[Comprehensive British and American] Gotham Nightingale

"Free? Free is the most expensive!"

Until he drank the glass of dark beer stiffly, walked out of the alley, and returned to the police car...

Nor did Andrew White have the opportunity to see what Shelley's master looked like.

Probably out of preferential treatment for their police uniforms, the waiter at the Nighting bar did not accept the credit card that Andrew handed over.

"This is what our Boss invited you to." He said with a smile.

Old Hart didn't start cursing until he sat back in the co-pilot: "The free one is the most expensive!"

He emphasized it again and again.

"We're lucky this time—no, it's your lucky kid—I haven't been lucky since I met you!"

In order to calm his frightened emotions, the old inspector kicked his young partner into the driver's seat and drove.

The latter was surprisingly silent, his brows were tightly furrowed, and he seemed to be still immersed in the weird emotions brought by the bartender just now.

"Don't talk about that one, you just can't even be their bartender."

"I swear that I will apply for transfer of team members when I return to the police station, so bye bye boy!"

Take a hard bite of a leftover burrito that's been warming up from the engine.

"Am I your guide? I think it's almost as good as you guide me!"

"Humph!"

Andrew didn't care at all: "Hart, Director Gordon won't approve your note for this kind of reason..."

Before Old Hart could glance over, the blond inspector quickly changed the subject: "So, Nightingale is that... lady?... Who is she?"

"I mean... she's not that famous?"

……

In Gotham, the word "famous" is very interesting.

Either it is rich and powerful enough to make headlines every three days, such as the top rich second generation + playboy, Bruce Wayne.

Either it is crazy enough to be scary enough, and once it hits the headlines, it must be a criminal of some kind of terrorist attack, such as Poison Ivy and Mr. Freeze, or someone who shrouded Gotham like a shadow... unspeakable madman.

But nightingale?

He hadn't even heard the name before today.

It sounds petite and delicate, just like the bird that only sings at night, standing lightly and delicately on the branch, with the full moon behind it.

Such a hidden code name is neither dangerous nor eye-catching. It hides in the night of Gotham, leaving only occasional glimpses, like a faint fragrance in the air.

There is a strange sense of fit with the black-haired lady who raises snow wolves.

...although she doesn't look fragile or petite.

……

"It's just not famous among ordinary people..."

It was rare for Old Hart not to swear. He stroked his chin stubble, as if racking his brains to come up with adjectives.

"That's right, you kid has only been in Gotham for a few days—maybe one day you'll be transferred and resign and quit. Surely no one would think of talking to you about this."

Andrew did not refute with words, he felt that actions were more useful than words.

The young inspector stopped the car, turned his head, and with an expression of "you are a senior, you can teach me", quietly waited for the guide's explanation.

This obviously greatly satisfied the vanity of old Hart as an old fritter.

"Well, let's put it this way."

"When you've had enough experience in GCPD, you'll know..."

Old Hart taught him.

"In addition to avoiding famous lunatics, knowing Gotham's intelligence chiefs and building a good relationship with them will make you live longer."

"Tsk, these are the contacts of the old inspector. You young people, tsk, you need to accumulate more."

Andrew: "...Then have you hooked up with Nightingale?"

Old Hart: "..."

I was about to be pissed to death by the young man who had no eyesight.

Old Hart: "Eat your chicken taco!"

The young man who hadn't seen it was reluctant, and his expression was suddenly condescending, with "I" written on his left face, "No" written on his forehead, and "Letter" written on his right face, which was unusually flat:

"Hart, according to what you say, isn't Nightingale also an intelligence dealer? Why don't you make money if you have money? Intelligence dealers also do police business, right?"

"Huh? Is that an ordinary intelligence dealer! Can he take a fancy to you?" Old Hart was furious, "You can try to find another intelligence dealer in Gotham who even has a reward list for his subordinates?"

Andrew withdrew his awkward expression, and answered the conversation very smoothly: "Oh, so how much is the reward for that bartender?"

Old Hart subconsciously: "Blood Ryan? His suspension..."

Suddenly choked.

"...You kid tricked me!"

"Fuck!!!!"

……

"Lane~Lane~Dear Ryan~"

Sitting in the shadowy bar, Nightingale teased Shelley with a cherry, while reciting the name of his bartender in an aria-like tone.

"You look excited to be hunting Red October tonight?"

(*The hero of the movie "The Hunt for Red October" is named Ryan)

The bartender dragging a goblet with his long fingers—Lian Sia, known as "Blood Race"—bent down and handed the carefully prepared cocktail to her.

His movements were slow and elegant, but his strange-colored eyes, which were facing away from the crowd of drinkers, did not conceal his madness.

"That brash porcupine doesn't fit your metaphor, Boss."

Thinking of the idiot who smashed the wine glass just now, he gave a disgusted "tsk".

"It seems that I guessed wrong..." Nightingale took the glass of bright red "Metropolis" cocktail, smiled lowly, "Then, is that blond little wolfhound?"

Ryan immediately laughed too.

"A little green...but his blood smells good."

The tip of his tongue licked his lips, revealing some sharp, white canine teeth—really like a vampire in a novel or movie.

Shelley, who nestled on her master's lap and raised her neck to drink, had her ears trembling, feeling somewhat of a canine sense of crisis. She always felt that there was another little bitch trying to compete with it, and her throat let out a low, threatening moan.

Ryan: "...how many times have I said, I won't compete with you for food, good dog."

Hearing this familiar conversation, Nightingale curled up in the velvet sofa, trembling with laughter.

The light and shadow illuminated her delicate face extraordinarily deep.

They slid down from her thick long eyebrows and eyelashes, were divided into fine points of light, and all fell into those cobalt blue, surprisingly clear eyes.

True beauty is always special and difficult to replicate.

what is special

There are many innocent beauties, and there are also many sexy beauties.

But when those two qualities come together and collide in one person...

"Oh!"

Top beauty.

Seeing the smile of the person in front of him, Ryan changed his voice and went to hold her hand: "Compared to the blood that can be seen everywhere, the nightingale's voice is more worthy of the night's wine."

His eyebrows are deep and his affection is sincere.

Being stared at with such seriousness and expression by those different-colored pupils, no matter how reserved people are, they will be tempted.

The corners of Nightingale's lips were curled up, with a half-smile: "I'm so glad you think so, my dear—please recall carefully whether it was Eddie or Alan who was in your bed last night and said this to me again. "

"TaDa! Wrong guess! Neither, his name is Baird."

The affection on Ryan's face was wiped away, and he laughed.

"Boss, do you really not consider finding a male companion?"

"——If you like it, I will send the little golden retriever to your bed tonight."

Nightingale shook her index finger at him, pouted and uttered a doggy onomatopoeia: "Every year, countless little golden retrievers come to Gotham..."

Then it turned into one after another in this muddy land, and the shadows of their faces could not be discerned.

Needless to say the complete words, anyone who can understand understands.

Before Ryan turned and left, Nightingale called him: "Lion, you look a little excited today, has the previous wound healed?"

The bartender blinked: "...indeed."

He handed her his hand kindly.

Women's nails are trimmed and polished round and smooth, but they are as sharp as knives when piercing the skin of a wristwatch.

"c...a...l...m...(Calm down)"

The new cursive words covered the new flesh that had grown pink in the original position, and fine blood beads overflowed.

Ryan, however, seemed to feel no pain at all, with rare relief and comfort on his face, and the deliberately slow movements and occasional nervous tremors also disappeared.

He tilted his head, licking the blood from the wound with the tip of his tongue, the corners of his lips were bright red, exuding beauty and beauty.

"Looks like tonight is a gentle night, Boss."

"Lucky little golden retriever."

……

Standing in front of the Wayne Building building, Andrew White shuddered violently.

"You're a little weak, young man." Old Hart walked over slowly and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Cheer up, every time Wayne holds a banquet is a police station's dream and nightmare, please pray that nothing will happen tonight!"

"If they didn't give you a lot of money, I wouldn't come to join in the fun."

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A dragonfly makes a groundhog call

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Thanks to the little angels who irrigate the nutrient solution: 5 bottles of selfish and selfish Su, 1 bottle of Wen Doulian, 1 bottle of Wumeng Yu Sansheng, and 1 bottle of Jiguang Pianyu