@speedysmaximoff cont from here
For most people, lifting wallets was a risky task. Too slow and you were caught, and being caught certainly never ended well. The consequences in America were far less severe than they would have been in Sokovia but, in the end, they hardly mattered. Consequences only stood for those that were too slow, and Pietro was never too slow.
He played the part of an inebriated man, one who could no longer walk a straight line. It was convincing, especially outside a bar like this one. Pietro stumbled forward, bumping into a woman and slipping his hand quickly into her pocket, removing her wallet and depositing it into his hoodie pocket in a quick, fluid movement. “I’m sorry,” he said, slurring and playing up his accent all at once. Best to look as unassuming as possible — a drunken immigrant was hardly a threat. “I will be more careful in the future.”
Something wasn’t right here. Either that or her paranoia was kicking up, but Jessica wasn’t panicky. She was just... suspicious. (Which okay, was another goddamn symptom, but still. Christ her head was exhausting.) “Uh huh, I’m sure you will,” she said, eyes narrowing.
No, god, she was just being stupid. She rolled her eyes and waved him off, started to head into the bar. But something made her stop at the door. It was the slurring. Drunk people were always trying to act less drunk than they actually were, but this guy was leaning into it. A little... too much.
She reached into her pocket on a hunch. Empty.
“Oh, you piece of shit,” she hissed. She turned on her heel. “Hey!” she shouted towards the silver-haired kid. “Hey, hang on a second!”
