i reach out to my lifeline, the angels laugh in paradise
After what they just saw, El could definitely count George as a good wingman for thieving. He made it almost too easy to saunter by, El acting a little inebriated themself, and make a move at the purse. El had to admit that this guy was good; even they would have believed he was drunk if they weren't in on the whole thing.
With a quick breath, El slunk up surreptitiously beside the man, pretending to be making a generous amount of room for a tray-carrying barmaid to walk by. Without having to look, they pinched the tether from the purse to the belt between their pointer and thumb, the leather deteriorating beneath their fingers in a second, and filched the purse. Then they sauntered on as if they had never stopped in the first place. They turned their head, cocked a half-grin over their shoulder at George, and headed toward the bar to get a drink of their own.
El tied the purse to their belt as if it was their own and sat down at a barstool, careful to hide it from any other pickpockets. Their heart was pounding as they raised a hand to order an ale, but George didn't need to know that. Through the adrenaline, El could feel a familiar sense of triumph at a successful swipe. Their immediate instincts told them to run, but a part of them wanted to impress upon George that they weren't a wimp, and they knew what they were doing. They figured the drunk guy wouldn't notice his purse was gone until he had to pay his tab, and El would surely be gone by then.
With a quick breath, El slunk up surreptitiously beside the man, pretending to be making a generous amount of room for a tray-carrying barmaid to walk by. Without having to look, they pinched the tether from the purse to the belt between their pointer and thumb, the leather deteriorating beneath their fingers in a second, and filched the purse. Then they sauntered on as if they had never stopped in the first place. They turned their head, cocked a half-grin over their shoulder at George, and headed toward the bar to get a drink of their own.
El tied the purse to their belt as if it was their own and sat down at a barstool, careful to hide it from any other pickpockets. Their heart was pounding as they raised a hand to order an ale, but George didn't need to know that. Through the adrenaline, El could feel a familiar sense of triumph at a successful swipe. Their immediate instincts told them to run, but a part of them wanted to impress upon George that they weren't a wimp, and they knew what they were doing. They figured the drunk guy wouldn't notice his purse was gone until he had to pay his tab, and El would surely be gone by then.
they say i am my own lifeline
ELEFTHERIA
