the believer.

.

Even though Arthur tried to get his friends to make up just before the ball, it still feels like nothing got resolved and it’s infuriating. He never knows what to do when the two of them fight—if he’s the one who’s involved, he usually apologizes first (but only when it’s Dorothy or Nathan, anyone else does not get this kind of a privilege) and that’s it. But since this isn’t about him, he can’t really just make them iron out their differences. “Alright, I know it’s not your fault but—” Arthur starts off, trying to choose his words wisely. He really does not want Dorothy to be cross with him too, “but maybe you could try and be less…passive-aggressive?” he finally settles and hopes to God they don’t take it the wrong way. “I just don’t get it, why you’re both so stubborn about this.”

Arthur scans the crowd, notices a costume that fits their rules but doesn’t say anything. “So you agree, this fight is silly. And don’t you worry, he’s going to get a talking-to as well. You lot are no fun like this, you’d better sort yourselves out.”

He’s ready to protest the remark because it’s borderline offensive—not give much in return, now that’s a first. What Dorothy says then makes him roll his eyes. “Oh, come on now,” Arthur groans. “I can tell you without you winning. We go out, we drink, we talk. You act as if we’re having some cult-like secret meetings when you’re not around.” He’s really downplaying it and he isn’t sure why—there’s definitely a lot more to the time he spends with Nathan than just drinking and talking; like the inexplicable joy he feels whenever he makes Nathan laugh or the way he’s always wishing for the night to never end when they’re together. That’s something Arthur can’t say and not because of Dorothy but because he isn’t quite ready to hear these things himself. 

“Biblical reference? This could be quite literally anyone,” he says but drinks anyway. “But to be fair, this could be said about my costume as well. Someone asked me if I’m Edward…I don’t even remember which one and I just said yes and went along with it because he brought me a glass of wine. Oh, this looks like a King Arthur to me.” Another sip. “Have you seen anyone you know tonight? There’s a handful of friends but I have no idea who most of these people are. And that’s odd.”

.

“If you know it’s not my fault then I’m not sure why you’re still talking to me about it.” They don’t think they’ve ever snapped at Arthur before, but the feeling of bitterness when it came to Nathan was still there. And the distance...it only made it worse. Dorothy did not want to begin thinking of their friend with any sort of malice in mind. Yet, it did not feel right to forgive someone that refused to apologize. If anyone was being passive-aggressive between the two of them, it was Nathan. It was always Nathan. “I just, I don’t understand why it had to be this way to begin with.” They don’t elaborate, mostly because they don’t exactly know how. It didn’t feel right for them to be at odds in such a way, but it was not up to them. They knew that much at least. 

“Mhm. I don’t believe you.” There’s a glint in Dorothy’s eyes that is all too familiar. “So, there’s no reason I can’t be there too? Maybe when this is all over we could have a sleepover and you two can tell me all about it. Whatever it is that you’re keeping from me, that is.” Dorothy rubs their chin seemingly in deep thought, “You know. I know too many people.” It had gotten to the point that Dorothy had written down a list of their names, short descriptions to help them remember who’s who. When Dorothy had first met Feriha, she had made it too the list too. Pretty, with nice hair, and a little bit like them. 

“And anyways, I’m babysitting you for tonight. Remember? I have not had the chance to wander off and see for myself. Though I do remember Feriha mentioning her costume to me once, I think it had something to do with fairies...We’re not adding that to the list.”

“Now that you mention it though...” Dorothy tilts their head a bit, his words echoes in their mind for a bit. “Who are all these people?” They say it as if they’d just realized it now. The thought hadn’t even occurred to them, why were they here? “It’s a bit odd isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of a Mr. Ashton.”

Wouldn’t do you any good to remain so stuck in your ways.

He knew they were right of course. He liked what he liked, and who he liked, and how he liked them. It wouldn’t do him any good to willingly attend a party without having to be dragged there by Arthur and Dorothy. It wouldn’t do him any good to take care of the lights when Rose always makes sure his path is lit. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep writing poetry when his dreams are darker and more tragic than that.

No matter how many times he rips it to pieces, he has to write his play. He is frightened by its daunting presence looming over him at all times, but he has to write his play.

“Oh come on, you know you can be a bit…intense.” The frustration in his voice hadn’t disappeared the way he would have liked it to, so he took a sip of his drink while he collected his words. Still, they should come as no surprise to Dorothy. If they were going to move forward with this project, someone had to be truthful. “And besides, what you’re talking about is as private as it gets. Perhaps some tact might do you some good.” Maybe it was Nathaniel’s own closeness to the subject that made him so sensitive, so critical with the way they were going about it all.

.

Though they aren’t fully able to understand it, they do know that they don’t like the tone that Nathan has taken. It feels mean, unwarranted. There was nothing wrong with sharing your concerns, as friends, of course. But Dorothy doesn’t think Nathan has ever sounded like this once during their entire friendship. “No, I don’t know.” The hurt in their voice does not escape them. “Is this about something I’ve done? Have I offended you somehow without realizing it? Because you know I would-” Dorothy swallows, “I would never hurt you on purpose.” 

Dorothy does not think Nathan has ever expressed any actual anger towards them before. In fact, they didn’t think it was possible for them. Mild agitation, sure. But that was bound to happen when you’d spent almost every waking minute with a person such as Dorothy. They liked to talk your ear off, and it was often about things that most people couldn’t bring themselves to care about. Except, Nathan had been different. It was why their friendship had lasted so long of course. He fed into it, in a way. Their ever growing imagination. He had been there almost as a guide, and he’d remained a fixture in their mind. 

Whatever version of Nathan that was, had died a long time ago. Dorothy could feel his absence the most even as he was right here. It was almost as if, he wasn’t really here at all. And Dorothy did not like the way that realization settled inside of them. It was like a break, a fracture, between them.

“I don’t understand. Why aren’t you happy? I thought this would make you happy.”

♣

Surprise cuts across her features as Dorothy launches into adulations, their hands clasped together. Their smile rings almost guilty, and for once, Feriha is at a loss to what’s going on inside their head. There isn’t much—or anything at all—Dorothy should feel bad about when it comes to her, and to put on such a show must mean something big. She cocks her head in curiosity, a touch of concern flitting across her face. 

Still, she can’t help but play along, straightening her back and attempting the sort of regal air boarding school was supposed to impart on her. “Because you have asked so graciously, I suppose I must allow you to speak.” She does not smile, her tone lofty. “I will heed your request, my most loyal knight.” Yet she can’t keep her composure for long, a laugh spilling from her lips as soon as she finishes. Dropping casually into an armchair, she motions Dorothy to take the one next to her. “But what’s all the fuss about? You know you can ask me anything.”

.

“Yes, yes of course.” Because Dorothy did know. That they could ask Feriha of anything. The sentiment didn’t allow them to feel any less bad about it regardless. Seeing as they didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to being mindful of other people’s feelings. A filter? They were not exactly known to have one. “Well, I suppose it would make more sense for me to explain it to you first.” 

“You know of my fascination with such things already.” They push the journal filled with notes towards her, dedicated to Feriha’s stories specifically. They don’t mention the fact that they have more than one of those. If not for the fact that they know how creepy that may sound, then definitely because they didn’t think it was worth sharing. Some things are simply best kept to ourselves. “And I’ve taken quite the initiative, if I do say so myself,  I’ve been conducting interviews.” Dorothy says it like a secret, something for them to gossip about later. “First it had just started as a way for me to get into the role of detective better because well-Well y’know.” It was quite obvious by now what mystery was currently plaguing them. 

“But then-Then I found myself a bit more...intrigued? It’s not that I wanted to be nosy...I just found myself here.” They were rather bad at this. “I’ve sort of felt like there was something about this..this case. That didn’t make any sense, y’know?” Especially knowing how Feriha had been subject to one too many encounters-not only with their resident boogieman but her own ghosts as well. “And I’m not gunning to solve anything. That’s for sure. But I do find this connection quite interesting.” That’s when they start pulling out another journal, this one was old and bit worn for wear. 

“So I’ve compiled my ideas here. I’ve found there are more stories to tell than the ones for a man we know nothing about. This is my proposition to you. I would like to um...To study you and your ghost. For my book, of course.”

“not as much as i should,” she replies earnestly, her words carrying an undertone of reprehension with it. the illusionist knows dorothy as well as one might expect her to, and is in possession of a certain sense of appreciation for their writings even if she could never bring herself to read into it deeper, to give it more meaning than it needs to have. but perhaps that’s wherein they differ, for she lives to make the complicated things appear to be mundane while the other across from her, looking at her through widened eyes, has learned to serve the exact opposite.

what must it be like, to write for the sake of writing complications into a fictional existence? to spin troubles into one unassuming character’s life in the hopes that they would grow from it, prosper in a way that few people in the real world could ever be able to? bonnie doesn’t have dorothy’s confidence in such abilities and maybe that’s part of the reason why their personalities clash, why it’s a constant back-and-forth between one’s beliefs and one’s convictions.

there’s a fine line between illusions created to serve the greater good and fooling oneself into thinking things might be easier if she were to simply give in, accept what needs to be accepted and move past it. but complications aren’t for her and neither is reading into things; bonnie is a simple woman, for all intents and purposes.

but she’s also a woman hardened by her time; one who has gained knowledge through the unkind art of being pushed to the extreme, of having to erode prejudices thrown her way and laughter aimed at her acts in a bid to shatter yet another, insolent woman daring to ask for more than the world is willing to give.

yet here she is; the world around her is spinning and dorothy looks like the picture of a summer night’s dream. a gentle breeze blows wisps of dark strands into the air and for one, heartstopping moment bonnie allows herself to imagine the what if.

in a kinder version of this life, perhaps there would be no repercussions to face.

“people mustn’t hide,” she breathes at long last, her words threatening to be carried away by the wind that blows. “if all of us were hiding from our truest selves, we would be no more than a speck of dust in this world.”

she can feel the previous pent-up energy leaving her body, and it leaves her feeling weak and strangely drained in a way that not even the toughest of practice sessions could do. if this is what being a writer entails, she wonders how much more dorothy has seen that bonnie doesn’t know about.

she doesn’t dare ask. some things are only for one to know and others to guess at.

the illusionist closes her eyes, lets her head fall back to inhale the sweet scent of tonight’s freedom. dorothy’s eyes hold a begging to be believed, to be told and bonnie—even in her drunken haze—is afraid of misstepping where she can least afford it.

this isn’t a performance, and once said, she can do nothing to undo her own actions. for them to reverberate through time, bringing forth consequences she doesn’t fully grasp at present—is she ready for all that?

“i have always loathed those who carry untruths in their hearts,” she hums after a moment’s consideration, her head falling to the side until her eyes fly open again. “but at this moment, i’m afraid i can’t speak my own truth.”

.

Dorothy feels, deep down, as if Bonnie is lying to them. And not because this is perhaps, the most honest conversation they’ve had thus far. And even though Dorothy doubts, oh so much, that Bonnie would ever find such joys in conversing with them like this. They’ve quieted that part of their mind. The part that believes that this is still all an illusion and they’ve unknowingly allowed it to happen. Bonnie wasn’t the type of person to do something they didn’t want to. And if they knew anything about her, it was that. 

Even then, they don’t think she’s being completely honest. With herself? Maybe. With them? Definitely. It is not a lie that is malicious in intent. Or one that is meant to be secretive either. Dorothy believes that Bonnie has been as honest with them as she can be. In hindsight, you could never be more honest with another than you are with yourself. And Dorothy already knows how Bonnie feels at the prospect of ghosts. So there’s that. Proof, if anything. 

They don’t really know what it is. In fact it doesn’t exactly strike them as obvious for someone who spent so much of their time studying her like she was a puzzle to be solved. But they had been watching her, closely. The way her hair swept from side to side (it made them want to touch it), the almost sheer fabric of her dress that had them flushing at every glance. There was something about her, right now, in that moment. That felt off. 

“Then why do you hide from me?” It was not an accusation, but a plea. 

It was in Dorothy’s very nature to beg. Begging for forgiveness, for attention, for someone to like them back. And right now they couldn’t help but to beg Bonnie for her honesty. Not because it was something they wanted. No, it was a need. And Dorothy had already convinced themself that if they didn’t get it now, they don’t think any moment from this night could ever be replicated again.

There was something so sacred about this moment between them right now. Every step now was taken with a sense of uncertainty around it. But Dorothy knew they were sure, at least, of this. Of them. 

"And why can’t you? No one is holding you.”

“very well,” she said, after what seemed to be a ridiculously long pause during which she allowed herself nothing but an attentive glance at the other’s face. bonnie enjoyed marveling at dorothy’s features, admiring details such as the plumpness of their lips, or the slope of their jaw. her eyes flickered back up to meet their gaze before offering them a smile. “it would be churlish of you not to tell me.”

which was the truth; bonnie liked surprises but she didn’t like to be kept waiting. there were certain subtleties to a matter she could appreciate but patience wasn’t her strongest suit and she simply couldn’t help but wonder where dorothy was intent on leading her with this conversation. if past encounters were anything to go by, chances were high that they would broach the subject of ghosts again and while that wasn’t necessarily a topic bonnie wished to revisit, she could—to some degree—understand why dorothy wasn’t willing to let it go so easily either.

“if you think that i’m going to allow you to wiggle out of an explanation now, you’re quite delusional,” she said, feeling her spine grow stiff at dorothy’s ramblings—which she typically considered to be charming but right now, it had her anticipating what she was already suspecting. somehow she managed to keep her voice amiable, almost playful; pursed lips the only indication that something was going on in that brain of hers. bonnie didn’t want dorothy to feel like they couldn’t talk about these matters but she also wasn’t ready for it to end in another disagreement.

i’m not very good at tricking you so i’m being upfront about it instead.

something in her softened at that, eyes falling to the floor in silent appreciation. goodness, her brain was going to turn into mush if dorothy kept this up.

“a malevolent spirit?” she echoed, having every intention of taking this seriously without letting it get away from her. “as in, the spirit of a dead person?”

she sounded alarmed without even meaning to. did such a thing exist? she doubted it, but then again, a lot of the things she would be quick to doubt seemed to be happening these days. she wasn’t sure what to think anymore. running her tongue across her lower lip in contemplation, she brought up one hand to her face to rub her chin thoughtfully. “that assumes the spirit would carry over heightened emotions into the afterlife and connect them to someone so specifically that they simply can’t help but haunt them.”

her hand fell back to her hip, brows knotting. “but what would that do for them? they’re dead already. there’s no coming back from the dead.”  

.

Dorothy could understand the need to deny. Because they’d become so accustomed to the same behavior in Nathan. Who’s denial was something they poked at, probed at, still it was not the same as Bonnie because even with Nathan you could tell he was barely holding it together. It was too obvious, to them. Glaring at them at every moment. And every moment they spent alone, with their candles and their joined hands. They could feel him falling a part even more. His hope was admirable, but it was not the glue that would fix him. Who was Dorothy to say anything about that though. It’s not as if they knew real pain. Not in the way that others did. Not like Nathan, not like Bonnie. 

It’s why they thought of their life in fairy tales. In mythical creatures and hero’s journeys. It left them with the promise of something to savor. At the start of every day, they conjured up something new and they leapt for that. And in the dead of the night, they’d dream of holding Bonnie close to them, the burn in their cheeks was always too much for them to dwell on that fantasy for too long. 

That was always the hardest part for them. To fantasize about her, of her. It wasn’t right. Still, the urge never left them. 

There’s no coming back from the dead. 

Well, not everyone wanted to die. Not everyone knew they were dead. Dorothy knew that all too well. 

“I suppose.” Dorothy shrugs, but it didn’t feel as simple as that to them. It couldn’t be. “But emotions are not always so self serving. At least not for a ghost. Especially not for a ghost. You lack the same control you once had, it’s not...entirely plausible that you let go of everything you once felt simply because you’ve died. And sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping you ‘alive’, or as alive as you can be. It’s desperation, or...willful ignorance. I don’t know.” 

“Malevolent spirits are simply entities that grow spiteful out of unchecked anger. Rage. It does not always have to be a separate thing. Or at least I don’t think so. It could be in me, it could be in you, in the relationships you have or the home you live in. It could be in a family, passing on from generation to generation. Like a curse.” 

“They’d have to want to let go. To move on to ‘better’ pastures, but I don’t truly believe much in the concept of heaven so I couldn’t tell you if that’s even a prospect for them or not.” They ponder their next words, everything a scrambled mess in their head. “But I think, with everything that I’ve just said, that there is no real way of knowing. At least, not without a lot of research. After all the knowing cannot come unless you’re willing to learn.” And they were. 

“That’s why I’d like to ask you. What do you think your ghost is?” They know it’s a stretch, “I mean. Hypothetically, of course. If you were to believe in such things...If it helps I can tell you about mine?”

.

Dorothy’s enthusiasm is infectious, only serving to perk Polly’s mood up even further. There was no embarrassment at having discovered the simple joy of reading so late in the game - in fact, Dorothy seems to praise them for it, a marvel in and of itself. “Oh, there’s no need to be impressed,” they say, but they beam with pride at the fact all the same. “I mean, any fool can learn to read. Little children do it all the time, don’t they? I’m just a bit behind but I think I’m catching up? And my writing is getting better, too.” They still did not possess the beautiful script they had seen others scrawl with such ease, but perhaps that will come with time. “I want to read your books next,” they blurt out, suddenly. “I don’t care how hard they are. I’ll soon figure it out.” 

There’s a shift in the mood, and Polly longs for the former, simpler topic of conversation. It would be delightful if they could continue simply babbling about books, but that wasn’t what Dorothy had come here for. Polly hesitates for a moment, teeth chewing on lower lip. “My name,” they say, faintly, almost with relief. Though the incident in Mitre Square had scarred them, it seemed so distant, so tame in comparison to what had happened only weeks later that she had almost forgotten about it. It hardly left a mark on them to think about now, and a part of that made them sad. It meant even worse thigs had happened later, and that was a heavy weight to bear. For the first time in a long time, Polly struggles with words, not really knowing what to say. 

“I don’t mind talking about that. What was in the paper, I mean.” They decide this in an instant, but it’s true. They like Dorothy, and the trauma of what had happened has dulled someone. “Only - can you make sure to call me Dorothy in it, like you, rather than Polly? Nobody really knows me as that around here, apart from the police. It would… be easier.” It would help them maintain their privacy, at least. It was remarkable how few could put the pieces together. On a scrap of paper somewhere, they didn’t know where, they were a Dorothy too, but to everyone who knew them, it was just Polly.

“As for December… I will talk about it, but I’d rather you didn’t attach my name to it at all. It… might cause a bit of a stir.” That was an understatement. If the press found out there was a survivor of The Ripper attacks, they would never know a moment of peace. 

“I suppose we should start from the beginning?” They want to take a sip of tea to steady themself, but they expect their hands would shake. Instead, they shove them under their legs, sitting on them to hide the tremor. “Everyone was out looking for The Ripper, yeah? I mean, he’d already got one person. We all thought he’d been nearby. And I know Whitechapel. I grew up here, I know it better than anybody. So I was looking in all the places people don’t really go, and most people were searching East, you see, so I thought it would be a good idea to check West. And that’s when I saw him. Well, sort of. He was leaving when i got there, but I saw the back of him go around the corner. And there was this big bundle in the corner, and it was her. Only, dead.” 

.

At the mention of their books, Dorothy seems to brighten up even more (if that were possible). They had never felt prideful about their work before. But something in them swells at the prospect of showing Polly something like that. It’s not as if their writing was a secret, or meant to be hidden in any way. Yet to share it with Polly seemed to be an act of commitment, in itself. Perhaps they were just not used to it. Someone that they barely knew caring about something they centered so much of their life around. It felt nice, was all. They made note of it for later.

Dorothy barely registers the request before they’re nodding their affirmative. “Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want your business all out and about. Though I suppose I should clarify it’s not me I’m writing about...” They make a note of that messily, before urging them to continue, “Oh?” Dorothy can’t help but to sound intrigued, though they knew by now that their promise of secrecy for Polly probably meant the world. They wonder why exactly this was. 

“Well, just know that you have my word.” Listen first, questions later. 

Dorothy remembers that night. Mostly because they had been easily spooked after being out there for too long and had been insistent on leaving early. Every one else was much more brave than they were. But at the same time, Dorothy could not help but to feel that it was pointless. Not in a hopeless or pessimistic way. But pointless in the way that no one really knew who they were looking for. What were they really hoping to accomplish by enacting a manhunt on a man who ultimately didn’t want to be found. It felt as if they were all doomed, in a way. No matter what they did. This man would continue to terrorize. 

At least, that was how Dorothy saw it. 

“Yes, this was in the paper.” Dorothy nods. “What exactly did you um see from his backside-in detail please. It’s fine if you can’t, I would just like to cover everything possible.” They scribble something down in their notes before adding, “I feel I have to clarify this so excuse me if not but-We can skip over the dead body part, of course. Just the events, as detailed as you can.”

a sharp breath sounds from bonnie. “i do not?” she queries with bemusement, a hint of exaggeration lingering in her voice as she speaks. after a moment of silent contemplation, she taps her heart with her hand. “wounded,” she says flippantly. “and right through the heart.”

the sense of befuddlement hasn’t quite left her and it’s rather evident in the way her movements are altogether too slow and languid, like she has trouble carrying her own weight. it’s very different from the graceful persona on stage, the one that dorothy is undoubtedly much more familiar with; but this isn’t a matter of pride and bonnie isn’t scared to let her walls down in front of the other like this. and why should she be? if there’s someone who deserves to be made aware of who she is as a person, beyond the illusionist façade, it should be them—but vulnerability still comes at a price and even a performer might need a bit of encouragement here and there.

tonight, she found it at the bottom of one too many glasses of champagne.

“the wonders of the mind?” she echoes, tasing the words like she can’t quite wrap her mind around the idea of it, eyes closed and face raised to the moon. “what does that mean? aren’t people simple creatures?

”and perhaps that’s the whole truth of it—there is a lot that bonnie presumes to know, but very few things she truly understands. but dorothy; sweet, kind-hearted dorothy, wouldn’t they find a way to make her understand? she’s counting on that fact, on their never ending patience and dedication. how terribly selfish of her to presume that this is what the writer would want to invest their energy and time in; her, of all people.

her eyes fly open and she turns her face to regard dorothy with a long look, one that is painfully stripped of all pretense. her head feels heavy. she tries to keep her voice as steady as possible, but the simple question is enough to make her stomach flutter like she’s some doe-eyed teenager. “you said you’re acquainted with the wonders of the mind. i’m sure you can figure it out.” 

.

Dorothy, as inconsiderate as they can be, doesn’t like to ramble where Bonnie is involved. So much of what they wanted to say was sealed shut. The adoration, the words of yearning, they all escaped into the shadows where they can be hidden. In between the pages of their journal, to the ears of their closest friends, it was all kept safe with them. Though they were in awe, much of it reached heights that Dorothy was determined to never make privy to the idol that stood before them now. Their attachment to her was something to fear, they sometimes scared themself. 

It feels like an invitation though, when she asks, and they have no choice but to grant her an answer. “Well that’s just not fair is it?” Simple creatures? If that were true, perhaps Dorothy would have figured her out by now. Sometimes, she is like a fading memory. So that the next time they see her, she becomes a new puzzle to pick apart, to figure out. And though they’re successful every time, they still don’t find it easier to understand her. Somehow, it makes it even harder. 

“If there weren’t people to study the way that I do, I wouldn’t be able to write such beautiful stories.” Dorothy cannot hide the glimmer in their eye. “People-like you, do not hide themselves away because they are ashamed.” Or at least they hope not, “But because they feel that they have to. And what in this world could possibly make them feel that way? Like you have no other choice. As if it were a natural response.” As natural as breathing. “That’s why people cannot be simple in the way you think they are.” There are things that make more sense to Dorothy though, like love.

Dorothy stares at Bonnie now, not that they had any choice before, but right now they take the time to study her. And they wonder what she could be saying, with that look. It makes their stomach flip, their eyes widen, their mouth form around a gasp that they manage to stifle. Out of embarrassment. Their cheeks feel warm, Oh. They think. Dorothy looks away, all of a sudden feeling bashful. 

They don’t say anything for a long time. Tearing open that expression in their mind, turning it inside out and examining. Every conclusion, every possibility. It all goes back to one thing. Still, they’re reluctant to say anything. 

“I want to hear you say it.” Their gaze is one of longing now, as they look up slight, “Please.”

closed:@dorothyzhou location: the rose garden, late evening.

“it may surprise you,” bonnie speaks, the voice half slurred while she tries balancing her weight without keeling over, “but by nature i’m a bit of a meddler.”

which, really, anyone who has ever spend one hour in her company would know that she is as much. the illusionist is about as subtle as a bludgeoner in her private life, and while she appreciates subtlety and witticisms on stage, she appreciates honesty a great deal more. unfortunately, the wine has gone to her head and loose tongues are ready to speak more loose truths as well.

perhaps it is the nature of this ball that makes her feel transformed; suddenly free of the burden of being bonnie hwang, she feels a new personality coming to the fore. it isn’t as if she has been putting on false airs; rather, it’s more like her true self—the one she doesn’t know how to show to anyone she doesn’t know well—has finally broken loose. the woman regards dorothy with a long, wistful look.

she raises her right hand before stabbing the air with her index finger, a dreamy look splashed across her features. “i think there might be two of you.”

.

Dorothy did not like to imagine when it came to Bonnie. There were no fantasies or secret worlds. Nothing hiding behind the cupboard. And for a time, that frustrated them. Because they could not see Bonnie as apart of their world. As if they were the sun and she was the moon and there was no possibility of them ever crossing paths. Dorothy could watch though, like a voyeur in the dark. They were present at every show and more. Bonnie became a fixture in their life and a part of their routine. And Dorothy could not find any real reason to justify it because of course she did. Dorothy was easy like that but Bonnie was even more so the mesmerizing type. It was inevitable, that they would end up like this. 

So they had been convinced, that it could never be like this. This, being in each others lives. Because while Bonnie would always be in theirs, they didn’t think there was a world where it could ever make sense for them to be apart of hers. At least nothing that they could manage to conjure up. Still, it never felt real. Not as tangible as the moment that was passing through them now. Their senses were slightly muddled, sure. But they had never been more present in the moment than right now. With a tipsy Bonnie and a confession on their lips. 

“You do not surprise me as much as you think you do.” They meant it as more of a response to what she’d said, but it was a lot more true than they would like to admit. “I am a writer you know, I’ve become quite acquainted with the wonders of the mind.” A bit of a high and mighty way of saying they studied people. Like they were an art form. 

Dorothy tilts their head to the side, curiously, they did not know if they liked the look that was in her eyes right now. “Now what could you possibly mean by that?” 

•

DOROTHY TALKS JUST as much as they write, and Rahat knows that the only way to really, properly survive in a conversation like this is patience. Thankfully, they have a nigh limitless well of that. Polly, they suppose, would argue otherwise and say they have too little patience for her, but that child in particular is a massive exception to the norm. They’ve only just met Dorothy and have no reason to be impatient or particularly testy with them, and in fact they find it amusing how quickly they flit from topic to topic, leaving almost no room for Rahat to respond in between. So Rahat simply waits for an opening, for a pause slightly longer than a stop for breath, allowing them to go on as they move from being surprised to being vaguely embarrassed to being apologetic, and so on. Dorothy ends with a request to simply disregard everything, and Rahat huffs lightly, smiles, and nods, agreeing. An odd fellow, this Dorothy Zhou, but not in any way unpleasant at all ( Rahat’s one to talk ).

They do respond to the offer to tea, however, and Rahat appreciates the eagerness with which they do. Straightaway, they move to their spot behind the counter and take out a cup for them, the same spare they keep alongside their own for unexpected guests and customers who end up staying for a spot of tea. “It’s Ginger. Not too sweet, a little grassy, but not quite the bitterness you might be looking for,” Rahat says as they begin wiping it again, just to be sure, and set about setting it for them. A kettle has been prepared beforehand, Rahat having already been indulging before Dorothy had come in, and they reach for it. “I could head upstairs to my flat and prepare us something else, but that could take precious time away from our interview.”

They gently pour Dorothy a cup, listening as they immediately jump back in, ready to start with the interview. They apologize in advance, and Rahat raises a hand, shaking their head slightly, one corner of their mouth raised, as if to tell them there’s no need for disclaimers of any sort. Their first question is asked as soon as the cup of hot tea is slowly pushed atop a saucer, over to Dorothy. They don’t have to think hard about an answer when so many people have asked them this before. “I am an undertaker operating independently within Whitechapel. My task is to make sure the dead are given proper, dignified burials, regardless of social class and religious affiliation. Oftentimes, I work here, in my shop, but I have been contacted for my services by the authorities several times over in the past.”

.

“Oh! Ginger is perfect.” They perk right back up, “I was only being dramatic about the bitter thing. It’s more of a tolerance than anything, I’ve become used to the taste, and so I just end up preferring it most times.” Dorothy thinks they’re talking too much, so they say as much, “Oh wow, you did not ask me that at all. I do apologize, this is about you! Not me!” Dorothy leans forward a bit, as if to signify that they are listening. It was a bit hard to tell when their body language seemed to be so distant a lot of the time. Or rather, not present. As if they weren’t fully aware of where they were or what they were doing. 

They scribble down some notes before continuing, they cannot hold back their amazement, “Oh wow!” Though the answer was enough, it does not stop them from wanting to ask more. They feel another question bubbling to the surface before they cut themselves off. Stay on topic.

“Right, right. Actually, perfect way to introduce my next question. Um...” They trail off, “I’m not sure exactly how this part works.” Their voice takes a quiet whisper, head dipped down as if they were sharing a secret with Rahat, “Would you say these services you mention are...classified?” There’s a curious glint in their eye. And they wonder if the excitement they feel simply at the prospect of getting secret information is obvious to Rahat or not. They hope not. The embarrassment burns their cheeks. 

“Just because, I would never imply that you should answer my questions if there were any possibility of you getting in trouble because of it.” Dorothy straightens up, holding eye contact with Rahat, for some reason feeling an obligation to show honesty. Trustworthiness, and whatnot. “But also I am interested in uh...that.”

.

“Should’ve come dressed as Jesus. I think people would either love it or love it,” Arthur teases. He’s rather pleased with his costume though, even if it was a rushed, last-minute decision. He couldn’t make up his mind for the longest time and before he knew it, it was the day of and he had to improvise. Still, there’s potential to Romeo. Since Arthur knows the play like the back of his hand, he’s got a number of conversation starters at the ready. Perhaps he can find someone  and charm them off their feet later, someone to take home. It’s always the goal with these things, isn’t it. “Hmm, this is going to end badly, I’ve seen at least three kings and a handful of princes running around already. This is going to be so fun,” he giggles and raises his glass in a toast. 

“Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized,” he quotes with a bright smile, just before he drinks from his glass. “And you’re missing a twin,” he says. Arthur’s about to suggest that they should’ve asked Nathan to match them but then their conversation from before comes flooding back and it makes sense why they didn’t. “Hopefully this house does not come crashing down on us. What a waste it would be. And I don’t mean the house.”

“Mhm. Sure. If I win, you and Nathan are forbidden from fighting ever again. I think that sounds reasonable.”

.

Dorothy does not fully hear Arthur before they willingly submit to his demands, it’s only when the realization dawns on them do they insist on fighting it immediately. “No! You know it’s not my fault.” They shift the blame away from them almost instantly. It puts a sour taste in their mouth that they scrunch up their nose at but it doesn’t feel right at the same time, to claim that they were the one in the wrong. They couldn’t possibly understand what Nathan’s disdain with their work had to do with them. Unless he really was that bad of a friend, he would be supporting them.

“If you want us to end this silly joust. I suggest speaking to him instead.” They do not say anything more, instead hoping to continue with their game. A distraction was what they needed right now. If they thought about it for any longer, they don’t think they could manage to hold back any tears. “Anyways, I don’t imagine you could give me much in return...” They bit their lip in concentration. A lightbulb appears to go off above their head, “Alright, if I win, you have to fuss up about whatever you and Nathan have been doing when I’m not around.” Dorothy was perhaps being a bit unfair, but they were also nosy. 

“Ah!” They take another sip, “Biblical reference.”

closed to: @dorothyzhou​ the ballroom

“Alright, let’s see, what have we got,” Arthur starts off as he looks around the room, taking in all the guests and their costumes. “Drink every time you see a character from Greek myth,” which he ought to do right now as his eyes fall on a very handsome Apollo; he doesn’t though, not yet, since they’re still setting up the rules, “…Arthurian legends, Shakespeare, obviously. Every time someone is wearing a feathery headpiece…or something that looks like a bedsheet,” there is one in his line of sight right now, a very ugly bedsheet if he says so himself. Arthur takes a sip of his wine, his first steps into the game and turns to Dorothy. “What else do we add tot he list? I’m all ears.”

.

Dorothy cannot help the smug grin that fills out their face, pulling back the veil of their gown. They seem to almost flutter around whenever they found themself in Arthur’s presence. There was also the warmth of the alcohol that was helping as well. Leaving their body buzzing and a slight drag overtakes their movements. They feel weightless. It’s a good feeling. They do not even consider his words fully before they start crafting their own response. 

“Religious figures, of course, they’re quite popular.” Dorothy hums, “Oh! Though I do not hope to pass out tonight, I raise you any costume that vaguely resembles someone of monarchical status. I think we should cap it at that.” They take a sip of their drink as their eyes fall on Arthur himself. “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” Dramatically, they press the back of their palm to their forehead, as if they felt faint. 

“We need to add some stakes to this.” Dorothy grows bored quickly, they needed something to keep them going. “Ah! Whoever is drunker by the end of the night, must win something. I am of course, open to any and all suggestions.” 

closed to: @ofwhatsleft & @dorothyzhou​ Arthur’s townhouse; before the ball

Something’s off—that much is clear and it takes Arthur about two minutes of being in the presence of both of his friends to realize it. There’s some awkwardness in the air, something odd about the way that they are more than happy to talk to him but when it comes to talking to each other, there’s reluctance there; short remarks to fill the silence and appear polite rather than an actual conversation the way people as close as they are would have. 

Arthur gives them time at first, hoping that whatever the issue is it will go away on its own in the midst of the dressing up and the drinking. He’s already taken to the latter quite vigorously—the bottle of wine on the vanity in his bedroom is proving to be a good friend to him. But then time goes on and on and nothing’s shifting, the mood’s the same and Arthur’s had enough of it. “Alright,” he says, loud enough for Captain to come running towards Arthur thinking it was a command meant for him; he leans forward to give the dog a couple scratches but he doesn’t let himself get too distracted from the matter at hand. “What the hell is up with you two? Did I miss something? Is this some sort of acting exercise I was not made aware of? Frankly, you’re both being very annoying right now, this was supposed to be fun.” Perhaps he’s being a little bit too blunt but he figures it’s necessary. “Explain yourselves right now.”

.

Dorothy was not normally a stubborn person, though they were not the best at understanding others, they would never make the efforts to shut them out all because of a simple misunderstanding. Unlike some people, Dorothy was willing to learn. To be better. But only if they were to be granted the opportunity to do so. Nathan did not seem to think they deserved even that though. What with his fleeting looks and his clipped words. Dorothy could not even imagine treating him the same way he insisted on treating them. So they huffed and they rolled their eyes, not being able to ignore the tension growing between the two of them. 

They don’t even realize how obvious they’re being though until Arthur points it out, and while they normally would’ve been sheepish for being so childish, it almost makes them want to explode instead. “I’m not saying anything unless Nathan does first.” Dorothy tsks, “For I am more than willing to admit my faults. Nathan’s just a big meanie.” They pout, refusing to look at either of them. 

It is rare in Nathan’s life to speak so freely of the supernatural. Dorothy knew that the presence of ghosts exists. There was no convincing them of what he knows to be a fundamental fact of life. And that was part of what made their friendship such a blessing to him. They easily understood a principled truth of Nathan’s existence.

The concept of a ghost being anything but helpful is, of course, unheard of to Nathaniel. He did not wish to imagine a world where Rose was not around to protect him in an increasingly dangerous world. The most furniture she would ever move for him would be to pull his chair out for him before dinner.

“Shall we prepare another seance ourselves, then? Find out what you could have done to annoy him so much?” He teased, but his timing could not have been any better, for at that exact moment the glass Nathaniel held up to his lips had been snatched by Dorothy–which only managed to annoy him as he secured another.

At their next words, his tone grew increasingly serious, bitter even, as he kept his hands busy making another drink for himself. “I’ve already told you my thoughts on it.” His words seemed absolute, which wasn’t exactly how he intended them to sound. Their current project was a touchy subject; their approach was one that Nathan didn’t agree with, but he would be lying if there wasn’t a tinge of jealousy bubbling in his chest as well.

 “Just be careful,” he meant to sound softer, but his voice wouldn’t allow it. He took a sip of his drink, hovering in the kitchen but turning back to Dorothy. “And don’t go prying in other people’s business like you always do.”

.

Dorothy huffs, “I’m telling you Nathan. There is not a thing that I could have possibly done to anger him in such a way. He’s just a bitter old man.” They dismiss it just as quickly as it was brought up. Their attention instead being taken by the change in mood. Though Nathan rather liked to hide from them, as if there would ever be a sight bigger than him for them to behold, Dorothy keeps a watchful eye on him. They notice when he’s truly upset, when it’s more than just a joke, and they cramp up. Not fully able to fathom what to do next but they do know that they do not like it. 

Their voice is soft and their words come out hesitant, “Well I didn’t know if you’d perhaps had a change of perspective. Wouldn’t do you any good to remain so...stuck in your ways.”

It was sometimes comical, how obvious Nathan could be when he was especially so vehement on being the opposite. Though Dorothy does not laugh, they only watch with eyes wide. Their brain taking a bit longer than usual to recognize the edge in his tone, so much so that at first, they do not know if they should be offended by it or not. Was that supposed to be a dig at them? “Whatever is that supposed to mean?” Their eyebrows scrunch together, more confused than ever. They had never thought themselves the type to be...invasive. And anyway, if it were such a problem for Nathan, he would’ve told them wouldn’t he? Or at least, that’s what Dorothy had assumed. Perhaps that was another problem that they had.