He did not need to pick pockets any more. He had a steady income. Like most bad habits, though, Elliott found this one hard to kick. It wasn't the money that he enjoyed so much about it. It was the art of the act.

Any idiot with a gun can mug someone. Any tool with a knife can try and mug someone and get their wallet. Knife muggers are beaten by gun muggers, and pickpockets beat gun muggers by stealing their gun. Like rock, paper, scissors. He supposed that meant knives beat pickpockets. That made sense. Knives were stealthy payback if one got caught. And because pickpocketing was an artform, all of these styles could exist at once. And he could bask in the fun of nonchalantly walking up to someone, head down, not attracting attention, and just brush up against them with an 'Oops, sorry!' or without any words at all. He wasn't obvious. And unlike muggers, pickpockets vanish into the crowd like a ninja after they steal. They don't get described and they don't get caught. Unless they do. But like he'd been thinking, it was an artform.


The added bonus was that when you got wallets, you got IDs, so you could laugh at dumb names and embarrassing wallet photos before you threw that stuff away. You don't keep those things. If they ask you about cash, it's cash. It's fine to have it. Someone's driver's license draws questions. Again, it's an artform that you learn through trial and error. They don't teach classes.


If someone started teaching a pickpocketing class, they could make a lot of money. Food for thought.


He didn't like pickpocketing from the handicapped, but today he made an exception because the guy was a ginger, and gingers didn't count. Elliott brushed up against the redhead as the crowd moved along, like a fish fighting his way upstream. His two fingers snaked in and out quickly, to fish out the mark's wallet as cleanly as any professional might. 

The ginger's cane audibly hit against the sidewalk with every step. Ty was finally getting accustomed to having it; hell, he'd even taken the time to learn a few decent fighting moves with it. But he hated his now reduced mobility, which was pretty much his Christmas present from one Isabel. This also limited him to pouring over the seemingly endless Ragnarok roster instead of being active in the field. Damn kid always seemed to find a hundred more potentials as soon as Ty'd thought he was about to reach the end.

But today...today was different. He'd managed to take a day off from sitting in Jotunheim in front of the admittedly awesome big screen monitor and high speed computer, and he was out...picking pockets. He didn't need to, by any means. But it was fun. It was like riding a bicycle; he'd never forget, and he didn't want to. Something about it just made him feel so...


At that moment, he felt someone brush him. Most people would shrug it off as an accident because this was New York, after all. But not Ty. He took the opportunity to stealthily slip his right hand into the pickpocket's own pocket and pulling out the wallet within, but then he spun, sweeping at the stranger's foot with the cane in his left hand.

"Well," Ty said with a dry chuckle to get the guy's attention. His southern accent dripped off of his voice as he spoke. In this case, it actually provided a much needed charm and emphasis. "It seems as though two masters of their craft have met on the field. However, it may seem...that we are at an impasse." He gave another light chuckle, the smirk remaining on the ginger's lips.

Moments like this were what made it all worthwhile, though he'd seen numerous reactions when thieves were caught. This could either lead to a beautiful friendship, or a bloody street fight. And honestly, Ty would have been okay either way.

The cane tripped him, slightly, and only for a moment, but the moment counted for a lot. He recovered in time to turn on the tripper. He had felt something brush up against him. The ginger's comment only cemented his paranoid thought. This guy had pick pocketed his pickpocket. And he was being cavalier about it instead of shouting for police.

Elliott glanced left and right, expecting ice cop, but thankfully, one eyed Sam was nowhere to be seen.

His face slipped into a crooked zipper like smirk and he matched the thief's chuckle with one of his own. "Heheh, yeah. I'll give you yours if you give me back mine." He said. He held out the ginger's wallet, and looked at the size of it. His mind went there. 'Mine's bigger', but he didn't say that out loud. The guy seemed cool. He didn't appear to have a knife to stab him with. If he had, he'd have done it already while he wasn't expecting to be gutted like a fish.

Many options were present here, many paths they could walk. Elliott opted for sincerity and camaraderie. "Good technique," he said frankly. "Never would have expected it from a guy with a cane."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Ty replied smoothly. "You're pretty good yourself. To be honest, had it been anyone without my level of...expertise, you'd have gotten off clean." He leaned on his cane so that his left hand could be free to accept the wallet, however he wasn't too laid back. After all, Ty knew the first rule of thumb was to never trust a thief. Especially one you didn't know.

"Honestly, the cane's only a recent addition. Some crazy chick with a blade fetish decided to give me official handicapped status for Christmas. But, ya know, that's just part of the game. The trick is getting your disadvantages to work for you. Like you said, no one expects a guy with a cane."

He flashed a mischievous grin at this one, but his eyes flickered to his surroundings every once in a while. Cops could be lurking anywhere. Or worse, Little-Miss-StabbyFace.

"You can call me Ty," he said finally. He really didn't care if he threw his name out there. Most of his more criminal activities fell under the name Sleipnir nowadays, anyway. This, on the other hand, was just a hobby. Kind of like playing guitar or working on old guitars, only a hell of a lot less expensive.

To try something now, after he'd gone to all the trouble of putting on a good face and treating the other man with respect, would have been... problematic. Like shooting yourself in the foot with a shotgun. He was cautious, though. Maybe the other guy's good face hid something. With thieves, you never can tell.

You can tell a lot about someone from the company they keep. The redhead had met someone who had cut him up. The cane wasn't a trick. It was no con. He wasn't playing the long game, because he wasn't even playing. It was telling that someone with skills like his would be around someone who liked to cut people with blades. Pickpocketing wasn't the only thing he was involved in. Unless he had simply had bad luck.

He returned the mischievous look, and waited. The guy gave him a name. Ty still had his hand outstretched for the wallet, but he hadn't held out Elliott's wallet. So Elliott kept up the cautious behavior, and placed the wallet in Ty's hand finally, after he'd given the name. "The name is October," he said. He could have gone with a new alias, but this one had been given so often, it just rattled off the tongue. "Here's your wallet." After the wallet was passed off, he waited a minute for Ty to hand him his. With the cane, it would have been difficult to hand a wallet and receive a wallet while still keeping his balance. He didn't have a free hand. There was still the possibility he could bolt with his own wallet, and Elliott's much bigger wallet. That was why he was being cautious. Still smiling, obviously, but cautiously.

"Sucks about crazy blade chick," He added, trying to salvage the obvious paranoia he'd elicited. "I like the flames, though. Owning the weakness, turning it into a strength." At least until someone sweeps the leg. 

If Ty were going to try something, he'd have done it a long time ago. Granted, The ginger still needed to perfect his getaway. After all, climbing fire escapes and escaping via rooftop wasn't quite the best idea when one had a cane and a limp. Ty passed the wallet off, and both wallets were now back to their owner without consequence.

"Yeah, what can I say, wrong place wrong time is what I'm good at apparently," he replied with a dry chuckle. Ty knew full well his owning the weakness philosophy would need reworking the instant someone swept the bad leg, but that, he'd have to deal with when the time came.

"Nice to meet ya, 'Tober," Ty said, still looking over his shoulder every now and again. "Yeah, I'm sorta building a collection of canes, to be honest. Still looking for one I can hide a blade in, though."

He stuffed his wallet away into a hoodie pocket, and his whole demeanor got less scrunched and defensive. The paranoia ebbed. It would never fully go away, but it ebbed. That was something, at least.

>>"Yeah, what can I say, wrong place wrong time is what I'm good at apparently," The redhead said. What had he said the name was? Ty. He shared a laugh with him.

"Yeah. We all have our bad days." He commiserated. "Some, more than others."

>>"Nice to meet ya, 'Tober," Ty said.

"Yep," Elliott nodded. "Nice to meet you, Ty." He joined in the rubbernecking, glancing over his shoulder too.

The guy wanted a cane collection? Elliott laughed, and shook his head. "Man. I probably know someone who could hook you up. An old friend." An old employer, too. "She teaches escrima, and has all sorts of junk like that."