She had laughed, which made his chest feel light. Was it just the confidence boost of having told a successful joke or was it something about her laugh? She did have a lovely laugh. It was another of those things that he hadn't noticed previously, and was now struggling to imagine how he could have gotten through a whole interaction without noticing it. He'd been too distracted the last time they'd spoken, at the Flint Institute party (he recalled this vaguely without actually thinking about what it was that had been distracting him).

"You can trust me," he assured her earnestly (his tone perhaps a bit too sincere for the superficial level at which ballroom conversations generally stayed). It was true, though; he couldn't imagine her telling him anything that he wouldn't keep her confidences on. He had a fleeting impulse to put his hand on the table between them, maybe gently touch her elbow or her wrist — which was obviously not something he ought to indulge. At least not here in public, where it would certainly be construed as flirting. Which he'd been trying to avoid tonight, he remembered, though he couldn't exactly remember why. Of course he wouldn't have wanted to get her in trouble by starting rumors, or to give her the wrong impression about his intentions, but falling short of those crimes it didn't seem the worst possible outcome to indicate that he was enjoying her company. He was enjoying her company, and if some light flirting meant he was in it more often moving forward, it was hard to see a downside there.

She was still talking, though, and now the window of opportunity where he might have touched her arm seemed to have closed, so it was something of a moot point. Ford took another drink. If he hadn't already been leaning in he would have done as he listened. He could picture the display as she spoke, and was impressed both by the ease with which she seemed to talk about spells that he would have no idea how to begin casting, and her attentiveness towards her younger brother. Any indication he had that someone was a good sibling tended to raise them in his estimation, though in her case he didn't know there was much farther to climb. She had already demonstrated she was intelligent, and interesting, and down-to-earth, and — he could not recall anything about her that he didn't like, at least at the moment.

"That's lovely," Ford said, leaning his cheek on his hand. His eyes went one step further: you're lovely. "I bet he'll remember it forever."

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The following 1 user Likes Fortitude Greengrass's post:1 user Likes Fortitude Greengrass's post
   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

You can trust me, he said, with enough genuine conviction in his words that it gave Ida room for pause. She studied him then, curiously— he was always chipper but he seemed in a superb mood now, for reasons she couldn’t quite place. Excitement for the performance? Cheer for the new year? Ida took a thoughtful sip of her drink. Perhaps she could learn to trust Mister Greengrass, but this wasn’t a sentiment she doled out lightly. Quite the opposite, she preferred keeping her private matters secret even from her best friends until she felt ready. Mister Greengrass was very nice, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. (Wait, but were they friends now? Perhaps? Loose friends.)

So the witch hummed a noncommittal response to keep up the playfulness, and went in for another sip of her cocktail, noting as she did that Mister Greengrass made quite a bit of progress on his so she was probably safe from embarrassment at least.

“You think he will? I hope so. I wasn’t really there for him very much. I mean, I was in school obviously, but I never tried much to go home over breaks either…” she bumbled on, not quite sure what to say anymore, seeing as he kept staring at her. Did she have something on her face? Would he tell her if she did? He said trust me so emphatically…

In all honesty, if Ida didn’t know any better based on their previous interactions, Greengrass seemed to be flirting. The cold panic that made her stomach clench was tempered, a bit, by the fact that he’d given none of these indications before so maybe she was reading into it wrong? Perhaps he was very amused by her commitment to her baby brother? Oh gods in heaven, he didn’t think that was very maternal of her, did he? But why now, why so sudden? Cleary she must be mistaken, then.

The woman’s head tilted to the side, the way it always did when she encountered conflicting information. “Er, are you feeling alright, Mister Greengrass?”

Just then the lights dimmed, and the musicians teed up their tuning for the upcoming performance. Ida looked up excitedly for the show to start — it would only be a few minutes excerpt, surely they could resume their little chat after and she could get to the bottom of whatever Mister Greengrass was trying to say. In any case she spared the man a quick glance and questioning raise of the eyebrow.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

The lights dimmed before he had a chance to respond, which meant Ford had the next several minutes to obsess over the question. Was he alright? If the lights hadn't changed he would have said yes, of course without a second thought, but now he had a second to think. There must have been something that had spurred her to ask in the first place. She was perceptive; he'd noted that the last time they conversed. Miss Chang had noticed something that had made her think he wasn't feeling alright. Had he put his foot in his mouth at some point? He retraced their conversation for the past several minutes and couldn't think of where he might have. Christmas, family, drinks, dancers, distractions...

Oh. Distractions. That was something, because the lights had dimmed and the crowd had hushed and someone had come out onto the small stage, and it hadn't even occurred to him to look in that direction yet. He was still looking at her, at the shape of her eyes and the curve of her neck and the slightest movement of her lips, and he ought to be watching the ballet. He took a drink and forced his eyes in the direction of the stage, though he was incapable of forcing his attention to follow. 

Was something the matter? He was distracted by her now, and he hadn't been the first time they'd talked. That was probably what she was picking up on, but Ford didn't know if this was a problem with him then or now — or if it was a problem at all. What was the trouble with noticing? But if she was noticing, and thought it was something to be worried about, then maybe she was right. He wasn't drunk, but suddenly he was doubting his version of events so far that evening. If he couldn't trust his own narrative, though, he didn't know how to handle the issue. He desperately wished Tycho were here, or that things weren't so off between him and Noble. He blinked and tried to actually focus on the performance, with minimal success, then took another sip of his drink (which he'd likely finish by the time the lights returned, at this rate). He caught himself looking at her again, blushed, and tried to shift his eyes back to the dancer on the stage before she could catch him looking.

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Set by Lady!

Greengrass had no time to answer, so she supposed her line of questioning would have to wait. The quick glance she spared his way confirmed that something was indeed on his mind, something he hadn’t thought of before. But Ida was no legilimens, so it simply had to wait.

Soon the show started anyway, teeing up with soft tinkling bells that sounded like snowfall on a mysterious winter night. Ida felt her heartbeat pick up a clip with excitement, and took another drink. The leading ballerina had graced the stage, wearing the most gorgeous costume of tulle that accentuated the length of her lean limbs. Her movements were perfectly timed to the music, and as soft and swift as a ribbon fluttering in the wind. Ida gasped, audibly, when she teetered precariously on one toe and raised her other leg up behind her in an effortless arch. How does she do that?

Ida glanced over to Mister Greengrass to ask as much, but he wasn’t looking at her. Funny enough he seemed to be blushing slightly – perhaps he was distracted again, she thought – though this time the consideration was less amusing and more irritating. How dare he think any lustful thoughts about the ballerina! The dancer was utterly pristine, in fact, this setting felt all too vulgar for such a flawless being. She ought to be dancing for kings and queens. No, she ought to be the queen!

Over the course of the piece, which really couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, Ida thoughtlessly finished about two-thirds of her drink. She was, in the end, a bit distracted. And she felt a bit slow and stilted, jumbled together thoughts of what on earth had I meant to ask Mister Greengrass about and what is the divine dancer’s name. With a pang of despair the dance was over, and Ida stood abruptly to clap alongside other members of the audience (though none, surely, appreciated it as much as her!).

Soon the lights flickered back to bright. The ballerina absconded– Ida had hoped she might see her, they were fairly close to the front. Perhaps they could find her? Perhaps she could introduce herself? To what end, of course, Ida didn’t know– the results didn’t seem to matter. Finally, the young woman turned to address her companion (who frankly, through all her daydreaming she’d forgotten was there).

“Wasn’t that wonderful?” Ida sighed with uncharacteristic exuberance. “Oh my goodness. I need to see the entire show now. Or any show with her, really. They’ll be back on in the next hour, won’t they?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford wasn't paying enough attention to the dance to recognize its climax, but he could hardly have missed Miss Chang jumping to her feet to applaud. He followed sheepishly, as though he expected someone to call him out for not having been paying enough attention to the ballet, though of course no one would have been paying enough attention to him to notice. Miss Chang rounded on him and Ford's eyebrows raised in surprise, though this did not delay his response: "Oh, yeah, wonderful. Absolutely," he parroted stupidly. I guess I'm a ballet fan now, he thought, while faintly somewhere in the back of his head he noticed and worried that it had not even occurred to him to disagree with her. She had just seemed so enthusiastic, so animated; he wouldn't have wanted to disappoint her by admitting he hadn't even really watched the dance.

She'd asked him about the schedule, and he didn't know but didn't want to admit to ignorance. "Uh, yeah, I think so," he said, glancing around the room as though this might be posted somewhere and he could figure it out that way. "With a different dancer, someone said. There's three performances, I think. We can watch them all," he added with a hopeful note.

(If there was something the matter with him, if this distraction was a problem, the last thing he wanted to do was to be surrounded by strangers while he tried to puzzle it out!)

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Set by Lady!

Of course Mister Greengrass thought the dance was wonderful. It was quite possibly the most wonderful and beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Everything else paled in comparison, and now that the dance was over Ida felt unmoored. Restless. Weary. Where had the ballerina gone?

The witch’s eyes widened in response to his commentary about the schedule, one particular part of what he said sticking out like a sore thumb. “Another dancer?” she questioned, scandalized. “But she’s perfect! Why on earth a different dancer?” Ida huffed, a bit irritable at the news but it was no fault of Mister Greengrass that the host didn’t know perfection if it beat him over the head with a baton. Disgruntled, she took another sip of her drink. “Do you think we might be able to find her? I’d love to introduce myself,” the woman sighed wistfully. Ida still had no concept of what she’d actually do or say if she encountered the dancer, but it felt about as important as breathing. The very thought of it had her entire body thrilling with excitement, enough that she felt jittery. She took another draught of her drink, hoping it might help dull her senses enough to calm down.

“Merlin, I’m just–” she set down her empty glass and shook out her hands like she’d just dipped them in freezing water. “Oh, I can’t sit still. It’s warm in here too, isn’t it? Too many people,” and not one of them was the ballerina!

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Miss Chang was very enthusiastic about the ballerina, which made him feel — something. There was a hum in his chest that he couldn't quite pin down. He liked the way she looked when she talked like this, so animated she could practically have bounced, but her mood also seemed to be shifting quickly — irritated, wistful, exasperated. He didn't know what to make of it or how to react, and there was something else. It was barely even a thought, just a vague tug at the back of his mind: he wished someone would talk that way about him. No, not someone — her. Ford wished Miss Chang would talk that way about him.

"Let's get some air?" he suggested, in response to warm and too many people. He'd offered because it seemed like the only reasonable thing to say after her complaint, but it occurred to him as he spoke that if she took him up on it this would put the two of them in close proximity away from most of the party. It was not alone, but it was the closest approximation that one could reach at a crowded ball, and that seemed like a delightful turn of events. (Because she was good company, and not for any other reason, of course.) Hopefully she agreed, because if she didn't then he supposed the alternative was to help her go find the ballerina — parting ways for any reason had not occurred to him as a possibility — and for some reason that didn't sit right with him. He even thought to suggest I can help you look for her and hadn't quite gotten the words out. He had the feeling that if they did find the ballerina, all of this enthusiasm she had would be directed that way and he'd end up on the sidelines of the conversation, and he didn't want that.

He finished his drink and left the empty glass on the table, then offered her a hand to help her up. He glanced back at the empty stage and realized there was a word for this: jealous. He was jealous of the way she focused, apparently single-mindedly, on the dancer, and the animated way that she was describing her. That was senseless, though, because there was nothing really to be jealous of; they had not even met, and Miss Chang had no more connection to the ballerina than any of the other people who had just watched the performance. Even if she had, it wasn't as though Ford had any particular claim to Miss Chang that would give him any right to be jealous. They were just acquaintances, not even really friends yet, but —

— but they could have been something, because she was so engaging and intelligent and they'd gotten along so well before, and her face when she tilted her head to the side and thought deeply about something was so adorable he could have laughed and pulled her straight into his arms. He was, he suddenly recognized, a little bit in love with her. He couldn't have said when it had happened, but it was certainly true now.

— only that wasn't right, was it?

He was in love with Tycho. That was right. Probably it was possible for both things to be true, for someone to be in love (at least a little bit) with two people at once, but Ford had only realized he was in love with Tycho after they'd been friends for over a year and had already started sleeping together. By comparison, this was very sudden, and probably not to be trusted. Unless she was just that amazing, that it had all happened so quickly. At the moment it didn't seem an impossible conclusion, but he could recognize that objectively it wasn't the most logical one. And maybe this was what she'd meant when she asked if he was feeling alright, he suddenly realized. She was quite perceptive, and he'd been acting strangely, and she'd noticed — so that must have been it, and this must not have been real, and he must not have been in love with her at all.

Not that this train of thought prevented his stomach from swooping when she took his hand. "Come on," he said as she stood. "Let's try a different drink this time and then find the garden."

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Set by Lady!

A very distant part of Ida’s mind registered that things weren’t really transpiring as they ordinarily would. These jittery nerves weren’t here before, for example. And it was a rather odd reaction after watching a dance, objectively speaking. Her impulse to flee was odd, as was the impulse to introduce herself to a stranger in such a forthright manner – one of the reasons she didn’t know what to say to the ballerina was because she never said… things, to people, starting in cold like this! But then, Ida couldn’t think of any other time art had moved her quite like this (whatever this is; her grasp of it grew fuzzier by the second, like a fading dream upon waking). Further evidence, then, of the divine perfection of that ballerina’s very existence. And people do insane things all the time in the name of love, don’t they?

— Wait, but was she in love? Ida missed the point where she thought it was even real. Is this Cupid’s love at first sight?

Let’s get some air. Yes - air is good. A dull ache in her chest indicated that she was forgetting to breathe. She also realized, feeling a bit foolish now, that it probably felt so warm because her face was flushed. Fingers that felt ice cold when she pressed them to her cheekbones verified this. Ida cupped her face in this way for a moment, struggling to take a deep breath, as the dance left her utterly overwhelmed. If this is what love is, is it meant to feel so excruciating? Like she has two brains and two hearts at once, worse than being an Animagus, because one half could only obsess over their love while the other half was left to suffer through the present moment without them.

A beat too late, Ida realized she was sitting that way and leveling Mister Greengrass a profound frown. She finally dropped her hands and tried to school her features into something vaguely appropriate for the present moment. But even as she grasped his hand to stand, hesitation was written all over her face. She didn’t really need his hand for this, but perhaps it was a good mechanism to anchor her in the present. There was nothing to be done about the ballerina now, anyway. Ida wouldn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of her!

“Okay, let’s go,” she agreed meekly to his suggestion of another drink and the garden. Her mind instantly went to the relief only a cigarette could provide. “Let’s not take too long. I want to get back here early enough to sit right by the front…” She’ll take some liquid courage, have herself a cigarette, and think through her strategy. Then she’ll find out more about the ballerina, and have something intelligible to say when they finally meet after the next show. Then she’ll certainly feel better.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

"We'll be back in plenty of time," he reassured her. Ford had no strong feelings whatsoever on where they sat for the next dance or whether they even watched it, but it was clearly something that was important to her. The look on her face while she'd considered whether or not to take his hand! He could have simply died, and suspected he had at least wilted a bit under her frown. She'd accepted his hand, though, and she'd agreed to follow him outside, so that was something.

It was maybe not the best idea to be headed towards a relatively private conversation with a girl he was in-love-with-but-not-really, but Ford felt he'd already committed to it and couldn't back out now. At least, this was the rationale that he presented to himself internally. Part of it was also that he just wanted to, despite knowing he shouldn't. And what were the alternatives, really? It wasn't as though he was going to part ways with her, at least not as long as she would tolerate his company. He'd be driven to distraction by her wherever she was or whatever she was doing. At least if they were having a conversation, he had a plausible excuse when he was caught staring at her.

They didn't have to make it all the way back to the refreshment table, because a waiter was wandering by with a tray of glasses and Ford was able to seize the opportunity to snatch a pair. They didn't have their choice of any drink on the table this way, but he didn't care — it wasn't the same as the orange thing they'd just finished, and that seemed safe. He took a sip and passed one over to her. "Oh, this is gin," he said with some relief — being able to taste the alcohol was safer than not being able to taste it, although this drink was just as sweet as the last had been. "I didn't ever ask what kinds of drinks you would be looking for," he pointed out.

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Set by Lady!

Mister Greengrass was mildly reassuring about coming back in good time, and for better or worse, she trusted him. He asked her to trust him, firstly, but secondly, he seemed honest with her so far. Moving around did her some good anyway, to get her mind off things. The frown started to ease into something a bit more impassive, even as her hands restlessly fiddled with the beading on her reticule. Though they didn’t get very far – he proffered two new glasses from a server, and Ida took the one offered with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

The young woman took a sip, and hummed in happy assent. The taste reminded her of grapefruit and licorice. “I like gin,” she announced, throwing him a guileless smile. “I like citrusy things, sour things. That last drink was a little too sweet for something to have often. It was interesting, but I think it made my face red,” she added the last with a huff of displeasure, and tapped her cheek for emphasis. “I’m not usually like this,” she felt the need to clarify. ‘This’ being one of the things she could no longer define, but perhaps observable behavior already made it self-evident. Mister Greengrass just gets things, she didn’t have to explain things to him, she decided.

The two set off, their little venture through the wonderland making Ida increasingly aware as that first drink may have incapacitated her more than expected. Every slim, diminutive brunette they passed made her twist her head wildly in her direction– the ballerina?, only to be met with profound disappointment each time. The details of where they were and who she was with felt fuzzy in the sense that it all felt irrelevant, and Ida had to coax herself to think about the present moment often. Gods have mercy, she needed her cigarette. Nevermind if Mister Greengrass found that profoundly unladylike, he wasn’t the one she needed to sort herself out for.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

She liked gin. Ford beamed, taking this as a personal affirmation. He made a note of the flavors she said she liked, though when it was likely to come up again was anyone's guess. He wasn't often in the position to be procuring drinks for young women (though perhaps he might find himself in that position, if he made a point to be in her company more often moving forward? — except, wait, he wasn't actually in love with her).

Miss Chang was berating herself, and Ford shook his head emphatically. Her cheeks were a little red but she still looked lovely. If anything, the added color only served to make her more animated, and consequently more appealing. And as far as her not usually being like this, he hardly knew what she meant. Aside from having frowned at him a moment ago, she'd been the picture of wit and charm tonight, as far as he was concerned. "You don't need to apologize," he assured her. "I —"

He had begun before he knew how he meant to finish the sentence, and now he wasn't sure what to say. I'm enjoying our time together felt both too earnest and too bland; it said nothing and in saying nothing let on that he was an inarticulate mess on the inside. I really like you was what came to mind next, but that was even worse. He could switch tracks and start the sentence with you, but then the only thing that came to mind was you're lovely and she was bound to find that suspicious. It was true, but it was the sort of thing one had to build up to.

"— I'm feeling a little out of sorts, too," was what he said, although it wasn't at all what he'd wanted to say. They were still in the ballroom, though; maybe by the time they'd reached the garden and the fresh air he'd have thought up some non-conspicuous way to tell her how charming she was, instead of just talking about himself.

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Set by Lady!

This two-minds-at-once thing was terrible, Ida decided. Why did poets pine for love so much? It seemed like the sort of thing that dropped out of thin air rather than something one can seek and find, which was terribly inconvenient at a time like this. Poets made it sound lovely, when Cupid’s arrow struck. The air is supposed to smell sweeter, colors should look more vivid, one’s heart is supposed to flutter in air. They made love sound like the holy grail, something worth seeking. But for all her company’s affability, for all the good candies and gingerbreads and friends they could meet, for all the experiences to be had now that she was in love… Ida found her mind wholly preoccupied with one idea, that ballerina, and everything else felt tenuous and drab.

Love is no good.

And still, as they walked and Mister Greengrass resumed his chipper attitude, her mind reeled. Worse than any thesis she spent all night awake pondering. How can I spend the rest of my life with her? How can I convince her I am worthy? — but this thought was so disorienting. Really, what could she offer a lady better than what a man could? Objectively, this made no sense whatsoever. She certainly had no influence, or funds, or even experience to demonstrate. She had love though— would that be enough?

Of course it’s not, you foolish girl, her mind nastily supplied.

It was hard for Ida to contain her grief, as they went on. Mister Greengrass was going on about her having no need to apologize, but truly, if he could read even the half of her thoughts he would never speak to her again. Ida felt that she should apologize, over and over, for his time she’s wasted while her mind has been elsewhere. She was not herself.

…but then, he confessed that he wasn’t either.

Ida halted in her tracks, eyes widening a smidge. “Out of sorts in what way?” she asked, because even when lovesick, curiosity always got the better of her. Then, in a more quiet, confidential tone, she leaned in, “I think I might be going mad. Perhaps it’s better we part ways.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford's heart leapt to his throat. "No," he said at once, and reached out to catch the wrist of her free hand before he could think better of it. "Don't go." As soon as his mind had caught up to him and realized what he was doing he felt embarrassed at having grabbed her wrist, and his cheeks flushed though he did not let go. They were near the edge of the ballroom now, with the door to the garden in sight — why couldn't they have made it just a few steps further before she'd proposed leaving? He felt that if they were out there he could say something that would compel her to stay — though he did not know what he would have said — that he couldn't say here, when they were still (relatively speaking) in the public eye.

"I don't care if you're mad," he said, meanwhile thinking you're making a fool of yourself and also remember you aren't in love with her, really; it only feels that way. Things were off, and he was off, and he knew it, but none of that could take priority in his thoughts when he was forced to consider the absence of her. "I'll go mad with you," he offered boldly. "At least we'll know we've got good company."

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Set by Lady!

The move made Ida’s eyes instantly narrow. It’s not that Mister Greengrass felt threatening, but she rather preferred thinking he had no ulterior motives. Was he flirting all this time? And why did the thought sting? The possibility that he might get in her way brought everything into sharp relief about him, for the first time in… well before the dance, probably. Which was about when he started acting strange, too.

That realization, and what he said, slotted into her mind like the story she read Tao for bedtime once. The Cheshire Cat not-quite reassuring Alice: we’re all mad here.

“Pfft.” So she really had gone mad with love. Her eyes went from her wrist to his face, where she noticed a fine dust of white settled all over his hair and shoulders. All at once, he didn't seem like a threat at all. She wrestled her wrist from his grasp, and self-consciously looked around. Only to turn back to him and swat gently at his shoulder where -- “...Powdered sugar?”-- settled. The witch looked exasperated as she took another sip of her drink. He was entirely affable, which made her wonder why she never took the easy route and simply considered the man. Was it that he reminded her of her brother? But he was easier to converse with. Took her seriously, as well. But there was nothing for it. If he thought of her as anything more than a friend, she should nip the bud now.

“If that’s the case, let’s go mad over a cigarette,” she decided, looking equal parts skeptical and bemused. “Though you are quite strange to keep me company through such a thing.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

There was a moment, as her eyes narrowed and she pulled her wrist back, that Ford felt judged. It was all he could do to keep his back straight and his chin level as she surveyed him, hoping that she saw something there that would prevent her from dismissing him out of hand. It hadn't looked promising — the noise she made, the look she gave him, the swat on his shoulder (of all the moments for something undignified to have happened, and of all the undignified things that could have happened, it was inconceivable that the universe could be so cruel as to sprinkle him in powdered sugar just at the moment when he was trying his best to look self-assured). But she seemed at the very least to have foregone judgement of him for the moment, because she proposed a cigarette. Ford didn't smoke and never had, and he'd always found the habit odious when Cash indulged in it, but if the alternative was to part ways...

"Alright," he said with a nod, then took a moment to look around him and dust off his shoulders as best he could. His suit was going to be streaked with white all night, probably, unless he used a spell to clean it. That would mean going to a retiring room to take care of it, though, which would mean leaving, and he'd just agreed to a cigarette he had no intention of smoking. "I'm probably qualified to keep someone company while they go mad," Ford said, less because he believed it and more because he wanted to say something that sounded more articulate than what he'd been saying the past few minutes, which had been largely spent just agreeing to whatever she said and hanging on her every word. "I handle a lot of boggarts, and ghouls. So it wouldn't scare me off."

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

Ida felt bad for him, specifically the powdered sugar bit, and that at least for a flicker of a moment he seemed devastated with her. But I warned him, she thought, bitterly. He had no reason to endure this. He could be enjoying his evening. Why did he waste the time?

“I suppose you have a point,” she relented, nodding once. “Perhaps you won’t be scared off, but do you want to do something so much like work on your holiday?” Ida already led the way, knowing he would follow. (Mister Greengrass was starting to remind her of her brother’s dogs.)

When the witch flung open the door, a gust of cold was tempered by warming lights that marked the way off to a garden. The cool night air felt good on her flushed skin, though she absently wished she knew where her cloak went. In any case, this seemed exactly the ticket to get her head screwed back on right – to figure out what she ought to say to the dancer, in the peace and quiet the gardens afforded. Maybe Mister Greengrass would be helpful, in the end. He was older than she was, after all. Maybe he knew a thing or two about being lovesick, and what to do about it when one felt terrifically ill-equipped.

“Would you like one?” she stalled for a moment as she retrieved her cigarette case from her reticule.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3