He'd elected to sit at the bar finally, his head in one hand and glass close. The Warrior had just about ordered his second drink when suddenly, perfume. And someone close, the presence not altogether unpleasant. Her. If anything, the amount of men moving to make way for the dame with the songs which seemed to hint at her wanting more, something better, than life could slap her around the face with was indication. They wouldn't shuffle back, wouldn't afford any schmuck without a pretty face any leeway. That was life, they'd say. It was a bitch and then you died.

The warrior blinked at her voice and stood, offering her his seat and a drink, the Vikemon moving doubly fast for the lady, whatever she chose - or didn't choose. It wasn't exactly chivalry. Not exactly. Perhaps she really did need something better than what life had done to her. Or, perhaps one too many pretty songs, confusion that she'd actually found him within the throngs of the bar, and a predisposed unknowing of alcohol made it give it up so easily.

"You needed support?" He questioned, not believing for a second that someone with that voice, that dress, and the guts to get up there could be self conscious.