Anthony had managed to get past the point of crying whenever he considered thieving, again. Which was extremely convenient for him. After all, he needed money, and looking for a job was currently out of question. Robbing people was a good way to get quick money, as long as you don't get caught. There were always stupid, rich tourists who he could relieve of their earthly possessions.

And he didn't really have 'morals' which would stop him from crime. The only thing keeping him back was the fear of getting caught, but he tried to put faith in himself and believe that that wouldn't happen.

Nevermind all that, though. Anthony leaned against the wall in an alley, waiting patiently for a suitable target to pass by. It was nighttime so he was certain that it would take time, but it was also safer at this time of day, and he wasn't about to take unnecessary risks. And so he waited, waited, waited.

Meyer Whitlock was not having a good day.

First, there was not a single job opening in the eighteen stores he'd visited. Not even one. Despite his grandmother's wealth, he knew he would have to find a means of supporting himself or be called lazy by the busybodies of the Upper Class. In truth, this was only half the reason, he also desired employment to take his mind off his confusing sexuality, his parents' death, his loss of hope in his dream... In all, he just wanted a place to sweat and get away from it all. As he walked back to Cedarworth Manor that evening, he whistled softly to himself an old tune his sister once taught him. Hands in his pockets, he fiddled with his coin purse out of boredom and a need to do something with his hands. He hoped Cordelia'd had a good day. She'd been adapting better to this drastic change of life much better than he had.

Any vestige of boredom instantly disappeared as soon as Anthony felt someone approaching, and heard a hum. He turned his head to look at whatever unfortunate person it was that was coming closer, and already took his knife out in preparation.

As soon as the stranger had passed the alley in which he was waiting, Anthony stepped out and began to follow the man with a steady pace. He didn't seem to concerned about being caught — not like he's already done something illegal. He was almost as if waiting for the person to notice him.

Meyer could hear footsteps. Right behind him. Where they hadn't been just seconds ago. Someone was following him, certainly, for no one else was on this street and he hadn't heard any doors open as if someone had left the brightly-lit tavern a good twenty meters behind him.

Slowly drawing his hands from his pockets, he kept whistling nonchalantly, but just as he made to turn a corner, he spun around instead, his coattails whistling through the air with the speed at which he turned.

"What do you want? Money? I can give you money."

Hoping his words would surprise the stranger enough to deter him from using that knife in his hands, Meyer raised his hands in a sign of surrender. Just his luck to be robbed (for that's likely what was about to happen)- his only goal now was to walk away unharmed.

Anthony stood still and blinked rapidly in pure, unadulterated surprise. This wasn't in the script. He was supposed to try and talk to him, get his guard down, and then try to get the money. Instead of...whatever this was.

"What?"

Keeping his arms in the air, Meyer gave a small shrug.

"I just want to get home, stranger. If you want money, I'll give you money, just put down the knife."

"...Why do you think I want your money?" Did he really just give off thief vibes, like that? He was a bit too stupid to realize that it was probably the knife he was holding.

Meyer gave a pointed look at the knife in the stranger's hand.

"Well, that, for one. Also the manner of which you're following me. There's not a single soul out here."

His gaze softened a little. "You're new at this, aren't you?"

Anthony frowned, rather offended at the implication that he was new to this. Was he really this bad at it? 

"Well, what's it to you?" He crossed his arms rather defensively.

Meyer dropped his hands. 

"Truthfully, not much. If I can help you out of this life, I will, though. So what is it- everything in my pockets? My watch? My brass buttons? Take your pick."