Mitchell begins to reach for his own articles of clothing, depending on where they were flung about the room, replying, "For a while." Recent activities have made him work up an appetite --physically, although testing the boundaries of his psyche hasn't helped much either-- and he knows it would be a good idea to feed tonight. Or try.

Idly, he wonders how much of an active choice that will be when faced with a bared, human neck. His conscience continues to weigh on him. And then he wonders how much of it actually is his conscience and how much of it is force of habit by now.

He drifts out of it as he pulls on black jeans, saying, "I think I might have to keep to the other side of the club from you for the rest of the night. Or I might end up dragging you into one of the private rooms. And what a shame that would be." He does not sound sorry. At all.