Some time later, Dromaeus stepped out of the water onto the beach at a small town on the coast of the mainland and shook himself off as he walked up the beach. His armour was waterproofed and so it would dry as fast as his scales. As he passed a local family on the beach, who hurried out of his way, babbling in some local dialect as they did so. Dromaeus wondered if the battle was still going on. He cared little for the creatures he had fought with, they had done nothing to prove their value, but he fumed silently at having to retreat from the Red Eyed one's seemingly limitless power. Trying to put it out of his mind, he decided he wanted some mead.
He quickly found a bar overlooking the bay (Japan has bars, right?) and entered. Some of the patrons were less terrified than he expected and gathered around him, trying to embrace him and waving small devices that produced annoying flashes. He shoved them roughly aside, hissing and baring his teeth, and continued to the bar.
"Give me a flagon of mead." he hissed curtly. The bartender stared at him in surprise, before breaking into more of the local jabbering. Dromaeus let him continue for a few seconds, wishing he had one of the translation devices that Joel had used then grabbed his lapels and held Mehrune's Razor to his throat.
"I am not in the mood to listen to your incomprehensible prattle, bartender. This blade should be translation enough for my intentions. Now give me a damned flagon of mead!"
