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Her words stunned him for a moment and his eyes read disappointment as he looked down. His head had a hard time staying level as he body swayed involuntarily from his drunken escapades. "Oh..." he mumbled, disheartened. However, the longer he stayed awake, the more he managed to remember of Jóna and last night. He drew a long sigh as he held his head in his hand. "Jóna... You seemed like a great ******** if my memory is right." His fingers massaged over his eyelids. "Let Yakov treat his morning sickness," he groaned as he slowly rose to his feet from the bed. He took a step, then another memory sprang back. "Yakov's flower stays in bed. He'll be back shortly." And with that, he opened the door, indented on the outside from his foot, and exited the room, making his way back into the cafe.

"Ahh," he grumbled, wincing from the light, although it wasn't nearly so bright now that it was the middle of the night. He looked around to see Ruslan unsurprisingly dead asleep at the bar. He could fall asleep in any position it seemed. Yakov continued looking around until he saw what seemed to be a hallway leading to the back storage and kitchen areas of the cafe. A waitress had just walked down, probably to the storage to retrieve something for the kitchen. Yakov outstretched his arms with a yawn as he mindlessly followed her back.

When he turned the corner, the woman was alone in a small food storage room, and he shut the door behind them.

"H-hi, what can I-" but her words were cut from her throat.

Yakov, barely awake, took a small knife from his pants pocket and slit it across her throat as routinely as he had ever conducted his former assassination missions. He held the lifeless body up as he twisted the knife inside her neck, severing her spine, then popped her head off with one maneuver as if she were a toy filled with candy-- well, technically she was. Yakov carved out a slice of her neck and he began feasting. Breakfast.

After a kidney or two to top off his continental breakfast, Yakov could feel the energy of her blood and flesh revitalizing his own. He took in a deep breath as he swallowed the last bite. His silver-blood eyes returned to a lustrous sheen and he wiped his bloodied hands on the dead waitress's apron. And with that, Yakov left the storage room, carelessly leaving the door open and made his way back down the hall. He eventually found the door to the bedroom he had emerged from, noted by the large Yakov foot-sized dent on the front of it.

The Russian opened the door with less urgency now and gently closed it behind him. His demeanor had now turned from a drunken Yakov to a sobered, energized Yakov. He turned to face the girl on his bed, ready to leave her paralyzed from the waist-down for the next 24 hours, at least, until he noticed the vomit on the floor. Instead, he plopped down next to her on the bed and placed a hand to her forehead. "You do not feel of fever." He took one of her tiny hands into his. "What does flower need?" he cooed.

"Hmph," he chuckled. Seeing her grooming made him feel both amused and endeared. "Breakfast," he answered bluntly. He wouldn't risk scaring away a girl before he could at least bed her once. And a girl such as Jóna, he definitely wouldn't mind keeping around for a while. Still, he was surprised with how calm she seemed, knowing the sight of his eyes were alien to most. "And I see you've made a mess yourself onto the floor." His gaze dropped to the horribly noticeable puddle of vomit that lie on the floor, not too far from them. "Yakov has what Jóna needs," he said with a cheesy grin. Fortunately, this magical has-everything-you-can-think-of-place had a full bathroom attached. He opened the door to the bathroom and gestured for her. "Come."

His pity for her pathetic condition grew. The company of a woman that could meet his equal in wit and presumably athleticism was assuredly growing on him. He looked around, knowing that there should be a switch somewhere to turn off the lights. Yakov found a peculiar nub that protruded from the wall and cautiously flipped it down, fortunately yielding the result he sought. He reached into his pocket and found a match, struck it, and lit a pair of candles that had been placed on a shelf. It gave off enough of a glow to the set the mood for relaxation. Without him realizing it, his romantic side was showing. What the ******** took both her hands and carefully guided her to sit into the tub. Still unsure of the foreign design of the bath, he fiddled with the knobs for a moment before realizing the temperature controls. Soon, a steady stream of hot water began flowing into the tub, and he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. The water flowed quickly, evenly, and at a constant favorable temperature. However, it was beyond reasonable to think someone like him could ever fit into a tub that size to begin with. He took a seat on the closed toilet beside the tub. "It doesn't seem that I'm very familiar with your kind," he began, noticing the point to her ears for the very first time, "but you were apparently proposal-worthy last night," he grinned. "So Jóna will be Yakov's flower."

[[just a side not to everyone else, I'M SORRY WE DIDN'T PLAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN]]



He watched her disrobe, pleased. Yakov would have hoped for nothing less from a girl that had become drunken-proposal material. Though her body was tantalizing, he remained intrigued enough by her exotic origins to carry on the conversation. He cut her a smirk. "Flower makes good deals," he said, positioning himself nearest to her back. His hands were large enough to engulf the entire span of one shoulder, and he relucted to admit that he had never given anyone a 'shoulder rub' before. Hesitant over his occasional poor discipline over his own strength, he very lightly begun to squeeze her shoulders. His eyes then glanced down to her strange clothes that lie on the floor. "Tell me, where did you get these clothes?" Yakov wouldn't deny that he was enjoying the change of pace immensely, but now sobered up, he knew he had at least had to keep some degree of suspicion about a strange girl that fell so easily into his lap-- literally. After all, encountering spies in brothels and bars were par for the course for Yakov and Ruslan.

Yakov raised an eyebrow, the memories of her swamp origins now flooding back to him. "Ah, that's right... You were not from Volgograd. How far to the south?" he asks. He sees her arm raise from the water and ogles her scars for a moment. Yakov had only ever seen scars like that on a few of his comrades. To say he was impressed by this point would be an understatement. "Flower rolls with alligators..." he hummed, "Maybe she'll do as well in the bed as in the swamp."

Yakov rolled his eyes at first. She was either clearly still drunk or fancied telling wild stories about herself. He continued kneading along her shoulders with his fingers. "Jóna from the stars," he teased. "I may have more than a few doubts about you."