All bubbling conversation died immediately as he entered the Glen. Looking at him, it wasn't hard to understand why: bloody, tattered robes hung from his body, a frame gaunter than the last time he'd frequented the restaurant. A blade was in his hand not sheathed, but naked and gleaming in the light. The pristine floor was marred by a couple drips of blood that fell from him. The patrons of the Glen shrunk back from him, frightened and dismayed.
"Hana?" L asked.
A man with shaggy silver hair at the front counter looked up absently. "She's in the back, what can I-" He did a double-take, his eyes instantly going from kind to feral. "No!" he shouted, one hand slamming down to the counter with a bang. The other jabbed the air as he pointed at L. "You can't just come in here with your blade out and all bloody like you're looking for a fight," he growled, vaulting over the cou