Police Report #3A-12609

Front desk duty was the lesser of two evils. Dealing with reports as they came in at least gave the option to do something that wasn't paperwork, while actually being at his actual desk meant he was going to be in paperwork hell until he died.

He didn't often work the desk. Normally there was some kind of secretary who screened people out. Only on slow days, and when the secretary needed a break, someone had to man the desk.

It had been really slow that day. He supposed it was probably a side effect of the weather. Lots of people were enjoying the last bit of sun before the first snow hit, and there would probably be a mad rush when the sun went down, but for the moment it was just boring. He wasn't even going to be here during the mad rush - he was off in twenty minutes, and if no one came in during that time, it'd be great.

No such luck, because the moment he thought it, someone appeared through the door. A kid, probably in college, and, by the looks of him, right off the beach. His eyes lazily followed the kid to the bathroom door, and when he popped out with a wetsuit slung over one arm (probably dripping onto the floor, although not as much as one might expect), Angelo leaned back in his chair, watching him approach.

Quick and easy, at least, and he swivelled on the chair, pushing himself out of the little 'window' before pushing himself right back, this time holding a form, which he slid over to the kid.

"Fill that out. Bike return isn't normally a high priority for police because it's not like we can stop random bikes to check their numbers, but we get a lot of people who help themselves to bikes, not realizing they're property, and get confused when they try and return them." Unfortunate side effect of living on such a varied island. You couldn't really expect a literal alien to have the same sense of property that an earthling (let alone an American) would have.

"Important parts are name, your phone number, and description of the bike. If you've got serial numbers, that's ideal, and if not, a picture is second best." Written descriptions were really, really iffy.

The police station thankfully had a cleaning service. It made sense - people often came in literally dripping blood or throwing up from drugs or god knew what, so you needed cleaners who knew what the heck they were doing. Water was easy, and he shook his head, leaning out of sight as he grabbed a phone off the wall.

"Hey, could I get someone in the lobby? ... Yeah, it's just water, no blood or anything. Just don't want anyone to slip." He commented, before making a noise of acknowledgement and hanging up.

"Don't worry about it, mops going to make do of it way faster." He paused for a moment to consider, leaning forward slightly to peek behind Simon, but there was no one else there - just the two of them.

"Sure. I'll grab you a bag, just stand by the door a bit." There was a mat by the door that would take care of most of the water, and without waiting for a response, Angelo got up, leaving the window vacant.

He wasn't gone more than five minutes when he abruptly popped out of the side door into the lobby, carrying a black trash bag, still folded and fresh. "Should fit the wet suit, if not, I can grab another one."

He really didn't mind the 'dude', and he kept right on smiling, unphased. People could call him whatever the hell they wanted - didn't really matter to him. Plus, it helped he was from America, and had a general idea of what kind of person the kid was. Surfer. If he had to bet, probably California, but he supposed that a place like Hawaii was possible as well. "Don't worry about it."

He considered the thing more or less over - until the kid seemed to sway a bit. Angelo actually held out his hand as if he was going to grab his shoulder to keep him upright, but he hesitated, and it seemed to mostly pass. His breathing was funny, and his hands seemed to be trembling, and Angelo wouldn't have had anything positive to say about how the kid was feeling if he had to guess.

He reached his arm out, guiding him over towards the plastic chairs waiting people normally sat on, not quite touching him. "Grab a seat, I'll grab you a water bottle. You're looking a bit woozy - you doing alright?" He'd meant to ask and confirm if he was American, but his health was absolutely first priority.

Angelo was no therapist, but if he had to guess he'd have said panic attack. The shaking, the breathing... okay, the heat was a bit unexpected, because he could practically see it, even if he wasn't touching him, but Manta Carlos was pretty weird to begin with. He stayed hovering over the kid, watching him slowly relax, bit by bit. Was he supposed to ask if it was a panic attack? Probably not. Probably it was better to just let him relax, and he did his best to wait until he looked mostly okay.

"You probably want to get home, right? I'm off in a few minutes - I'll just ask if I can take off now, and I'll walk you back home to make sure you get back alright, okay?" It seemed like the best plan to him. He doubted anyone would object, considering how slow it was, and he was worried about the guy keeling over, especially since he was going to have to walk and not bike back.

"Well, technically speaking I'll be getting off early to walk you - but it's really not a big deal. I can handle a walk." Really, unless the guy lived on the remotest regions of the islands on the far side of the school, it wasn't going to be an issue. "You live in the school, or closer to the residential side of the city?" Even if technically people lived all over the island, he'd guess a good forty percent lived at the school or directly around it, and another forty lived closer to downtown. He was in the group that was close to downtown, but it was an easy walk from the transit station at the school to the dorms and apartments in the area if he lived over there.

"Just sit tight for a moment, alright?" He didn't want him getting up and falling over, and he glanced back to make sure he was still seated as he ducked into the back.

It wasn't more than a minute or two when someone else appeared in the window, and Angelo emerged from the back, carrying a messenger bag and wearing a loose grey t-shirt and a windbreaker. He was still wearing his uniform's pants, but they looked generic enough that he didn't scream cop or anything.

"Alright, what part of the island do you live on, anyway?"