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The tip of KB's gloved finger squeaked as it slid down the edge of a picture frame. Upon inspection he was delighted to find no dust. The Hotel really was kept to the highest standards, and that made the experience of exploring it pleasant.

Then, in the back of his mind explosions. Each eruption of heat and light flashed in the back of his eyes, his vision momentarily alight with specks of misplaced color. His fist tightened as he whirled on a heel, his hand lifting to crush some unseen object in front of him.

Yes!

"This is war Seyumi." He whispered to himself, smiling. His hands spread out as specks danced across his vision, those few explosions giving way to a whole host. He observed through the far reaches of time every war he had been part of. Each one was a glorious experience, each one bloody and all-consuming.

If Sey would not be bound by lust, she would be led by hate.

The girl threw open the door to her room, zipped inside, and quickly slammed it shut again, the full of her back slamming against the smooth surface, legs stuck out like a frightened cat. And really, the comparison wasn't that far off at all. She didn't know what had happened at Puerto Diablo, and she understood much less how to handle the current situation--all she really knew was that her father had just gotten arrested for whatever had happened on that island.

Arrested.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?! What of her father's hold in the tournament? She supposed she could, at the very least, take up refuge at the DeSeers' place if things got really bad, but what about her father? How long would he be shut away? Did they even give a thought about the particular little incompetent thing he'd be leaving behind?!

Moving from the door in a panicked pace, she crossed her hotel room, taking off that ridiculous hoodie, tossing her shades aside, and moving to slam her hands down upon the dresser, intense mis-matched eyes glaring into her reflection with a wild mixture of anxiety, fear, and anger. You're being selfish! she mentally yelled at herself. HE'S the one in JAIL! Forget about yourself, you'll find a way to survive. But what about HIM?

At last, she began to calm down--or, rather, her emotions began to sort and settle out into just one. She grew quiet, the tension in her muscles relaxing, and slowly her shoulders began to shake. She remained still for just a moment longer, then all of a sudden sank to her knees, fingertips still hanging from the dresser's edge, her head dipping forward to prop itself against the drawers.

Her throat had gone dry, and she found it hard to talk, but somehow amongst the quivering of her lips, she was able to softly beg in a gasped choke, "......Daddy..."

"What a lousy first round..."





Sokoya Ramak, reigning champion of [The Dark Tournament], would comment to no one in particular are she strolled in through the hotel's front doors. The silvery haired fighter was dressed in her usual fashion, which is to say that she was dressed outside the realm of what is classified as 'normal'. And due to laziness, we'll just say it was a little Kink Fink. But let's add some old nazi captain's hat, just for shits and giggles.

Sliming/rolling in the door after her was none other than Mormon Jesus, her pet metal slime. After having ran into each other on the Black Sand Island, the pair had become quite inseperable. Mainly because the pet was all but indestructable, and seemed to actually like the violent woman for whatever reason. That, and he was just so god damn cute.

Pausing there in the lobby, the woman would cast her bloody gaze around. Unsure of where to head next, she ended up settling for the bar area. Posting up along the counter and waiting for something exciting to happen.

Something exciting was already happening at the bar. Well... only half exciting, dependent on who you were and probably what you had for breakfast. The cyberpunk, slightly burned from his first round match-up; but gradually undergoing a Goblin fruit regiment prescribed by none other than Wigi, had set up about eight glasses of water (each glass about half full) at the bar. He took a long gulp from a ninth and then tenth glass, placing the two at either end of the line and plopping his a** down on the stool. He regarded Sokoya and her pet momentarily with a smile.

Dipping his fingers into the water, the punk began to run his fingertips over the rims of each individual glass and produced a pretty badass song. A classical music enthusiast would probably recognize it as one of Bach's Fugues, but that wasn't entirely important. Nah, Ed had a guest. Kind of. Sokoya probably wasn't looking for him in particular.

"Heya, Soak." The cyberpunk greeted the silver-haired chick in an accent of British origin that probably shouldn't have existed anymore. The punk peered though his black, thick-rimmed glasses at her and grinned without even missing a note in his playing. "Betcha didn't think you'd find me here?"

Dismissing the bartender's cautious approach, Sokoya would regard the man just down a little ways along the counter top. One Edward Queensborough. Fighter, hooligan, punk, cyborg hipster. The last time she'd seen him, minus when the Bone Mistress watching his fight, was at The Dark Tournament. The thug had been paid off by a teammate of hers to slow her down. Beat her up. Be a general a*****e.

That all ended in a hail of bullet fire.



"Dear oh dear, what 'ave we got here?"

"No..." She'd reply back, crossing her legs and leaning her elbow up on the bar. "Can't say that I did." A moment here, as the smouldering hell-gems she called eyes studied the man. "How'd you like your fight?"

"Oh, I haven't even started." The Lancers eyes followed the two new patrons, both fighters in the tournament. He was still standing with his back to the bar, propped up on his elbows.

Barside was actually a fairly colorful display. A tall, dark man in a disheveled business suit. To the left of him and sitting towards the bar was the petite white mage, still dressed in her sparkly, formal gown; following her was a woman who was dressed to either rock or command a german army (or both) and her slime, and finally was a stylish punk making glasses sing.

The demon-man also couldn't help but notice the girl who'd come to the side of the pool to stair towards the bar, and maybe even straight at the dude three stools down.

"Seyumi Kaikou," He said in mock reverence as the bartender slid a renewed shotglass his way. He picked it up, set it down, then slid the empty glass back. "Platinum Chicken."