Serrure was on a run of good luck as he worked his way through the rave, picking mostly at the drunk and insensible, hand sliding into pockets, over wrists, over fingers. All in all, it was starting to become a good haul- but then one last target and- with a yip, he was guided to a corner of the room, but instead of guilt, he only tipped his head, eyes wide, the picture of cherubic innocence. It was all a lie.

"Ah, my apologies, good sir. I must have bumped into you on my way across the room, I was just leaving you see, almost past my bed time," A smile, a flash of white teeth and sparkling green eyes.