The hotel was predictable. Ishida knew, as his eyes scanned over the drinks, that ordering anything, even a simple water, would likely result in some bizarre and equally perverse modification. There were probably hints, coded in the descriptions of the drink, nothing so straightforward as a description, but oblique references that could be interpreted several ways, if they weren't red herrings.

Ishida didn't have time to puzzle it out, though, before his eyes landed on something unexpected. He'd thought himself wise to the Hotel, but even now, it found a way to throw him a curveball.

Ishida glanced the length of the bar, scanning for a familiar face – or, given the masks, perhaps a familiar figure, a familiar head of vivid crimson hair, but to no avail. He probably should have thought more carefully, more strategically, first, but instead he turned to the bartender. "I've decided to order the Alkaid."