James ankle hurt, but he did indeed try to get up to continue running, only to feel a sharp pain snap through it. He was forced to sit back down. He put his hands the ankle. James bit his lip, trying not to cry. Pirates didn't cry. But pirates did know when they were defeated. "Okay, sorry, I won't do it again," he lied in a sulking tone. He took the coins from his pocket - well, some of them - and held them up for the man to take. "Don't take me to the coppers. I won't do it again!" He tried to give the man puppy eyes, but his messy hair, dirty face and the circles under his eyes probably ruined the 'adorable' look.

Anthony frowned, taking the coins and putting them back into his own pocket. For a brief moment he contemplated leaving the kid there, but then whatever was left of his conscirnce and morals made him feel guilty about that thought. He's a remorseless thief and murderer, but he's not evil. "I won't," he nodded, looking down at the kid sitting there. Must have been a hard fall. Or he was just playing the fool. A pretty convincing fool, then. "well, alright then, kid. Can you walk or what?"

Well James was fooling him, for there were still some coins in his pocket that didn't belong to him, but the pain was real. He looked up at the man suspiciously. He had expected being taken to the constable, or at least having his ears boxed. It was the risk that came with the trade, and which James had been able to avoid so far - not that he had that much experience yet. But he had not expected the man to actually check on him. The child got up on his feet again and tried to walk. He could barely stand on the ankle he had twisted and had to hop. He put his hand on his pocket after the first hop, because the coins hit each other in his pocket. "I'll be fine, ser." He said.

Anthony knew the pains of being a street rat, and perhaps that's where this empathy stemmed from. Regardless, he watched with a raised eyebrow as the boy got onto his feet (well, kind of) and tried to walk, which didn't seem to work out all that well for him. "Really? Doesn't look like you're fine to me," he crossed his arms. Maybe the kid will be fine soon, but he wasn't as of right now. Clicking his tongue in deep thought, he glanced away from the boy and then looked back at him. As pissed as he was about this kid trying to take his money, he was a bit worried. If someone had been around to be nice to him back when he was a kid, there wouldn't— ah shit he's getting all sentimental again.

Anthony uncrossed his arms, placing them on his hips. "Be more careful next time."

James leaned his hand against the wall, so that he could rest his ankle for a moment. "I won't do it again at all," he lied once more. He hoped that the man would go soon, so that he could check how many coins he had left and could buy some food - if he could walk somewhere.

What a bold-faced lie that was. (Or, at least, he assumed it was a lie. He himself had told that lie so many times.) Anthony would respect him for his bravery, but he was too busy being a sentimental bastard. "Doesn't matter whether you do it again or not. Go wild with pickpocketing for all I care," aaand now he's lecturing a nine year old about how to be a criminal safely. At least he is concerned with safety? "but you have to be more careful. Lots of people worse than me out there who wouldn't be as forgiving."

This would be a good moment for James to nod and agree with everything the man was saying, especially considering the mercy shown to him. Instead the boy lifted his chin. "I'm not afraid. I tell 'em I have a knife!"

Anthony raised his eyebrows in exasperation, and then chuckled. "And that worked so well on me, huh?" he asked, not really expecting or wanting an answer. "Listen, noone will be afraid of some kid with a knife. Chances are they'll have knives too and they'll hurt you before you get a chance to even react," Anthony started gesturing with his one hand, mimicking slitting a throat. "you've just got to learn how to be careful, quicker and sneakier."

Instinctively, James stepped back when the man pretended to slit in throat. He stepped on the wrong ankle, felt a sharp pain, groaned and sank back down to the ground, holding his ankle. It was beginning to swell and turn blue and purple. "Okay..." He groaned. "I'll be more careful next time." He. Was. Not. Going. To. Cry.

Anthony furrowed his eyebrows as the kid sank back onto the ground, but not in anger. Rather, in....concern? If that feeling even exists in Anthony's mind. It seems that it does. "Alright, that's good, then," he crouched down to be on eye level with the boy. "but are you absolutely sure you're fine? That leg doesn't look fine to me."