Eleanor + Pockets
There are the good days, and then there are the lean days. The latter always out numbering the former, much to his dislike. And it is a string of leans days, of having not but scraps gleaned from pitying kitchen girls in his stomach that sees him where he is. (Well that and one very lucky break.)
Standing outside the Guthrie’s tavern. The mid-morning sun already heating up the streets, though it isn’t something he’s altogether aware of. He’s lived here all his life--heat and sweat are a reality, as is hunger.
And it is the last of these that spurs his feet to step out of the growing heat of the day and into the shaded din of the tavern. His gaze tracking to the faded green of Eleanor Guthrie’s office. The weight of his luck, weighing down his belt. It isn't often the young man pick pockets another thief, at least not with out his knowledge that they are one previously.
The man he lifted this envelope from should not have had it, he knows that much. Eleanor Guthrie is not one to trust such deliveries to street urchins--even Pockets knows that. But how to approach such a thing without her assuming him the one to have stole it from its original carrier to start with?
What would she pay for the return of what he has come into his possession? What is it he has found? He doesn't know. He’s not the ability to read or write. But symbols he understands well. The Guthrie stamp is known by nearly everyone in Nassau, no matter their education or lack there of.
So for now he will linger here, haunt the small alcove where many of the messenger boys reside hoping for her to pass them a few bits of coin in exchange for running an errand. And only hope she will not be as stupid, as to assume him dumb enough to steal from her couriers and then attempt to make coin back by returning it.
But he’s been wrong before. He just hopes, his feet will prove faster than her muscle. Though he has little fear they won’t. He has out run O’Malley a time or two previously after all. But it isn’t exactly Pockets’ fault if the Irishman can’t keep track of his purse in the busy Nassau streets now is it?