As he walks into the room, Leo loosens the holdings on his mask, letting it fall around his neck. It smells pretty much like he'd imagined it; oddly familiar of his old school. It has the same scent and echo, the feel of a old, well worn in space. You just can't fool the senses into believing in age when it isn't there, even with money.

He keeps his held held high, appearing confident, even if his eyes give away that he's scouting for exit points. You can never be too careful. Making his way over to the glass, he glances at it, but doesn't move to take it. "Who's the water for?" He asks, aloud. Who even leaves a glass and a pitcher lying around like that?