If there was anything that Alexander specifically hated, it was owing a favor. More often then not, owing such aid tended to come back and bite him - hard. This one was no different. Alexander at least knew of the council members in charge of his general vicinity, even more to the point where he had once been relatively friendly with the head chancellor. They had come to a sort of agreement after the man had made a point to persistently harass Alexander. The Dark Hunter was "allowed" to stick to his coffee shop, staying out of the day-to-day activities of the hunting life style and in exchange the council would call upon him when deemed "critically necessary". Consider it owing the council a favor, he claimed, though when he protested the chancellor had threatened to out Alexander's identity. In the end, Alexander conceded, though in retrospect even he questioned the moment of weakness. Especially when the news came across that starting a war with the magicians in an old fashioned witch hunt was "critically necessary" for his presence. He had complained loudly and verbosely, naturally, after all Alexander had anticipated events like defending the city against a horde of raging blood thirsty vampires or mass kidnappings from the Fae's, not the council drawing first blood.

Regardless of the annoyance he found with the situation, Alexander still found himself picking up the nearly ancient though meticulously well maintained blade from it's place upon his mantle, sliding it into his sheath that rested upon his hip. He hardly had any interest in drawing it tonight, planning to be present because, after all, his agreement with the chancellor hardly required him to actually do anything. The Macedonian conqueror fully intended to make his point well known. He did not particularly appreciate the fellow's efforts to bully him into a life he'd been living far before the arrogant Dark Hunter had even been conceived. A frown had settled upon his masculine features, replacing his mask of indifference as the Dark Hunter reached for his favorite, supple trench coat. His wardrobe alone consisting of clothing across eras. He collected bits and pieces from across the infinite years that interested him, and like any hoarder he kept them all for as long as they remained intact. The coat which he was so particularly fond of was a World War I creature of Burberry himself and perfectly hid the short sword from view.

With a grumble upon his lips, Alexander flicked off the lights of the cafe, displeased at having to close it early in order to watch what were practically fledglings to him carry out the start to what would surely be a long, drawn out affair. The trip to the hotel was uneventful at best, the Northern side of town was well known to him, even if he oft chose to stick within the realms of his cafe. Many of his kind lived within those upscale homes, including the leader of their little council himself. Likewise he was knowledgeable about the hotel and the woman that their target would be tonight, having been told just enough information despite his attempts to look anything but interested in the words coming from the fellow's mouth. Still, the conqueror couldn't help but to file away such valuable information, especially when a storm was on the horizon. Alexander stepped in front of the hotel just in time to see two figures enter it, followed promptly by the scream of a feminine voice. A small frown crossed his lips as Alexander stepped over the threshold, pausing just enough to lean nonchalantly with arms folded over his chest against the wall next to the front door. "No, you didn't." He commented simply, agreeing with the female. He paused, just long enough for his blue-green eyes to sweep the room at large, taking note of the entrances and hallways before, with a resigned sigh, Alexander added, "But it is an effective way to get your prey's attention."