Anthony sighed. "Right. Good talk," he nodded. He took the matter into his own hands and picked up the pace, pulling the man along with him.

Tristan didn't see that coming. He was suddenly pulled forward, managed to run along only for a few steps, and then lost his balance, was forced to let go, and fell flat on the ground once again.

Maybe he would just lay here and cry.

Anthony turned around at that, and snickered once more at the surprising but very pleasant sight. "You really are a moron, aren't you," he commented. Suddenly he was, once more, feeling very smug. He crossed his arms and stayed completely put, this time not making an effort to help the poor man.

Tristan crawled up slowly and glared up at the guy. He was sore and at this point, he just wanted to go home. "Oh sod off, will you?"

"I don't feel like it." Anthony uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips as he watched the man. "You really should be more careful," he said in faux-concern.

Tristan stood up. "Thanks for the advice," he said dryly. Then he began to walk away. Twit. He almost hoped that liver was still damaged.

"You're very welcome," said Anthony, observing the man. "you're going the wrong way. Police station's over there." He pointed in the direction opposite of that which the man was walking in. He was kind of hoping that the fellow wasn't just leaving, because that would be awfully boring and anti-climactic.

Tristan turned. "Well, do everyone a favour and turn yourself in, will you?" he said. Then he turned again and continued walking.

"Hm. Alright, then," said Anthony. Since the fellow seemed to have no intentions of going to the police, Anthony figured that he might as well try to finish his job. He picked up his pace so he'd catch up with the man, and then made another rather bold attempt at pickpocketing him.

Tristan was on his guard as soon as the man approached, of course, but he could hardly believe what was happening. He grabbed the man's wrist. "What is wrong with you!?"