"Oooooh the traitor returns!" It's a greeting bellowed from the very back desk of Station Alpha, Duck's familiar dust-covered cowboy boots kicked up on the top of it and his hat pulled down over his face. It's almost impressive, the fact he seems to have identified Trick by little more than a sliver of a ranger uniform from beneath his hat, lifting it up and sitting it back in place a moment later, flicking the front up. "Rust's doing a sweep if you're here to annoy him about something work related. They keeping you in line down at South Station or are they letting you run riot undoin' all my hard work?" It's sarcastic, playful as it always is. Duck seems to be the only one in right now, the actual rangers likely out making their morning and afternoon sweeps of the forest or hunting on their own- the game warden often left to sit around by himself.
"It's gonna be so much colder soon! And you're a migratory bird- so it's bad luck you-" Rusty's voice chimes behind Tricky in the doorway of the ranger station, the man absently conversing with a bird tucked into his jacket, peeping softly, snuggled against the biting wind. "Oh- Hey Trick- what brings you up? Business 'er pleasure?"
"Boy you ain't had a pleasure call since ya grew into yer beergut." Duck snorts, watching as Rusty throws a pencil at his head- only to wiff, and miss by a mile. "Missed." He mocks, drumming his hands on his desk in front of him. "Mockin' you boys aside, what brings you in, ain't it your day off, soldier?"
@backmaskcd
