The Sidhe had tracked her through time and across dimensions to this strange little melting pot of all that was weird and wonderful. Her two protectors had been destroyed along the way, leaving her alone and vulnerable. Just the way he liked her to be.

He took a room above an inn where he was certain she would turn up. He didn't have a long wait before he caught her unique scent downstairs, a light wafting of clean linens, vanilla, and the spine-tingling muskiness of her cat. He dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt and went to stand at the second-floor balcony, looking down into the crowd. He searched the faces until he found hers seated in a secluded booth. She was deep in conversation with a luscious succubus. He chuckled and whispered quietly to himself, ?Oh, Riley. Mixing it up with the Infernals again, I see. Did you not learn the first time??

He watched the two beauties for a moment, wishing he'd been blessed with better hearing so that he could eavesdrop on the conversation. Finally tiring of being limited to just watching, he descended the stairs and sat at the bar, choosing a stool that gave him a good view of the crowd as well as the women still deep in their conversation. As he sat, he watched the lycanthrope's face and the assortment of emotions that swept across it as she spoke. A tiny smirk curled his mouth and he drank down her discomfort like the finest vintage. When she dared to meet his eyes from across the room, he conjured a glass of red wine and toasted her with it. She turned away abruptly and he was soon chuckling at the quickness she looked away. Oh, yes. She'd seen him. She knew he was there for her now.

The succubus left the table and headed straight for him. He watched her, enjoying the fluid way she walked, the sway of her hips and the long length of her stride. He toasted her with the wine and was rewarded with a lascivious smile and a salute with her lager bottle. As the succubus stayed at the bar, engaging in sexually charged banter with a blue-haired barfly, the Huntsman rose and crossed the room to where the lycanthrope was sitting alone now. Ever conscious of proper manners despite his rough appearance, he asked, ?May I join you??

The lycanthrope sat up straight at his approach, planting both feet solidly on the floor in preparation for a fight or a flight. The Unseelie Fae slid into the booth across from her, his dark eyes locked on her caramel browns, his voice soft when he spoke, ?You know what I am, don't you?? The cat tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and her eyes skittered over the crowd, searching faces for a source of safety, he imagined. When there was no safe haven to be found, she forced herself to meet his gaze and gave him a tiny nod. She knew what he was, who he was, and why he was there.

"Good, good. And then you know who sent me?" He spoke quietly, pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather or the stock market. There was no hint of malice or threat in either his voice or his demeanor, and yet the cat acted as though he was about to kill her where she sat.

She whispered softly, the word torn from her lips like an enemy's heart torn from his body, ?Maeve.?

He smiled then and nodded. "Yes. And I must tell you, Riley my dear, sweet pussy-cat, that I will not fail as the one before me did." He reached out and caught her by the wrist, his hand enclosing the delicate joint and squeezing just a bit. She hissed in pain as the fine bones ground against each other and struggled to pull herself away from his grip. ?Let go of me,? she whimpered from between clenched teeth. Her eyes were wild with fear and pain and he swallowed the emotions down, drawing pleasure from her racing heart.

At last, he released her, though her terror and pain were like an aphrodisiac. "Good. I think we understand each other, cat." He leaned forward, locking his gaze onto hers, pinning her to the back of the booth with it. "You have no friends here, girl. You are very alone. Remember that." And then he slipped out of the booth, straightening his clothes before moving back to the bar. He nodded to the blue-haired barfly as he passed the bar on the way to the stairs. "Good evening to you, Harris. Enjoy your drink." He headed up the stairs and disappeared down the hall, the feeling of the succubus's cat-green eyes boring into his back.

It had been a good night, indeed.

((Adapted from a live scene. Thank you to RileyORourke, HarrisTheHeckler, and Aolani Malvlasta))

Eventide again. The scent of the huddled, seething masses in the commons room downstairs draws him forth once more. Dressed tonight in casual jeans and a long sleeved shirt in a deep, warm brown, the Sidhe descends the stairs, dark eyes moving over the crowd. He was looking for one face in particular or a nice distraction from the Hunt. Long, purposeful strides carry him to the bar where he claims a stool that places him at the perfect angle from which to watch the room and the door simultaneously. An eldritch wave of his hand and there is a beaker of warmed, honey wine on the counter in front of him. It is merely an affectation for the now. His attention strays once more and he looks towards the door, eager anticipation for the night's battle. He caught her scent, the tantalizing combination of linens, vanilla and the animalness of her cat. A slow, wicked smile spread across his full lips and he chuckled softly. He could feel her anger now and it amused him. He did so love a fighter.

The cat soon shoved the door open and entered the Inn, eyes straight on, not meeting any faces as she paced across the room to the bar. She slipped behind to the business side of things and began making a scotch and water. She was dressed in what the Fae has come to think of as her armor - Levi's, Docs, leather jacket and a blood-red Flogging Molly t-shirt. He watched her cross the room, an amused smile on his lips at her boldness, at the little acts of defiance she showed. It was like the rabbit talking back to the wolf before it was eaten. He opened his mouth slightly, to better taste the air she disturbed with her passing. She tasted of fear. It was intoxicating.

She pretended she didn't see him, hadn't smelled him before even entering the place. She set the bottle of scotch back underneath the counter and did without the water. She turned from the bar then, moving silently and quickly away from the bar to a booth against the wall. The Unseelie Fae watched the cat until she sat down and then, wrapping his fingers around the stem of his glass, stood and took the honeyed wine to the booth where she'd ensconced herself. Without asking, he slid onto the bench opposite her and fixed her with an amused glance. "Hiding from me, kitten?"

Her eyes bled from the warm caramel of her Humanity to the amber of her Cat's and she snapped her head up, lips pulled back from her teeth in a vicious snarl. "F*ck off, Faerie," she said. He laughed at her bravado, a deep belly laugh that wound its way through the room, filling the minds of those sensitive to its call with mirth. "Faerie? I assume you mean it in the derogatory way of your home and not as a way of naming what I am." The laugh died down to an amused chuckle. "Either way, kitten, you do amuse me. Thank you."

She blinked, letting the amber in her eyes bleed back to their normal color and in so doing, shoving the Cat away once more. She took a long drink of the scotch, eyes narrowed dangerously but clearly not trusting herself yet to speak. He pouted a little at the Change. "Aw, kitten. I was so looking forward to seeing the cat again. I love when she comes out to play. She always gets up to such mischief." He took a tiny sip of his honeyed wine then. "Do your new friends know about your little, black secret?"

"The ones who matter know." She put her hands in her lap, blotting damp palms on the legs of her jeans. She fired another look around the room, debating the chances of a clean escape should it come to it.

"The ones that matter? Are there any such? I see you in here, night after night, kitten. You're always alone. You talk to no one. You drink with no one. You go home alone, to your empty loft, to your empty bed." He leaned forward, his face inches from hers now. "You have no one, Riley. No one to protect you when I come for you."

She drew back from him, moving until the wall of the booth prohibited further movement. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing all around. She knew he could hear her heart beating in her chest, could probably even hear the blood rushing through her veins. "I have someone." Her voice was soft.

He smiled wickedly. "Why do you bother lying to me, kitten? You have no one. No one cares about you, Riley. I would even venture a bet that if I took from you right now what was rightfully mine, no one in this place would lift a finger to stop me." He reached out and caressed her cheek, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle. "You made a bargain with the Unseelie Queen, kitten. You know she intends to collect on it. Through me."

She slapped his hand away from her face and tried to put more distance between them. "I will deal with Maeve. Not you. Not any of her other errand boys. You take that back to her."

"The Queen is far too busy to be bothered with such trivialities, kitten. You know that. That is why she sent me, and not any of her other so-called errand boys." He picked up the glass of honeyed wine and drank it down. Then he stood and leaned across the table, his face mere inches from hers now. "I will have what is due me, Riley," he said in a low tone. He captured her lips then, kissing her with a rare show of passion.

She squealed in distaste and shoved him away from her with all her strength. She followed this up with a resounding slap, hard enough to leave a red hand-print on his cheek. "Don't f*cking touch me, ever again," she said through gritted teeth.

He pressed a hand to his cheek, stunned at the viciousness of her strike. His arm shot out and he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. He just stared down into her eyes, dominating her into submission. He held her for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to her defense. When no one made move to challenge him, he released her and shoved her back into her seat. He smoothed his clothing and stepped out of the booth. "See, kitten? No one."

"Not exactly," came a cold, unearthly voice from behind him.

The cat scrabbled backwards, putting the table between them now, her eyes wide as someone suddenly appeared at Eamon's elbow. The Fae turned slowly, imperiously, looking the interloper over carefully from head to toe. He smiled slowly and turned back to Riley. His nostrils flared. The man smelled of Riley. "Another lover, kitten? Remember what happened to the first two?"

"Drax... Don't." Her voice was low, soft and carried a warning.

The Phantom merely stared at the Unseelie with indifference, a single step taking him around the Fae, between him and Riley, offering no sense of response or retort. There would be nothing, save for the steel severity of his glower.

The Sidhe chuckled. "Did you not hear our little kitten? Did she not tell you to leave well enough alone?" he asked Riley's rescuer. Still there was nothing from the Phantom, only silence. Cold, emotionless silence. He was nothing more than an alabaster face perched atop a column of inky blackness. The Unseelie Fae was truly amused by the human's bravado. His face was marked in Eamon's memory and he looked down at Riley, who was still cowering on the bench. He said to her in a pleasant tone, "Enjoy your toy, Riley. And be sure to tell him about Andy and Rhys." With a simple snap of his fingers, the Sidhe disappeared, leaving just the faintest sound of his chuckling lingering in the air.

((Adapted from a live scene. Thank you to RileyORourke and Draxcilian Khaul))

He felt the cat's approach even before she entered the Inn. He rolled out of bed, bare foot and dressed in jeans and a dark red t-shirt. He padded out of his room to the railing that ran the edge of the balcony and looked down into the commons room. Waiting to watch her come in. She soon slipped into the Inn, dressed in a nearly identical outfit - blood-red t-shirt, Levi's, battered Doc Martens and her father's ancient motorcycle jacket. She paused for a moment just inside the doors and gave the room a once-over. "Holy carp. It's empty," she muttered softly and slipped through the break, busying herself with making a rum and Coke.

He leaned fully against the railing and watched her intently. Trying to gauge her mood by her choice of beverage. Finished with the drink, she went around to the patron's side of things and carried her glass to the hearth. She curled up in an especially comfy-looking chair and set the rum and Coke aside, pulling a well-worn, dog-eared paperback out of her jacket pocket and cracking it open.

He snapped his fingers, drawing on his innate Faerie glamour and changing his appearance. Now he was dressed in a three-piece Saville Row suit complete with an Italian silk tie and loafers. He descended the stairs slowly, sending his magic out to caress the cat's mind. Her head snapped up, eyes bled from caramel brown to amber. Those eyes zeroed in on the Sidhe and she took a deep breath, flight or fight mechanism instantly triggered. He full mouth curled in a smug, self-satisfied smirk and he approached the cat slowly, meeting her eyes and keeping his hands visible at all times. "Good evening, Riley," he said softly. "I was waiting for you."

"You shouldn't have." She slowly uncurled, putting her feet flat on the floor, hands in loose fists on the tops of her thighs. "What do you want, Faerie?," her voice dripping with disdain.

He sat in the chair opposite her and leaned back, his body apparently fully relaxed. One ankle came up to rest on the opposite knee and he smiled. "You," was his simple, one word answer.

Her amber cat's eyes narrowed subtly, dangerously, and she shook her head. "You're beginning to sound like a broken record, dude. And so am I - I am not going anywhere with you. You'll have to kill me before I let you take me back to Maeve."

A brow ticked upwards and he chuckled. "That's acceptable. Her Highness did not mention the state of your health, only that you must be returned to the Court." He leaned forward now, forearms resting on his calf. "I've been watching you, you know. I think it's so cute how you're trying to blend in here. The building and the business. Think you're going to find some friends, do you?"

Her hands fisted more tightly and she, too, leaned forward, matching his intensity and the mocking tone of his voice. "I have friends, Eamon. I have people who care for me. People who would miss me if I were gone. Dangerous people. You are the one who is alone here."

"You should try to get out more often, Riley. Why, I'll bet there are more than a dozen Unseelie in the city alone who would answer my call. If it comes down to war, what do you have? A pair of infernal sex toys, a man who plays with shadows and a blue-haired buffoon?" He chuckled again and sat back.

She picked up the book and stowed it away in her jacket and then stood, pulling herself to her nearly six feet of full height. She glared down her nose at him, haughty disdain in every line of her body. "We'll see, Eamon. We'll see." And with that, she turned on her heel and left the Inn without further comment or a backwards look.

"It was nice chatting with you, Riley. Be sure to give my love to Draxcilian." He watched her go, eyes roaming hungrily over her body. He could postpone her death, surely, for an hour or so of play. The Queen owed that little request to him, at least.

((Adapted from a live scene. Thank you to RileyORourke.))