especially considering how small the Venetian population was. After a while the use of masks became everyday practice. Underneath a mask there was no difference between a poor man or a rich man. Underneath a mask everyone had equal say on all matters.

Underneath a mask you could lead a whole different life.

It was that last point in particular that had always intrigued Scipio.

He sneaked into an empty alleyway and dug around behind some of the boxes. He jumped back when a few rats scurried out and waited for them to leave before resuming his search. He'd always hated rats, they made him nervous. Finally, his fingers grasped what he had been looking for. He pulled the dirty and slightly damp pillowcase out from it's hiding place and opened it to make sure his "loot" was still there. Once satisfied he started digging around behind the boxes again, this time pulling out a simple black bird mask.

It hid only the top half of his face, but that was enough. The nose extended into a long pointed beak, somewhat reminiscent of the old plague-doctor masks, just not nearly as large. There were no adornments, no jewels, no bits of gold or silver. It didn't matter though, just putting it on was enough for his back to straighten and his demeanor to change. When he put on that mask he was no longer Scipio Massimo.

He was the Thief Lord.

No one would be able to understand why Scipio would want to be someone else, let alone an orphaned thief. He had it all, right? He was the son of a wealthy, respected man. He had the best education, the best clothes, the best games. Eventually, he would follow in his father's footsteps, take over the family businesses, become the next Dottore Massimo.

The very idea sickened him.

The more everyone said he was going to be just like his father, the cruel, heartless, businessman, the more Scipio vowed it would never happen.

He never voiced these opinions to his father, but even so his father seemed to have picked up on them. Whenever Scipio did anything he disapproved of he would twist his mouth into a sneer and tell him he was destined to become just like his mother.

Signora Massimo had left them long ago, nowadays she was always abroad. Taking in the sun on a beach in Southern France or lounging in a posh hotel in Northern Spain, it didn't matter to her, as long as it wasn't Venice. She was a free spirit, a dreamer, she followed no one's advice but her personal astrologer's and let nothing and no one tie her down.

Not even her own son.

She sent postcards from time to time, when he was younger he used to look forward to them. Now, he only looked at them with contempt before chucking them in the bin. He would write back and demand to know why she hadn't taken him with her, but he was sure by the time he put the letter in the post she'd be long gone, off on her next adventure.

Sometimes, he wished he really was an orphan.

He wandered through the streets of Venice, his head held high, his "loot" slung over his shoulder. He didn't fear the carabinieri, not during Carnevale at least. There were enough people dressed in masks for him to blend in. When every other person he bumped into was covered in shimmery fabric from head to toe, carried a large silvery orb, and stared at him serenely from behind a bauta style mask he knew he had nothing to worry about. It was when Carnevale ended that he would have to worry about not attracting too much attention. Until then he could walk down the Venetian streets and alleys as if he owned them.

After a good twenty minutes he finally reached his destination. The Stella, his star lair. He rung the doorbell that hung from the side entrance.

"Password?"

"Trattoria Capretto," he said clearly.

The door swung open to reveal a little, hedgehog-haired boy, Riccio. "What took you so long? You said you'd be here two hours ago."

"Does it matter? I'm here now, aren't I?" Scipio replied as he strode into the derelict cinema. The other boy and the girl looked up from the large piles of blankets they were using as beds. He made a mental note to try and find some mattresses for them soon. "Do you guys still have enough medicine?" he asked, taking off his scarf and laying it on the small wooden table he'd brought in the day before.

They nodded.

"Good," he started pulling out a variety of golden knick-knacks from the pillowcase and setting them down on the table. "This stuff ought to bring us a good price with Barbarossa. I've got his address right here," he pulled the small slip of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to Riccio. "He's a slippery, old scoundrel, make sure he doesn't cheat you," he warned. "Now, I've got to go, I'll be out of town for the rest of the week, but I'll check back in as soon as I can. Until then, don't let anyone in here unless they know the password."

More nodding.

"Alright, then, see you all soon. Take care of yourselves," and with that he walked out of the cinema and started making his way back home. He had a study session early in the morning the next day, if he got in bed as soon as he got home he might not sleep through it. After all, he still had to keep up appearances at home. Out in the streets of Venice he might be known as the Thief Lord, but at home he was still Scipio Massimo.

"Thief Lord!" He turned, somewhat startled, the girl, Hornet, was running after him.

"What are you doing? You're still sick, you shouldn't be out in the cold," he pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She was shivering and her face was still flushed with fever.

"You left your scarf." Sure enough, wrapped around her hands was his thick, grey scarf.

He raised an eyebrow, "You came running out in the freezing cold just to give me back my scarf?"

"Well," she started, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. "Not exactly. Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Va bene," he replied, a puzzled look on his face, he sat down and she followed suit.

"It's just... I don't understand." She said nothing else, until he gave her a pointed look to continue. After all, he wasn't a mind reader. "Why are you doing this? Bringing us to the Stella, providing for us, bringing us clothes and medicine..."

"What about it?"

"What are you getting out of this?" she asked. "You do know we have no way to pay you back, right?"

"Maybe I don't want you to pay me back."

"But..." she scrunched up her nose in confusion, "that doesn't make sense."

"Do I have to want a reward for doing the right thing?"

"I... I suppose not."

He chuckled a bit, "You don't sound convinced."

She lowered her head and smiled a cautious smile, "I guess I'd thought nice people were extinct by now."

Scipio was glad the mask could hide at least part of his face, he could feel his cheeks turning red with pride. "Yes, well, lucky for you there's still a few of us left."

"Have you always been such a Robin Hood?" she asked, a playful gleam in her stormy, grey eyes.

"No," he laughed. "I was once in an orphanage, like you guys had been. I ran away, too. Eventually, I met an old thief who took me in, taught me everything I know."

"Orphanage? I'm not from an orphanage."

"But Riccio said-"

"Riccio did come from an orphanage, but Mosca and I didn't."

He frowned, not comprehending, "Then why...?"

"We're runaways," she said simply.

"I see," Scipio tried to work his mind around this new information. To run away from an orphanage was one thing, but to run away from your own home? Just how bad did you home life had to be in order to do that?

"Sometimes, I wish I was an orphan," she whispered.

Scipio turned to her suddenly, an unreadable expression on his face, as if he was looking at her for the very first time. She saw his gaze and blushed at it's intesity.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so insensitive," she said. "It's just... it's okay for people like you and Riccio to daydream about how wonderful your parents might've been. How much better things would be had they not died, but..."

"But?" he prompted as he leaned in closer, her already soft, low voice was even harder to hear when she was whispering.

"But what if you have parents and they're not so great? What if you're better off without them?" she finished quietly. Then, as if suddenly remembering herself she straightened up and brushed the stray hair from her eyes. "Anyways, I'll make sure Riccio takes the loot to that Barbarossa guy first thing in the morning."

She got up and turned to leave, slipping his large coat off her shoulders and handing it back to him, along with his scarf. She started walking away but suddenly stopped and looked back at him, a small smile on her face. "Grazie, Thief Lord. For everything."

Scipio just sat there stunned. He was so shocked that for once someone had understood, had voiced his very thoughts word for word that it took a whole minute for him to realize she had left him sitting there on the bridge. Pulling himself to his feet he ran after her.

"Wait!" he yelled as soon as he saw her.

She stopped right in front of the star lair's side entrance, doorbell in hand, and looked at him curiously as he ran up to her. "Thief Lord! What is it? What's wrong?"

Working hard to catch his breath, he pulled off his mask.

"You can call me Scipio."

A/N: Read and review! This can be thought of as a sort of prequel to my other story Ti Penso Sempre (I Always Think Of You). Actually, it can be thought of as a prequel to The Thief Lord, too.

I always thought Scipio and Hornet had been close friends, especially before Prosper and Bo came along. This is just my version of how their friendship began.