The conversation at lunch had, to some extent, worn him down. Either because of the topic, or it prevented him from consuming necessary nutrients. Thank God for the Sun Room alternative – he didn't fancy the idea of scraping up plants, especially in that heat a Greenhouse usually synchronised with flora growth. He put forth demands to his nurse about wanting a friggin' shower, but she seemed to believe the schedule was tight and wouldn't allow it.

So, no holds barred, he went and spilled the leftover contents of his tray (which was essentially a whole lunch's worth) over his uniform, sprinkling some rice on his hair for effect. The employee suspected this was premeditated, even at a distance (made fairly obvious by the mocking grin on his face as he exclaimed "oops!"), and steered him begrudgingly to the shower room for a ten-second wash.

Pleased by his exploit of the day, the hunter now appeared to be in a brighter mood. His damp hair was in a disheveled state, as though a towel had more or less attacked it. Dean cast a glance about the room (still hadn't found the woman with dark hair...) and occupied a seat. He was sort of planning to nap this shift away. Wait and see in case a familiar face arrived.