Ysabel immediately tries to place the accent of the man when he speaks. European origin? No. That didn't sound remotely like the langauge he'd uttered for a brief moment out loud.<em>He sounds like something Slavic or some other langauge that probably uses Cyrillic, but I can't be sure,</em>she thought to herself. Those languages were not her specialty; she hadn't studied those. Hmmm. His accent seemed Germanic, really, from what she could tell, although it was hard to be sure.<br/><br/>Ysabel heard the person outside complaining, mentioning something about lovebirds? She gave a brief twitch of her eyelid, quite miffed at the thought, and she dismissed it instantly. She was clothed, after all. Jeans, black top, sunglasses. Check, check, and check. Boots, too. Wait. Izzy. Izzy? Like...Ysabel? A nickname? Was someone at the door who knew her? But it was too late; she'd have to give them the keys in twenty minutes when they came back. If there were even keys in the room; she couldn't find any while she was hunting around.<br/><br/>She answered the stranger,<strong>"I'll answer your questions in order. One: Not a damn clue who wants their keys, only that they want them. Two: This might be that guy's room. I sure didn't buy it. Not in my recent memory. And three: the name's Ysabel. If we're going to get out of here and do a bit of talking, mind telling me who you are and if you remember last night?"</strong>She patted around her pockets and tried to ascertain if her bare essentials, like her wallet or I.D., were there as she talked. She waited for the man outside to actually leave before popping open the door, watching at the keyhole to be sure he was gone. She popped open the door only a crack, scanning the area the way she would do a stakeout, taking a look outside. Seemed...safe enough.