Here we have a Sterling AND Tryce installment!

Let's dwell into the minds of these two, as Tryce was dragged to NYC. Shenanigans? Sure!

(Also round of applause for Elyn who kindly supplied the art. Much more than what I expected when she wildly went at it [not that way] that leds us to this!)

Contains coarse language. All meant IC

Co-Written with  WyldElyn
Sterling © Dis guy.
Art, Tryce and Gear ©  WyldElyn
FBA ©  buckhopper and  steviemaxwell
=======================================


“Gonna kill that damn lizard...”

Tryce mutters under his breath, brows furrowing as he looks up at the unfamiliar street signs around him. He’d told Gear a dozen damn times that morning to stick around, reminding him repeatedly that Tryce could barely get back to their hotel from the coffee shop across the street, let alone make his way back from the sightseeing trip he’d been dragged on. But, as per usual, Gear had ignored everything he’d said and bolted off after seeing ‘an old buddy’, disappearing into the crowds and leaving a dumbfounded Gelada standing in the middle of New York City.

On the plus side, at least they hadn’t gone too far from the hotel that morning, and most of this area looked familiar. Mostly. Sort of. Kinda.

“Well, shit...” Tryce huffs, looking around the area again in the hopes of see at least one familiar building when the sound of muffled music suddenly catches his attention. Or at least he thinks it supposed to be music, but it mostly sounds like incoherent screaming and too much guitar from where he’s standing. But where there was ‘music’ there was someone listening to it, and since he wasn’t likely to find his way around the city by just standing around, Tryce makes his way towards the source of the noise, hoping that whoever he finds has a better sense of direction than he does.

“One… Two… Jävla...” in a mix of warming up and showing off, there was a polecat using a hoop in a not-so-beatdown court to make pushups: him being routinely early to make time to get the court for himself, as well as putting his...exotic selection of music before someone else could complain. Long, blond hair in a ponytail that looked barely enough to contain it, as well as typical sports gear that identified him as another basketballer, in a red and black motif. Tattered and torn boots aside, obviously a barefoot player. He was focused in his routine, not noticing someone walking over through the gates instead of avoiding it. like most of the passer-bys.

A well-worn basketball court was a familiar sight to Tryce. What was unfamiliar though was seeing a polecat hanging from the basket, and Tryce pauses mid-step, blinking at the sight. The guy doesn’t seem to notice him, apparently too preoccupied with his odd task, and for a moment Tryce just watches him. He was definitely a fellow ballplayer, though he didn’t look it at first glance, and the choice of music did make a little more sense now that Tryce could actually see the guy.

“Yo, man!” Tryce calls out as he steps out further onto the court, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the music still blaring from the system. “Interestin’ method ya got there.”

The foreign voice broke his concentration, making him drop from the hoop, crouching to stop the impact. Getting up, he faced the stranger. “‘S the way we do it ‘round here...” his accent pegging him very much as a local. He didn’t see a lot of primates before; this guy looking like a typical street dweller. With some weird-ass feet. He was tall though, almost reaching him, wonder if he was the baller type. ”Want to warm up, many of the crew are at school, but a dude was comin’ over for a game after bringin’ his ass to the big apple.”

“Might give that a try someday,” Tryce remarks, looking up at the hoop and then over at the worn basketball that was resting on the ground, close to the music system. Stepping onto an old court never failed to make him want to play, whether it was a full-team match or a one-on-one, and this occasion was definitely no different.

“So, think your guy’s gonna show up anytime soon?” Tryce asks, assuming that it probably wouldn’t take much to talk this guy into a quick game. “Why come to a court if you weren’t gonna play, right?”

The polecat scoffed. “Practice won’t hurt. Besides, the fucker might be at Crif’s and forgot. More court to me anyways, I’ll survive.”

“Crif’s, huh?” Tryce repeats, grinning as he shrugs out of his hoodie and curls it up into a ball before tossing it onto the ground, stretching his arms over his head. “Might’ve run into him - I just left that place myself before my shitty tour guide bailed on me.”

“Hrm...” the mustelid kept stretching whilst in the conversation, making some joints pop in the process. “You ball? We’ll have a go ‘till we see who comes over first, my guy or yours...”

“Tch, knowing mine, it’ll probably be yours,” Tryce huffs again, still stretching out as he steps further onto the court, pausing to look the polecat over briefly before meeting his gaze. “What’chu play anyway, man? Point guard?”

Sterling glared slightly at the new guy. Couldn’t tell if it was a jab at size or just naiveté. Wasn’t the first time he got that though. “Bigfur. Prefer the 5…” his tone cocky and proud.

“Really?” Tryce asks, frowning as he looks the polecat over again. “I mean, you’re kinda... Ahh, fuck it, nevermind...” he adds with a wave of his hand. The guy’s position had thrown him off, but hopefully it meant that he made up for a lack of height with his skill. He really hoped.. Tryce had wasted too many damn afternoons playing against kids who couldn’t tell one hoop from the other.

“We’re playing the shade game right now, bastard?” the polecat grinned cockily, a crooked fang showing. He picked up the ball, dribbling it rhythmically. “Anytime, anyplace… Right here, right now?”

“Play as good as ya taunt?” Tryce asks with a toothy grin that matches the polecat’s, his eyes on the ball as he moves into his usual position when facing an opponent. He hadn’t played a one-on-one match in a while, and he sure wasn’t dressed for the impromptu game, but something told him that this game would be one worthwhile. “Let’s see what ya got, man.”

All of the sudden Sterling faked a hard shot to the monkey’s face, startling him, running by him and scoring a pretty impressive layup. He stared at Tryce, leering him down, holding the ball.

“One to Zero. Twenty-one wins. Threes are worth two.”

The gelada scoffed, walking over towards the polecat. “I fucking know my streetball”. When out of the blue he tapped the ball, trying to take it away. Sterling could tell and braced prior but it wasn’t enough, as the ball bounced away. Tryce took it and relished in making the opposite board shake with a thunderous dunk loud enough to make an audible rattle on the metallic structure. Recovering the ball, he looked back at Sterling.

“Now we’re even… My possession now.”

Huh. Maybe this guy was capable of handling his own ass in the streets. A suppressed chuckle escaping the polecat’s lips. “Seems you are. But it ain’t over till the score it’s set or someone’s shot”

“HA! You can say that again!” And so the game began. It was full-on, attacking, offensive display. As rule-free as the street games were, this one really let both of them display their style instead of just outshove each other. When a street game becomes relatively civil, you know it was going to be a ruthless one.

Sterling was shocked. For a lost tourist to be able to play that hard, street was definitely in him, but it was an almost seamless style; he was smooth on the edges, rough at the core. That’s the type of game the mustelid respected. 6 to 4 for the monkey when he did his trick: Retracting his upper lip to display an intimidating set of fangs. He was weirded out that Sterling was unmoved.

“Sup? Never saw that before?” his lip now down to normal.

Sterling laughed loudly “That’s pretty fucking metal, bro!” The marbled polecat shooting some horn gestures in the air with his free hand, the other dribbling.

Shit. Not even scared at my trick… This guy’s something else. Damn cool too.

Time passed by, the shadows moving considerably as the New York sun moved, indicating the afternoon. With such a defensive game from the polecat, the game dragged on for a lengthy amount of time. Even if not dressed for the impromptu session, the monkey was giving it his all. One thing could keep him busy, it was basketball and seems the new guy would agree as well. Score ended 21 to 19, the primate making an impressive “three” that managed to go through even after Sterling went at it. Tryce was the victor. He could tell from the short string of swearing and the shaking head that he managed to leave an impression on who could be a local strong player.

“Well fuck me, ya ain’t shabby...” Sterling said, letting his hair out, a habit after every game, shaking his head a bit, jersey drenched in sweat, ‘formerly red’ he commented it to be, now noticeably darker than before. “...Not bad for a tourist.”

“Same to you man, but without the tourist bit” Tryce replies, enjoying the faint breeze that was cooling his body. Playing in jeans and a t-shirt wasn’t a habit he intended to get into, and he’d probably wrinkle a few noses on the way back to the hotel, but on the upside he’d been right about this polecat, and that had been a damn good game. “Y’think it’s too late now for your guy to show up?”

“Iunno. He might be still pigging out. Is the first thing any newcomer to New York does...” he shook his long blond locks, dripping a little bit, the wind cooling them and the mustelid off. “And whatever happens, happens. It is still good training for the FBA Draft...”

“In his defense, ya got some damn good food up here,” Tryce remarks, sitting up and retrieving an elastic band from his pocket to tie his dreads back, before the polecat’s latter comment makes him pause and suddenly turn to him. “You a draftee too?” he asks before grinning again, “Small fuckin’ world, man! You already signed up?”

“Wait… you too?!”

“Yeah!”

“Hah! Fuck me sideways!” he nudged the gelada on his arm with his elbow. “Papers are all set, uni studies frozen, fucker I got this!” he chuckled in his growly way. “Least is good to know at least ONE guy plays a decent game. Please tell me you aren’t like the fucking doe-eyed mouthbreathers so far...”

“Sure fuckin’ hope not, man,” Tryce grins, returning the polecat’s light nudge with one of his own. “Haven’t met any other draftees yet but I’m followin’ who I can.. Ain’t a whole lot out there catchin’ my eye though. Might be cause they ain’t fellow streetballers or groundbreakers, but this draft pool needs more raw energy, not just some wide-eyed hopefuls.”

“Fucking amen! You don’t have to wait long ‘till all the ‘hee-hee, tee-hee, let’s be fwendsies, this will be so much fun, won’t it, hee-hee’’...” Sterling growled and flipped off no one in particular to finish his statement, prompting a chuckle from the gelada. “They all stereotype fools, playin the game, nothing unique they all look the same… Metal lyrics, metal is wise… And if it it’s that way, fucking #1 draft pick here I come!”

“No exaggeration there man,” Tryce sighs with a nod of his head. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with makin’ friends and havin’ fun, but this game can get real fuckin’ brutal. Face the wrong opponent with the wrong attitude and you’re gonna wind up on your tail with cracked bones.” Tryce had seen that before, and felt it firsthand on more than one occasion. “But seriously, man? Keep on playin’ the way you’re playin’. FBA’s good but it needs more of that, plain and fuckin’ simple.”

Sterling browsed through his phone, nodding at the primate. “Speak of the fucking devil!”

“Huh?”

The polecat faced his phone to Tryce. It was Tuesday, and noted reporter T.Matt Latrans was shooting question after question, and he seems he had his eye on hopefuls. The current exchange with fellow rookie Misha Maxwell got his attention, making him snicker.

@ TMattLatrans If you could replace one player in the FBA right now, who would you want to take the place of?
@ mishmax44 I honestly don't have a good answer other than Xavier Knutten just to be on the court With Apia and Umaechi
@ TMattLatrans So, you like the Alphas, but not a big Zip-Nut fan? Why the big-haired rookie and the coffee-hound?
@ mishmax44 no it's more that Apia and Rodger remind me of two friends of mine from high school, so I think we'd just gel together well.

Sterling mustered the best valley-girl voice he could. “Yeah, like… I’ll just take away half of the best thing the Alphas got and worked hard to get JUST, like, because they remind me of friendsies!... like...” to turn to his normal growly New York accent. “You is dumb, bitch!”

“S’one attitude to have, I guess,” Tryce remarks as his eyes skim over the texts, though the polecat’s poor attempts at a girly accent does make him snicker. “But I see what ya mean, man. Talkin’ like that in Detroit’ll get ya a mouthful of your own damn teeth.”

“I’m a believer on freedom of personality and being your damn self. I don’t care what you think of the team, just get the shit together on court and live your life. Buck and Ryan won a championship, I played with a stranger right now and it was cool. THAT mentality of scrapping skill for personality and friendship is killin’ the FBA...” The polecat’s phone beeped, seems the coyote on the court got him too after a while.

@ Beastzing They're proving they aren't enclosed and one-track. Also, bein’ under the tutelage of Julio Onca is a fuc...is a dream.
@ TMattLatrans Julio Onca is a controversial figure to admire. Why him?
@ Beastzing He's of the few players who broke the mold. Was 100% him all the way. He's smart, down-to-earth, and a total bastard. Legend.

He noticed Tryce shaking his head at the reply. “What now?”

“Dunno if I can agree with ya on Onca, man,” Tryce remarks with a frown. “I’m down with the whole ‘two sides to every story’ bit, and maybe he had reasons to be pissed but that guy just took it too damn far.” Tryce’s disapproval of the big cat wasn’t even so much based on the injury he’d inflicted on Hopper, but rather the damage that it did to his own career, and that his long-standing penalty had left his team that much weaker as a result. “I just.. I dunno man, if you ain’t gonna try for yourself then try for your damn team. Ain’t no room for recklessness like that if ya ask me.”

“Could’ve done with a lil’ less shit, but Julio Onca is a bigfur with a rough, tough, ferocious game that commanded presence that made everyone piss their pants at plain sight...” Sterling listed. “...He’s my absolute game model and inspiration for my own style. I know how to channel that for an ace game”

“He is pretty damn good,” Tryce concedes with a nod of his head before letting out another sigh. “Guess it was just a fuckin’ waste, seeing him on the bench for so long when he could’ve been showing rookies how the game should be played.” Tryce might not’ve liked Onca, but there was no denying that the big guy had skill, and not much frustrated the gelada more than wasted potential.

“Santa Ana did fucking smart in picking him up. Out of all the teams, the sissies got him and recognized him for efforts, fuck my life...” he groaned. On the other side of the court, he noticed a whitish lizard running across, the gates, stopping by and waving at them frantically: Sterling never saw him in his life. “The fuck is he...?”

“Well look who came fuckin’ crawlin’ back,” Tryce remarks as soon as he spots the lizard, though he can’t help but smile at Gear’s rambunctious waving, and he glances over at the polecat beside him after waving back. “That’s Gear, the guy that bailed on me earlier. One of the best fuckin’ friends I’ve ever had, believe it or not.”

He pointed to where the door on the gates were, walking to the pair. He made quite a wrinkly face once he got a wind of them.

“There you are dude, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Gear calls out as he approaches the pair. “I checked Crif’s, then the hotel, and then Crif’s again ‘cause I know you like to double back. Also, sorry for bailing on you but I saw a friend, but turns out that guy wasn’t my friend anymore and didn’t tell me, and also, who’s that?” The lizard trails off, pointing a clawed finger at the polecat, and Tryce just sighs, more than used to his friend’s tendency to ramble.

“Two places ain’t ‘everywhere’, man,” Tryce huffs, but returns the fistbump that Gear held out towards him. “Next time don’t leave me lookin’ like a slack jawed tourist, even if I am one, and this is... Actually, shit man, I don’t know your name,” Tryce says, facing the polecat with a frown.

“You over with the rambling Mr. and Mrs. Gear?” he snickered. “Tryce, no? Name’s Sterling. Sterling Bengtzing.”

“Yeah man, Tryce Mallark,” Tryce replies, his brow furrowing when Sterling’s name rang a small bell in the back of his mind. Where the hell had he heard that name before? “Hey man, are you-”

“I’m Gear!” Gear interrupts before Tryce can finish, reaching over to shake Sterling’s hand but he draws his hand back as soon as the breeze sent another whiff of the pair towards him. “But yeah, you can call me Gear or Garrett- Actually, don’t call me Garrett, I hate it, which is why people call me Gear. Can I call your Ster? How about Sterry? Ling? Nah, not Ling, sounds too Chinese and you’re not Chinese, not that it’s a problem but-”

“Gear, shut up,” Tryce huffs before the lizard can become even more lost in his thoughts than he already was.

Chain of seemingly ADHD later, it was only when the polecat could respond and retake. “Sterling. Bengtzing. Don’t accept any substitutes.” he grinned. “Shit, he like this or did his mom lactate Red Bull?”

“Y’know, I’m really not sure and I don’t think I wanna know,” Tryce sighs as Gear runs off again while shouting something about spotting an ice cream truck over his shoulder. Tryce smiles with a shake of his head before facing Sterling again and holding a fist out towards him. “But thanks for the game, man - definitely helped me clear my head.”

He returned the first bump back, both walking to where the frantic reptile was. Not long after, the polecat’s body protested. “Shit… so much time playin’ and no food. You two wanna get a bite? Know the best dogs in the apple...” he said as he used the unsuspecting lizard’s head as an elbow rest. Short people are funny.

“Ain’t gonna pass that up, man,” Tryce replies, glancing down at Gear and grinning when he sees the lizard’s disgruntled expression at having the mustelid lean on him. Between himself and Kale constantly using Gear in a similar way, he just tended to accept it now. Besides, Gear was never one to make waves once the promise of food was brought up. “Lead the way, man. Crif’s no?”

“Crif’s? Fuck that, taking ya to the best in NYC. Also gotta check on ‘Grandpa’... Small cart, but fucking... mind-blowing.”

“Ooh, definitely!” Gear chirps, perking up at the familiar name and blinking at the look of betrayal Tryce shoots his way. “What? I didn’t tell you about Grandpa? I mean and I MEAN, the damn best o-”

“QUIET!”

He screamed, in a tone akin to those metal singers people were constantly warned against and what was on his music system Tryce heard earlier in the day, a perfect mimicry. The lizard stood perfectly silent and still a “meep” after. He wasn’t mad at the guy, but he definitely could’ve used the shock. “Where was I...” he said with absolute normality after

“Shit man, ya actually found a way to shut him up,” Tryce remarks after glancing down at Gear again and grinning when he saw that the lizard was still staring at the polecat with a bewildered expression. “Wish I could do that.. But anyway, about this dog cart..”

“Follow me! C’mon boots!” he said to the still bewildered lizard.

Gear faced to the gelada. “The...fuck?!”

“You’ll probably get used to that,” Tryce replies with a shrug as if to say ‘what can you do?’, and he gives the lizard’s shoulder a light nudge with his own before following after the polecat.

It was a hefty walk, but the magic of New York was that even the longest walk seemed to be effortless. They reached their destination, the cart almost hidden in an alley with some plastic chairs and tables scattered along; relatively well kept for a street vendor place, some original art to the logo while keeping the normal stuff for tourist baiting. On the kitchen was a short, old Scottish Terrier, easily on his late 60’s at least, who greeted the polecat with a hefty handshake.

“Sterling lad! How you be? How’s Nandy?”

“All cool, Grandpa. I’ll get the same as always...”

“And the new guys?”

“From Detroit. They think their state beats NYC in food.”

“Not while my peg leg’s still kickin’! I’ll get to it lads!”

The place barely had furs, so their orders came quickly. Sterling checked the looks in their faces when they ate through their order, himself eating his nonchalantly.

It takes a single bite for Tryce to fall in love.

He never thought anything could compete with Crif’s, but Sterling definitely hadn’t been exaggerating about the old Scottie’s cooking. This was the best damn chili dog he’d had in years, and he was sure that it showed on his face.

“Shit man, sorry I doubted ya!” Tryce grins after swallowing his bite of food, and beside him Gear munches on with a look of contentment. “Can’t believe these damn dogs have been up here and I haven’t...”

“Crew eats here after games alla time!” The mustelid took a swig (actually half the can) of soda in front of him. “Guy fought in ‘Nam, had it shitty coming back, left his leg there, dedicated to cooking ever since. Guy was smart enough to take the street fare and killin’ it! He and “Grandma” do everything themselves, buns, sausages, everything! Is just that fucking good! He’s mad, but the government better make a statue of him pronto!” he chuckled.

"If the government won't then I sure as hell will," Tryce replies after he finishes off his chili dog, prompting a chuckle from 'Grandpa' as the elderly fellow turned away to tend to another customer.

“Anyway man… what’s your sitch on the FBA? Got an agent? Fav Teams or players?”

Tryce eyes Gear's remaining bit of food briefly before he faces Sterling, weighting the polecat's questions in his mind. "Still lookin' for an agent," Tryce replies, frowning as he recalls the few unsuccessful searches he'd done throughout the week before coming to New York. "As for the teams, all my faves are in the Pacific Rim Division, especially Alaska, but the Alphas and the Typhoons got a pretty solid line-up for now."

Gear belches beside him, prompting Tryce to wrinkle his nose and give the lizard a light shove.

"What about you, man?" Tryce asks Sterling as he turns his gaze back towards him. "How ‘bout agents and teams? Think ya mentioned somethin' earlier about favorin' the Pride?"

Sterling kicked back and propped his tattered and torn boots on the table; odd sight to his athletic attire. “I got my picks, but the Pride is… marvelous, in more ways that people see. You see dumb little shits, the draftees, going “Oh Newark this that, oh no soooo insecure...” Make me sick. Anyhow, it was the team where my dad came to be. He was lost, in the slums, but they called to rekindle the flame, looked out for him and bang! He helped them to get their first ring. Pride has a special place in my heart, was part of it since I got memory, fuck, the locker rooms were my playpen!”

There, the gelada got reminded of the question he wanted to ask about the surname before Gear interrupted him and made him forget.

"That's where I know your fuckin' name!" Tryce declares, feeling like an idiot for not making such an obvious connection about the polecat's surname earlier, especially considering how unusual said surname was. "Ferdinand's your old man, right? Newark champ?"

Tryce shakes his head with a huff at Sterling's snort of affirmation, still wondering how he'd missed such a thing. But then again Tryce had been told on more than one occasion that once his mind focused in on a one-on-one match he tuned everything and everyone else out. Old habits, he guessed.

“And agent wise still browsing. To be fair not… likin’ the prospectives a whole lot. Blake Toivonen seems kind of selective and even maybe hypocritical, since he’s seems to be ‘over me’ while keeping fucking Wendy Brown, but I like the EFBL past, gotta ask dad to see if I give him a shot. The Trivol cult...” he snickered. “That gives me the legit creeps, it’s like a fucking hive mind of the ‘fwendsies’. There’s even a player who calls him his dad. Who the fuck does that? Big fucking no way sign.”

"S'long as they don't try screwin' me over anything I don't think I'd be that picky when it comes to an agent," Tryce replies, snickering at Sterling's commentary about some of the agents. "But if your old man wants to put in a good word for any of 'em then shit man, feel free to throw that word my way too."

“Anythin’ for you to not end under ‘dad’...” he shivered in creeps mockingly.

The agama frowned, speaking over a mouthful of half-eaten chili dog. “I hate it when you get sporty...”

“I’m tryin’ to become a professional athlete,” Tryce reminds Gear with a sigh. “If it goes well then bein’ even more ‘sporty’ is probably gonna be part of that package deal.”

“Guess that’s true,” Gear replies after finally swallowing his mouthful of food. “Still you don’t need to get too sporty, like those guys who never shut up about sports, and their sportiness, and the teams full of sporty sports, kinda like how Kale is, except his is all working out and not sports, but he could probably be good at sports if he tried. I wonder what kind of sports Kale would play.. Y’think he’d take a personal offense to a pigskin football? Which reminds me, is it legit pigskin or just a fancy word for some fancy sport leather? Also why am I talking about football now?”

“Shut up and eat your stuff...” Sterling snorted.

“You’ll get one or the other from him man, he won’t do both,” Tryce replies, taking a sip of his soda.

“But yeah, there is... a shitton of lame this draft, between doe-eyed fuckers and entitled rich bitches, and it won’t seem to get better anytime soon...”

“It is what it is, you can’t do much...” The primate huffed.

Sterling looked back at Tryce “We better keep the damn tally. The cool guys gotta stick together and we’ll fucking prevail. Show everyone’s who are really cut out for FBA and who are better off at the kindergarten. What ya say?”

He scoffed. “Well yah man, I mean… it’s better off that way. Prove you need soul to get in the big leagues, yanno what I’m sayin’?”

Sterling raised his drink ”We got ourselves a fucking deal. The Ace crew now has two guys...” he snickered. The mustelid gulped up the rest of his soda and crushed the can in his paw before standing up. “Guess is good time for us to scram back to yer place?”

Tryce brushing his hands off on his jeans before nodding back at Sterling. “Sounds like a plan.” They thanked the Terrier on their way out.

It was a fairly long walk, but all alleviated by the small talk those three were in. For the mustelid, it meant that at least one out of the other ninety-nine competitors was going to be at least tolerable and at most, cool. Maybe even bash bros to dominate the draft.

“...I mean, if Misha actually has big ass tits and I joke to that, why the fuck no one resonates with me, like my crew in here? Aren’t we all men? The fuck everyone’s so PC?” Sterling groaned. The reptile pointed at his hotel at the close horizon. “It’s either “I suck dick”, “I play for the Lord” or “I suck dick for the Lord”... Shit, where are the men?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine, man,” Tryce replies with a shrug, letting Gear take the lead back since he’d had no idea which way the hotel actually was. “Shoutin’ shit like that on my street either ya a stare or smile. Nobody needed to made a big damn deal out of it ro banned that shit.”

“Maybe they’re just not used to city life,” Gear chirps over his shoulder before spinning around to face the pair behind him while walking backwards. “Even I’ve gotten a few calls like that. I find it pretty damn flattering.” Both staring at the agama. “What? It’s not like they aren’t...”

“City, country, everyone likes tits... ” After a while, the group managed to reach the hotel. Well, after Gear spotted an impersonator and another ice cream seller later, they did. “Pretty fuckin’ swanky hotel, no? You stayin’ longer or you leavin’?”

“We’ll be stickin’ around for a couple more days,” Tryce replies before nodding his head in Gear’s direction. “He’s still got some business to take care of, if you can call whatever the hell he does here ‘business’.”

“It’s is business, legitimate business. Technically it’s my uncle’s business but my uncle’s not here, so I guess it sort of is my business. But it’s not for me, it’s for my uncle, so technically, it’s both of our business but more his than mine, but since I’m the one doing it that might make it more mine that hi-”

Without previous warning, the polecat grabbed Gear into a headlock and started nooging him, the jerk reaction making the reptile flash the red frills his species is known for. “You ADHD fucker. Promise you’ll behave so you don’t get your ass in trouble in this town and I have to bail ya out?” he snarked, rubbing his fist on the trapped agama’s head.

“Yesh, yesh, I promish!” Gear shouts back at him, struggling to try and break free from the polecat’s hold, and he gets nothing but a grin in reply after shooting Tryce a ‘Help me!’ look.

“Should I, Tryce? I’m havin’ a blast...” he grinned, his tone mockingly menacing, the 5’ 10” reptile struggling to get out of the 6’ 9” polecat’s grip.

“In a minute, man - I’m enjoyin’ the show and the silence,” Tryce replied, still grinning as he watches Gear continue to struggle in Sterling’s grip. “Wish I’d known years ago that that’s all it’d take to shut that weird mouth of his.”

“Asholes,” Gear grumbles, huffing as he tugs at Sterling’s arm again. “Big bashtards, alwayhs gangin’ up on me...”

It was only when Gear tugged on Sterling’s tail that he decided to set him free, running straight to Tryce after the ‘fun’ was had. He was still rubbing his face in response.

“Anythin’ goes or ya need to not look like a tourist, just shoot a call, aight?” he fistbumped with Tryce. He got to Gear and raised his arm in what seemed to be another headlock, making him cringe a bit. Sterling snickered and fistbumped the agama too.

“Guess you’re not too bad for a weasel with B.O...” Gear mumbles, licking the edge of his mouth once his frills has receded once more and stepping away before the polecat could make another grab at him. “I’ll meet you inside Tryce - gotta call my uncle and tell him his business is taken care of. Or my business. Our business. The business. Would it count as our business even though you weren’t with me? I mean, you were here with me in the city but not on my errands so I don’t think that’d make you an accomplice. Or partner. Is partner a better word?”

“Gear, go inside and hush,” Tryce huffs over his shoulder before facing Sterling again with a nod of his head. “Thanks for the game and the dogs, man. Sure as hell beat wanderin’ around in a strange city any day.”

“Pleasure’s yours to meet the #1 draft pick of 2015” he grinned at Tryce.

“That’s my fucking line!” Tryce replies after a short bark of laughter, though honestly after their game Tryce could easily see Sterling making the Top Ten of the draft. “But I do look forward to seein’ ya at the draft all the same.” They both parted ways.

So it seems there’s at least ONE guy who’s got his shit together in this draft.