Nick smirks, and it throws his handsome features into sharp relief.
You'd almost think he does it on purpose.
"What'd I miss?"
Leana smiled awkwardly at us, and twisted her bracelet around her wrist.
"Wilde. Glad you could join us. A fennec fox named Finnick Xofton has taken hostages and is holding them in a gas station in Tundra Town." Bogo booms out, holding up a picture of a familiar canine.
I look closer, just to be sure. Yeah. It's Finnick.
Nicks face is shocked. He's speechless. That's a first.
I reach the paw that's not still in his towards his shoulder. "Oh, Nick."
He shakes himself. "It's fine, Carrots."
Jack looks interested. "Wilde, do you know Xofton?"
Nick draws in a shaky breath. "Yeah. He's my friend. We went to highschool together, and ran out own business for eight years."
A business that included hustling mammals, but details are unimportant.
Jack makes a note on a clipboard that seems to have produced from nowhere. "I see. Will this affect your ability to apprehend him?"
"No." Nick's starting to recover now, mischief coming into his eyes as he intentionally leaves of the 'sir'.
I wonder why Nick dislikes Jack so much. I'll have to ask him next time we're alone.
Jack narrows his eyes at Nick, and the tension rises as Nick shifts closer to me, but keeping up the staring game with Nick.
I have no idea what's going on, but Leana, bless her heart, distracts both of them.
"So, what's the plan, sir?" She addresses Savage, Stepping ever so subtly in between the two males.
He flips through the papers on his clipboard, and I suddenly realize that there's a lynx standing behind him, peering over Jacks shoulder.
The lynx is young, and he stands stiffly, like he's hurt. I realize that he notice me watching him, and he winks at me, flirting. I roll my eyes and concentrate on what Jack is saying.
"-we need three separate teams, one to enter each entrance. I think everyone else should remain outside in case the perpetrator some how escapes."
"How many mammals do you need for each team?" Leana asks, fascinated by the plan of attack drawn up on his clipboard. Her hooves, always busy, pluck, straighten, and smooth out her uniform.
"Four would be an optimum number, but we can squeak by with a minimum of three."
Bogo breaks in. "Alright then. It seems like you have that all figured out between the two of you. Let's move out."
