There's thudding footsteps of someone sprinting up the stairs, then Cyril slides into view of the doorway. He lets out a half-mad cackle as he saunters in. ... That's a person he's been lugging no telling HOW long over his shoulder.

He sets the person down gently in a chair, shit eating grin on his face. If there's another chair, he sits in it and kicks his feet up onto whatever's handy, but not the top of the desk. If there is not, he leans against the wall.

"Oy, Haita! Thought 'bout crashin' through yer window on my bike, but I'm pretty sure I'd 'afta pay fer 'property damage' an' yer 'ole lil' police academy'd be on alert an' I dun feel like makin' nerd piles today. Thought I'd speed this shit up, 'ere's yer Spookymasu."