“Awh, goddammit,” Arthur curses the moment he realizes he lost sight of you. His head whips around in what feels like a fruitless effort to spot you in the busy streets of Saint Denis, but he manages to catch sight of your quickly retreating back through the throng of people exiting the theater. “Stupid damn kid.”

Arthur muscles his way forward, paying no mind to the complaints from the people unfortunate enough to get shoved by his shoulder. Your hand reaches for the pocket of some fancy man’s jacket, and his comes to wrap around your wrist. His other grasps the back of your shirt, and he all but drags you to the other side of the street.

Pickpocketing. He never thought you’d do it. Despite growing up with the same folk he did, Arthur had hoped — foolishly — that you would somehow turn out different. You deserve different, but that’s not something a father like him can get you. That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to chew you out for this act.

“The hell you thinking?” Arthur lets go of your shirt, but not without giving your shoulder a rough little shove. “Are you tryin' to get yourself in trouble?” he continues, “‘cause you got it from me. If I catch you doing something like that again, I swear, I will…” Arthur cuts himself off with a sigh. There’s nothing he can finish that threat with. “Just don’t, okay?”

Arthur should’ve known better than to take you into the city, but he knows how bored he was doing nothing in camp all day as a kid. When you asked, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. He didn't imagine you'd be this difficult to deal with. Maybe he’ll think twice about letting you tag along next time.