FFM1: Not How It Was Supposed To Start
He was going to take that girl up on her offer, he decided. Virtue, he thought her name was. Spade wasn't sure, but a new career sounded incredibly appealing in moments like these. Moments he spent with his back pressed into an old patchwork sofa, with a pup piled on top of him and a heavier still badge digging into his chest.
Puffin, his least trusted and (forced) retired companion, shifted suddenly and a stray paw pressed into his jugular. Spade shoved and struggled to sit up, as Puffin continued to bark at the old receiver as static echoed though the room. Finding his feet, he kicked the old piece of literal garbage, but the static never became any clearer. Spade dug a beat up phone from his pocket, and hit it against a table a couple times until the screen lit up and dropped back onto the sofa.
New page: kerits in District 10.
He sighed and drug his boots up from underneath a stray cushion, and went about getting ready. The Hell District was not known for expansive budgets, and with most of it devoted to annual riot repairs, there wasn't a whole lot left for local station supplies. At the very least, he had a coffee maker- and that was important. Spade filled his thermos, and shoved his gun into a holster before grabbing a set of keys.
When he arrived on the scene, with Puffin attempting both to eat the passenger seat belt and escape the vehicle, he was confused for a moment. Then irritation set in. Why anyone had wasted the time to page the police force over two bear/hyena hybrids arguing in the street, he had no fucking clue. They weren't hurting anything, and by the looks of both them and the surrounding areas, a fight had yet to break out. No knives, no legit disturbances. They were just kind of... there.
Not that anyone in District 10 was accustomed to seeing a pair of kerits just waltzing through the streets, chattering like they weren't creatures of myths and nightmares on their best days. Still, Spade had expected a fight. He had expected blood and broken teeth and possibly a dead body over something menial. Something that would have justified the time it took to cross through three districts to get there.
No, instead he was greeted by Maude, the more slender of the two, when he approached. It was difficult to astern anything but the slight differences between the two. Maude introduced the other as Claude, a slightly bulkier kerit with a misshapen jaw. He tried not to stare, really, he did. Instead, he focused on the small chatter, asking the pair if they had identification on them.
It was his job, after all, to record unlicensed hybrids. Natural births or scientific exploits aside, Spade was an officer of the law and that law required all hybrids to be licensed. He would continue to enforce that law- by helping them register and pretending he knew nothing of the procedure to report lack of licences. There was no one that could stop him.
Puffin, however, held no bias, and bit Claude before they could properly respond. It was a blur, really, as one moment Maude was complaining over her shoulder about how Claude should hurry up. According to Maude, Claude should have also started walking straighter, and try not to hobble like they were anything other than right as rain. Then next, there was a hiss-like scream that had Spade's toes curl- and there was the blood Spade had been expecting all along.
It was just going to be one of those days, he decided. Pulling Puffin off the screaming, writhing kerit, he amended that thought: it was going to be one of those days where he would die drowning in paperwork.
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