"I see." And with the formalities over, his gaze locks upon her own, the smile fading into seriousness as his voice drops to something a touch above a whisper. "You told me to remind you last time we talked. You said you had something to ask me?"

She dropped her eyes, a hint of crimson creeping into her cheeks, an expression as rare on her face as his smile was on his. "Well...uh..." She fidgeted, obviously finding whatever it was she wanted to talk about rather difficult to express.

He watched her, the sight of her unease provoking confusion in his pale eyes. "What is it?"

"Are you...like...bound to her?" she asked in a whisper, hoping he would know which her she was talking about.

The confusion in his eyes flickered away, replaced with a brilliant flash of turmoil that would quickly dull to simple clarity. Features that were moments ago warm shift, enveloped now in bland stoicism. "I am. Completely, and eternally." It was not merely an answer, but an emphatic statement of utter truth.

She nodded slowly, sipping her drink and avoiding his eyes now. "I see." She was pretty good at hiding her emotions and slipped on the slightly disinterested mask she kept for dealing with disappointment.

He was not prepared for her disconnection. Her unexpected response caused his features to waver for just a moment before settling back into his usual stony countenance. "Why?" He tilted his head and said sternly, "And before you wave off the answer with something simple, I would like to know the truth."

She ran her tongue along her bottom lip before capturing it between her teeth and cocked her head to the side. How to answer truthfully...and yet, safely at the same time? "I don't...like poaching." She nodded once and then finished her drink, setting the empty glass down on the table between them.

"Poaching? Is that what we are doing? Perhaps I misunderstood your stance on things."

"My stance? I was unaware I had a stance. Do you? Have a stance, I mean."

"I do," he nods. "Though I am unsure it will be to your liking." He paused momentarily before continuing, "And I do not care for your...mask. You are a creature of instinct, Riley. Do not try to be otherwise."

"The Cat is a creature of instinct. I am a creature of intellect, constantly at war with instinct. It creates rather a hardship here." She pointed at the centre of her chest with a long, slender finger.

He considers it for a moment. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are one in the same, and the war you think that is internally waged is merely denied actuality trying to break free from its prison of condemnation. And if not, if you are actually split between the two, instinct and intellect, then perhaps it is instinct that would bring you more joy. After all, wouldn't you agree that it is intellect that is harboring your disconnect?"

She snorted and sat up, withdrawing her feet from his lap. His words stung, stung more than she was willing to let on or even admit to. She switched topics, moving away from the one that caused her pain and confusion. "Dreams are fine, Drax, but the real thing is better."

He continued to blandly regard her, seemingly unaffected by the loss of her touch. "Oh it is, in so many ways. Though I would assume it has been your intellect that has kept you from experiencing this 'real thing'. Had instinct been in control, I am certain we would have made use of the dark alcoves and hidden booths this establishment is renown for."

Her brow inched higher and she just slowly shook her head, unwilling to express her disinclination for f*cking in public. "Can you answer something for me?" She leaned forward, forearms resting on the table and her voice pitched low.

"Of course," he replied evenly.

"Why does everyone seem so hell bent - you'll pardon the term - on my..." She broke off, frowning a bit as she searched for the right word. "...downfall?"

His brow arches in obvious confusion. "Downfall? Who said anything about downfall?"

"You, your mistress... Eamon." The last name was spoken with a certain hardness to her voice.

"I am not focused on any sort of downfall, Riley. I am focused on your perception. It often seems that you are convinced that there can only be one side to your coin, and which side is up somehow defines your success or failure. I don't think it is we who are so focused on your downfalls, but you."

She licked her lips and took a deep breath. They'd come to the crux of the matter and unknowingly, or perhaps with complete forethought, the Phantom had forced her into a position where she had to admit to her deepest fear. She wondered if he knew. "There can be only one side," she said softly. "If I am the Cat, then I lose Riley."

He stood with little effort and took a single step forward, bending at the waist so that both hands could take hold of the arms of her chair, the nearness of his ghostly face intent on capturing her attention solely, even if for just a moment. She looked up at him, recoiling in her seat just a bit, eyes a bit wide with shock at his sudden closeness. "You or the cat, intellect or instinct, they are fine with me," he said. "I am not concerned with your downfalls, shortcomings, or deficiencies. In fact, I revel in them. They give me a closer look," a slender finger reached forward to push lightly against her chest with no sense of innuendo, "here." He rose then to his full height, giving her space with a step backwards. "I should go."

She blinked, having no answer for that. Finally she just nodded, wanting to ask him to stay but not being able to swallow that big a chunk of her pride. He watched her for a brief time, internal struggle evident within his ashen eyes, betraying his detached countenance. "We are not done. We haven't even truly begun," he says, the promise obvious in his voice, his demeanour. He turned from her, smoothly and quietly. He crossed the room toward the stairs leading to the second level as his arms disappeared within the fold of his robes. Each step is measured, no longer a fluid gait but a planned and executed movement, as though he had to force his legs to continue taking him up the stairs. At the top he paused, back to her, shoulders swaying as though he wanted to turn back to her, a telltale sign of the continual struggle within. His eyes never reappear, though, and finally he moved forward, disappearing beyond her line of sight.

Riley, for her part, turned and watched him leave, gripping the back of her chair with a white-knuckled fist to keep from running after him. She'd never run after a man who was leaving; she wasn't about to start now. "F*ck." The word was spit out, anger and no small amount of self-disgust apparent in it. She turned back around and hooked her stockinged foot around her Docs, sliding them towards her under the table. She leaned down to put on her shoes, before standing and carrying her empty glass to the counter. And then she scooted out the back way, headed home for what would no doubt prove to be a long, sleepless night.