Gabriel panicked. He was not used to foul language, and though he sometimes faced some protestant mockery or insults, he had never been threatened in his life. But the utter shamelessness of the act was what shook him most of all. Gabriel did what Gabriel did best: moralising: "This money is meant for poor people, like yourself!" He squeaked. "Think of the poor children you'd be stealing from!" He took another step back. Would he dare to run?

And with that, even the very last vestige of warmth and doubt was gone from his mind, and his expression cooled until it resembled sculpted ice more than anything else. "I don't see any fucking poor children here," he tilted his head and thrusted it forward in an almost mocking way. "all I see is a grown man who has money, and who's money would be much better off in a 'poor person's' pocket." He closed the gap between the two, watching the man intently. He will not let this man get away from him.

"Isn't that what you and your fellow choirboys want? Us poor and impoverished and oh so unlucky and pitiable folk to have money?" As of right now, he was driven more by anger and spite than by anything else. He cannot fucking stand the church.

Gabriel nearly stopped breathing when the man stepped closer and he knew his chance of running was gone. He trembled and could feel sweat break out, and still he did not let go of the tin. Courage, he told himself, like the martyrs. But he found himself wanting to toss the money at the man and run. He looked the man in the eye, swallowed, and then managed to bring out quietly: "Yes, sir. That is what we want. But the children and weakest of your brothers and sisters come first..." Had he ever been brave in his life? He was surprised at himself. But at the same time he was about to piss himself.

It was really fucking obvious that the guy was damn near going to piss himself, but still he didn't run or give him the damn tin. He couldn't tell whether it was brave or stupid of the man. Grip on the knife tightening, he looked the stranger dead in the eye. And he laughed. A humorless and mocking laugh. "Of course, of course. Keep telling yourself that," he almost barked at the man. "people die on the streets every fucking day, but none of you wannabe martyrs and saints do anything until it's obvious you can get something out of doing something." While it was true that Anthony didn't much care what happened to people other than himself, he was willing to use whatever point against this guy. The man has money, he's with the church, and Anthony wants to stab him a lot now. Or at least just take the money and fuck off.

"We try to help them." Gabriel said through gritted teeth. "What do you think I am doing now?" He glanced around quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Pretending to have morals," he answered. God fucking damn it is he tired of debating with this guy. Everyone here knows that all these 'benevolent' and 'kind' people don't actually give two shits about what happens to people other than them. They don't actually care about people who are starving and freezing on the streets. They just want to feel good about themselves.

"Whatever. Just give me the fucking tin or I'll cut your throat and leave you to bleed to death, alright?"

There was no one around. Gabriel looked back at the man. Looked down at his knife. Then he dropped the tin and ran.


And actually tripped over his cassock.

He tensed up instinctively, ready to run after the man, relaxing only after he saw that he had dropped the tin. That was good. And laughed at the idiot for tripping over his goddamn robes or whatever. "Fucking moron," he shouted, mostly just because of his frustration to noone in particular, before crouching down to grab the tin, shaking it a bit to estimate how much was in it. Enough.

He'd be fine for at least a couple of days now. And he didn't even need to bloody his knife. Shame. But if the man would come back for it, then it'd be pretty damn likely that he'll get a new shiny layer of red on his knife.

Gabriel was sore and upset, but he scrambled to his feet and turned. "God have mercy on you. To steal from the poorest, rather than to work for your money... that is indeed a waste of your life!" The man probably didn't care. But Gabriel had to say something. He felt angry and humiliated.

He made a very disinterested 'mhm' sound, watching the stranger scramble to his feet pathetically. "Would do you good not to wander around with money in the dead of night, by the way," he flashed a brief smile, already ready to turn away and go his own way. Let noone say that he is not merciful.