From the benches, Maxim snickers at Peter's entrance, face split in amusement. This was not the sort of thing he expected to see in club, but as long as the masked fighter was there to have fun and not start trouble, he was okay with it.

"Hey sveethott," he called, flicking his head to get his bangs out of his face. "Hyu vurried about bustink op hyu pritty face?"