She didn't want to be there. She had told The Grey Lady  that she wasn't going to come, but she hadn't really been given a choice. So she was there, she was floating, and she was miserable. She wasn't pretty enough for these things. She was pimply, sad, miserable Myrtle. She didn't do parties. But she had been invited, and she had come. She was going to leave the exact moment that Peeves showed up.

It was too red. Too pink. Too pretty. She hated that. She hated romance because she had never gotten to experience it, and she hated the fact that nobody stuck around her bathroom long enough for her to figure out if she did like them. Also, she couldn't kiss, 'cause she was a ghost.

So Valentine's Day sucked. 

"Can we go?" she complained, crossing her arms as they floated above the students. She wanted to go back to her bathroom and cry. That was more productive than this was.

Students and professors mingled, though not with each other. It was best that way, the Grey Lady thought. Nerves still sung from the end-of-year dance for many, though the gathering for Samhe-- All Hollows’ Evening-- had passed without incident. She could not fault the students for their wariness, nor their caution. For those who had been shaken, it was best for them to leave well enough alone, to safekeep themselves from their fear.

Moreover, doubtless many had enjoyed celebrations of their own, or were recovering from such. She gave a short nod of acknowledgement to @kasey , recognizing her as one of her mother's House.

“We aren’t here to play at life, Myrtle.” Her tone did not accuse, did not judge as she responded to @myrtle . “We observe, we take note, search for patterns. You have been here long enough for see several shifts in the goings-on, and you have likely noticed all respond differently. Once patterns are noticed, hypotheses might be formed.”

She didn’t know the names of many of the students, even those of her own. There were a few she found more tolerable than others; @lj was one of such and his companion of the night @petrova was one she had noticed as quiet as well. “You may leave, if you wish,” she gave a careful eyebrow raise to show the suggestion was made in good faith, “though I shall stay, and would prefer if you did as well.”

It was foolish, she knew, it was small and young of her. . .but for a thousand years, she had avoided the Baron when not for the sake of their students. Sir Nick thought rather well of him, and the Friar was optimistic. The Baron could be charming when he wished to, and she would not set Spirit against Spirit. He was the only one of Salazar’s choosing who still remembered him, after all.

There were very few people that Myrtle would listen to anymore, and The Grey Lady happened to be on that very short list. Helena knew more. Helena knew how the students acted, how the other ghosts acted, and she had been alive long enough to understand the complexities around human history. She didn't even question it anymore; Helena knew more than she did, and whether it was due to a search of knowledge or just an innate understanding she didn't quite know. She also didn't care too much, but that was a different problem. She knew that Helena was right, so she was supposed to stay. It was a pity that it didn't matter whether or not she wanted to stay. But there was a difference in how Helena spoke than how other people-- ghosts-- spoke. "I don't enjoy coming to these things," she murmured, floating awkwardly beside the other ghost. It was true, though. Not many could claim that they had actually interacted with her.

It was better that way.

They always walked away from encounters with her annoyed, and Myrtle always ended up crying. It was an unofficial rule or something. Make Myrtle Mope-- a new game! She knew that she was sulky by nature, but she did think that she had more than enough to cry about. She was only fourteen, after all (and she would forever be that way. Thanks, Olive Hornby). 

"I'll stay because you asked. But I'm simply not talking to anyone alive."

He had never liked Valentines. When he was little he had always enjoyed the 15th as there was always a major sale on everything when his Dad took him into the Capital city of Oslo, but even as a child he had never liked being subjected to or having to witness PDA. That had merely matured and worsened as he had gotten older until nowadays, simply holding hands while walking through the corridors bothered him. It slowed everyone down as hand-holders were in no rush to be anywhere than with each other, and then they started making eyes at each other and by the end he not only greatly desired to vomit, but he also wanted to bleach his ears and erase his mind from what he'd seen. With his friends it wasn't so bad as he always knew where they were and could give them their privacy- Ujin was a pretty private person anyway so it suited them both. But there were others who found that this 'holiday' was just an excuse to bring what they did behind closed doors or at least just in private into the forefront of everyone's lives. There was no need for it. Jay wasn't a prude by far but he hated it. He couldn't even begin to explain why.

Casting a charm to stop the smoke from collecting and drawing attention to them- that was all they needed at this juncture- he cast another to smother the smell and took the cigarette from @dion, taking a drag and then accepting the flask as he took it back. "Why is it mandatory to celebrate the shit show, that's what I want to know." He took a swallow and looked over his shoulder to see who else was passing in case there was a chance of bringing someone else into things to liven them up. Jay wasn't a fan of rum, but he hated being sober at any Hogwarts event more so he took another before passing it back. How long did they actually have to be here? "If you kill yourself tonight and ditch me, so help me Merlin I will break into Rosier's office to find a book to bring you back so I can kill you myself." He drawled in response, smiling brightly at him. "Where is everyone? Usually we have a group going on by now."

dress

While the dress she was to wear certainly flirted with inappropriateness and was on some level so, it obeyed all rules. Neither midriff nor cleavage were visible, nor any undergarments. It was simply a wide-open back and gauzy fabric.

And she was married, many knew. Her Daeron was out of school, had graduated Durmstrang and was kept in the Ministry. As much as Rhaelle would have liked to leave for the appearance's sake of the marriage, she could not. It would have to wait until the weekend, where precautions would be made, and she'd have to spend the near-entire of spring's break with Daeron. It was tedious, she knew, but it was necessary.

Daeron was her favorite, other than Shaera, after all. She'd once loved Duncan more than Daeron, as they'd looked more similar-- though in the few features Rhaelle had taken from Father, Duncan had taken from Mother. They shared the same coloring, the same thick dark hair, but where Rhaelle's eyes were the deepest shades of purple, Duncan's, like Daeron's, were as black as their mother's. Still, she and Duncan looked the most alike-- though not as alike as Shaera and Jaehaerys.

Even more tedious than the facade of a romantic marriage that was meticulously kept up around family was watching the children of Hogwarts. She glanced at her wedding ring, and the dragon twisted its heads. She'll go on with it, then. See that the brats don't poison themselves. She had that responsibility, after all. If Delaney was there, so would she.

Rhaelle had never liked the concept of romance. To be at another's beck and call, to let yourself be wrapped around someone else? Marriage was a convenience of alliances, a way of furthering or ending, to make a statement, to announce. Daeron had thought some of love, but when he'd realized that he could not have that without Rhaelle being away from the family, as separate as Aunt Rhae, he'd understood why they had to marry.

It worked well enough. They did love each other, and even the few parts of the show they had to put on in front of others was worth it. It was freedom. It was rebellion. It was safekeeping. What did it matter, that Daeron loved men, and Rhaelle loved none? They kept the line to Shaera and Jaehaerys-- that was all that was needed.

His mood was darker than usual this evening, for a few reasons. The Astronomy tower had ceased to be his salvation from the night's event as the noise had carried up to him, reverberating through the stone. His thoughts had been wandering to times with horses and sword play, but the clamouring of cheer had sliced through like a dagger and brought him back to the castle. Soulless black eyes turned towards the door of the tower and he followed the path out, letting his chains hang free of his hands. It was the day of Saint Valentine. One of his many least favourite days of the year. His jaw tightened, his expression shuttering from curious back to hard and unyielding. At events like these he supposed he should be present in an order of good faith, to keep an eye on the members of his house and to keep a lid on anything spectral getting out of hand.

The Baron knew who would likely already be in evidence and knew what sight of him would likely cause, yet still he glided down the moving staircases. The portrait occupants shrank back whenever his gaze breached their painting before flicking away, he could hear the chatter dying as he passed, waiting until he was gone to resume their conversations. Cats darted past him in varying flashes of colour and he watched them, turning his head to follow their progress as he floated through a few walls and came to the final staircase before the hall. Things were fairly loud yet quiet enough to tell him that Peeves wasn't present. That was the one saving grace of the evening. With hope, his presence would deter the Poltergeist from decided to join in the festivities. Flint had enough going on without earning himself a reputation like he had from losing his temper at the little things. Peeves was a nuisance and nothing more. Unless he was truly causing havoc then the Baron was inclined to leave him be.

Finally he floated through the wall of the dance and he gradually drifted to a halt. Rising, he flew further upwards out of the way and came to rest on one of the stone ledges that framed the windows, leaning back against the wall. From here he had the ability to see the entire room without hindrance.

His eyes immediately landed on The Grey Lady and @myrtle on the other side of the room and he dipped his head to them both out of respect before looking away again immediately. This dance was well staffed, well watched. It was the kind of scene he could see Sir Nicholas enjoying, alongside the Fat Friar, and aftwr another quick scan of the Staff body he then decided to look for the other two house ghosts for that reason, his chain clinking as he folded his arms.