After the splodey, and after Bo's courtesy call detailing Main's survival of government issued firworks, Dylan prepared for an immediate drive to the safehouse. Crucial items were collected on his way out the door. A handgun went into the left pocket of his pajama pants, the seasonable ones with the cartoon reindeer pattern. Car keys, laptop, shoes, capri sun.
The lack of parking traffic didn't necessarily mean that he was one of the first ones to arrive, but the safehouse was quiet when he went inside. After looking around the layout for a bit, he moved into the conference room. The gun made his pajamas hang crooked like a dead giveaway, but his hands were full of laptop and juicebox so if it came down to an unexpected shootout, he was rather fucked anyway.
He didn't recognize the other man in the conference room, but Dylan smiled anyway with a warm, "Hey." As if a whole bunch of shit hadn't just gone up in flames. Taking a seat at the table, the laptop went under his chair so that he could focus on stabbing a feeble excuse for a straw into his strawberry kiwi explosion. Examining the title and the label(with its rather inoppurtune choice of words), Dylan sighed.