Head in the Clouds

"Home sweet home."

Willis' boots hit the rotting wood as he took in the warmth of Kaiholo Port. Willis grew up on the Port begging for coin after his mother abandoned him. He remembered swimming in the Ocean riding a large wooden plank watching arriving ships along with sailors tossing coins for he and the other children to grab. Of course, the port is infamous for having many thieves who would quickly pickpocket new arrivals. It was something Willis did often as a child, he was one of the best pickpockets on the docks stealing, coin purses, jewelry, and even a shrunken head once.

The place didn't change at all, and Willis wasn't sure if he should be proud or ashamed. Nevertheless, Willis didn't come home to wax poetic about his past, he had a job to do. A Cloud Mantas was causing merchant stores to sink and the merchants gathered enough to hire a Monster Hunter. "Should visit the wife," Willis said to himself. "But only after I fulfill this contract."

He walked through the wooden bridge heading straight for the merchant square filled with people buying and selling trinkets.

The square was crowded - perfect for George's purposes. He was working today, slipping through the crowds and sneaking a coin purse here, some jewelry there, all done quietly and professionally, with no one the wiser for his thieving. By the time he'd made a pass of the square, he'd collected quite a bit from the unwitting crowd, and he leaned against an alley wall, keeping an eye on passersby, mentally tagging his next targets.

There was one man who passed by who caught George's eye: a dark-skinned stranger who was decidedly not George's usual mark. He tended to look for shoppers, people who weren't paying attention to their surroundings; this man looked like he was on a mission, and that was different from most of the people in the square. George was curious, and so he pushed off from the wall and began to follow the stranger. Maybe he was going somewhere interesting.

You don't deserve a point of view
If the only thing you see is you

George

Willis strode through the bridge adjusting the strap of his little black bag. The Merchant who wrote the contract shouldn't be too far. He sold old trinkets near the shoreline where Willis did his pickpocketing as a child. From the corner of his eye he saw an older man sizing him up. Willis frowned, a pickpocketer he had that look on him. How he stayed to the side and observed the shoppers and travelers exploring the port and choosing the weakest target.

It was same tactics Willis employed as a child. "Let's hope he picks the right people," Willis mumbled to himself.

The stranger was decidedly not George's normal target, but the little black bag caught the thief's eye. He considered briefly, then decided against it. The man was too aware of his surroundings, and he was built like a fighter. The last thing George wanted was to start a brawl in the middle of the square, drawing attention to himself and his collection of items that did not belong to him.

Still, he was curious about the man, so he decided to try a different approach. He shoved off from the wall, ambling along behind the man until he caught up with him. "Hello," he rumbled, sizing the stranger up. "You look like you're looking for someone. Need any help?"

You don't deserve a point of view
If the only thing you see is you

George

Huh, the suspected thief is actually.... friendly? It could be a new approach that he was trying out. If there was one thing Willis learned over the years is to never relax. "Best be cautious and alive," Willis thought. "Than complacent and dead."

"I'm fine," Willis replied dully. "Try to keep your distance friend lest you want your fingers to be thrown into the sea."

He smirked. "I know who you are, and I know what you intend to do so I suggest you pick another target and you and I won't have any problems."

Willis wasn't the one to threaten others unless he was sure that he could back it up. It's hot and already Willis' mouth felt dry but if this pickpocket was going to try anything well let's just say there are a couple of merchants in the Greatwood that would buy mangled fingers to create their living hands.

George was a man of the shadows, more used to thievery than outright violence. That's not to say that he couldn't defend himself - in fact, he kept several knives on his person at all times - but he preferred to avoid bloodshed when he could. So when the stranger threatened him, part of him wanted to rise to the bait, but the vast majority of his mind was inclined to deescalate the situation.

"I thought about it," he admitted amiably, "But you're not my normal target." He looked the man over again. "I meant what I said, though. Need any help?"

You don't deserve a point of view
If the only thing you see is you

George