Aʟᴘʜᴀ & Rᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛ Bᴀᴅᴀss

[[ resident reaper ]]

[ {(-_-)} I know! I'm so screwed, I wish for powers everyday to save me from this work ]

[[deleted user]]

[I'm so with you. Thankfully, though, I still have a day or two before finals, but I'm probably going to get a crapload of hw and end up not studying anyway.]

[[deleted user]]

[question before I post: Thomas is Rose's cousin, I'm assuming? So is he Lady Elizabeth's son?]

[[ resident reaper ]]

[no he is like a distant cousin related to the arch-branch of the family]

[[deleted user]]

[ah I see]

[[ resident reaper ]]

[lol sorry if that was too random]

[[deleted user]]

[nah I liked to. Just wanted to clarify]

[[deleted user]]

Rose was most definitely not having an enjoyable time. Her dress was cinched so tight that she was having trouble breathing easily, and the low neckline made her feel incredibly self-conscious. And the ridiculous cuffs kept getting in her way. Not to mention the weight of the jewelry her aunt had insisted she wear. Her neck was getting tired; her hair was twisted into an knot at the top of her head and fixed in place with a heavy comb studded with rubies and emeralds. Gifts, her aunt had said, but Rose was deathly afraid of losing or breaking something. She couldn't believe she was using something that valuable simply to hold her hair in place when it could've fed a dozen people.

Mother would've been horrified. An image surfaced, unbidden, in her mind: her mother with her hands on her hips, mouth a thin disapproving line, eyes flinty. Saying, "Every crumb is a gift from God, Rose. Be thankful. We cannot waste while others starve." Rose had been five at the time, complaining that she didn't like the crust of the bread. Strange how that memory stood out so clearly, so vividly, after so many years.

Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. She would not cry, not here, not in front of all these people. She felt pressed in from all sides, as though she were slowly suffocating. Her aunt was saying something, but the words were incomprehensible to Rose, a nonsense-jumble that mixed in with the words of the rest of the crowd. She saw a somewhat-familiar face weaving towards her, and recognized him as Thomas, a distant relation. He was nice enough, but she wasn't in the mood for small talk.

"If you will excuse me," she said abruptly, cutting her aunt off, "I...I'll get a drink." She gave the barest of nods before hurrying away through the crowd, hardly noticing where she was going, gripping her skirts tightly. She felt the stares following her, burning into her back as she passed, and the whispers. Her name, mention of her mother's death, but she kept her eyes trained in front of her.

"Excuse me," she muttered, pushing past an elderly lady in a horrid green gown. "Sorry, sorry, excuse me." Her shoulder bumped into another woman, who gave her a scathing look down her nose, and Rose took a hurried step away. Only to bump her elbow into a finely dressed man standing beside her.

***

Reed was ready to throw something. When was she going to take the hint and leave him alone? Weren't there any other ex-cops who could see ghosts?

Obviously not. Reed sighed, kicking at a rock at his feet, and watched it skitter wildly away and disappear in a crack in the sidewalk. He curled his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and released it.

Lana Roberts. He knew her name; everyone around here knew it now, because of the attempted murder. What most people didn't know was that while her vacated body lay in the hospital in a coma, her spirit was actually following around some random ex-cop. Reed had to have the most horrible luck. Of course this would happen. Of course the girl would come to him. He was, after all, the only one who could see or hear her. She wasn't like any of the countless other ghosts who'd come to him over the years. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about her that made her stand out from the others. She was somehow more...alive, brighter, sharper-edged. Clear. If he wasn't paying close attention, she seemed like a normal person.

Which she was definitely not. Normal, that is.

And now she was going on again, no doubt trying to rope him into her problems. What made her think he could catch a killer anyway? There was a reason he was an ex-cop, not the real thing. He was a has been. He remembered his older brother's smug, distinctly superior, horribly pitying expression when he'd told the family that he'd been 'retired' from his position in he police force.

"Our little Reed, always had such big dreams." And, "We did tell him, but he wouldn't listen."

Screw them all, he thought viciously, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He knew now what he would do. He'd prove it. He wasn't worthless or stupid. He was not insane. There was nothing wrong with him.

He would catch this killer.

"Fine," he said abruptly, swiveling to face the woman. A passersby gave him an odd look, then hurried on. Reed ignored him. "I'll do it. Let's talk." But not here, obviously, not out on the streets where everyone would think he was talking to himself. Likely someone would report him to the hospital as an escaped mental case. You never knew with people. They told themselves they were doing you a favor while they screwed up your whole life without a care.