[h3][color=fff200]Albert Morgan[/color][/h3]

[color=fff200]"I'll have you know Bowser is incredibly well-behaved. He knows better now."[/color] he returned. [color=fff200]"And shut up, Noel. I can deal with our leader leaving his clothes around perfectly well myself."[/color]

Seating himself, he deftly placed a napkin in his lap, took up knife and fork in hand, and made an elegantly precise first cut of juicy, flavorful steak in the span of one and a half seconds. It was the kind of time only practiced ease could beget, and as he speared the meat with his fork, he began once more to their retreating forms, his voice easily carrying despite not even facing them.

[color=fff200]"Not to worry, I'll have Tarik taken care of. You two go socialize, Noel could use the practice." [/color]

Casual potshots at the team's designated tease-victim aside, he nonethless raised the arm and waved.

[color=fff200]"Oh, and the steak is perfect, as always."[/color]

The door finally shut behind him, leaving the young man alone with his meal in the room.

Now then, onto business.

His scroll emerged from the pocket once more, speed-dialing Kek's number with a press of "5".

As it rang, he held it to his ear even as another cut of meat slid down his throat.

[color=fff200][i]You're a bit past "fashionably late", Tarik.[/i][/color]