19th January, 1890 — The Painted Lady

“Well, I’ve got twenty-nine years left, apparently,” Rommy said brightly, running a finger down the list on the pages of Witch Weekly. “I shall make it to a nice round fifty.” It wasn’t her copy - she didn’t often bother to read it - but it was a quiet Sunday and she and a few friends had been sitting about in the Painted Lady for so long already that her tea had gone quite cold.

The conversation was in no nearer danger of dying out than it had been a couple of hours ago, though, which Rosamund wasn’t going to complain about. Proper occasions could be both dreary and draining, but a more laid-back day like this was no trouble to her, and besides she had benefited from a sugar rush, nibbling on a scone. (Or two.)

“What about you?” She said with a daft little grin, passing around the funny old article to the next lady at the table, much preferring these silly predictions of death to vicious gossip, and inclined to keep on the topic for as long as possible.

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Open to 1-3 female characters who might be ~friends/friendlyish!

The following 1 user Likes Rosamund Bones's post:1 user Likes Rosamund Bones's post
   Cyrus Westerman

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Angeline hadn't necessary meant to spend several hours chatting with Rosamund Bones but a friend of a friend had invited her and here she was. She didn't dislike the healer, though she found her profession baffling, but she she odd enough that Angel could imagine no good coming from being seen with her by either Bellona or Tig. She was very diverting though and Angel took a brief look at the magazine she subscribed to but would never admit to even knowing the name of.

"I'm not sure why I'll start taking poison at the age of sixty-five," Angeline said with a cocked eyebrow, raising her cup to her lips before a thought struck her. "Perhaps because I'll be sixty-five."

Grinning over her cup at the other girl Angeline looked for a moment like the young lady she was rather than the matriarch she was training to become, and yet her eyes still flickered to the window and scanned the crowd. Just in case.

  

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time of death: when MJ dropped this heart-stopping set

"Sixty five, Merlin – at least you'll have the advantage of hanging that over other people's heads!" Tilda quipped. Witch Weekly was passed around at work often enough - though Tilda herself wasn't subscribed to the magazine, she knew the hospital was for their younger patients to keep themselves occupied whilst attending the ward. Earlier that week she'd caught a glimpse of the cover and given a little chuckle to herself thinking perhaps she'd take a glance at the article on a break.

At least this saved her the trip, the redhead thought, as she peered over at the magazine. "Oh!" she said, amusement flickering across her features. "I believe I'll pass just a year before you then." Another glance at the page told her even more details of her fate. Accidental poisoning, same as Miss Malfoy. Tilda laughed before setting her teacup down, her eyes hovering over to the pile of biscuits in front of them. She was quite hungry, but given the company, she put perhaps a bit more thought into how much she should indulge...

Well, if she was going to die in 43 years, perhaps another biscuit wouldn't hurt. "And my biggest regret shall be following my heart and not my hea – well that's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?" She added with a giggle.

  

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For two people who shared the same birthday month, they were startlingly unlike each other, Rosamund considered, smiling from Angeline Malfoy to Tilda MacFusty and back again. Miss Malfoy was poised where Tilda was passionate, and Tilda was redheaded and rosy where Angeline was cool and blonde. Still, Rommy found she quite liked Miss Malfoy out of the company of her usual friends, and she had always liked Tilda, in school and out. Nor could she help chuckling at the notion of being sixty-five and poisoning oneself.

Privately, Rommy thought she was rather looking forward to being sixty-five. It seemed to her half the pressures of youth would be gone by then: no one would care if she was pretty or if she worked or if she had found an agreeable husband. She would have the freedom, she imagined, to fade out of people’s lives a little, to wander away with herself. But she doubted Angeline would fade out of society that way - nor Tilda fade out from anything.

Case in point, with the way the magazine had predicted something of her stubbornness, following her heart rather than her head. “Still, I think I’d rather have your regret, Tilda,” Rosamund remarked with a small laugh. “Mine is erring too often on the side of caution,” she explained, pulling a grimace in light of it; joke the quiz may be, but she felt a touch attacked by the notion - perhaps because it felt a little too true. “And yours, Miss Malfoy?” She glanced at the blonde next, wondering whether hers and Tilda’s were once again the same. “Better or worse?”

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"I suppose it would depend," Angeline replied with a critical look at the magazine, trying and failing to pretend that she wasn't at least a little bit pleased to theoretically be the last one standing. There were a few matrons in their 60s who didn't look half bad and at least, as Miss MacFusty said, she would get to lord it over the rest of them. Perhaps she could even take to keeping others in line as Mrs Pendergast had done before her untimely death?

Then again, if the magazine was right she would be the last person they'd want...

"If I'm going to bring shame upon my family I hope I shall enjoy myself doing it!"

  

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time of death: when MJ dropped this heart-stopping set

At Miss Malfoy's reply, Tilda had to let out a laugh. While preconcieved ideas of upper class debutantes had preceded the blonde, Tilda found her great company and rather amiable in humor. Time would always tell, and it didn't escape Tilda's eye that Miss Malfoy's eyes flickered to the window every now and then, but the healer liked to think the best of people before confirming her suspicions; for now she would see how things played out.

While she and Rosamund were not the most bosom friends, Tilda did feel a certain protectiveness over the younger healer as they were in the same house as well as within the same profession. Though she would most certainly not tell Rosamund, Tilda had to admit dying of regret of erring too much on the side of caution did suit the other healer quite well. While her soul was kind and gentle Tilda would rather eat her own dragons before residing to the fact that Rosamund was a coward –– just perhaps a bit more reserved than she was used to.

Then again, being reserved was not encoded in Tilda's DNA and as such was a bit of a foreign concept. "I do believe," she said, sinking further into her chair in comfort. "there are worse ways to feel about bringing shame upon your family." Then added with another giggle: "Clearly this magazine has already mapped out the endless possibilities of doing so."

  

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She couldn’t hold back a chuckle either at Miss Malfoy’s chipper remark, and the slight shake of Rosamund’s shoulders as she laughed at the possibility - and Tilda’s addition after it - saw her slop a bit of tea out of her teacup onto her lap in the process. (Lukewarm by now, luckily.) With a slight wince at herself, Rommy set down her cup and, as discreetly as she could, tried to pat away the offending spill with a napkin.

Hoping no one at the table had noticed, she bit her lip in a bit of a grin. While she had no desire of bringing shame upon the Bones’, she didn’t think she had or would ever come close: she might be a bit of a disappointment - in Witch Weekly’s eyes, at least - but the magazine had predicted this too, after all. Too prone to erring on the side of caution, indeed.

“I should think people will have to start being more creative about it,” Rommy added wryly, wary of the conversation teetering towards gossip, and making sure only to toe towards it at the magazine’s expense, “or I’m sure the magazine will quite run out of things to print about elopements, and put itself quite out of business.” One could hope, in any case, though it was unlikely to be true. If people did not embarrass themselves, Witch Weekly would probably be happy enough to make up some shame for them.

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Angeline liked Rosamund Bones. She truly, truly did, however no amount of liking a person could allow her to overlook somebody being quite so slovenly with their tea. They were in public! And true Miss MacFusty hardly counted as civilised company but Angel had hoped that despite her profession Miss Bones had managed to inherit some of the grace exuded by her grandmother.

She had been willing to make conversation despite the possibility that she might be seen and this was how the world had repaid her!

"I doubt that will happen as long as there is ample fuel to feed the fire of social failure," she replied sharply, getting to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting on. They will be wondering where I am."

  

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time of death: when MJ dropped this heart-stopping set

Tilda was about to take another sip of tea when the blonde debutante shot up. She paused, her teacup halfway in the air as she stared wide eyed at Miss Malfoy as she took her leave. Social failure?! She looked at Rosamund, her expression more than reflecting the outrage she felt. Tilda was more than willing to accept that she wasn't exactly the most graceful and eligible debutante in society given her family, but Rosamund (at least in Tilda's eyes) was far more respectable than her! "Miss Malfoy!" She exclaimed in protest, putting down her teacup. "I don't think that's fair of you to say."

  

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The tea spill had not been discreet enough, by half. If Rosamund was disappointed with how coolly Miss Malfoy spoke or how quickly she leapt to her feet - almost as though she were allergic - she could not pretend that she was surprised.

It had been a little too good to be true, having someone like Angeline Malfoy at the table, being so pleasant. She ought to have known it couldn’t last. Even at the rather barbed social failure comment, Rommy was half-tempted to laugh... but better not spill more tea on herself, hm?

And better not have Miss MacFusty too indignant on her behalf. “It’s fine, Tilda,” Rommy assured the redhead, quiet and slightly embarrassed that Tilda had witnessed this slip-up, and trying to communicate best leave it. “Miss Malfoy’s schedule is a very busy one, and we oughtn’t keep her.”

She meant it sincerely. After all, they were only healers; whatever did she and Tilda know about the heavy duties of a social calendar?

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Despite what some might think Angeline did not especially enjoy insulting others and she chastised herself for even sitting down with the other girls in the first place. Miss Bones on her own might have been more suitably behaved but two witches who spent their days amidst the crude language and obscene sights of a hospital were practically guaranteed to behave poorly.

She ought to have known better. At least she had not been seen.

Still, she felt as though Rosamund was mocking her life and the slight, real or imagined, stung.

“I’ll bid you good day then Miss Bones. I expect I’ll see you at the ___’s ball.” She nodded at Tilda MacFusty, certainly not expecting to see her anytime soon, and departed the shop, head held high.

  

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time of death: when MJ dropped this heart-stopping set

Tilda still scowled at the blonde, despite Rosamund's previous words. Honestly, how ladies of society could be so stuck up some times! Even with her and Rosamund's friendship though, she daren't say this aloud – there were bound to be more ladies like this in her life than Tilda's. Despite her desire to smack the girl, she refrained from embarrassing Rosamund and sat back down, doing her best to act as if she wasn't indignant on her friend's behalf. Still, the harshness with which she set down her teacup surely betrayed how much she would rather be dumping its contents onto the newly departed blonde.

"Well, now that that's over, perhaps we can actually enjoy ourselves..." she muttered audibly enough only for her friend to hear her.

  

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