Anthony was tired, ill and liverish, his head hurt, the sun made it hurt EVEN MORE, his legs hurt, and quite frankly he was barely even feeling up to this little stroll he was on right now, but he truly needed a drink and a little travel was just about the only way to get one.

Halfway through his little odyssey, Anthony recalled that to be able to buy things (such as alcohol), he needed money. Which he did not have. He briefly considered going back home, crying, or doing both of the above, but then remembered that there was also a fourth option.

Following a slight pause, Anthony started to walk again, a tiny bit faster this time as he clumsily slipped his hand into whoever-was-closest-to-him's pocket. He just wanted to get the money, get the drink and go home, though his current state did not make that an easy feat.

Tristan was out window shopping. He didn't have enough money to buy any of the jewelry, decorations, gifts an souvenirs sold in Whitby's boutiques, but he enjoyed looking at them, for want of anything better to do with his spare time. He was standing in front of a jet shop, admiring a particularly finely carved chess set of jet and ivory, when he felt a light pull on his jacket. Instinctively, he spun round and grabbed the arm, even before seeing whom it belonged to.

He recognized him immediately, both by his size and his miserable appearance. "Really?"

Anthony tensed up. He attempted to pull his hand away, but gave up on that in a second or two. Well. So that was that. He considered just running for it, but it was a moronic idea that not even he was dumb enough to put trust in. "Yes," answered Anthony. What an awful question. He felt worse about not getting the money than he did about actually getting caught.

Shameless, was he? Tristan frowned disapprovingly. He did not loosen his grip on the man's arm. He wasn't particularly strong, but probably a great deal stronger than starved and sick Anthony. "How about you work for your money?"

Anthony averted his gaze for a moment, and then looked back at him again. "No, I don't feel like it," he replied with no shame whatsoever. Anthony flexed his hand absentmindedly, getting a little tired of this and hoping that he'd let him go soon.

Tristan had felt compassion for the man before, when he had been injured and obviously too poor and too... well... mentally unstable to get help. But he was appalled by what he saw now. "Right. Prison for you then." He began to walk, pulling the man along. It was a strange sight no doubt, but he didn't want to let the thief escape and make another victim.

Anthony wasn't very frightened by that. He was much too apathetic to care, and previous experience with the police showed that they were not very good at their jobs, so. "Happens to the best of us," he said. Above all else, he just wanted for the man to let go of his arm. It was starting to hurt a bit.

Tristan looked back at the man, frowning in confused disapproval. He really just didn't care did he? Well, Tristan would give him a good scare!

Or not.

He turned his head to look ahead of him again, but too late. He slammed his face into a street lantern. He let go of the arm and fell back onto the ground.

Anthony had already realized what was going to happen, but chose not to do anything about it. He was glad about his decision, as the aftermath was pleasing. Anthony snickered as he retracted his arm. "You're a bit of a moron," he commented. He offered him a hand to help him up but otherwise stayed put. Fleeing would've just made things worse.

For a moment, there were flashes of light before his eyes and Tristan struggled to understand what had happened. His nose and forehead hurt and he expected his nose to start bleeding, but it didn't. "Shut up," he muttered, irritated, as he opened his eyes and stared at what were shortly two street lanterns, before they blended into one. Then he took Anthony's arm, grabbing his arm with the other hand, because he had a hard time keeping his balance. "Bloody hell," he muttered, when he was up and staring at the street lantern as if it was to blame.