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The swordsman observed her confident attitude, a coy smile still resting on his face. The woman seems experienced in drinking strong liquor, and the fact that she's moving the topic towards this reveals much of her intentions. What it was exactly, however, remains to be seen.
He finished his cocktail, swinging down the rest of its content into his mouth. The cup was then placed back on the table with a light tap, the swordsman moistening his lips to savor a bit more of that fruity flavor.
"Does it matter? If I'm enjoying it, then that's all I need as a reason, no?"

He paused a bit, waving the waiter over once more before spreading his hand open, signalling the waiter to bring five bottles of said liquor.

"But that would be rude of me, won't it?" He continued on, returning his focus back to the woman as the waiter then came back to first clear the table of the plates and the drinks --
-- before placing the five bottles down on one side of the table, along with two cups for them to use later on.

"Here." The swordsman reached for the bottle closest to him, popping it open and pouring the content down into both cups. Returning it to place, he then clenched his hand into a fist, positioning it over one of the cups before slackening it, an ice cube materializing within his palm and dropping into the drink with a light ringing tune.
He repeated the process for the other cup as well.

"I'm sure you won't deny a man his drinking partner, yes?" He then queried, his hand moving down to grab one of the drinks and swirl the cup around lazily, letting it cool down to make it more...refreshing when he drinks it.

GTB Hotel, Yasuo's Suite

A man of good taste knows when it is time to rest, and when it is time to train. With the way his hand had been treated down in the infirmary, he could do handstands and backflips on its for all he cared now. Instead, Yasuo took the time to finally lay back and relax for the first time in nearly two years. He had popped open a soda, as to cleanse him from the small drinking habit he had developed. He had also ordered some nice lobster tail and the most expensive bottle of non-alcoholic bubbly something or other - blowing his HoH money like it didn't mean a thing to him.

But then, just as he was about to take his first bite into the meat of the tail...

RING RING!
RING RING!
RING RING!

...the room's phone went off.

"-sigh- Dammit."

Yasuo answered the phone, "Hello?"
A messenger relayed the information.
"What... I- are you serious? Really?! Oh man! That's amazing! Thank you!"
Just before Yasuo was about to hang up with that grinning idiots smile, he was also relayed his opponents information and arena setting. The excitement dulled and was replaced with a slight bit of disappointment. He STILL wasn't going to be able to have his lobster tail.

With a sigh, the phone was hung up and the shinobi was getting ready for a fight once again. He changed into his Stone Gray attire, grabbed his sword, kunai and shuriken this time, and left behind his gourd. This fight had already given him all of the ammunition in the world...

"Your hand in marriage.." Edward chuckled, bobbing his head to the rhythm of his laughter. He placed his glass of Guinness on the bar after gulping down more than half of it's contents. The cyborg wasn't drunk yet, but the possibility wasn't too far off. He was on his fourth pint. Something would have to give eventually. He shook his head and let the cat out of the bag. "Truthfully, I'm here in the capacity as a recruiter. Normally, I wouldn't ask people that have tried to kill me, but it looks like I've got no choice. That and I'm definitely not the most popular guy in Du'rem either. Can't really go 'round recruiting. I'm getting together a little crew. Myself and a few others at most. So, how about it, boss? You in?"

For some reason, Rhoslyn was around the bar, sitting in a way that seemed to strongly indicate that he was looking for shady figures to whisper things to of an illegal nature. Maybe it was the corner table in the shadows, or his feet kicked up on the table, or the device that looked more or less like a tape recorder next to a gun without the safety engaged, but whatever it was, it seemed the fey had business with anyone who enjoyed nothing more than breaking laws.

Faustina threw the doors open to the lobby of the hotel, soaking wet, the smell of the ocean emanating from her entire body. Her face was flustered, her face frozen somewhere between panic, distress, and utter helplessness. She didn't stop once she entered the lobby--instead, she kept running and running, intent on her target.

The Masked was following close behind, The Red drawn and slithering dangerously about the two of them as a warning to any who might try to impede their retreat. They had been more or less left alone between here and the sunny shore housing the Round 2 fights, but The Masked never discounted the possibility that someone would burst out to stop them at any moment, if only to see why they were running (or why, for that matter, The Red was drawn in the first place). Her black-gloved right hand clutched the hilt of the crimson, contorting was-katana, her ruby eyes gleaming wildly through her elegant black masque, her body-tight clothes and sheathed black katana dripping with the same saltwater as The Little Master. Her eyes flickered to note The Little Master's trajectory, and then ahead of them, and she answered before the question was ever asked, "The Stairs, Little Master!"

Faustina nodded, swallowed, and continued running, heading for the door to the stairs. Assuming no one tried to stop the pair, she threw the door open and didn't even stop there, not risking the time it took to hesitate at just how many flights the two had to scale.

Thankfully, The crafty Masked was close behind, The Red already prepared. Slipping in after The Little Master, The Masked lifted her right hand even as her left arm threw out to wrap around the young woman that was The Master's daughter, a grin set sturdily on her face. "The Masked has this!" she declared.

Faustina had time only to furrow her brow before she suddenly found the two of them shooting high up through the air, clear through the middle of the stairs that circled around them along the edges of the walls. It was all she could do to cling to Daria in sheer terror at the sudden ascension, though she was admittedly thankful for the bizarre qualities of her other-worldly blade.

Only a few brief moments later, The Red released the stair rail it had clutched, dropping its cargo off safely on the proper floor and leaving The Masked and The Little Master to burst through the door and into the hall. The Masked looked quickly left and right, confirming that it was empty, and then waved The Little Master on, ordering urgently, "Go on, Little Master! The Masked will guard the hall and alert The Bodyguard while The Little Master packs her belongings!"

Faustina obeyed, hurrying past Daria and down the hall towards their rooms, but along the way couldn't help but ask, "We're leaving?! What about Dad???"

The Masked's voice was somewhat crestfallen as she answered, hastily following her, "The Masked is sorry, but The Masked must return The Little Master to The Safe Place..."

The young girl paused in alarm at the door to their rooms, her throat choking at the news, knowing full well what Daria meant by "The Safe Place"--after all, it was seeming more and more that there was really only one place left for her that was really safe anymore. Still, she remained silent, biting her tongue as she pushed through the door and set to work preparing for their escape.

arrow Krausse's hotel room

Plates were stacked on top of plates that were stacked on top of platters, covered in crumbs and grease and all manner of toppings that had escaped Krausse's merciless maw as he had struck the food like a ravenous lion and consumed everything his hands found grip upon. Hotel staff came and went for nearly an hour, bringing food as Krausse yelled 'more!' during the rare gasps of breath he took between consuming enough food to several families. Some found themselves paralyzed by morbid fascination in watching the man eat, his hands shoveling in food one at a time, never putting so much in his mouth that he couldn't swallow it or that it would fall out, but never was his mouth empty. Only did glares from Krausse keep them in constant motion.

Then the last servant arrived as Krausse licked the final chicken bone clean before tossing it halfheartedly onto the platter it came on.

"Did you call them like I requested?" Krausse asked as he wiped the grease and bits of food from his lips with a napkin. Much of his strength had returned, and the observant would notice that his skin color was nearly back to normal. It would take his body a full day to process all of the protein chains and nutrients he had just consumed and use them to repair the damage that the trident had done, however; in other words, he was far from completely well.

"Yes, sir. They said your clothing would be ready in a few hours," the hotel staff member responded, nervous and twitchy around such a violent man. Like most of the staff that dealt with the public, he was young and good-looking; after all, business was as much about the image as it was the product.

Krausse nodded, and reached over to the nightstand to pluck his wallet off of it. One, two... twelve hundred dollar bills exchanged between his hand and the kid's, whose eyebrows jumped up in ways that made his facial muscles seem like rubber. The boy looked up from the money and to Krausse, who said, "Split that between yourself, the staff members who brought the food to me, and the chefs who fixed it. I apologize for my earlier rudeness, but I was dying."

The boy began to walk out of the room and clutched the massive amount of money as if he were fearful it would be taken from him somehow. Krausse had no fear that he would split it between his friends, though. People tended to follow through with what he asked of them.

Krausse began to take off his wet, ruined, incredibly expensive clothing. It was time for a shower.

This time when Krausse went downstairs, he was dry and fully clothed, albeit not as classy as usual. A Ralph Lauren purple v-neck tight enough to show off his taut, muscular form, dark designer jeans with a black leather belt, and black Gucci shoes; all in all, his 'casual' outfit probably cost more than some people's cars. That was Krausse, though. His long life of war and near-death experiences had taught him to enjoy the life he could manage to keep as a high roller and spare no expenses, nor forgo any hedonistic pleasures... as long as they didn't kill him. Being the CEO of dataDyne back in the day had made him a rich, loved and hated man, and he still ran guns occasionally when he felt like changing the tides of war.

Although Krausse initially intended to apologize to the receptionist for his earlier rudeness, he soon found himself gravitating towards the man with the gun. His step wasn't as spry as it could be, like he wasn't strong enough to where the weight of his body didn't hold him down, but he could still take a bunch of drunk punks if necessary.

A rough, forceful hand would land on Brian's gun, hard enough to smack it out of his hand and forcefully down on the bar counter.

"I think you should leave now," Krausse's voice came directly into Brian's ear, sounding as a hot, angry whisper that promised torture and death without compromise or mercy. Krausse's face was directly next to Brian's, and the way that his other hand fell on Brian's opposite shoulder said Carolyn should not freak out and turn that Dragunov rifle at Krausse.