Rebecca wasn't much of a drinker and was growing to regret her lack of fortitude. Flustered as she had been, she'd put away two full tumblers of whiskey a fair bit faster than she was used to, mistaking her dry throat for thirst and leaving her otherwise empty belly to digest the liquor. She didn't leave the bottle down, though, as she made for the door downstairs, only to stop when she heard the call. Standing still, she looked at the pair of them, bottle in her left hand, half empty glass in her right. Licking her lips, she nodded ever so slightly. "Well, it isn't a real dungeon. Just a den, really." She was trying to be polite, doing her best to be accomodating. How many people could be expected to act completely calm when facing someone their wife had fucked more than themselves. While she had met a few of the other folks that ran in Leanna's old circles, she hadn't liked it, there was too much planning and pretension, not enough spontaneity and passion. Rebecca didn't like labels, for herself or anyone else.<br/><br/>"Would yeh like a drink? There's a bit of everythin' in the cabinet and beer in the fridge downstairs." She wanted to be at her best, mainly to prove to Leanna that she wasn't a jealously possessive psychopath. Jealously possessive, certainly, but anyone who had Leanna and wasn't willing to fight for her would have been insane or an idiot. Despite being taller than Amanda, she somehow felt that the woman was looking down on her all the same. A part of her wanted to snarl<em>'Mine!'</em>at the woman, to warn her off, but she was on her best behaviour. "Or somethin' to eat?"