Only after Sasha has used past tense in reference to the Forge did he realize that he's done exactly the same just seconds before, not notified in any way that the place was actually closed. Of course, it could be implied by the owners' departure, but then again, it was a piece of property - it ought to belong to someone.
"Tournament fights, you say? And with enough space for a concert? Metal is not exactly my genre of choice, but maybe it's time to reopen that venue? Repurpose it a little."
The cogs in his mind turned almost audibly as he considered the possibilities with such a prime piece of real estate. They kind of stopped in their tracks as he gradually realized just how much time and money this is going to take. The grease of what the Onyx Monarch said next granted them some new impetus, though.
"It's a deal, then!" His collected, proffesional persona was just put through a meat grinder. Ouch. "Next time, we are going to breathe fire together! Just remember that no mercy will be given. You have been warned." That last sentence was spoken with a mockingly grim tone. But seriously, habanero takes no prisoners.
And hopefully, there will be heat all right.
Sasha's next statement takes him by surprise no lesser than her own, and his own eyes widen a little too as it rains down on him like a downpour of glass from a broken one-way mirror, bestowing momentary blindness only to grant perfect clarity seconds after. There is the urge to jump at this exposure like a hungered predator, but the rational part of Alexander's mind tells him that the hunt must continue, and any premature action might end in having a knife deep within his carotid.
"That would be one lucky man to have a partner such as yourself. And if such person ever... emerges, how would he know he is worthy of your time?" The Mirrorskin leans a bit forward. Granted, the excuse was paper-thin. Could he come up with a better one? Likely, yes. Did he want to?
Hell, no.