LEGENDS

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?”

“don’t you think you’re entirely too invested in the idea of anything that looks remotely supernatural?” bonnie queries, hoping that the tone she employs is enough for dorothy to know that she means what she is saying.

some part of her can’t fault them for this enthusiasm; she sees their sincerity in the awe in her voice, the tilt of her shoulders, the fondness of her tone. it’s in the way some of the innocent merriment returns to their face and paints it in shades previously foreign even to bonnie’s eye. they are so passionate, so enamored with their ideals and plans, it's hard to believe this is the same conservative writer who describes the brutality of murders in their stories with such eloquence.

bonnie knows she’s privy to something a little more profound from dorothy; but so are they. dorothy has seen the real inner layers of the illusionist, the woman beneath the image she wants and needs to project. it often leads her to wonder what the other’s opinion on her performances might be; just when they think she might fully let go, the curtain drops once more, and bonnie is back in firm control.

she glances over at dorothy as covertly as possible. she doesn’t want to give them any ideas—at least not yet, anyway. they’re a talker that one, and she’d easily bet that they’d have all sorts of interesting things to say.

unfortunately for the two of them, it circles back only all too often to the topic of supernatural, and ghosts more frequently as of late. her brows knit together, her lips pursed just the slightest bit to keep from frowning. “so you’re saying that it’s virtually impossible for us to let go of all the negative feelings we have and that’s what anchors us to the world? let’s say i agreed—how exactly would that work? doesn’t this imply people would be bound to the places that left the most impact on them? and if yes, would that be a place of extreme happiness or of great sorrow?”

she stops to ponder dorothy’s words. bonnie doesn’t want to argue with them, but the differences in their respective perspectives are sometimes exceedingly hard to work through and it seemingly always ends in a battle of proving one’s point; dorothy, a firm believer that there must be more to life than simply science, and bonnie, who won’t budge from her point of view, insisting on the opposite on nothing but sheer principle.

anyone who doesn’t know them would mistake their interactions for ones motivated out of spite rather than a genuine bond. but that’s fine with bonnie; she doesn’t need others to know more about these sorts of interactions with dorothy either way.

she exhales quietly, before hitting the other with one of her stares again. “if you don’t believe in a heaven, what would be the point of moving on? how would one even study this? isn’t this more a concept of, we don’t know until we do?”

questions after questions—bonnie can’t tell if dorothy’s goal was to confuse her or to enlighten her, but whatever the case, she’s is thoroughly mystified by this whole conversation. some part of her admires that they keep at it so relentlessly, and that they still bring it up with her even though bonnie knows she isn’t the best conversation partner to have this discussion with and that she often refuses to accommodate dorothy’s musings. the truth of the matter is simple: her temper runs short with matters such as these and what she can wrap her mind around is few and far between.

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.”

Because the truth was, Dorothy needed an excuse to do more than just look at her tonight. 

her eyes meet dorothy’s, and she can feel a sudden jolt, like a spike of lightning to the chest. an instant attraction passes between the two of them, a rush of undeniable desire that should feel wrong and out of place right here, right now. but even with that in mind, bonnie’s cheeks heat without warning as her nerve endings tingle.

through the thick haze of all the drinks she’s consumed up until now, she can’t help but wonder if dorothy feels it too, or if she’s simply making up the gleam in their eyes, the smile curling their lips. realistically speaking, bonnie knows magic doesn’t exist but in this single instance, she wishes there was a way for her to read their thoughts without first having to share hers.

“dorothy zhou,” she says, her tongue rolling over the letters of their name with some effort. the cocky grin the illusionist wore when she first stepped outside the manor into the less crowded, more fragrant garden has now transformed into something more gentle—a warm smile, full of appeal. “are you testing me?”the older looks dorothy over, taking in everything about them; from the way their dark eyes glitter in the low light of their surroundings to the way their smile grows, if a little hesitantly. they’re so close now that she can see the crinkles around the corners of their eyes, the light smattering freckles high on their cheekbones. bonnie’s gaze is so intent, one could almost believe she was looking into them instead of just at them. when their eyes finally meet again, there is a definite spark there, a delicious little thrill of challenge and allure.

no one is holding you.

surprise flickers across her handsome face. “perhaps i’m being held by something you can’t see,” bonnie says after a moment of contemplation, but she doesn't seem all that upset. on the contrary, she looks rather pleased before offering them a quick shrug, a demure, almost self-deprecating aside. the woman is humble, but also proud of having achieved what she set out to do ages ago.

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.”

“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?

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?” 

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.

for all the chatter that flowed within the streets about this event, there are few toshiro recognize. even that distant sense of having seen somebody in passing, but never learning their name, is lacking. something opens in his chest; something like a warning, something like a need to prepare.

the night is young, and he must be careful.

as he walks into the dining room, the guests easily part way for him. his lips thin, but he keeps scanning the room, trying to memorize whatever details he can. the worker shuffling to replace food, the clink of champagne glasses — but little chatter. perhaps none at all.

who are these people?

it’s a question left unexplored when he catches sight of bonnie. the tension remains, never easing like it did with rahat, but his steps remain calm as he approaches. the corner of his lip lifts at the curious tilt of her head, his eyes alighting in mischief behind his mask. when toshiro stops before her, he rests a hand over his heart.

“fellow stranger, it would be too easy to simply gift you a name. but if you guess correctly, then i’ll have no choice but to commend your skills.”

the scent of incense is not the only thing hanging in the air; it's also thick with a melodic, catchy organ tune mixed with hushed chatter. at first the sound proved to be overwhelming, as if it has taken on physical form and wrapped itself around bonnie, but she supposes she must have gotten used to the sensation by now; it’s not unlike the feeling she has standing on a stage and gazing over the sea of people who have come to be willingly deceived.

and while the backdrop against which she performs might be different here, the cheeriness of the smiles she has received all evening are quite the same—at least from those she recognizes.

so bonnie’s brow lifts when she regards the masked figure. the voice is deep enough for her to remove some people from consideration right from the beginning; the height is another clue. she’s one of the taller women in the east end, and there are few she personally knows to tower over her.

For a moment, Bill dares to hope that Bonnie may not have seen what has just transpired, the childish act of frustration he has just enacted. The moment comes crashing down all too quickly - but though Bonnie has seen, she doesn’t seem to care. In fact, she seems to find the whole thing rather amusing. Bill is glad for that, he supposed. It is easier to deal with her laughing, than if would be if she, outraged, demanded to know what the hell he was playing at. 

And so Bill shakes her hand, and Bill smiles as the introduction is accepted. Her laughter makes it easy to laugh too, a rueful chuckle that rumbles out of his throat. “I regret that you have caught me not quite on my best behaviour - I hope you can forgive my transgressions.” 

His head cocks to one side, and he ponders how to answer the question. He does know how to hold a grudge, but also how to pick his battles, but does not think such a revelation would endear him to Bonnie Hwang in this moment. 

A different tactic is needed. Bill prefers to know who he is talking to, even just a little, before attempting to woo them to his side, but he does not have that luxury here. Mentally, he reviews what she knows. Bonnie is an entertainer, and in turn, he has entertained her. The tossing of the wine seems to have earned him a little favour, and so, Bill continues in the same vein. 

“Is it not enough of an explanation that I saw a couple together, and thought to give them a shock?” He flashes her a grin. “We cannot all be paragons all of the time.”

“nonsense, i think it’s the best display i have seen all evening.” one corner of her mouth curves up in a mockery of a smile when her gaze travels from the man to the balcony behind him. the illusionist fleetingly wonders why she hasn’t heard anyone release a string of curses, but pushes the thought to the back of her mind with practiced ease.

if there is a chill to the air, bonnie doesn’t feel it. warmth and vibrancy are the only things that she can feel against her skin; most likely a byproduct of the excitement that she has absorbed so readily from tonight’s events.

there’s something fascinating about the lights helping to highlight her and everything behind her while the politician’s frame is nearly entirely obscured from vision by the darkness. her hand slowly withdraws from his grasp to intertwine her fingers in front of her stomach; a grin forms around her next words. “one way or another, i’m certain the poor fellows outside have a lot more cause to complain than i do.”

but it’s quiet, and all she hears is the sound of cicadas. has she simply missed the best part? bonnie releases a breath. what a pity.

leaning back on her heels with the expression of one who is quite pleased with herself, she regards him with a long look. there isn’t much she knows about bill barker beyond the fact that he is a man of the people; one who lends a voice to those who aren’t heard. that, in and of itself, already warrants enough respect in her book.

“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.

Closed Starter for: @verdanium​ Location: An outdoor balcony Timestamp: 10pm

Bill stands upon the balcony, the night’s breeze ruffling his hair. Mr. Ashton has presented a mystery to be unravelled, but what all this means is a mystery to him. There’s something they are all missing, and until he knows what it is, he is on his guard. 

Below him, he can see some of the guests, unknown to him. The woman bends her head to whisper in the man’s ear, and they are too far away for him to hear. The thought frustrates him, so much so that he upturns the glass of wine he is holding, pouring the contents on the woman and moving away from the edge of the balcony before she can see who did it. 

Strangely, she does not shout or cry out. After a moment, Bill peers over the edge again. The man and the woman have gone. 

Perplexed, he turns, only noticing then that he is not alone. Bonnie Hwang, a woman he knows by reputation alone, stands there. Bill composes his perplexed expression into a smile, and gives her a nod of greeting. 

“Miss Hwang. A pleasure.” He holds out a hand for her to take. “Bill Barker.”

stifling laughter and turning away to hide her joy at the comical display unveiling in front of her, bonnie is completely thrown for a loop when the politician’s attention suddenly lands on her. moments such as this one have her recalling why she really ought to stop hanging about like she has any actual reason for stopping near the balcony.

as a matter of fact, isn’t he the one to be accosted? if the sight before her hadn’t been so funny, she would have had an easier time concealing her snort of amusement. and besides, what’s the worst he can do now that he’s caught her tittering like this? laugh at her as well?

for onlookers, they must make for a strange pair, bonnie thinks; with her grinning like she’s about to burst at the seams in opposition to his sobriety. not the type of picture one commonly thinks of.

“mister barker,” she returns the greeting, hand stretching out to shake his. her lips are still twitching and she is transported back in time; feeling like the girl of six who could never sit still and whose teacher threw a fit when little bonnie couldn’t stop giggling for two entire hours. adults are so terribly boring and nothing about that realization has changed in the years that have passed since then, except maybe for the way she laughs at everything more freely now.

Dorothy can’t help it that they’re bursting with energy, though it feels more like they had been trying to contain it only moments before letting it all out. Not because they felt as if they couldn’t be themselves whenever they were around Bonnie, but more so that they didn’t want to overwhelm her. It was easier with someone like Nathan because they had just known each other for so long, and he was just used to it. And then with Feriha it was more like they were on the exact same wavelength, most of the time. 

Bonnie just…didn’t seem to share a lot with Dorothy to begin with. They couldn’t help feeling like more of a disturbance than a friend from time to time. Not that it was ever Bonnie’s fault that Dorothy felt this way, that was just plain old insecurity. Came with the territory of having a crush. They didn’t think that feeling would ever go away. 

Dorothy is still hesitant to speak, it seems, even after Bonnie has insisted she doesn’t mind. They were too sensitive to upsetting her at this point, it didn’t feel right to argue with her. “Well, I suppose it would only be appropriate then for me to tell you.” They muster up a small smile. “Like I said, I’ve been writing. But most of all! I’ve been asking around, and thinking, and writing all at the same time.” Dorothy pulls out their journal, the one they seemed to lug around with them everywhere for times like this. 

“I’d considered, of course, how to go about this. A lot.” They giggle at that, “I mean, how exactly do you speak to someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts. About ghosts?” They pretend to ponder the question aloud, “And then I found the solution, you don’t!” Dorothy exclaims. “I’m not very good at tricking you though. So I’m being upfront about it instead.” 

“How easy would it be for you to explain away a malevolent spirit? A spirit that is so clearly out to get you.” Dorothy is speaking on their own ghost, albeit a little dramatic, they don’t know how else to start on this topic. “Does that sound plausible to you? The idea that there’s this being who despises you so much, but you couldn’t even begin to understand why or how?”

“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.”

With an unintentionally comical turn of her head, Magdalena looked at Bonnie with incredulous offense, one brow hiked as she traced the grating amusement softening every sharp angle and haughty slope of the woman’s face. “Rude?” She simply repeated, scoffing before looking ahead once again. She tilted against Bonnie as she adjusted her grip on the lone grocery bag, the motion accompanied by the private and rather petty wish that her shoulder would smack into Bonnie’s in innocent-looking, well-earned retribution. “Would you look at the pot calling the kettle black,” She drawled as she straightened. “I don’t think there’s anything more rude than standing by and tallying up each and every one of another person’s inconveniences while making absolutely no effort to alleviate them.”

Slightly out of breath from the swift, uninterrupted outpour of her words, Magdalena took a deep breath, the intake of air quickly followed by the realization of just how bare before the eyes her irritation now was, and from that statement alone. The thought stirred a sigh deep within her throat, but Magdalena curbed it, utterly unwilling to stoke any more of her companion’s satisfaction. She wondered how many times she had already taken that doomed stance to no avail over the past hour. “I can’t possibly be blamed for reacting to that, can I?” She continued, her tone much milder now, underlined by the slightest tinge of aggravation over the victory she had all but handed over to Bonnie.

It seemed that she wasn’t meant for even a single reprieve over the course of this damned errand, not so long as Bonnie continued to grace it with her ever-amused presence. There truly was no shortage of bitter realizations for her to weather on this day. Magdalena rolled her eyes, both at Bonnie’s questions and her own thoughts. “Thanks is earned, not given. And as far as I’m concerned, yours won’t be earned until you carry enough of my groceries to make up for all those times I dragged you home.”

She sent a sharp, pleasant smile Bonnie’s way, the expression widening of its own volition as she snorted at the woman’s following words. “You know, I heard that if someone separates themselves from who they were when they made a mistake, it means that they’re not truly taking accountability for their actions,” Her eyes met Bonnie’s daringly. “Do you weasel out of everything this way like you’re trying to do now?”

“well, in my defense, i never said i was nice,” she countered swiftly, fingers still dutifully gripping the grocery bags like those were hers, and not magda’s. a comment was on the tip of bonnie’s tongue, about how pot calling the kettle black didn’t necessarily fit their situation, that plenty of people could be up and about and running into either of them and choosing not to be of aid. but the illusionist swallowed it and chose to approach this differently; perhaps to prove a point, or maybe to simply have one more opportunity at setting the other off. really, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

she felt her jaw clamping together. magda’s comment rankled, and then the fact that it did rankled some more but it was so very much their essence, the way their banter shifted to make room for something that flashed teeth and threatened to bite that she simply couldn’t help herself when her lips pulled apart into a smirk of her own.

bonnie could feel the other studying her face, closely enough to make her want to squirm with discomfort. it took a moment for the realization to slowly settle, and she was sure that for a second, she must have looked as if she’d just experienced an epiphany of biblical proportions. but as the whole thing was at magda’s expense, bonnie couldn’t imagine the other would do anything but scowl at her, and then her face erupted into a hesitant grin. “you don’t like it,” she said slowly, almost breathless with the realization. “oh, my heavens, you don’t like it.”

something clicked in her mind; while she couldn’t exactly fault the spiritualist for resenting her cheek and the constant teasing she rained down on her, she also wasn’t inclined to stop anytime soon. the fact that her words never failed to bring out a reaction in the other was simply the icing on the cake, a bonus that bonnie was not embarrassed to admit she considered to be particularly funny; growing up in a home with a stubborn brother and parents whose banter she still laughed at even now, years after having moved out to live on her own, it was only natural of her to follow suit and imitate that which she had known all of her life.

“well, luckily for me, nobody asked you,” she quipped with that same easygoing smile, serenity evidently splashed all across her features. “my reputation would be in tatters if people took your opinion seriously.” a low-blow, for all intents and purposes, but bonnie wasn’t going to stop now that she was having so much fun. her brows knitted imperceptibly. “you took me home only, what, three times? zoya did it so many times i’ve started to lose count. you have to outshine her first before you’re allowed to complain.”

bonnie has overheard someone saying that most of the guests remain strangely impassive, as though they are incapable of speech, and now she is determined to test that theory, to pick it apart in any way she can. events such as this one are always a grand spectacle so it strikes her as odd that in a sea of faces, she only recognizes so few, and those who are unfamiliar apparently do not seem to care much for conversation.

but if curious eyes are directed towards her, she is determined to hold their attention.

and so, as she makes her way about the dining room, briefly catching the glimpse of two well known faces playing the part of (scorned?) lovers, she watches those around her. every servant, every masked attendant, every person she lays her eyes on appear to be busy with something; sometimes, what she catches are only passing greetings between people she does not recognize–a nod given to workers, those so busy that a long conversation would be nothing but a burden, even with a guest.

but no word is ever spoken despite the echo of chatter bouncing off the walls.