Twenty-seven minutes of pure unadultered torment. She sits in a general state of discomfort, the awkwardness that comes from being around men she does not know, in a place she does not know...for a reason she does not know. Ysabel admired that her mysterious overnight companion was already referring to them as a "we" and being courteous. She knows he's likely having the same feeling of waking up in something like a nightmare-wonderland, minus the wonder. She listens to the rapidfire banter, noting "sunken" and "Caesar" for later reference. Combined with the flyer she'd seen, Ysabel knows there's nearly as much cultural diversity in this place, if not more, than the USA.<br/><br/>When they arrive and see Yakzov for the first time, Ysabel is woefully unimpressed. All she can think is<em>This is is a total sausage-fest...as usual. Even when I'm not working at my job, I'm still trapped around men all the time.</em>She hears the plump bald man offer to order another bottle, and Ysabel says, politely,<strong>"If it's all the same, something to eat would be preferred. Ysabel Hargraves, by the way. And you two gentlemen are...?"</strong>She inclines her head politely to Archibald by way of introduction, her cool eyes taking in the details of these new surroundings.