It was late, although, definitely not later than any usual evening for Leon. Granted, this evening, the hunter had been officially on duty as a deputy. Unfortunately, part of that role was cleaning up other people's messes, such as animals that had clearly been hit by a passing driver and they had simply carried on driving. He had come across a young mountain lion at the side of the road, seemingly have been clipped by a car, but it was enough to down him. Leon knew he could probably just... Put it out of its misery, however, he couldn't just leave it lying around because that would attract other wildlife, which could create more of a mess.

Without thinking, he'd pulled over, got out, tugging his jacket from the passenger seat before cautiously trying to pick it up. It was clearly still out of it – mountain lions being notoriously wild, although, seemingly comfortable with civilisation being right on their doorstep. He carried it back to his truck, tucking it onto the seat behind the front passenger seat before getting back into the truck. He had to take it to the vet, put it out of its misery. He spun the car around, heading back to town and straight to where he wanted to be.

Of course, it was late, meaning there was next to no one at the vets, more there for emergencies, but they were more than a little taken aback by the site of a mountain lion wrapped up in a steadily-getting-soaked-in-blood deputy jacket. He smiled apologetically to the attendant who had him bring the animal into one of the consultation rooms, setting it down, carefully removing the jacket. He couldn't just let the poor thing suffer, but he knew he wouldn't have been able to get away with dealing with it himself. He was ushered back out of the room so they could do what they needed to do, giving Leon the best segway to get back to the station.

Getting back there, the hunter headed straight to the nearest bathroom, having noticed the blood had seeped into a lot of the front of his uniform, noting that the front desk was empty as he passed, which wasn't unusual given the time of day. He quickly untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off to have a proper look at the damage done by the blood. This was exactly why he mostly wore black when he was hunting. Blood was notoriously difficult to get out of fabric, although, he had discovered that there were worse things to try and get out.

He heard someone coming towards the bathroom and had a sudden surge of panic when he realised he was standing over a sink, still partially covered in blood himself, with a shirt and jacket that were soaked in the stuff. "It's not what it looks like..." he said quickly before he'd even fully turned around to see who had walked in, dropping his shirt and jacket in the sink behind him as he moved. What was that supposed to mean? It's not what it looks like? Why did he automatically assume his current state looked incriminating when a) he was in the sheriff's department building, and b) there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for said state?