Sutton grew up here. He knew Faerune. He knew its streets. And he knew when there was someone new wandering around them. Theyâd bumped into each other a couple of times -- just in passing. Little homie was living out of his van. Sutton got it. You do what youâve got to do to survive. Life's a bitch, but you keep living. Still, he wasnât planning on stopping to chat to the shorter man; small talk was never Suttonâs thing but he had no choice now. To a bystander it merely looked like the stranger had accidentally bumped into Suttonâs shoulder. Sutton might not have noticed if his background was squeaky clean.
His hand swung backwards, catching the thief by their wrist. He wasnât particularly bothered, but his resting bitch face and the energy that naturally shrouded him might have said otherwise. He was in contact with the Spirits always. It sent chills down peopleâs spines without Sutton meaning it to.
âYour form was good.â Keeping hold of him so he couldnât book it Sutton held out his free hand, palm towards the sky, waiting for his wallet to be deposited there. Heâd be released when he did so. âI just know better. -- Calm down. Weâre straight.âÂ
Perhaps... Sutton in all his fairness was the best person to have tried to steal from after all. âWhatâs your name, young buck?â
@headfullafluffâ
