Quoted By:
shidd. sorry for the format fail
>3rd degree of success
With yer BRAINZ n eyes fixed on food, two hands full, cloak spread open by your reaching out, you were wide open! Five beats was all they needed to nick yer Grainbag off the belt.
Not only were you distracted, even if they fudged the attempt your hands would be full, unable to snatch back at them! You'd need at least two beats to think to drop your nice snakk n drinky, and that's all they need to retract their hand and run! How's you gonna catch them in a crowd full of their frenz n relativz pretending to be stupid to clott up your way? They're scott free!
You finish the quwayal before pretending to find out about the missing Grainbag.
"<span class="mu-g">H-hey! Me Grainz r gone! I'z been pikkypokkt! WHAD DA FUGG! WHO STOWL MAH GRAINZ???</span>"
Immediately you get a small audience of concerned coping faces, asking you what happened. Anuvvah trikk! They're stallen yez, see if yer really dat dum, giving the feef at least anuvvah minnit to bugger off! The BeerBoss is the best at it.
"Really!? Oh dear oh dear pity! And on a new visitor too, tired from the road. How much was it? Twenty five!! My days I'm so sorry Traveller. That's terrible! Two months pay at the salt mines?? Oh dear oh dear. Here: this'll do you. I'm so sorry Traveller, truly." and he tops up your tumbler, not quite half.
Anuvvah Rugfoot trikk: they've been so friendly n nice, it <span class="mu-i">carnt</span> be them wot dunnit. It would be simply <span class="mu-i">ingrateful</span> to make a ruckus n <span class="mu-r">shiv</span> peepl until you get yer munnies back, wouldna?
You take in everything, drawing out the not-quite-pint of Tabler as long as you can, like yez bigg sadd, then plonk it empty on the beer stall counter top.
"<span class="mu-g">Mm goin. Fanks for the drinky, Bosser.</span>"
"No trouble, no trouble. Careful again, Traveller."
>yer yer
>cunt bastich
>I'll 'member yez fershur fuggface
You browse about the stalls, pretending to sulk. You wear your grabsack on the front, alerting those watching that there's still moar to steal.
Some trikks are tried. Drunks and quarrelers bump into you from the front or sides, no luck: the grabsack has a foldy tuby mouf wivva drarwstring, which you keep tucked towards your chest.
They get more daring when they see you don't twigg on: someone jostles you from the back so that you trip over the foot of someone in front, and land in the arms of two. There's a lot of oos n aahs and friendly hands dusting you off patting you down.
Right after that tripp, the smell of tin nickel n silver wots been in your nose from the biggy munnybag back in your grabsack disappears. It's already gone.
But the weight of the grabsack stays the same. Ooh, a switcheroo, izzit. Dats a lot of deft hands at work; three or four at least you fink: picking the grabsack's mouf, picking the biggy coinbag, planting the fake weight, then tying the grabsack back. All in the time it took from you tumbling then righting yerself.
