It was one of his favourites, even if tweed had not been in fashion for quite some time.

“Give us your wallet now, fatty.”

The man released Meyer from the wall and, spinning him around, drove him back into it again, pressing hard against his shoulder. Pain shot across Meyer's back as the distinctive sound of another tear to his jacket dropped Meyer's mood even further. This was all Wade's bloody fault for calling him out at this time of night.

On the upside, he was facing his attackers, which meant Meyer could have some fun.

“Sodding kids,” Meyer muttered under his breath. They were human, which explained, though not excused, their lack of manners. Alternates always presented an extra level of showmanship when they robbed you.

“What the hell you saying old man?” one shouted.

Old. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact and he wasn't going to engage them in conversation for God’s sake. Meyer glanced across at the first of the would-be muggers and, for a moment, they froze.

“In corde tuo.”

A glimpse was all it took and he was in. Meyer turned his attention to the next man, who was shouting something at the others. Again, a glimpse and the old phrase repeated, and the second mugger was caught in the same trap as his companion. The last of the three was looking away nervously and the lack of eye contact meant, without increased effort from Meyer, he was temporarily free from his persuasion. It didn't matter, he could get him later.

“Enough? I'll give you enough, you stupid old-”

Before the youngest of the muggers could finish his sentence, he did something he did not quite understand. Casually, he turned his knife towards himself and, with all his strength, plunged it straight into his arm. His expression was priceless, a mixture of shock and confusion at what he had done. A similar expression adorned the faces of his accomplices who, correctly so, thought he was out of his mind. Confusion morphed into pain as blood poured from around the knife which remained protruding oddly from the wound.

The man screamed as he stumbled to the floor, desperately trying to pull the knife from his arm, which to him felt like it was set in stone. What he didn't know, was that he wasn't actually making any sound at all, his mouth stretched wildly as he howled without noise. It would probably have been enough to stop there, but Meyer wanted them to pay for the damage they had caused, both to his face and the jacket. He focused his attention on the second attacker and, like a puppet, the thief's arm lifted into the air, his blade pointed downwards. Meyer could feel him fighting his influence, his thoughts battling his own muscles, but he was too weak willed to break Meyer's hold. Frenetically, he attempted to hold back his own arm, to unclasp the knife his fingers gripped so tightly, but it was no good. In a single thought, Meyer persuaded him to send the blade slicing down into his own thigh. The man collapsed to the floor, writhing with silent screams. Persuaded, what a wonderful term for what he had just done. Everyone avoided the ancient terms of course, magus now being treated as a scientific principle, but to Meyer it was a far more eloquent way of describing what had happened. He had persuaded them, just via telepathy rather than words.