George
If we're being honest, George wasn't particularly fucked about the amount of money they could get either way. He'd been stealing since he was a child, after all, in order to put food on the table for himself and his ma, and he'd amassed quite a bit over the years as he'd grown in capability. He wasn't rich, but neither was he poor - not anymore. So why, you ask, was he so interested in robbing this poor man?
Well, for fun, of course.
George scanned the rest of the crowd so as to avoid drawing attention to their focus on their mark. He didn't see any law enforcement - not that he'd ever seen much in the Grounds - and nobody seemed to be paying their target much mind. Unless you counted the barmaid, who was currently leaving the man with a wink, sauntering back to the bar to pick up another round for some other patrons. "Deal," he said to Hawke, promptly leaving them to their own devices as he made his way through the crowd to the bar.
Exchanging a few coins for a drink of his own, he turned and staggered towards their mark, playing the drunk convincingly enough that even Hawke might believe him if they hadn't known better. He meandered through the crowd, taking a sip of his drink, and then purposely tripped over his own feet, stumbling right into their target and barely avoiding spilling his drink all over the man. Had he wanted to start a fight, perhaps he would have let the ale spill, but as it were, he wanted only to distract the mark. He didn't want the rest of the bar's eyes on them.
"Sorry, mate," he told the man, clapping him on the shoulder - and thus blocking his view of most of the rest of the bar as he bent over cheerfully. "Ale's a bit much, yeah?"
Well, for fun, of course.
George scanned the rest of the crowd so as to avoid drawing attention to their focus on their mark. He didn't see any law enforcement - not that he'd ever seen much in the Grounds - and nobody seemed to be paying their target much mind. Unless you counted the barmaid, who was currently leaving the man with a wink, sauntering back to the bar to pick up another round for some other patrons. "Deal," he said to Hawke, promptly leaving them to their own devices as he made his way through the crowd to the bar.
Exchanging a few coins for a drink of his own, he turned and staggered towards their mark, playing the drunk convincingly enough that even Hawke might believe him if they hadn't known better. He meandered through the crowd, taking a sip of his drink, and then purposely tripped over his own feet, stumbling right into their target and barely avoiding spilling his drink all over the man. Had he wanted to start a fight, perhaps he would have let the ale spill, but as it were, he wanted only to distract the mark. He didn't want the rest of the bar's eyes on them.
"Sorry, mate," he told the man, clapping him on the shoulder - and thus blocking his view of most of the rest of the bar as he bent over cheerfully. "Ale's a bit much, yeah?"
if life had background music playing your song
I've got to be honest - I tried to escape you but the orchestra plays on
I've got to be honest - I tried to escape you but the orchestra plays on
