There was always a certain rhythm to riots. The breaking of things, places and people. It was the kind of 'gentle' thrum that he couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic over. The ebb and flow of chaos, partnered with the mix of desires (oh, yes, he wasn't sure exactly what they wanted, but people in these situations only had so many options).

"Well, well, isn't this quite the mess..." Hazama lifts a hand to adjust his hat, making sure it was firmly seated on his head. In his experience, varied as it was, hats had a bad habit of getting lost in the shuffle. "Shall we...?" Said to no one in particular.

He did what any concerned person would do, taking steps towards the hotel.