The scruff of his neck still smarted from the fogey's iron grip, but Griblo was already twisting to get a look at his captor. His boots scrabbled on the cobblestones as he craned his neck up at the lizardess with a grimace that tried for innocent, but landed somewhere between "caught mid-theft" and "desperately making it up as he went."
“Oi oi oi, hold yer scales now!” he blurted, tail flicking madly behind him. “This ain’t what it looks like! I wasn’t robbin’ the lad...I know 'im!”
He jabbed a paw vaguely in Huckle’s direction, though it came off more like a twitch than a point.
“We’ve got... an arrangement, see? Special privileges!” he nodded, sweat breaking under his grimy brow. “Fruit privileges! I come by late, I grab a few off the top, he don't mind! Ask ‘im yerself, he’ll vouch for me, I swear it!”
Then he swung his glare toward Swifttail and curled his lip.
“But this ruddy iceblood pops up outta nowhere like some wannabe hero, blocks the path, an’ jumps me like I’m the villain! I wasn’t expectin’ a snivellin’ silver weasel to tackle me on a fruit run, was I?”
He tried to shift his weight like he could wriggle free mid-sentence. It failed miserably.
“Look, let’s just chalk this up to a misunderstanding, yeah? I’ll pay fer the squashed ones, honest. Ain’t no need for cuffs... gates, yer clutchin’ me like I strangled a noble!”
He looked between Callix, Swifttail, and Huckle with a mix of imploring charm and twitchy desperation.
