It was after midnight now. And Brett had- more or less- enjoyed her evening. She'd been dancing with strangers, and- more importantly- doing her best to avoid Dax. Even though the entire point of the change in appearance was to show him exactly what he couldn't have, she didn't want to talk to him. Brett was still annoyed at how he'd reacted to Iggy. She was allowed to have dates! He'd (probably) brought girls home before, too. So she couldn't fathom why it even MATTERED. But they'd barely spoken since then. Apart from necessary interactions. And, truth be told, she missed him.

But she didn't want to tell him that. It was easier to be annoyed than to apologize for something she hadn't even been in the wrong for doing. Because she wasn't wrong. Dax was wrong. And he needed to realize it.

What Brett really needed now, after having to ring in the new year without a handsome face to kiss, was a drink. She hadn't yet decided if the night had been good or horrible. Professor Storm had seen her in a dress with a tight bodice and her bare legs. That was just weird. And she actually kind of missed Iggy. Plus she'd not had as much money to spend on the date auction as she had hoped- and Brett had no idea if she had won a great or horrible date. But it was all for charity, right?

She approached the table where the drinks were being served. Her grumpy attitude only multiplied as she had to wait impatiently for the person who was blocking her way. And then Brett realize it was Dax. "Stop dicking around, Fayette," she snapped, bumping him hard with her hip. "You're in the way."

The Gala had, so far, been a bit of a disappointment for Dax. Oh, it was different, certainly, but the girls were mostly high class and wouldn’t give him the time of day no matter how polite he was, or they were married, or – perhaps worse – they were still students and actually had their parents about. As far as diversions from the Abraham Issue went, the Gala was a failure – it was reminding him of the fact they weren’t talking far more than it was getting his mind off it. Had he and she been talking, they’d have laughed at all the posh snobs and had fun, he was certain.
Now …well, he’d seen her about. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the dress – a gift from Iggy, no doubt, but it was...well, it was trashy. Terribly trashy. And yet it looked damn good on her, if he could say so. Her slim muscular legs strutting across the floor had been hard to miss. Brett walked differently in heels, her now-long hair bouncing on her back. She was gorgeous, in his mind, and just made him feel a right tit for yelling at her.

..Except it also made him doubly angry over this Iggy Issue. He’d shook his head and beelined for the refreshments, looking for something – anything – that was alcoholic. His track record as a drunk wasn’t good, but at least he could focus on groping someone and getting tossed out of the venue. It was better than watching the play of light on Brett’s calf or something equally…equally annoying.

He was staring at the tasteful arrangement of the wines when Brett was suddenly next to him, pushing at him. He looked at her, scowling even as he struggled for words – a distant, all-too-often ignored voice in the back of his head telling him to watch his mouth…

“You get ditched, girl?” He asked, face contorting into a sneer, not really moving aside but sort of shifting his weight. “Don’t see your boyfriend about.”

For some reason, Brett was actually surprised at Dax's reaction to her presence. She had known he was annoyed, but had not expected him to be so... mean. Especially not at a public function like this. And even more so when she was dressed as she was. Brett knew that she looked good. Not as high class as most in attendance, but she'd caught more than one pair of eyes roaming in her direction and had more than a few of her dance partners try to cop a feel.

So what the hell was Dax's problem?

"First of all, Iggy isn't my boyfriend," she said to Dax. Because technically, Iggy wasn't. But for some reason, nobody wanted to listen that part of the puzzle. "Second of all, he was busy tonight. Had nothing to do with getting ditched." That something he had to do was be extra furry and howl a lot. "So I decided to come out and have a bit of fun." And if he wasn't being such a prat, then they could have been having fun together.

She wasn't sure whether or not Dax was aware that Iggy was a werewolf. Since Fauna and Dion had seen him naked, she figured they would have seen the scars on his body and figured it out on their own. But that wasn't any of Dax's business. No doubt it would just give him more ammunition to use against her.

"Not that it's any of your business what I do or with whom. But I'm certian that if Iggy wasn't... otherwise preoccupied he'd be here with me. Which seems to be more than I can say about... well, any woman who knows you." She reached over him to pick up a drink from the table. Yup, she was going to need alcohol for this.

Wasn’t her boyfriend. The Nile wasn’t just a river in Egypt! Of course, that opened up the possibility of her making out with other men than just Iggy, which made it worse. He could compete with one guy, especially a skinny little tit like the Knockturnals’ drummer. But some other guy?

He shook his head at her, torn for a moment between apologizing and getting angry. As always with Dax, it was far easier for him to jump on the option that was simpler and more base – and anger and jealousy was so simple for him to feel that he hardly had to muster it up what so ever.

“It becomes my business when you’re smearing your non-boyfriend all over my bed, Brett,” he hissed, keeping his voice down – not that it mattered much with this crowd. “There were wet spots on my bed, Abraham. Wet spots.” That had really been what set off the slow burning fuse; as if he needed further confirmation on what they’d been up to!

He ignored the dig at him, though it did hurt. “Otherwise preoccupied? I’ve seen enough of that stupid band’s material to know he’s probably off shacking up with some roadie.” The tabloids were always a reliable source of information, naturally.

"You're full of it," she snapped at Dax. "There were not wet spots on your bed when you got back upstairs! Or if there were, they were from you. Because I cleaned up the mess that Iggy and I made before we left. I know I'm not the best with cleaning spells, but I made sure your bed was clean." She'd been less concerned about her own bed. Of course, she couldn't argue the fact she'd been smearing her non-boyfriend all over Dax's bed... Or, actually, visa versa. He'd been smearing her. Either way. She knew, in retrospect, that had not been the best of ideas.

"Besides, I'm allowed to have guys over if I want! It's not like we made that against the rules. I wouldn't get mad at you for using my bed for a little extra room!" At least, Brett didn't think she would get mad. Faced with that reality might be an all together different situation, though.

She frowned darkly when Dax said that Iggy was probably off with some roadie. Any other night, he might have been. But it was important to Brett that Dax know that wasn't the case. She didn't want him to think that Iggy could just toss her aside so easily when it came to New Year's Eve- especially not for an event like this fancy party where you were supposed to have a date.

"First of all, even if he were shacking up with someone else- it's none of your business. And it's none of mine, either. Ignatius is not my boyfriend and he can do whatever he wants. And I can do whatever I want. He and I are..." she trailed for a moment. Just friends was not the right word. "Well, it's complicated!" she said. Brett took a long drink from the glass of wine she'd picked up. "Secondly, I know exactly where he is and what he's doing tonight. And it's certainly not a roadie- or anyone else for that matter. Even if he wanted to tonight, he couldn't."

"Why are you so bent out of shape about it anyway?" Brett asked. "You've been mean to me the last couple of weeks and I didn't do anything to warrant it!"

Dax considered correcting her on the wet spots, but the looks some of the ladies were giving them made him – for once in his life – think better of it. Whether the wet spots were imagined or not wasn’t something to argue about now anyway. He’d rather just…not think about it.

At all, really.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and he knew – really knew – that he rather hoped she would have gotten upset. She never had before, exactly. She’d just been…frosty. Frosty wasn’t something someone like Brett was very often, and he’d sort of hoped that that might mean she was jealous.

But if that wasn’t the case, well…well…he’d be kind of bummed. Understatement of the year, but it was true.
“So where is he, then? His grannie die? Got to wash his dog?” He obviously didn’t really believe that Iggy couldn’t be at the Gala and not be somewhere Brett couldn’t go. If Iggy was playing, she’d just be at the gig, he assumed.

He stared at her when she asked why he was mad – unable to comprehend that she didn’t know. How could she not know? Wasn’t it obvious?

“Really? You have to ask why I’m mad you’re running off screwing some random git you found washed up in the gutter?” He asked, shaking his head.

"Not that it's any of your damned business," she hissed at Dax, "but he tends to get a little bit furry on the full moons. I assumed you'd know that since Fauna and Dion already have it figured it out." Not that she really held it against them. It was hard to miss the scars on Iggy body when he was wandering about the house completely naked. Besides, when she and Fauna had gone to look for dresses they'd talked about it. Kind of. Even so, she was surprised neither of them had passed that bit of information on to Dax.

She looked at him, flabbergasted, when he seemed agitated she'd asked why he was mad. What the hell was he on about? "For your information, Fayette, I've been seeing Iggy since October. I hardly consider him some random git after almost four months." Even if they weren't in some kind of serious, monogamous relationship she felt like she had known him long enough to not feel guilty about what they did in the dark.

"Like you have room to talk, anyway. I've seen the way you are with women. Saw the way you used to look at Avendale when she pranced about the auror office."

She crossed her arms and glared at Dax. "If it's because you're jealous, you don't have any right to be! If you'd had intentions to be anything more than friends with me you should have figured that out sometime in the last couple of years. We've been snogging in broom closets for fun since fifth year, Dax. And it's always been just that- a bit of fun. You don't get to be pissed at me when I start having fun with someone else when you've been doing the same thing all along."

"I think that's plenty of time to let me know you didn't want me shacking up with anyone else, don't you?"

Dax looked at her in open, unmasked and rather dumbfounded surprise…once what she was saying clicked. It took a moment of confusion before his mismatched eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.

“He’s a goddamn werewolf?” He asked, voice raised enough that heads around them turned. “Brett what if you catch it,” he added as a hiss, rather hurt that Fauna and Dion hadn’t told him. Dion at least he knew why – his brother had made it clear he was staying out of this mess. Didn’t make that any more helpful . What would have happened if Dax had decided to roll up on Iggy tonight and got himself killed?

He scoffed at her comeback – that was different. He was a guy! That was – it was different for women. Dax wasn’t sure exactly how, but this was one of those laws of life that he wasn’t about to argue against.

But her words cut deeper than anything else she’d said, and Dax was silent as his eyes and expression turned openly hurt. It didn’t take long for that hurt to turn to pain and anger.

“Oh , really? That was all it meant to you?” He asked, drawing himself up – tone and expression bitter.

He seemed about to say something, but – he couldn’t think of a way to put the anger and hurt into words. He looked at her again and then growled, storming off into the crowd.

"It's not something you catch, Dax," Brett rolled her eyes at him. "I don't intend to spend the full moons in his company, so the chances of me ending up a werewolf are slim." Really, did he think she was stupid? Sure, sleeping with a werewolf might not have been the best decision she'd ever made- but becoming a werewolf took a specific series of events that were easily avoided.

Brett blinked, surprised when he seemed offended that she'd called their past antics a bit of fun. Had it been something more to Dax? His tone simply insinuated it, and the way he growled and stormed off. Since when did Dax have feelings? Brett had just assumed he wasn't capable of them. He'd never struck her as quite that... well... deep.

And the realization, that perhaps the last couple of years might have meant more to Dax than just a bit of fun left Brett reeling. She'd just never considered Dax a... real romantic possibility. Brett has assumed he'd have asked her out by now if that was what he wanted. Did they have some kind of unspoken agreement she hadn't been aware of?

"Dax!" she yelled out after him- but didn't follow as he disappeared in the crowd. Well damn. This sure as hell complicated things.