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You don't even bovva looking around to see who got the biggy cashbag from your grabsack; you know it's been passed on at least twice since you noticed the smell of your munny gone.
Handy innit: any time the crowd's thicky, YOUre about to get fixed, and it keeps being thicky around you until the feef's fugged far orf, or you've come to terms with your new poverty.
A goblin is never just one goblin most times and a heist is never just one feef. It's a web and it's a chain, and if it's planned good enough the planner don't even need to show, just keep far off n play innocent.
>wat, ME? Steal the royal gubbins?
>I wuz sitting home n mending socks n rollan ciggies fer weekz!
>Arsk annywun!
You amble along, seeing moar smiles from the corner of your eyes; none directed at you, just smiles between people chatting, happening natural. You work it out: they think they got all your munny, it's tucked tight somewhere with them, now they're watching you for the moment you find out and freak.
>4th Degree of Success
With your hands in your cloak, you fake a stumble on some discarded peelings and make a short jangle of the fancy pouch at your waist, containing silver.
The smiles vanish like mist from a fire, eyes drop into half-drunk cups, and the bright chattychat you've been hearing slows to tense muttering.
You got their attention. Now itz time to <span class="mu-g">bait</span>.
You head for the part of the bazaar that's wider and quieter than the food and crafts portion. Here's where the service-trades are: tinkers, sharpers, lettermarks, barbers, inkers, doctors, gamblers; all sorts.
A few whores eye you. There's a fix there waiting, you're sure, but you don't want it to be so easy they get wary, or risk your own distraction. You need them to make a risky leap, and you need YOU to be fresh n crispy, to catch them in the try.
You steer away from the whores; you spy one whispering to no one in particular before turning back to chat with her fellows; you've already been marked and they're angling.
Of all your senses you keep your nose the sharpest now. Unbeknownzt most of YOUr cashes have been smeared with smegg. Not a lot of it, just enough to feel very faintly stikki.
Because itz Gobbo smegg, and not just any smegg; itz YOUrz and it's been made <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">weird</span></span> by your interaction with Moar Oww. You can tell it's close just from a whiff, especially if it's freshy.
You stop by a readers' rental, pay a Grain to read two volumes of your choice, start browsing. You still carnt read squiggles, but Seafood's are better. Fiercer, like they could bite you. Gnarlier, like they're the ones reading YOU.
And then:
>snf
>close.
You take some sideway steps like you're reading the titles on the higher shelves. You get a stepladder from the bookrent, take a steppy uppy.
When the crowd behind you quietens and thickens you drop your bait: tippytoe with one leg aside, reaching up for a biggy book wot caught ur eye.
>NOWNOWNOWNOW
