In which our heroes are introduced.

The streets, generally, were narrow, cramped and, more than anything, overwhelmingly scorching. The worn, dusty buildings either side packed together and moulded from baked clay; some had small windows, the higher up the building the wider the windows, none had glass, but occasionally there were windows with some form of curtain or carpet covering the otherwise open windows. In the less privileged areas of Agrabah, which were more prevalent than the wealthy areas, there were too many people to count: trying to sell you things, trying to buy things to sell on, trying to sell themselves for various occupations: begging for money and, or food. Prince Eric wandered through the over-crowded streets without any real purpose now that the rest of his companions had fled, were missing, or deceased, now that he had finally reached the bustling and exotic Agrabah. Agrabah was supposed to be just one of the stops on Eric's grand tour of the world. Thinking of his half-shattered dream reminded the Prince of the beautiful girl he'd danced with: Ariel, the girl who had appeared in his dreams after the shipwreck. Lost in his own thoughts and reminisces Eric continued to aimlessly stroll through the rougher district of Agrabah, not paying much attention to those he passed on the streets. As he went to turn a corner Eric felt a sudden pull from his middle, from his belt.

As he walked the streets that he knew like the back of his hand, his mind too, like Eric's began to wander, began to dream: of a better life, a life as the mighty and most importantly, wealthy, Prince Ali! But alas, he remained the lowly street-rat that he truly was. Despite his low-standing in life he was famed throughout the lowest and most depraved regions of the large, dusty city. Famed for his thievery and for his daring, dangerous, impressive, escapes from the law, or what little law there was in the lower districts, he had been a street urchin for many a year now. So long, in fact, that at times, he even forgot his hard-working father, and his beloved, long-suffering mother, who had died due to his own laziness, due to his desire to waste his days rather than learn a trade of his own. The combined stress and hunger eventually killed her; but being young and fairly strong he had endured, vowing that he would never go hungry again, whether through legal means or otherwise, whatever the price, though even to him this seemed an overly dramatic promise. Now, unlike Eric, as he had lived on the streets he had learned to keep his wits about him, regardless of where his mind took him, to be on the lookout for the latest opportunity. He eventually came to a fork, a corner he often favoured when seeking someone caught off guard, caught in the hustle-and-bustle to pilfer something from, be it money, food, or something he could take to market to sell on. Spotting his target he prepared himself for his work. As nonchalantly as he could muster he leant against the corner of the building attempting to blend in; his dirt-ridden clothes and dark skin always helped. Besides no-one paid any attention to a young street-rat leaning against a wall. As his latest patron, as he inwardly named them, approached he readied himself. The man began to turn the corner, quite close to the wall, as he appeared deep in thought, not fully conscious of his surroundings-the best kind of patron. The thief reached out is hand toward the passer-by's waist, and purse hanging from a rather beautiful belt-it was a shame he couldn't take that too, it would fetch a god price in the market. He gave it a short, sharp pull (the cord looked old and weak), just as his fingers closed around it. However, although the purse strings loosened slightly it had been more securely fastened than the seasoned thief anticipated, and the tug had alerted the patron to his presence. Ashe was more alert than his patron, realising that he would undoubtedly have felt the tug, daydreaming or not, he fell into a sprint, hoping to put as much distance between himself and his patron as physically possible.

Eric remained in his daydream and so although he felt a sharp pull at his belt, was slow to react. He was no great fighter, this much he knew, but Eric was particularly adept at running, but the thief had the advantage, he had the head start and knew the city certainly better than Eric did; but a split second later he was dashing after the thief, dodging as many civilians as possible along the way. The thief was leaner than Eric and so when Eric tried to run pat and around the same citizens that the thief was able to, he found himself pushing past them more often than not, and bowling over many of them. Normally he would've stopped to apologise and help the mostly innocent bystanders, but there were more pressing matter: the thief was getting away! Despite this, Eric managed to close in on the young man, he could almost touch his back with his finger-tips…he stretched out his hand…and managed to grab the back of his tattered waistcoat! However, Eric had lunged forward to grab the rag and his momentum carried him over and he fell on top of the thief. Eric sat up, so that the young man was trapped between his knees

'Now I don't want to fight you, but you will give me my money back'

The thief squirmed under Eric's weight: 'At least let me up first!'

'You can turn round, to face me, but nothing more' Eric lent back on his heels slightly to let the thief up, but taking his chance, he pushed the Prince backwards and jumped up, ready to sprint away, 'You're really not from around here are you?'

'What gave me away?'

'Everything really', the thief replied, not sure why he hadn't run yet, why he had decided to stay with the newcomer.

Slowly standing up, Eric warily approached the thief standing at the entrance to the alleyway they'd somehow found themselves in, 'So, if you're going to keep that money, can I at least know who stole it from me?'

Hesitating the thief thought it through, holding out his hand with a smile he introduced himself: 'Aladdin, name's Aladdin.'