Kat held onto her flute as Diego admired the expansive spread before them. She knew better than to set her drinks down and leave them unattended for even a moment. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that half of the men in attendance nonchalantly carried roofies on their person just in case the opportunity ever arose. Of course, that sort of scandalous news would never make it back to the press outside.<br/><br/>“Well, there is plenty here.” Kat responded, smirking at Diego’s comment about always being hungry. “And there’s plenty for dessert, as well.” That may have sounded flirtatious, but Kat only flashed Diego a brief look before sipping her champagne again. He was already filling his plate up by then. As he busied himself with that task, she began searching for her number.<br/><br/>Diego was too busy piling his plate to notice, but each table had a small card placed upon it, at the center, surrounded by petite white candles. Every card had a number on it. The frequent flyers, so to speak, had been given a number of their own choosing, so that they could control who sat at their table with them a little easier. Kat’s number was 21 because it represented success, completion, and a fulfillment of desires.<br/><br/>When he asked if she was getting anything, Kat nodded and picked up her own plate, then quickly realized that she was running out of hands. “Hm,” she remarked, setting the plate down in front of the sushi display. She grabbed a pair of tongs and started filling her plate up. On the side, she added a mound of edamame as well as a spring roll. She would have to return for a bowl of authentic ramen later on.<br/><br/>“I always get the sushi at these events. It’s divine.” She carried her plate again, carefully, and headed away from the buffet, walking down the rows of tables in search of hers. She snorted at his comment about getting so drunk that he’d have to carry her. “I don’t think you can carry me,” she said without thinking, then scoffed at the thought.<br/><br/>“Besides, I never drink to excess here. The last thing you want to do is pass out on one of the couches…” she stopped there, without expanding. Diego inquired about her table and she pointed out in the distance to the wall they were headed to. “There it is. Number 21.” She led him over and then glanced around for the bar as he mentioned more drinks. “Just a pink passion for me.” It didn’t contain much alcohol and matched her outfit. Win, win.