Ford now had a very important decision to make: whether the social gain of being seen to accept a cigarette when she offered was worth having to smoke one. The fact that she'd asked at all and not just handed him one offered him an out, and he really didn't want to smoke one. On the other hand, he still felt as though he was on thin ice; the judgement he'd felt earlier hadn't been passed, only forestalled. At any moment she might change her mind and say goodbye again. The chances of her doing so seemed significantly less if they were smoking together. Accepting would buy him at least the length of a cigarette to endear himself to her, so that she would agree to let him stay with her the rest of the evening. This was the lesser of two evils, he had decided. He might be making a fool of himself because he wasn't really in love with her, but he'd be doing that anyway. He'd be better off doing it with her than in front of others. Miss Chang was kind and sympathetic; she'd forgive him for being odd.

"Sure, alright," he said. He took the offered cigarette and wished that he knew enough about smoking to offer to light hers for her, but he didn't even know what spell he'd use if he tried. He felt a little awkward just standing there holding a cigarette (was this even the right way to hold a cigarette? was there a right way to hold a cigarette?) so decided it would be better to say something.

"It's not so much like work," he joked. "You're a lot prettier than any poltergeists I've seen."

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Set by Lady!

The cool air already did her a world of good – sort of? It certainly made her clearer headed, in how not-sober and dizzy she felt. It was like all the blood in her brain decided to rush to her face or jittery fingers or clumsy lead feet. Ballerinas don’t like lead feet, her mind nastily pointed out. Then a voice quite unlike her own, but certainly hers, quipped but that won’t matter, perhaps she’ll find it an endearing quality. And sure as the air felt cold, Ida got the sense that love will tell her what to say in the moment. It simply had to happen that way, because Ida was sure she would die with any other outcome. (Which was quite unlike her at all. Surely one can’t die from not professing their love, poets go on unrequited all the time. Besides that, her anaemic and generally bizarre conversational skills were quite irritating to her etiquette teacher.)

This is all really odd, wasn’t it. That she felt so out of sorts after only one drink, with all kinds of odd ideas planted in her brain. Well, one and a little-more-than-half drinks. Now speaking of, where had her gin drink gone? Oh, her left hand. Goodness gracious, maybe that was enough to drink for now. Because now she awkwardly had a drink in one hand and a cigarette case in the other; had she been in private she would’ve just nosed her way into her case and grabbed a cigarette by her teeth like a niffler finds shiny things or drained her drink like medicine. Fortunately, she had enough wits left to know this boorish display would be bad for Misters of any kind to observe. So Ida set her drink aside on the railing like one sets aside a scalding kettle.

Because she was feeling unbearably self-conscious now, Ida let a sheath of her dark hair hide her face as she procured two cigarettes. The first she passed to Mister Greengrass without really looking at him, and the second she put between her lips and lit it with a practiced swish of her wand. She didn’t notice what Mister Greengrass did, turning her eyes instead to the gardens ahead of them. Which looked… ostentatious, like everything else on this estate. Then Mister Greengrass was talking again, and Ida was too distracted to really clock what he said, not until a full seven seconds after she nodded along politely.

“...Well,” she stilted, a bit aghast. Drat it all to fucking hell had he been flirting the entire time? Wait. Or was this… like an odd big brother joke that digs at her? Trained enough in the latter to not feed into it, she took a puff of her cigarette before she clarified, “That's comparing apples and oranges. It is not a very high bar to be prettier than a spirit of chaos and destruction.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Miss Chang nodded along idly, but it was quite obvious to Ford that she wasn't really listening. He chewed his lower lip for a second, feeling terribly awkward and wondering whether he ought to say something else and hope that he eventually struck upon something that interested her or whether he ought to wait for her to say something instead. He hadn't really known what to say in the first place, and it occurred to him now that his compliment (if that was even what it was — he hadn't given it much thought before he'd said it) had been rather ham-fisted. Maybe better to wait for her to say something, then. In the meantime, he could try to figure out what to do with this cigarette.

He'd seen Cash smoke often enough that he should have known this, but when Miss Chang lit hers the wave of her wand looked different, and now he didn't know which to do. Was it just a spell to make a spark or was there something else to lighting a cigarette? It couldn't have been hard, because people smoked all the time, and people younger than him, and people who'd barely even gone to Hogwarts. He was certainly overthinking this. Ford put the cigarette to his lips as he'd seen her done, turned a little away from her in case he did it wrong and she was inclined to notice, and lit the end with a wave of his wand. It flashed too bright and then nearly went out before he remembered he had to inhale to keep it going. Not off to an auspicious start.

The smoke burned his lungs. He knew coughing would have been a fatal flaw at this juncture, so he didn't, but he felt his eyes sting. The cloud of smoke he exhaled through his nose felt as ungraceful as he did: too big, too fast, reeking with inexperience. Why hadn't Cash ever pressured him into learning how to smoke?

Miss Chang still hadn't said anything, and by now Ford was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Maybe waiting for her to speak next had been a mistake, but he didn't think he could backtrack on it now. Anything he could think to say only sounded more stilted after the lengthy pause that had preceded it. But one of them had to say something, because surely they were not just going to stand here smoking cigarettes in perfect silence? Ford took a drink, because that was better than trying the cigarette again, and prayed for a distraction. Someone could walk by right in front of them and fall and break their arm, ideally — that would give them something to talk about which he couldn't possibly mess up.

He had just been on the verge of making another terrible blunder — perhaps something along the lines of remarking on the fullness of the moon above them, or asking if she wanted to dance after this — when she finally said something. It ought to have been a relief, but she seemed so uncomfortable that it left him just as much on edge as her silence had. He was no less convinced that he was committing grievous social errors and that she was terribly unimpressed by him. "No," he allowed. He moved the cigarette towards his mouth and just stopped himself from chewing on the end of it as he might have nibbled on the edge of his quill when he was writing essays in his fifth year of Hogwarts. "You made the comparison first, saying it was like work," he pointed out. "I thought usually ladies only said unflattering things about themselves when they were hoping for compliments in return." He wasn't sure whether this last sentence would be seen as witty conversation and social commentary (what he was hoping for) or just odd. After a beat, he added with a beseeching look, "I did say you were much prettier."

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

An increasingly irritable piece at the back of Ida’s mind continued to wail about how this was a waste of time. How her destiny awaited on the other side of this wall somewhere, the benevolent ballerina that Ida was determined to meet. If only she can find her, and think of what to say! Probably not in that order. Oh but how could she get her brain to think properly with Mister Greengrass so intent on conversation?

This conversation, moreover, took a dangerous turn. Shoving aside impulses usually came easily to Ida, disciplined as she was when there was a problem to solve. But for the life of her, she couldn’t bring him or their conversation into complete focus. Whispers frayed the edges of her brain about the dancer she must locate. What a disconcerting way her mind was behaving. It made her head tick to the side, like she was trying to shake water out of her ear.

The social commentary broke through enough to earn a faint smile, though. Ida did not believe she was being self-deprecating, but he probably didn’t know her brother is a contracts and employment lawyer. “Oh.” Perhaps this made things a little better, if he was just responding to what he thought she wanted. However, the concept of unwarranted praise still made her nervous.

“But you don’t work to meet pretty poltergeists or ghosts, you work to be paid,” she rationalized, tone kept even. “I don’t believe you ought to do something so much like work when there’s no form of payment for it, even if it looks nice. Which– well, everything looks nice compared to a poltergeist,” she added haplessly, because now he was giving her a look that seemed to ask for something. For what? she fretted, taking a weary puff of her cigarette again. “And I’m not saying that to fish for compliments. Aristotle said we work to have leisure, on which happiness depends. I genuinely believe that to work during one’s leisure time deprives one of happiness.” So she was bound to make him unhappy.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

She'd smiled at him, but when she spoke she still sounded disappointed, or distressed. He couldn't tell which, but neither was good. Ford furrowed his brows and tried to follow what she was saying, but she was admittedly losing him a bit. Sure, he worked to get paid, but he did also like his work (most days), and she seemed to take it as a foregone conclusion that he didn't like talking to her. He didn't know what he could have possibly said or done to have given her that idea. Hadn't he been kind to her, and listened attentively to everything she'd said, and even tried to anticipate her needs when he could? What in that could have given her the idea that he didn't want to be around her? She must have been self-conscious in general, he decided — but that was ridiculous. She, of all people, had no reason not to be confident in the value she brought to any conversation she was in.

A few lines from a poem sprang to mind: Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee and breathe within thy shadow a new air, I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

She had just exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, and Ford decided not to recite the poem to her. She might think he was being facetious if he talked about breathing within her shadow. But the point remained: she said happiness depended on leisure, and didn't seem to realize that at the moment his happiness depended on her.

You're not in love with her, he reminded himself, but it didn't really matter.

"You're not going to scare me off," he responded. "Whatever Aristotle said. I'm a leisure to choose who to spend my time with, aren't I? And I'd like to stay right here. I like your company. And since you're not fishing for compliments, I won't say any more about it," he continued with a teasing lilt to his voice.

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Set by Lady!

Ida had hoped, in vain it seems, that she could scare him off. Remind him of serious things, and important topics, and how annoying his sister was maybe, or that he could be having a much more interesting time with any number of debutants in attendance who’ll do any number of gallops Ida will forever deprive him of. He was a bit odd, but surely there was a Potts girl or somesuch somewhere who would find this endearing. Ida wished she had a way to keep Mister Greengrass as a friend. But it was clear that this man was flirting with her now, what with all this pretty talk that wasn’t a joke. And the realization came with a disappointed, sinking feeling. Since when? But why? She let her guard down too easily. And now she felt terrible about it all.

“You… like my company,” she repeated, thinking of it as a question even if it came out like a skeptical statement.

Because in the end, there was no chance for Mister Greengrass. And now she had to find a way to inform him, because that was the right thing to do. Ida fleetingly considered her script and if she had the guts to say it – I never believed in love at first sight, until it happened to me would only tragically lead him on. But it was the truth – tonight cupid’s bow tore through her heart. Worse, it verified something she’s suspected in recent years. She was a lady who thought it was possible to be in love with another lady. Destined to be a spinster-- surely a fair exchange to be happy. Because the connection Ida will find with the dancer will be crystal clear once they meet, she was sure of it (while ignoring every instinctive allergic itch she had at the idea of deterministic fate). But other people will not take these feelings seriously, or think ill of her for feeling such insane things. Perhaps she’ll be institutionalized. Or worse, perhaps the dancer will be too afraid by it to consider Ida at all. Oh, why must this dratted love business be so hurtful?

Focus, she reminded herself, taking a metered breath to reel her mind back from its ten different directions. She put a jittery hand on the railing, and rolled her cigarette thoughtfully between her thumb and index finger.

“I meant to ask you before,” she finally ventured, desperate to shove away her nervousness with decisive focus on the problem to solve. If this was her destiny, which it undoubtedly was, Mister Greengrass would… fall away, in some way or another. He was quite perceptive. Perhaps he’d understand what she was getting at. “How is it that you strike up a conversation with strangers? Being or otherwise, what do you talk about first?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford wasn't sure why it was so hard for her to believe that someone would enjoy her company, and he felt the urge to say something more on that point, to reassure her or bolster her confidence. He could tell her that she was interesting and witty, even if she was a bit unconventional, and that the way she responded with such obvious and keen interest made her easy to talk to long after they'd exhausted the typical veins of small talk. He could tell her that the way she tilted her head when she was thinking something through was enrapturing, particularly when it made one stray lock of hair slip out from behind her ear and curl towards her shoulder. There was a poem hidden there, in the graceful swoop of skin from her collarbone up along her neck to her earlobe, and the way the single lock of dark hair danced in the air above it, but Ford wasn't enough of a poet to draw it out. Tycho could have done it.

This ground his thoughts to a halt and stopped him from saying anything to affirm what good company she was, because you aren't in love with her you're not in love with her you're not. He had to remember that. She was good company, that was true, and he knew that because he'd thought that after he met her the first time, and he had not been dealing with this fake infatuation then. He didn't trust himself to say anything, though, because now whatever reasons he'd had for enjoying her company were all mixed up with what he was feeling now, and he couldn't trust himself to decipher which were real things that he'd thought and felt and which ones were the product of — whatever it was he was going through.

He wondered very briefly if he ought to tell her what was going on — if he could maybe trust her to help him discern reality from fiction the way he'd trusted Tycho to watch over him at the Halloween masque. At the very least, it might provide an excuse for anything he said that was... strange. He discarded the thought when it occurred to him that she might already know — because if this was some sort of love potion or something, the list of people who might want to slip it to him was relatively small. Surely she wouldn't do something like that, though? It didn't fit at all with his mental idea of her — but then again, his mental idea of her was notably untrustworthy at the moment. But she wasn't acting like someone who was keen to take advantage — and if her end game was to get him to propose to her, or something, that wouldn't actually work out all that well for her in the end. Not that she had any reason to know that.

She'd asked him a question. He blinked and realized he'd been watching the skin along her shoulder and her neck for longer than was reasonable. "Oh, uh," he said, rolling the cigarette in his fingers so that he had another excuse to put off smoking it. "It depends on what you want from them. If you're trying to really get to know someone, start with questions. People will talk more about themselves than they'll be willing to listen. And then when you say something you can try and make it something relevant, that they might care about."

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

Even as Ida asked the question, she knew it wasn’t the one she should be asking. The feeling was reminiscent of sitting in a dense lecture, and you’ve yet to see how all the pieces of an equation fit together into a formula. To make it worse, her inquiry felt imprecise from the outset - because Ida didn’t simply want to ‘strike up conversation.’ It was a start, but Ida’s desired outcome was to convince the ballerina. Not that she could tell Mister Greengrass about the true nature of how she felt. In fact, she hardly knew if she had the gumption to tell the dancer herself.

But Mister Greengrass was good at being sociable, which was why she asked him. At least, he usually was. The witch had been lost in an idle train of thought for a beat too long, because he didn’t answer her straight away. Instead when Ida snapped-to, he seemed to be staring at a spot directly above her left shoulder. An eyebrow raised, and Ida ticked her head back to see what he could be looking at. She found nothing there but a few bushes.

Her motion might have startled Mister Greengrass back to life, however. And what he said was curious – it depends on what you want from them. So did he always go into a conversation with an agenda? …Even her, then? Such a manipulative approach felt contradictory to the image she’d been drafting of Greengrass in her mind thus far. But then, perhaps she was being manipulative too. Setting aside the obvious way she wasted this man’s time finding someone marriageable, she hoped to win the dancer’s heart with guile and charisma she did not ordinarily possess. Now how is that the basis of a healthy relationship, if it’s borne from lies?

Ida caught herself frowning again, and tried to flip it into a flicker of an appreciative smile. “I suppose I want them to agree with me,” she decided, in case the context was pertinent to his recommendation. “I want them to go along with my plan. Would anything about your approach change at all?”

Ida stopped her train of thought with a ponderous drag of the cigarette, pausing to hear two other revelers that spilled out of the party on the other side of the terrace. They were having some kind of animated conversation she couldn’t make out, too caught up in each other to take much notice of the two of them over here.

“Well, I haven’t a plan, really,” she clarified. “I only want this person to like me.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford's brow furrowed first at her frown and then at the beginning of her explanation. When she'd asked a moment ago she'd said she wanted to strike up a conversation with strangers, but getting them to agree to something made it sound as if she knew them after all. Particularly when she spoke of plans; Ford had never had a plan in mind when interacting with someone for the first time. The closest he'd come was probably when he'd had ulterior motives for his conversation with her (and, in fairness, with everyone else) back at the Flint Institute Soiree, but it was hardly as though he'd needed her to buy in on it first.

Then she continued, clarified, and the tension on his brow lifted. "Why wouldn't they like you?" he asked, then wondered with immediate panic if the question had been too quick and too earnest — if the subtext of I like you had hardly been subtext at all. "I mean," he continued, attempting to backtrack, "You have a lot of — hm, interesting opinions about things." He decided at this point that smoking was the lesser of two evils — he'd rather put a cigarette in his mouth than his foot — and took a hasty drag. He exhaled the smoke immediately, which was the only way he could keep from coughing. "I can't imagine anyone could dislike you, anyway. Unless they were jealous."

The last phrase had slipped out without a thought, and Ford could only stare at her for half a beat as he realized he'd likely dug himself deeper. He started to go for the cigarette again but found he couldn't stomach the idea with the taste of the smoke still so stark on his tongue, so instead he plunged ahead with another question to distract her: "Who is it you're trying to impress?"

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Set by Lady!

The question of why wouldn’t they like you came out so earnest and honest sounding that Ida couldn’t help but laugh. It was a short, breathy laugh that could be mistaken for a sharp exhale, though she looked at Mister Greengrass a bit more plaintively now. As if to say, really? She could start by considering a list as long as her forearm.

Though before she could clarify that the person had no opinions formed of her yet – which seemed dangerous in itself, it could easily go this way or that way – Mister Greengrass clarified what he was thinking. That she had interesting opinions, and couldn’t possibly be disliked. Unless they’re jealous. The thought elicited a slow blink from Ida— the thought made her uncomfortable. What on earth would someone have to be jealous about? The closest she came to that was… Tillie, or her brother, because Ida got to keep on with her schooling while they didn’t. Ida bit her lip in brief consideration of it.

“That is… very optimistic of you,” she decided to politely disagree. (Ida still remembered what he said about girls saying self-deprecating things, so she promptly nipped the train of thought in the bud.) Perhaps she can stick to asking questions so she won’t make a fool of herself. No doubt the dancer has seen some incredible things in this world, and Ida hadn’t heard her speak even, but imagined such a graceful creature could only have the most divine lilt, saccharine sweet, to match her serene expression and bright — shit. She’d forgotten if her eyes were green or blue. How stupid of her—!

“Oh… what?” Mister Greengrass had asked her something in that moment, and blind panic over her own inattentiveness momentarily obscured his sentiment from cognition. Though what he asked did seem to register somewhere… because not long after, her cheeks twinged a slight pink from embarrassment. Of course— she knew he was perceptive, she ought to have expected this. And Ida was quite good at a great number of odd things— accounting, putting up wallpaper, making slingshots, riding a horse astride— but lying well, and on the fly, was not one of those skills. A severe shortcoming when it came to making polite conversation.

“Oh I’m not trying to impress anybody…” she offered a sheepish rejoinder. “It’s not relevant who it is, anyway.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

She'd laughed — at him, or convivially? He wasn't sure. The expression that followed it didn't seem entirely optimistic, but it didn't last long before she started to blush at his question. Ford hadn't meant much by it; it had seemed a perfectly logical leap from what she'd said (agreement, plans, I want them to like me) that she was aiming to impress. There were plenty of perfectly innocent, unremarkable reasons someone might want to impress another person — but the blush on her cheeks made him wonder. Someone she wanted to impress, but that she was at least a little embarrassed to be forced to talk about. It seemed likely that Miss Chang had a crush, which — was fine, that was fine, because she was allowed to like whomever she pleased and Ford wasn't in love with her anyway so it wasn't as though he ought to care who she liked. It wasn't relevant, as she said.

Except it was relevant and he did care. Not that he was jealous, he didn't think — but he wanted to know what kind of person Miss Chang would be attracted to, for... purely academic reasons. Mere curiosity. It wasn't as though he was planning to do anything with that information. He just... needed to know.

How could he get her to tell him? She'd already demurred; would pressing her here work or only make her less likely to reveal it? He didn't know, but he didn't think it was worth the risk of trying and potentially making her shut down. Ford decided to take another short huff of the cigarette — at some point he had subconsciously decided that his demonstrable skill at smoking was tied to her impression of him, and he wanted to bolster it. "Of course it's relevant," he contended. "Good conversations aren't like an off the rack suit. They're tailored to the person they're meant for."

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Set by Lady!

Subconsciously Ida’s movements mirrored Mister Greengrass’s, and she took another ponderous drag from her cigarette. Unlike him however, though less important a detail for Ida to take much stock in, was the fact that her cigarette was more than halfway through. This conversation proved to be a trickier territory than she’d anticipated. But perhaps the unintended consequence of getting the advice she needed would be to also give Mister Greengrass a clue.Two birds one stone.

“I suppose you’re right….” she allowed, skeptical still. He did have a bit of a point. The dresses she had custom made for her debut fit much better than the off-the-rack dresses that failed to account for how tall and gangly she was (willowy, the modiste charitably offered).

Of course, knowing what she could say was a very different thing from having the wherewithal to say it. “But it’s dumb,” she demurred again, waving a hand to indicate how haphazard her interest was. “It’s not as if… And it’s not what you’re thinking,” she added hastily.

At an uncharacteristic loss for words, Ida could simply not conjure the right syllables to deny that her desire was a romantic one. Ida was a terrible liar. And if he caught her in the lie, then he would continue to want to know who it is, and if he knew, he would know it was a woman, and that really made no sense at all. Most importantly, Ida refused to be a topic of conversation at the Greengrass’s teatime.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford was now more convinced than ever that it was precisely what he was thinking, but he wasn't sure what to do with that information. He couldn't press; she'd see through him and shut down, and then maybe abandon him entirely and he'd be left alone on the patio with a cigarette. Moving on didn't seem right either. Partly because he wanted the information, but also in part because this facet of conversation didn't seem finished yet. If he were approaching this conversation just as a friend, this would have been an apt moment for a gentle nudge — or less than a nudge, really. Just an indication that a door was open, if she wanted it. Ford took a beat to consider whether anything had changed that would impact the way he responded, and eventually concluded it had not. They were just friends, and he ought to do his best to act like a friend if he wanted to remain friends when he came down on the other side of... whatever was happening. (He had given up on the idea that she had anything to do with the cause of his current predicament; her actions certainly didn't indicate any interest. If she was intentionally misleading him somehow, manipulating him through the way that she reacted to things or how she spoke... well, fine, she was doing a grand job of it and he wasn't going to try and outwit her).

"I'm sure it's not dumb," he said gently.

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Set by Lady!

"But it is," she cut in to reassure him, already approximating how the sentence would end, so she gave him a curt nod of resolve to reaffirm that it was, indeed, "Profoundly dumb."

Because it was foolishness, wasn't it, to think she could profess and win the love of another woman? Just the thought of it must be mad. A phase. A cry for help and attention. In every ordinary normal circumstance, Ida would recognize this for what it was - like any of her little stupid flights of fantasy that occurred to her with her friends - and categorically dismiss the impulse as such. But tonight Ida was not feeling herself, with these distractions and inability to focus and the way she blushed at every stupid thing. Which surely meant this obsession with her ballerina had to stop, because if it didn’t stop, she might do something regrettable – like be honest with her about her feelings, and ask her questions and seem interesting just in the way Mister Greengrass recommended.

Ida caught herself blinking back the hot sting of tears over her own utter haplessness. Took a furtive breath to bring herself back, anchored in the cold night and the smell and taste of a cigarette.

“I'm... a bit tipsy, and thinking strange things. I’m sorry I mentioned it,” she remarked on the single most honest thing she had the courage to say.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford stopped when she cut him off, and was only able to watch helplessly as she continued. She looked unhappy, he felt unhappy. He didn't know what to do about it. He did not actually want to encourage her to go and seize her moment with some other guy, but if the alternative was for her to be drowning in self-pity — well, this was hard to watch. He didn't think he could stomach it.

And it wasn't as though he had any reason to want to keep her here, at the end of the day. He didn't have anything to offer her. He couldn't have an actual future with anyone — and, and, and, he was in love with someone else, a fact which he had to keep reminding himself of. He wasn't in love with her, not really, so if she had some genuine feelings (or even an immature crush) on someone else, all the better for her —

Unless. Unless her crush wasn't real. She said tipsy, she said strange things; was there a chance that her feelings had come on just as suddenly as his had? Was there a chance that they might fade — that the competition for her affections might not be as persistent as he assumed? (The contradiction here — that if her crush faded, his would as well — had not occurred to him; no matter how many times he reminded himself that this infatuation wasn't real, it still felt so visceral he could not imagine it fading).

"Hey," he said softly. He had decided the best way forward was to endear himself to Miss Chang as much as possible, which meant being supportive in her moment of need... even if the moment of need was spurred on by her feelings for someone else. "You don't have to apologize. I did say I was willing to follow you while you went mad," he pointed out. Then, teasing: "Honestly, so far, it's a bit of a disappointment. I thought it'd be much stranger."

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Set by Lady!

Mister Greengrass’s soft call out to her felt like it came across a great chasm, and Ida realized that after her admission her expression must have stonewalled completely. She could feel the tension in her jaw. This was a hard habit of hers to break, when things felt overwhelmingly difficult. It was how she went for over a year without speaking a single word to anybody after her mum passed. Ida shut herself down.

Something about her newfound love tonight validated something in her heart she hated, and her inability to escape it left her fretful over her loss of control. Even as he insisted she need not apologize she worried her lip over it. Though she managed to crack a smile, clocking his tease for what it was: a genuine effort to make her feel better about it all.

For a moment, Ida had the presence of mind to wonder if he genuinely enjoyed getting to know her for a bit. Perhaps enough that he might not hate her too much, once he found out all his time had been wasted on someone as mad as she.

“Well, I don’t wish to cause a scene to embarrass you,” she played off, taking another shaky breath to bring herself down from her ledge. “Though I admit that I don’t know if it’s one of those situations where things will get worse before they get better. What the–” She noticed a sprinkle of white on her forearm, and turned up to catch a rogue cloud of cotton candy that soared overhead. It coated everything in its path with fine dust of powdered sugar and this time, Ida was the victim.

“Oh I cannot stand these rich parties,” she seethed, aghast as she shook out her hair.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3