He'd heard about the gypsies and their parties from the people he passed out food to when he could. If they didn't talk amongst each other they told him specifically about the music and dancing, the fire and smell of food wafting from large tents that sold for low or even nothing when it came to the low-class citizens coming out of the dome for a little fun. Of course, talk couldn't replace the feeling of actually being among the people, the exotic, new people he'd never encountered before, new smells and new environments. He was shocked when someone grabbed him up, someone he hadn't necessarily seen at first because of the activity surrounding him.

Gypsies loved to dance and sing, play music, this he knew from watching from his balcony. When it was daylight they sold and traded, cooked, cleaned, and at night they lit bonfires and began inviting anyone who wanted to join. Watching from so far away felt like watching on a monitor, and being swept up in a dance he hadn't expected was quite the surprise, and it shocked Oliver's heart into beating faster than he thought possible, even with his occasional runs into the slum areas of the city. He didn't mind, of course, and spun with the stranger, feeling the chill of night cut with the heat of the fire confuse his skin and send it into a pleasant tingle. And when his legs simply couldn't support the rest of him, Oliver found himself almost collapsing near the fire, panting but feeling more alive than any of his other trips had let him before.

When the gypsy that had grabbed him up sat alongside him, Oliver smiled brightly, taking the offered bottle and smelling it before taking a drink, as he'd come to find a habit in doing. It was sharp, heavy on the tongue, and tasted a bit like what the older men and women of the lower class would give out to others if they'd pass by, their kindness unwavering even in their little homes and poor clothing. His heart was falling into a calmer state when he passed the bottle back, and he brushed his hair out of his face. It had grown wild in the unfiltered nighttime air.

Oliver found a bit of warmth spreading over his face at the compliment, and he looked away for a moment. Many had complimented his eyes, saying they were either beautiful or just like his father's, but coming from someone that had no doubt been able to see so many amazing things in his life meant a bit more. "Ah... Thank you. My name is Oliver... Oliver Stone. You're a good dancer yourself, Jean-Sal. And you have so much musical talent." He smiled, thinking back to home. Should he tell this gypsy where he came from? No... Not yet. He was, after all, dressed like the others.