The Gentleman's Way

      "The crowded streets of London are particularly breathtaking on fine summer-evenings like these." thought Lancelot while making his way through the countless teenagers, businessmen and couples,clinging to eachother. The light wind was roughing up his black suit, that looked almost too noble, because of the victorian waistcoat underneath the jacket and of course the unusual neckwear- a royal cravat made from red silk, stolen three weeks ago. The young man- not more than 17 - seemed almost like he had stepped out of a painting to take a nice stroll on the streets, but then again he was firmly holding a fairly modern-looking black umbrella.

During peaceful moments like these Lancelot usually kept an inner monologue: catalogueing his thoughts, people on the streets, cars passing by and every possible threat. "Male, 20-25 years of age, a modern baseball-cap- probably one of them hippity-hoppity fellows, slight limp in the left leg..." Ventrue was distracted by another individual, obviously a drug-dealer... and judging by his thin moustache and the length of his jacket probably also a sexual predator of some kind. "People roaming the streets of this city... Some of them earn their money honestly, some dishonorably and some of them are like me."
Lancelot Ventrue noticed a chubby man in an overly-expensive suit (even for the streets of London) and "locked on" to the target. "Male, 50-58 years of age, wealthy, in a bitter mood, distracted- Perfect victim." Ventrue lifted his chin up, thus looking even more posh and bumped into the old man, with a moderate amount of force. "Hey! Watch your step, punk!" shouted the rich elder in an arrogant manner. In a split second the young man's hand had snatched the wallet from the fatcat's jacket. Just one charming smile and humble apology later he had already disappeared into the heavy crowd. "Wallets, watches, phones and jewelry are so easy to misplace, especially in a big city where there's people, who practise my profession." A short man wearing aviator sunglasses stepped in front of the young pickpocket and crouched to tie his shoelaces. Ventrue's eyes widened, time seemed to stop and thoughts started echoeing through his mind.

"Professionals tend to work in trios: The Blocker, who distracts the victim,..."

The black-suited young man dodged the crouching man after which an African-American girl in a purple hoodie tripped into him and grabbed the freshly-stolen wallet.

"...the Cannon, who obtains the item of value..."

Ventrue casted a glance behind him just in time to notice that the wallet was dropped inside the backpack of a bald man with a red goatee and rather unstylish flip-flops.

"...and finally the Shade, who takes the item and disappears... Let's have some fun, shall we?"

 Ventrue reached under his longer than usual blonde hair and tapped on his nearly invisible earpiece: "Thor calling Wolfman, male in his late twenties, brown backpack, red goatee- moving towards the cave."

    200 feet away, in front of an italian café behind one of the restaurant-tables was a man observing his surroundings through two holes cut into a newspaper. "Wolfman to Thor, I see the target. Wolfman's leaving the cave." Behind the newspaper was a tall young man
with a painfully obvious fake moustache and a brown bowlerhat. He paid for his tea, tipped the waiter and started following the thief listening to music from his earplugs. After a few zig-zags between different small empty alleyways, it was clear that the Shade with
the stolen wallet had noticed "Wolfman" tailing him... but then again the slightly overweight man with a bowlerhat wasn't trying to be silent and made sure to smack every metal object on the way with the end of his walking stick. "Back off, chump, this is none of your business! I'll break your legs if you won't stop following me!" The bald bearded man was getting anxious at "Wolfman's" calm and positive look and pulled a switchblade out of the pocket of his yellow jumper. *click* The stainless-steel blade propelled out of the handle.

The well-dressed man ripped off his moustache and put it under his bowlerhat while spinning the wooden stick in his hand. He smiled and cast a wild glance at the opponent: "Tell me, mr. Thief, have you heard of Bartitsu, the gentleman's way of fighting?"