sliceitwithwind

Dilan blows into the precinct like a luggage-carrying fiend, heading for Aya's desk with a harried expression and a Cat-carrier.

"Aya? Babe, I hate to do this to you, but I've got to go to Japan and can you take care of Cat? Thanks."

When Dilan knocks on Aya's door to pick her up he's dressed up. Which, in his case, means geta and tabi, silk hakama, and dress kimono. He looks good but very. Very not. Er.

He looks very good. He's got a small box under one arm, and waits for her to open the door.

The bar brawl was magnificent. It spread from the original bar (Dilan isn't sure which one that was) to three or four others, going in and out of them into something not quite a riot but not exactly not. Dilan got involved in the second bar on the trip, but managed to hold his own until the cops got there.

And he very politely sat down with his hands behind his head waiting for them to get around to him. Someone with that much facial metal (eyebrow, lip, nose), that hair, and that size tends to ping the combatant radar of everyone. Ever.