June 3rd, 1891 — Hogsmeade Memorial Ballroom

Ford was already tired, and they'd only been here ten minutes. Mostly it was because tonight was a Thursday, and nothing at all to do with the event itself. He understood that debutantes had nothing better to do with their time than go out and dance the night away as often as they could, and that the season was so crowded that hosts and hostesses were often obliged to use some of the week nights as well as just Fridays and Saturdays for their balls. Understanding that didn't mean that he enjoyed it, though. He certainly didn't enjoy having to go to work the next day after having been out most of the night before keeping a close eye on Verity and Grace (and an even closer one on Mama, who could get into more trouble than either of his sisters could). All in all, he would have much rather been at home with Clementine.

While he could safely beg off of an event earlier in the week and make Noble chaperone instead, though, he couldn't really complain too much about a Thursday. That, and he was still feeling a little guilty about being so often absent in the evenings last month, so he was trying to be on his best Big Brother behavior for the time being. Maybe if he was lucky Verity would fall in love with someone, and they'd all move a little closer to the end of this charade. In the meantime, he'd have to endure however many Thursday balls they received invitations to. Ford had just gotten a pair of champagne glasses — one for himself and one for Grace, since Verity had already started talking to some likely gentleman — when a young woman floated by.

"Uhm. Hello?" Ford said, blinking at her as he tried to reconcile what he was seeing. He knew she was a ghost, of course, but ghosts weren't typically invited to dances (given that they were incapable of dancing, at least with living people), so he was surprised to see her here.

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Rosalie Babington

  

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Set by Lady!

When Rose had heard about the ball, she couldn't quite help her excitement. It wasn't that she was invited, so much as that she'd heard someone talking about it while she was lingering in an alley on High Street. She didn't have much to do anymore, and people-watching kept her occupied during the days, especially when they were shopping and going about their days. Sometimes they noticed her. Mostly they just walked past her, not paying attention to her presence much at all.

She missed corporeality. She would, she hoped, adapt to it in time, but for now, as her mother and brother mourned her and her father, she mourned being able to read. Or play the cello. Or dance. She hadn't met many other ghosts since her death, but she didn't recall the specters of Hogwarts being particularly interested in such jovial behavior as dancing. She also found herself missing food and beverage...she avoided Honeyduke's with all her being, not wanting to watch the children running about with their sweets. This, though, was different.

As she floated through the wall into the Memorial Ballroom, she settled herself as close to the floor as she felt she could without seeming too out of place — still a couple inches from the floor, but she seemed of average feminine height. At least she was dressed for a ball. It felt so strange, being about in daylight with such a low neckline, such short sleeves. Here, among so many other young women dressed in similar fashion, she felt she fit. It was why she listened so sharply for news of these events.

Then a masculine voice greeted her, and she turned, smiling brightly. "Hello," she greeted, as if nothing was wrong. "I do hope I'm in the right place."

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Fortitude Greengrass

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Art by Rune

The ghost looked at him and Ford couldn't help but make note of how bright her eyes were, despite being slightly translucent. She was younger than him... or at least, she looked younger than him. It was possible that she might be hundreds of years old, and had only died at a young age, but somehow he didn't think so. Her eyes looked too bright and innocent for him to suppose she had centuries of experience under her belt. Something about her reminded him of Clementine, though he couldn't have said what.

"That depends on where you're trying to be, I suppose," he returned carefully. He was in the habit of trying not to say too much when talking to ghosts, until he had the full measure of the situation — trying to stay on their good side until he'd decided his strategy to get through the conversation and resolve whatever conflict there was. That was a work-related habit, though, and he wasn't at work. Had he forgotten how to just talk to ghosts? Goodness, how dreary.

"This is Mrs. [--]'s ball," he continued, trying to be a little more helpful. Surely she couldn't be trying to be here. Maybe there was something else happening nearby that she was aiming for? Or maybe even a ghost-friendly event somewhere? Not that Ford had heard about anything, but it was possible some ghost was throwing a ball somewhere that she was trying to get to.

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Set by Lady!

"You are quite right," Rosalie replied with a smile, glancing at the champagne in the gentleman's hand with a wistful expression. She was still newly dead enough that she could remember the taste of the alcohol, the feel of the bubbles on her tongue. It had been one of her favorite things about her debut. She didn't need to sneak a glass from the cabinet in the kitchens before one of Mother's dinner parties over summers and breaks, but could in fact drink it out in the open. In front of her mother. But thinking of Mother made her feel a little sad again.

Then he confirmed that yes, she was in the right place. Perhaps she hadn't been invited, but she was here now, and dressed for the occasion! "This is the correct place, that's for certain," she hummed, smoothing her right hand along the satin over-skirt of her dress. She could still feel what she wore — the lace itched on occasion, but it didn't really bother her the way it had when she'd first put the dress on — but what was around her, even the floor, was unknown to her. "Do you know where the hostess is? Mother would be so put out if I didn't introduce myself."

And there it was. Just like that, she was behaving just like an ordinary debutante might, if they'd somehow arrived while the hostess of the event was busy with someone else, or some incident with the staff. Her smile was bright and kind, her gaze attentive. If it weren't for her translucence, she might look like any other debutante on the dance floor...

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Art by Rune

Ford couldn't help but frown at her mention of introducing herself. She did intend to be here, then, but the hostess probably didn't intend for her to be here. This seemed like a complaint to the Spirit Division just waiting to happen, and he was already starting to think of ways to handle it, except... he wasn't actually working right now. He was supposed to be here keeping an eye on Grace and Verity, and no one was paying him to de-escalate conflicts with spirits, so maybe he ought to just let it go. It wasn't his business, and he had other things to worry about. On the other hand, she seemed so enthusiastic and bright and young, he kept coming back to the word young, and it didn't really seem fair to let her go wandering off towards a conversation that would probably disappoint her without at least trying to mediate a little. This was the sort of thing that had gotten him the job he had: he'd always been sentimental towards spirits.

Hopefully she wasn't one of those very rare sorts of ghosts who didn't realize she had died yet, because he didn't really have time for that sort of support while Grace was still somewhere waiting for him to bring her a glass of champagne.

"Ah, Miss," he began gently. "Were you invited to this party?"

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Set by Lady!

Rosalie was very much aware she was dead. She was, however, in a period of denial. Insisting to herself that yes, she was still alive. "I should have been," she commented offhand, glancing over her shoulder a moment. She was garnering stares, but that was normal. Or at least, it had been. Her mother's habit of having her dress in yellow was one she'd always protested. Yellow did nothing for her complexion. But the dress wasn't buttercup yellow anymore. Her big blue eyes weren't blue. Her once flaxen hair was purely white, done up as it had been. She was a monochrome shadow of herself, and if she was allowed to be honest, it was one of the biggest buzzkills. She'd take even a trace of yellow over all this gray.

And that was enough to shake her from her denial, even if for just a moment.

"I wouldn't be surprised if an invitation was amongst Mama's things when she got back from the sea," Rosalie stated wistfully, letting herself drift upwards a few inches. "Her biggest wish for me was that I be engaged before I turned twenty."

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Art by Rune

There were a lot of clues about the context in the way that she responded, and Ford picked up on all of them. This was what he did for a living, after all: listening. There was more to it than that, of course, but mainly it was listening. That was what so many living people couldn't do, when it came to spirits, and it went so far. Picking up on the little cues and understanding the context so that one could have a genuine conversation, instead of just issuing declarations from a stance of presumed superiority. An invitation among Mama's things when she'd gotten back from sea. She meant the Santa Antonina, of course; there was no other sea voyage that was recent enough that invitations to this particular event would have already been issued. That must have been where she died, Ford figured. Engaged before twenty seemed to confirm it, because he'd sensed that she was young but now he knew exactly how young. Dead at nineteen, in a tragic catastrophe, and now she just wanted to go to a dance like any normal girl her age would. It was terribly sad, and Ford felt a swell of sympathy for this dead girl he'd never met before.

Making a decision, Ford moved to set the two champagne glasses on the nearest table. Grace could manage without him for a few more minutes. "Can I have your name, Miss?" he asked, before continuing with half a bow, "I'm Fortitude Greengrass, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

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Set by Lady!

Slowly, Rosalie drifted back to her previous position, merely two inches from the floor. A subtle difference, but one Mr. Greengrass wouldn't quite notice or know to look for, probably. But as she did, she smiled, giving a slight curtsy in reply to his half-a-bow introduction. She couldn't remember the last time someone had so politely introduced themselves. Not since she died, for certain.

"My name, good sir, is Rosalie Babington," she introduced. "I miss dancing. Champagne. Chattering with friends on the side of a ballroom. People don't like me being around anymore."

Of course, she knew why, to an extent. She was dead.

Not everyone liked to remember that death could come to any of them at any time.

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Art by Rune

Ford offered her a sympathetic half-smile. He understood, really he did. Living people could be awful sometimes, but knowing that likely didn't make the transition period for a new spirit any easier.

"Well, maybe you're hanging around with the wrong sorts of people, Miss," he suggested. "I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love having a chance to talk with you." Best to leave it at that and not mention the dancing or champagne; those were likely comforts that weren't coming back. At least, Ford had no knowledge of any sort of ghostly champagne alternative. The dancing could be accomplished with other spirits, but if she didn't know any that wasn't much of a consolation. Someone who had died just a few months ago at the tender age of nineteen probably wouldn't have had much in common with Barnaby Wye, for instance, so it was unlikely she could go dancing with him.

"That said — I think our hostess tonight might be the wrong sort," he continued as diplomatically as possible. "So — maybe skip the introduction."

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Set by Lady!

Oh, what would Mother think if she saw her right now? Probably nothing more a scream at the sight of her dead child, ethereal and wispy, transluscent and floating. Rose hated thinking about that. Almost as much as she hated wondering why Father hadn't become a ghost just the same. She supposed his reasons were personal, but it was still rather...disheartening. Especially now that she was a spirit, and didn't personally know any spirits herself! It would have been nice — if a little depressing — to already know someone else she could talk to easily, and dance with.

Someone who could understand.

"Right then," Rosalie nodded. Mr. Greengrass was the first person to speak to her favorably since her death! She was quite excited at the prospect that someone was willing to talk to her. "Have you any sisters?" she asked abruptly.

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Art by Rune

A potential conflict seemed to have been averted, and Ford let his shoulders relax slightly. He might not have been on the clock at the moment, and therefore it wasn't really his job to do anything to ease any tension in the interaction between Miss Rosalie Babington and the hostess (or the guests), but he was relieved all the same that there wouldn't be a large confrontation. He could just sense that such a reception would dishearten her, and from the sound of it she'd had a fairly rough time of things recently already — what with the dying, and all. She didn't deserve to be kicked when she was already down, having someone say something unkind just because she was dead.

He wasn't surprised that she wanted to continue the conversation, but his eyebrows did raise slightly at the direction she'd chosen to go with it. "Three," he answered with a nod. "Though only two here tonight. My youngest sister isn't out yet." And, knowing Clem, she was probably quite proud of the fact, so she certainly had no desire to sneak in to parties before she was technically invited.

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Set by Lady!

"Three!" she laughed, suddenly giddy. "And are they as...friendly as you, Mr. Greengrass? I myself have a brother, Michael. He's very kind. I'm almost...no. No, I'm not startled not to see him. He wouldn't be here, I think. Not with me...like this." And she stretched a hand out, trying to lift the champagne glass only for her fingers to pass through it. Still, she giggled some. "I can feel the bubbles."

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Art by Rune

Ford wasn't sure how to answer the question of whether they were as friendly as he was. Verity could be charming with the right group of people but it wasn't exactly the same as being friendly, and he certainly couldn't imagine her chatting cheerfully with a ghost. Grace would likely clam up and say nothing at all. Clem would probably be his sibling most likely to make casual conversation with a ghost, but Clem wasn't here.

He was distracted from answering by her gesture towards the champagne. Sticking your hand into (or rather, through) someone's glass was rather forward and in other circumstances he might have thought it a little rude, but the way she giggled afterwards! Ford found himself smiling and unable to help it. "You can?" he asked, holding the glass towards her so that she could do it again if she wanted. "I don't think anyone's ever mentioned that to me before."

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Set by Lady!

Perhaps it was Rosalie's new-ness to the world of being dead, but she could. The bubbles tickled, and she kind of enjoyed the feeling. It was almost intoxicating, being so giddy about something. "Yes, I don't know why, but I can," she admitted, drifting her hand through the glass again. Which brought on another round of giggles. Maybe other spirits just didn't bother to try to pick up a glass of champagne. She didn't doubt some of them predated the drink.

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Art by Rune

"Well, that's grand," Ford said with a wide grin. Her delight at this discovery was contagious, and it was a particular relief after he'd just had to be the bearer of bad news by pointing out that their hostess for the evening wasn't likely to be glad of her company. "I'll have to bring that up and make sure we have it on order for the ball later this month. Oh — you've been invited, haven't you?" he asked. "On the twenty-second? Spirit Division's rented this same ballroom and it'll mostly be ghosts there that night. So you might find someone you could dance with," he said hopefully. He didn't have any candidates coming to mind right away, since the dance style of modern music was very different from what some of the guests would be used to, but surely there would be someone.

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Set by Lady!

Rosalie actually hadn't heard about the Spirit Division's planned ball yet, and positively lit up at the news. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she didn't really have a stable haunt just yet, outside of the High Street's alleyways, and tried so desperately to be unseen when she could. "Oh, that sounds positively wonderful," she gushed, "a chance to meet more in my predicament. Dance. Be merry."

She sounded almost too delighted at the prospect. But then, a dead girl's merriment was often difficult to find...

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Art by Rune