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Armel and Pales weren't the only two walking Durem's streets--Tybalt was making his way down the road as well, roughly shouldering his way through groups of people, not seeming to hear the shouted threats and insults his victims hurled at his back. For once, he didn't rise to the bait; his attention was too focused on getting away from the open-air cart he had just lifted a probably-fake gold watch from as quickly as possible. Those who unwittingly got in his way would just have to suffer the consequences.

And really, didn't these people pay attention? Really, if they saw him coming and didn't move they had no one to blame but themselves if and when they got stepped on. Such was his subconscious mindset until he very nearly stepped on a small child--little more than a large, moving rock in his path, not something he could just brush by. With a rustle of feathers and clatter of talons on the street, he stumbled to the side, grasping onto a streetlamp for balance. "Oi, midget, watch where I'm goin'!" he snarled, scowling. Honestly, one would think even a child would have sense enough to move!

Tybalt was all set to be perfectly offended--wings flared threateningly, feathers fluffed out, fingers curling into fists--when this horned boy who seemed equally set to mouth off to him abruptly changed his previously displeasing tune. What was this, words of respect? "Fine Captain," indeed; such complimentary words soothed his literally ruffled feathers even if he had little idea who it was that spoke them. He was known? Well, of course he was known! His reputation was already spreading far and wide, it seemed, even if he had done little to earn one. Visions of grandeur swept through Tybalt's mind even as his posture lost the stiffness of impending attack, and he settled into a more natural pose with a rustle of feathers and an arrogant smile.

"Robbin' 'em blind, o' course," he replied smugly, hand delving into his pants pocket for the watch he had just stolen. It was a golden pocketwatch with a long chain, and though it was more likely colored metal than actual gold, it was shiny enough to hold Tybalt's interest. Certainly shiny enough to swipe! The watch spun in lazy circles at the end of its chain, glittering warmly for a moment before Tybalt snatched it up and hid it away once more. "And yerself?" he asked, eyeing the man behind Armel. "Takin' th' dog fer a walk, eh?"

Tybalt countered Pales's look of disapproval with one of smug supremacy--why yes, he WAS going to be a bad influence on the younger Tale, and he was utterly happy that this Author seemed to recognize that. "Eh, what?" he asked as Armel muttered. "Are ye serious? Y'can tell all that from just a look?" His tone held more than a little disbelief, but if absolutely nothing else, the watch WAS quite shiny.

"Run off? What'd y'do that for, eh? Mite small as yerself wouldn't make it far on yer own."

Tybalt's eyes narrowed speculatively as he considered Armel's words. On the one hand, the boy was rather young, so he might be wrong due to inexperience; on the other hand, he sounded confident enough, and what reason did he have to lie? "Aye, I'll be doin' just that." No thanks given for the heads-up, of course. That just wasn't Tybalt's way.

Sympathy usually wasn't either, but Tybalt found himself making a noise akin to it at Armel's explanation. "I know what y'mean. Too many bodies, not enough space. All those people crowded in...stifling." His voice had dropped to a mutter towards the end as though he was reflecting upon a different situation, but he seemed to shake himself out of it with an encouraging-yet-reprimanding, "'S'why y'need t'make yer own space. Find that corner of yer own tell 'em all ta piss off. Works fer me," he finished with a smile.

Armel had a way about him that reminded Tybalt vaguely of himself, and he grinned back quite before he could help it. A bit quieter and certainly more passive than he could ever recall being, but at least he had the same eye for shinies! "Nah, yer not--" he started, before a winded voice rang out behind him.

"There he is, that's the kid!" it said, and Tybalt turned to look. Sure enough, there was the man who ran the cart Tybalt had recently appropriated a shiny, fake gold watch from accompanied by a street cop who looked more than ready to take lethal action against some as-yet-unseen perp--clearly, a wild parrot chase was the highlight of this poor sap's day.

"Err, scratch that," Tybalt muttered, quietly sidling towards the middle of the sidewalk. "Seems all yer keepin' me from's a clean getaway. Hold onta this fer me, will ye?" he asked, extracting the stolen watch from his pocket and tossing it to Armel. "I trust ye'll take good care of it, aye?" With a wink and a rogueish grin, Tybalt slipped back into the crowd.