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She'd emerged from the restroom just in time to see Ladon leave, the proverbial storm cloud boiling over his head. And--without even thinking 'let it go'--she followed, leaving her coat behind, not really pausing to think things through as she used her height and her--anger--to catch up to him and lock her fingers around his arm.

"Where are you going," asked Tate, and it probably came out so much harsher than she'd meant it to. "Ladon, what happened?"

Had it been something with that little redheaded whore had said? She gritted her teeth, tried not too look too confused and furious.

...Who had been having fun?

Tate wasn't holding onto him tightly enough to hurt him. He wasn't familiar enough for her to want to do things like that; she almost never touched Giselle at all, in fact, but for occasions where their hands just barely brushed. A pat on the shoulder was like tackling someone and hugging them for the two girls; the slap when she'd returned had been a freak happening.

That said, her grip tightened when he told her to go back to the party. "What made you think I wanted to be there," she said. Despite the phrasing, it wasn't a question; the temperature of her voice was quickly dropping from "cool" to "subzero".

What had she done wrong? She didn't know, but it had started when she'd gone to head off any uncomfortable questions from Howl, when he'd gone off to get a drink and never come back and he was talking to that tart.

"What are you talking about," she asked, and this time it was a question, one she desperately wanted the answer to.

She stared at her hand like it had betrayed her as he talked, then directed her gaze back to his face. "I hate flirting," snapped Tate, "for one, and for two, I wasn't flirting, and I only went over there because I'd said something stupid and I was hoping--"

There was no question as to who 'kelp-head' was; she had never thought of his hair as that particular color, but it was true enough. Later on, she would find this amusing. Right now she was wearing down her teeth, bringing her hands up to press them to her temples. "--and I was going to see if he'd forgotten it. You're the one who stomped off and left me!"

Things Tate's pride would not allow her to admit: one, that she had needed Ladon, or she wouldn't have asked him to come, and two, that she had only danced with Howl to get her friend's attention back. What had he wanted her to do? Just let him leave when she didn't really want to know anyone else at the party and Howl had embarrassed her, which was one thing she could never bear, and holy god she wouldn't even compare the green-haired boy to Ladon in terms of who she was fonder of...

"I don't leave people," she asserted.

"You're my posse," Tate all but shouted, throwing her hands in the air and bringing them down against her sides with a snap. The silver bracelet on her wrist glinted from the lights of the streetlights, her hair was falling out of its careful bun. "Look, he's not interested in me, I'm not interested in him--" anymore, anyway "--I'm not even his type! God, a guy like him probably wants a blonde girl with more curls than a poodle."

She couldn't even remember what she'd been laughing about--couldn't remember much except always looking at Ladon and ugh, it was so unfair! He was her friend, both of them were, but it was Ladon who had actually deigned to keep talking to her after she'd played the Fatal Frame prank on him, who had agreed to come here just because she didn't want to be alone, and now he was mad at her and.

Anger, as usual, got the best of her. "If it was bothering you why the ******** didn't you SAY anything!" She would have stopped!

She fell back a step, further recriminations dying on her lips. Sure, she wasn't exactly untouched but did he think--it sounded like he thought--"You think I'm a slut?" Her voice cracked, and the hated high heels clicked as she fell back one more step.

Don't cry, she ordered herself, not entirely sure why she would want to. Who cared anyway? If he could think that about her, then maybe he wasn't the sort of guy she'd thought he was, maybe they shouldn't be friends.

For one long moment, she considered refusing and going back to the party and acting like the whore he seemed to think she was. But that wouldn't help anything, she didn't want to be petty, she just wanted to not risk losing a friend she already dearly treasured.

"All right," she said, brushing her fingertips along the chain of her necklace. And, subdued, she continued: "I can go get my coat." They weren't that far from the Fondue Haus; she'd need to retrieve it eventually, might as well do it while they were close by. Her wallet, too, was with her coat. Then again, she really didn't want to go back there, and the reluctance was clear. "Need my wallet, anyway--come with me? I promise you don't have to come in."

Unspoken, but clearly heard, was Don't turn your back on me. It was something she would probably never actually say, but it was there for anyone who wanted to hear it.

Then, quieter, still aching from the accusation, she said, "Thanks, but--" she cut herself off, shaking her head.

"And... I'm sorry for leaving you behind," said Tate, "for... acting like that."

She said something wrong again, she knew it, looking at his downcast face. If this was what being right was, she didn't want it; she wanted him to cheer up and smile like he was supposed to. It was a little petty that that sort of thing made her frown. "We're still friends, right," she asked, reaching out to tentatively touch the sleeve of his jacket. She wanted to b***h and be petty, act like she would with Giselle, but something seized up in her chest at that thought. Ladon wasn't Giselle. He was...

Tate did not want to think about that. They would do all right if they just didn't think about the whole argument, she thought as she darted back into the Fondue Haus to grab her coat and wallet.

She stood next to Ladon for a moment, watching the steam of their breath in the cold. "Where do you want to go," asked Tate, shouldering her purse and tucking her hands into her sleeves.