Go get the prospect, he said. It'll be easy, he said. Yeah right. Aboa was a liar. Okay, Amari didn't really think the Catz's president was a liar, but the long trip out to get the prospect from the police station three counties away was a wrench in the lion shifter's Friday night plans. The drive itself wasn't the worst thing, but the lack of good food in these parts was grating on his nerves. Granger had the best pho, the most divine fufu, and amazing Birria. Here though? He could only see Mcwhatevers and bbq places lining up the blocks. How in the world the silly little prospect ended up all the way out here was beyond Amari, but who was he to question the elder Lion?

Finally, after ages, he pulls up to the station with a quick turn of the wheel. The officers, a mix of humans and shifters, glance at the imposing man striding so casually into the Police station. Over in the corner, Amari noticed the holding cell, the prospect sat in it, waiting to be picked up. By him, of course.

It was almost surreal, in a way. As a kid, Amari could recall wanting to be in law enforcement. He'd initially wanted to be a firefighter, honestly, but police officer was a close second. That had obviously changed though, because he here was, a 6'6 wall of muscle and spite. Well, muscle, the spite was a stretch. While the Man may look a bit intimidating, he wasn't so bad. Not like some of the other bikers anyway.

Narrowing his warm, deep oaken eyes, he adjusted the stiff leather of his jackets and leaned over on the front desk of the station. "Here to pick up the uh, one with the speeding ticket." His words were a low murmur, only saying what was needed. He'd leave the talking to Aboagye. And Aboagye would leave the grunt work to him.