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She's nothing if not that.

(But she does conscientiously ensure that they're all done and dressed and so on sufficiently in advance of eleven for her to make her new curfew.)
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And then Sherlock kisses her goodnight, and off she goes.

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The next day, Bella shows up in study hall as usual. "Hey Giles. Progress on Prom Ghost? Do the records actually go back to seventeen-thirty-two and we should split them up?"

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"I think I might have found her," he says. "A case in 1920 of a young woman who was both strangled and drowned, and unlike the rest, there was a living suspect."

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"Who were they?" she asks.

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"Minnie Huff and yet-unnamed boyfriend, possibly former at the time of her murder."

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"The article doesn't name him? Maybe there's one from a later paper after a trial that does?" Bella suggests.

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"I believe at the time of publication he had not yet been identified. I haven't yet found him anywhere else, but I'll keep looking."

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"Okay. Should we split up the archives? Prom's in four weeks."

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"All right," he says after a moment's consideration.

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She helps herself to some newspapers and begins skimming through them, but she hasn't found anything useful by the time she has to go on to her next class.

"I'm not coming after school," she calls over her shoulder as she goes, "I got invited on a dress-buying expedition, so don't assume I got eaten when I don't show."

After school, Bella goes with her school acquaintances with whom she maintains a shallow sort of friendship to purchase dresses.

To her great surprise, she finds one she really likes. It's indigo, almost the same color as her mask, and it's knee-length and twirly enough not to be too much of a hindrance if she has to physically fight the ghost. It has matching shoes with pokey heels, which she can now actually walk in given new preternatural balance, and which strap on snugly enough that she could probably stake a vampire with her footwear in this getup if the heels are wood under all the indigo lacquer.

It's not on sale, but she buys it anyway. It fits.

It's hanging near the window when Sherlock comes by for breakfast.
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"Ooh," says Sherlock. "Love the dress."

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"Thanks!" says Bella cheerfully. "I don't usually like dresses that much, but I like this one. ...Do you need a square or some cash or something to handle your prom outfit, or are you going to bet on your usual wardrobe cutting it with the door folks?"

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"I may be able to scrounge something more or less respectable," he says.

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"I should probably buy tickets at school tomorrow," muses Bella.

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"Yes, good plan."

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"Giles found the likely Prom Ghost. She died in 1920, there was a live suspect - haven't found out who yet - and she was strangled and drowned both, not just one or the other. So if you meet her, we think her name is Minnie and she's pissed off 'cause her boyfriend murdered her."

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"Noted," says Sherlock.

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"Of course, in the intervening years she's killed over sixty people, so I'm no longer particularly hopeful that she's lucid enough to be reasoned with."

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"No, indeed."

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"Why can't all the traditionally evil critters be more like you?" Bella asks rhetorically.

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"Because I am special," he asserts.

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"Yes. I don't suppose you know how to bottle it."

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"Alas," he says, "no."

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"Pity." She walks a few steps in silence, then says, "Do you have speculations as to what leads some vampires to - enter the service industry - instead of doing the sociopathic hedonism bit? Does it not occur to most of them, do you have to be in a guild or the existing bite shop employees will kill you, is it just some sort of psychological diversity much like how you're all special that is alas unbottleable...?"

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