Isaacs lost interest before Jordans even gotten his mouth around the syllables. Words going in one ear and out the other. Boring.
"Some dude upset Max I think?" Jordan informs. Isaac doesn't care if his disinterest is showing in the slight hum he gives. Acknowledgment without furthering the topic. But apparently, the kid doesn't care that Isaac couldn't give two fucks. Studying the other with a critical eye, Isaac can tell theres more than that. Kids practically got his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Drug brain, the quickest way to loosen up a quivering tongue.
"I dunno man," Jordan mumbles but Isaac doesn't strain to catch his words. "Debbie's going to kick their asses."
"Debbie's not here." Isaac reminds quietly, pressing his tongue against the backs of his teeth in contemplation, knowing that this time of night is usually devoid of the queens tepid stare. But amused still at the prospect of her returning early and wiping the floor with the fighting fish stacked up by the bar. Theres too much riding on chance. Reminds him of Russian Roulette, a sensation like shock tickling up his spine. If a fight does break out Isaac wants to be witness to it. Like a junkie begging for a hit, its been a quiet few weeks since Violence has shouldered into his life with its heavy handed sweetness.
"I'm gonna find Oliver," Jordans voice just barely slips past the sudden, solid wall of dizzying blood lust thats stuck its claws back into the folds of his brain tissue. A memory of bones cracking under the pressure of a closed fist satisfying for but a moment. His bloods up, a reaction to the rooms tension and he wants to see fists flying against the odds. After a moment, he realizes though what Jordan has said. Off to find Oliver, who will most certainly break up the fight before its even hit a crescendo.
And just like that he's been doused. Flame gone but wick withstanding as he turns away from the raised voices. Long before they can consider him an eavesdropper. He can't even be bothered to turn back once Oliver rushes past him, looking harried as he goes. Its no shock that the voices subside, leaving a singular thought to swim over the backs of his eyelids each time he blinks; Lame. A missed opportunity to see if anyone here is really worth their salt. Isaac tempers the thoughts of how wrong it is that he had been practically wishing for a fight. How he's slipping back into that dangerous beast of a mindset.
Jordan is no longer in sight, likely floundering out in a riptide. Too far out to throw a Kisbee Ring. Isaac gets the fleeting thought to find him and show him what its really like to taste insanity. But he's not that motivated, has too many things to do and most of all is too weary to go on much longer. The nights here are long and wrought with writhing bodies. Isaac's on the easy side of things, doesn't have to deal with nightly showers and messy rooms. Not that he minds, rather, he prefers working the personable route.
Got too much pent up aggressions to take it as far as the bedrooms most nights, but sometimes, sometimes its okay to live a little. So long as he's got his mind out of the void.
After a long moment of staring at nothing at all he marches his way up the stairs, back to the penthouse. Bone weary when he slips past the security into the suite, and drags towards his room with no real purpose at all.