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A waiter stepped between them at the tail of Thompson's little rant and Peyton very carefully set her empty glass down on the tray before helping herself to another. It would be her third in less then half and hour, and she didn't care. She let his words sink in, mulling them over, and was vaguely surprised by just how much they stung. Usually she could laugh off his insults, they were just words, it didn't matter, but tonight every harsh comment prickled and bit along her skin.

She looked up at him, and she felt the heat at the corner or her eyes. A heat that threatened to go beyond that extra shine that said that tears were a possibility, and she'd be damned if she let him of all people see her cry. So she dropped her gaze, chin ducking as she drew in a slow, careful breath. "You can be a real b*****d."

Being who and what she was Peyton knew hr angles. She knew how to use the light to her benefit, she knew how hair falling across her shoulder looked, and she sure as hell knew how to use angle and proximity to paint a picture. Thompson's deliberate movement did not go unnoticed. She hadn't looked back, not once since she'd walked across the room, but he had, multiple times, so he was either baiting her, or Jack was still back. Though honestly, former or latter, it didn't matter, not to Peyton, and not to Jack. Why should the tall blonde care that someone else was whispering in her ear? They weren't an item.

Thompson was just trying to twist the knife deeper, but it was her turn to laugh, humorless and harsh. Her breath a warm brush against his ear when she turned her head into his, pressed her cheek against that roguish stubble. "How would you know?"

Ceres gave Marcus a look at that question, quirking an eyebrow and shaking her head, almost laughing. "Marcus i think you have enough lady attentions without myself included, besides." She squeezed Juniors hand. "It's not really you I'm curious about reading it for."

She didn't fight as her boyfriend led them away, maybe he was fleeing the situation too? Either way she also noticed he had a copy of the fanfic, score.

"Im a little more thirsty than hungry, but we can go check the food spread out?" She purred back, smiling up at him. Keen eyes narrowed a little, his expression different than usual. "You feeling okay today?" She knew him enough to at least realize something was bugging him, for all she knew it might have been something as simple as the party atmosphere messing with him.

"Nice try," was all he said, pulling back to turn away from her and find some other diversion. "Midnight offer still stands," he added over his shoulder.

She was smiling as he pulled away from her, if one could call the baring of teeth and half narrowed eyes a smile. It was an unspoken sign of amusement, an invitation and a '******** you', it was so many things, but it was not really a smile. "Does it now?" Strangely the offer wasn't half so distasteful as it had sounded at the beginning of the evening, but after two and a half drinks, and an evening brimming in disappointment and aggravation, a little hate fueled action sounded appropriate. Nay, tempting.

But of course this was Thompson. She had no reason to believe the offer really stood.

Pale eyes lingered on his profile as while it was turned to her, lips pressed against cool glass as she nursed at her drink.

Justin's buddy, Saya, much more outgoing in this AU, jumped in and did the dance with Justin.

She did not let her teacher, best male buddy, crazy insane weirdo friend (who might have been gay) and gamer comrade dance alone.

Even if she repeatedly told him many times, an infinity's worth, that this was not a real dance. It did get catchy though.

Zoobey

ol-j-man

"Only if you buy the top secret flavors, you know, the code word: dalmation."

She meant cookies and cream.

"That's because I get terrible reception when Gear's around-- He, uh, blocks, everything."

The only reason she was around Justin was probably because Gear was down for the count on the ground, a one hit KO from Caelius. He didn't always approve of Justin's crazy antics but he did like to send Justin on goof-chases. It didn't work often though.

"How's the guild going?"

As long as she had been useful, he could play nice; it wasn't as if they didn't have similarities he could draw from. But Peyton's clinging was nothing more than an itch of cotton and Velcro stuck to his good suit, something that barely crossed his mind once it had been swept away. A prop off to find someone else to use her and pretend it validated her existence when she was noticed at all. After all, wasn't that exactly the state he'd found her? Alone, pouting, and desperate for attention?

Slut. This wasn't news. All of them were. He might as well have stated that the earth revolved around the sun.

Taym's grin was given a passing glance, a flicker of recognition in Jack's eyes being the silent answer. He knew that face skulked around, at least a few times with Clerise, and marked him down as the last known place of one of his popular tools, just in case (always just in case). What transpired afterwards between him and the slut was neither Jack's concern nor in his interest; she'd lost those privileges by deciding to move along and deluding herself into thinking he could be baited.

No, Jack's attention was fixed before him at the moment.

He studied Ian and Shiloh with an odd smile. A joke, the bird, these he could take; they were practically synonymous with affectionate gestures at this point. Fixing clothes, though, hand-holding, the silent but palpable sense of <********. Jack could remember similar times he had to aid Lucky, a**-backwards style that he had, how each touch had meant just a little more because he beginning to own those inches of skin in private that no-one else would, how it had sent him researching and pouring over the internet and shouting curses on the inside because that wasn't right. This wasn't right. Just standing there smiling like it was ******** normal.

A test. This was just a test. The thing burning inside was anger, not--

"Did you shack up in Ian and Alistaire's House of Homo?" he asked in a flat tone, the smile still tacked on. "You still have some ******** pink j**z on you, Shy. Couldn't swallow it all down?" This could still be an elaborate joke, it wouldn't be the first. Jack had once had a nightmare men's room experience arranged by a few techs after a less-than-friendly confrontation on the internet (which Jack still claimed meant they and their mini dicks couldn't take a damn joke) that still gave him shudders to that day.