Around Konpeitō was a small room rented out for privacy. Probably for people who wanted to get drunk and fuck, considering the space. He had no interest in doing a business deal in some rickety, disgusting little bar in the corner or some loud club. He was better than that. His alter ego was better than that. And he had money to spare for comfort. Until his possible employer arrived and messaged "Takumi" that they were here, he forced himself to relax. One hand holding a glass of unicorn blood with a straw to slip under his wooden mask while the other arm was spread across the top of the couch.
This was stupid. There were a million and one reasons for him to not do this. He didn't get in trouble for the crimes of his dad, the pardon wouldn't work for him if he got caught now, if he did get caught his reputation was ruined, and he was overworked. All he wanted was to figure out the right... the right thing for him. So why not go back to what he knew best? To what he was trained for. More or less. Even if his dad didn't realize it.
On the upside, wearing the skin of a pink fish-man would give him the chance to try again if he messed up. It was a relatively simple form. Brown hair, young adult features under the mask, a slim, scaled tail coming from his pants. Most of his skin was hidden under his jacket (with "HI" on the front in white Comic Sans), gloves, skinny jeans, and combat boots. All black. It was uncomfortable at first with the weather, but he had since adapted to it.