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They were still halfway in and out of the doorway to the ballroom, which was very unappealing; at least, Alistaire was, seeing as how he'd been the one to intervene in the first place. It rankled him, now that he thought about it; why had he chased after her in the first place? He should have just let her go off with her boy toy, have a little fun, and he'd find her later, make some comments, and then they'd go off for the evening once she'd understand he had just been having a bit of fun earlier.

The irritation swept across his nerves, shivering through his veins. He didn't like not knowing the answers to his own thoughts, and that alone was another great annoyance. Alistaire's face, however, betrayed none of this, except for a simple flash across his eyes as he turned to look down at Maebe.

He stepped fully out of the room, moving to stand in front of her.

"Is that a boyfriend of yours?" he asked her, his voice deliberately light, deliberately casual. "He seems a little...nervous."

The hard edge was back. "And not at all your type."

She was so small compared to him; so fragile, with delicate bones and a petite frame that was dwarfed by his own - and yet it was all just an illusion, really. Maebe's hardened attitude, her apparent carelessness for life and her snarky replies were all part of the reason why he'd been curious about her from the start. She was a walking contradiction; a puzzle to be figured out and explored.

She leaned against him now, as she had done many times before; and he made no move to reach out to her, though his fingers twitched as though he were holding himself back somehow.

"Relax," said Alistaire in dry irritation, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I didn't do anything to your boy. I was just acting on the impulse to react to his childish fantasies that he could be your knight in shining armor."

The term "boyfriend" flung back at him made him grit his teeth together. "I told you," Alistaire said flatly. "I don't do boyfriends; I am not a boyfriend. That term is overused and has a pathetic connotation, both of which I have said before."

One hand lifted, Alistaire unable to keep it to himself, and very briefly touched her hair; and it was this that seemed to jolt into him, abruptly and at the wrong time. He pushed away from her, stalking across the floor before twisting back around, his eyes flashing.

"What the hell," he said, and his voice was low, angry now, some of the repressed emotions starting to come to light. "do you ******** want with me?" You knew what kind of person I was when I found you, and yet you act like a child sometimes. What do you expect me to do, hm?"

His tone had grown mocking. "Did you expect me to get jealous over a pitiful bit of action gotten on the floor of a public dance room? Is that what you wanted?"

"You kissed him, that is literally, like, the definition of doing something to - oh my God, why do I even try with you." He'd already started to get snippy about her use of the word boyfriend, and that had her hackles raised in defense. "I happen to like being wrapped up in that pathetic connotation, you know. It means nobody else is going to try and get any funny ideas about it. So get over it. You never had to explain any of that to me from the beginning."

While his anger was starting to rise, her own had begun to bubble up from within her as well. This was all they knew - this was the only way to handle emotions that felt like they conflicted with their way of life. It was give in, or get angry. So they got angry.

And they were good at it.

He touched her hair, which gave her a single moment of peace. It was shattered instantly, and she was left standing there looking absolutely livid at the abandonment. If he hadn't turned when he did, she knew she would have gone to grab her heels and leave - because this was the last straw, with Alistaire. Walking away from her in a public place, like this, was the last straw.

But he had stopped. And the dance continued.

His questions were ripping answers from within her that she couldn't accept. She could feel exactly what she wanted from him just by the way he said it. She did want those things - but to admit it would be to forfeit the game. To forfeit Alistaire. To lose everything.

And she was just angry enough to give it all up for the truth.

"Maybe I did, all right?" She hissed out quietly under her breath. Truth or not - she was not about to make a public scene of the moment. That was going too far out of her spectrum of appearance. "Maybe I just. Thought. It would be nice if, just once."

She'd gone too far. There was no turning back now.

"I think it's time we re-negotiate the terms of our agreement."

He would normally have turned around and walked the other way for the pleasure of having a crowd of people see her mercilessly denied his time, but he hesitated. He was self-aware enough to recognize his own moods and if he was going to do something cruel--he felt like doing something cruel; he felt like doing something petty and destructive, as he often did--he might as well do it to someone he felt deserved it. Bertrand would have been preferable, but she was... occupied.

He glanced past Peyton to Jack and transferred his grin from her to him, briefly, and murmured at her over the lip of his glass as soon as she was within earshot: "You two a thing again? Already trying to make him jealous?"

"So how'd you end up there?"

Pale eyes narrowed. "Seemed a more promising prospect then standing against a wall." Peyton's weight shifted, arms half crossing in a way that would still allow her to sip her drink. "But it doesn't really matter," she laughed, soft and self deprecating. "I might as well have not been there at all."

She could smell the cigarettes and the bite of something stronger on his breath and it just made her pine for some escape. The champagne helped, but it was a slow salve, and she would have given a great deal for something mixed and dark and hard enough to burn. Just so she wouldn't have to feel.

So when he asked his questions her expressioned hardened. She looked miserable, she looked lost, but above all else she just looked tired. "Why you? You made it a point to catch my attention, that's why you." She finished her drink, looking around then for a waiter, and frowned when none magically arrived.

"And," she added, returning her attention to the man in front of her. "I'm tired of the game. As unpleasant as you can be, you see me, past the smiles and empty words. I don't have to pretend when I'm dealing with you." The empty glass was tipped towards him.