[Content warning: Reference to substance abuse and child neglect]

It was evening and had been dark for several hours. A cold wind was blowing in from the sea and occasional drops fell on the poor souls forced to be out at this hour. Poor souls like James, who was cold and shivering in the oversized coat he had tied shut with a cord around his waist, because the buttons had come off. His feet were bare and dirty. He had a home to return to, but mother was drunk, and father was shouting at her, and it was colder than usual there anyway, since somehow part of their roof had come down, and father had chosen to spend his time being angry and cursing Claude for not being home and cursing some 'tart on the roof', rather than fix it.

He was looking for something to eat though. He had heard one of the new teachers was handing out food to hungry children, but he didn't want the man to make him go to school. He had heard that one constable was nice to kids, so maybe he could stay the night indoors there, but he had been taught not to trust coppers. He had heard the Catholic priest was giving left-overs to street urchins, but he hadn't seen the inside of a church since the day of his christening - if his parents had even bothered to have him baptized, coming to think of it.

So all in all, picking some fool's pocket and buying his own food seemed like a responsible thing to do. There were still many people on Church street, outside the several pubs. Drunk people were always easier. Experienced as he was, James stayed close to the walls, almost invisible, and when he was close enough to a potential victim, he swiftly, but carefully slipped his small hand into the pocket of the man's coat.

With night fast approaching, Anthony was one of the many people near the pubs at Church street. This time, however, he wasn't one of the people drinking and carousing—no, he had better things to do. Such as find some drunkards and rob them blind. Drunk people were always better targets, whether for muggings or things much worse than that. Regardless, he was there on the street, walking down it. Absolutely certain that he is doing an admirable job of feigning being drunk, he looked around subtly for any good targets. There were a great deal of people there, almost too many to choose from.

It was as such, then, that his mind wandered for a bit, and he found himself thinking. Thinking almost sickeningly practical things such as 'look at that one's shoes, must be a rich man' or 'the state of that guy's clothes......disgusting' or other such things that, at first, helped him figure out which person would be a good target but then quickly descended into just being a fun game of trying to figure out what walk of life every single person here is from. But letting down your guard, even for a moment, is not exactlt a good thing to do.

The realization hit him a split-second too late. Though Anthony's head was in the clouds there, he was still a perceptive and skilled man, and a pickpocket would not get the best of him. He was the one supposed to be stealing things! Whipping his head around as soon as he felt something strange, he frowned in a way that would suggest that he was less mad at getting things stolen from him and more mad at the idea of someone stealing from him. "Hey!" he called.

The moment James felt the man move, his hand closed on the first thing he could feel in the man's pocket, pulled it out and he started to run. His legs were short, but he was small and swift, trained bare feet tapping against the cobblestones as he ran. He shot into a lane, hoping to shake the man off.

Unfortunately for James, Anthony knew the tricks of pickpockets (having been one for decades, now) and was also small and fast. And he was also way too proud to let some street urchin just get away with his stuff, and so, he ran after the kid. "Come ooooooon." Can't the kid just stop fleeing and just give him his shit back? As he's not a moron, he darted into the lane as well after a short little moment of confusion, with an incredibly unimpressed look on his face.

James was hiding behind a barrel. The most creative hiding spot? No. But the only one in the lane, and he had decided that most grown ups were pretty stupid anyway. Drunk grown ups especially. The man would probably look into the lane confounded and go for another drink. James kept very still.

Contrary to popular belief, Anthony had in fact not drunk anything today. Looking into the lane, he clicked his tongue. Of course, he saw that there was really only one hiding place here, and that the little bastard was probably hiding back there. But even so, he didn't advance towards it, out of some reason he couldn't point out.

He SIGHED. "Come on, kid. Give me my shit back." He was fairly sure the kid was still here, and if not. Then, well, at least noone was around to witness Anthony being a moron.

Oh shit. The guy was less drunk than James had thought. He got up from behind the barrel and looked at the man. "I didn't take owt." He said. "And I have a knife! So leave me alone!"

Anthony looked at the kid and narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to stab me, then?" Raising an eyebrow in mock curiosity, he crossed his arms, looking at the little street rat with an extremely unimpressed look on his face. Goddamnit, he only wants his stuff back. And, he was not in the mood to be threatened by a ten year old who allegedly has a knife.

"Aye, I will." Said James, and he pulled an angry face, trying to look intimidating. It probably looked silly instead. But then suddenly, he turned around with the speed of light and began to run once more. This time he didn't get far, however. As he turned a corner, he misplaced his foot. It twisted unnaturally beneath him, and James fell forward.

Does this kid actually think he's being intimidating? Anthony couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in exasperation. As the kid darted away again, he tensed up, absolutely ready to sprint after the bastard yet again, only to see the kid fall forward onto the ground just as he turned a corner. Sighing, Anthony walked towards him. The longer this encounter goes on, the less he is angry and the more he pities the street rat. "Alright, then," he looked at him. "get up off the ground." When he was a kid he certainly wasn't this shoddy of a pickpocket.