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The Park, Wednesday [After Summer Camp]

What a wonderful day for a barbeque! Walking around the grounds of Twelve Oaks, Scarlett could just smell the fragrant woodchips burning to infuse the meat that that wonderful Carolina smoky flavor. It was very warm, but she had her parasol (to protect her delicate complexion) and her big straw hat (to keep her from squinting and also because it was so fetching! It would make all the other girls green with envy!) and so she didn't mind taking a turn about the yard. Besides, there were all those handsome swains nearby, jostling each other for a chance to act as her escort!

Yes, a bit of a walk and then she'd settle onto a nice shady spot somewhere, while people plied her with food and drink and genteel conversation to while the day away.

"Ah do declare!" she...well, declared in a thick Southern drawl. "Ain't it just a lovely day, my deah?"

Anyone looking over and seeing Kathy draped in several layers of macrame was clearly mistaken.

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Cristina had stopped for coffee after being forced to do macrame surrounded by school children, and had promptly gone in the wrong direction to get back to the hotel and gotten herself lost.

"Right. Is this one of those things I'm just supposed to accept around here, or do you have a traumatic brain injury?"

No one in their right mind would be wearing all that macrame.

"Why, hello!" Scarlett said, turning around and dipping a neat curtsy towards the stranger. "Ain't it just hot as the dickens out? Almost too hot for a barbeque, though you won't hear me saying so around the gentlemen." She giggled, fanning herself with a large ostrich feather fan.

Cristina looked around. "There are gentlemen here?"

Where was a psych consult when you needed one?

"Why yes!" Scarlett said, giggling and trying to take Cristina's arm. "Why, the Tarleton twins are right over there, talkin' to Mistuh Wilkes about today's barbeque. Probably makin' sure the woodchips are just right for the smokin'. An' Mistuh Wilkes' son, Ashley, is comin' home today along with his friends from school. I certainly can't wait." She trilled another laugh. "So many handsome gentlemen to talk to all day."

The crazy southern belle was trying to take Cristina's arm. Meredith would be laughing hysterically right now.

"Please tell me the gentlemen are not squirrels. Or -- rabbits or something."

Seriously, this place was a theme park. A theme park from Hell.

Scarlett looked at Cristina askance. "Naw," she drawled slowly. "Gentlemen are gentlemen. Squirrels are squirrels. I say, deah, are you quite well? Is it the heat? You might be of a delicate constitution. Shall we sit a spell until you recovah? I can flag down a servant and fetch you a watah."

Why was it only the clearly deranged people on this island who ended up making any sense? First Prince Jaws and now this.

“My constitution’s fine, thank you,” Cristina said a little sharply. “I’m a doctor. You’re the one talking about an imaginary barbecue.”

But at least she didn’t think squirrels were reporters.

Well, Scarlett didn't. But Kathy knew the squirrels most certainly were reporters.

"A doctah!" Scarlett said, before tipping her head back and laughing, curls tumbling down her back, nearly to her corseted waist. "Ah do declare! A lady can't become a doctah! Such a thing just can't be legal! We're too delicate! Why, Ah would faint at the sight of all that blood!"

”What are you, a hundred and twelve? Next you’ll be saying I can’t vote or own property because I’m Korean.” Cristina snorted. “And you can drop the accent. We’re in Maryland, not Alabama.”

"Why, a visitor from the far East!" Scarlett said, eyes wide and wondering. "I've never seen the like!"

Except, you know, in the mirror. Every day. When she was not hallucinating on gremlin venom.

"Where exactly did your parents tell you you came from?"

Yeah, Kathy was going to be so embarrassed about this later. "Why, Papa is from Ireland and Mama is a Robillard. Of the Savannuh Robillards, of course. Are your people known in society, too?"

At least she wasn't being outright racist?

You had to take what you could get.

"Oh sure, my stepdad's one of the Beverly Hills Rubensteins. Do you mind if I check your pupils?"

Cristina wasn't in neuro, but she knew how to diagnose a concussion.

"Why is that a fancy way of askin' to look into my eyes?" Scarlett asked, batting what she was certain were wide green eyes at Cristina. "And here we are, hardly introduced!"

Edited 2018-05-24 22:00 (UTC)

God, it was like being an intern in the pit again.

". . . Sure. Let's go with that." She pulled out her keys with the little penlight on them. "And I've even got a flashlight so I can see them better."

"Ain't that a darling little torch?" Scarlett cooed, obligingly leaning in. "I have simply got to ask my papa for one. Those newfangled gadgets are all the rage!"

"Newfangled," Cristina said. "This thing was invented before my parents were born. How sheltered are you?"

Well, her pupils were reactive and even. She probably didn't have a traumatic brain injury.

"Have you ingested anything strange today? Taken any recreational drugs?"

Nope! No traumatic brain injuries here! There was a decent bite in her forearm that was new and fresh, but it was also covered up by ropes of macrame and so kind of hard to see.

"Ah've barely had a chance to eat anything," Scarlett complained. "The servants back home just stuffed me full of food before Ah got dressed! Because displayin' a healthy appetite at a barbeque of all places is considered unladylike." She snorted. "Ah'll be!"

"Oh screw that," Cristina advised. "Anyone who can't handle you at your messiest doesn't deserve you at all. I say go gorge yourself." She looked around. "Or I would, except there is no barbecue. You'd probably just end up eating leaves."

Scarlett trilled a laugh. "Why just listen to you! Are you from the North?" Which was pronounced with two syllables somehow. "All those ladies firin' up and all independent like! That's not how we do things down here. There's an art to catchin' a man. I've been raised in it my whole life."

"The west," Cristina corrected. "And I have no trouble getting men." It actually usually got her in trouble, not that she was going to tell some poor empty-headed society girl that. "I win them over with my genius brain. You should try that sometime."

"Your brain?!" Scarlett had to laugh again. "The only people who say men are interested in them for their brains are ugly women and spinsters." She waved her fan (which didn't exist) at Cristina, utterly amused. "Ah mean, I suppose I could be wrong..."

She ostentatiously looked around. "Where is your husband, exactly?"

"Seattle." Technically, Owen was her ex-husband. Which was what happened when you got married because you were traumatized and didn't want to be alone. But Little Miss Empty-Head didn't need to know that. "He's a doctor, too. And was not the first one to propose."

Of course, Burke had tried to turn her into something she wasn't and then left her at the altar when he realized that was terrible, but again: these details weren't necessary.

Scarlett tutted at Cristina. She had no idea where this 'Seattle' was, but it certainly wasn't in the civilized South and therefore must be terribly far. "Travelin' all this way without a husband to keep you safe? Well, ma'am, Ah must say you're a...bravuh...lady than Ah." Her expressed suggested that neither 'braver' nor 'lady' were exactly the words she was thinking of. "Ah hope you left him with plenty of servants to see to his comfort! Otherwise the poor man might starve an' die while you're gallivantin' out here."

And whatever magic had snared this husband of hers probably wouldn't work twice, being a widow and...of an age.

Cristina snorted. "He's a man, not a puppy. And who even has servants, these days? Hire a maid service like a normal person."

Scarlett looked appalled. "Y'all Seattle folk sound like Yankees, if you ask me," she announced.

Which, to be fair, no one had.

"Don't know how to keep a man, get good help, or act, talk, or behave like a lady! Ah never!"

"Yeah, well, you'll never be a surgeon, either," Cristina said with a shrug. "You're fine, apparently. Probably just another thing this place has cooked up to torture me with." A young Asian woman squashed by the misogynistic expectations of southern American culture? It wasn't exactly subtle. "I prescribe going home. Getting some sleep. And making your daddy buy you some real clothes."

"How dare!" Scarlett declared, nose in the air. "You and your mannish attire--poor man's attire at that."

And then, convinced she'd delivered the sickest burn in the South, she flounced away, petticoats and crinoline and silk overgown rustling with each step.

Kathy was going to writhe in humiliation forever over this.

"Kathy, honey, the hell are you wearing?"

Eliot and Val were just going to be over here, watching her twirl and marvel for a few moments.

At least there wasn't a turnip involved.

"Papa!" Scarlett called, picking up her 'skirts' and running over to Eliot's side. When she got to him, she twirled, showing off her new gown. "Don't you just adore it? It's sprigged muslin--look how the green brings out mah eyes! I know it ain't suitable for a barbecue, with its tiny puffed sleeves and a neck low enough for dancin' dress. But ah am she hardly ashamed of mah neck and arms and bosom, even if it ain't correct to show them in the morning."

Aren't you glad you asked, Eliot?

Thrilled.

"You know, those are details your papa doesn't necessarily need," He told her, offering her his elbow. "You don't want me having to chase off your suitors with my shotgun, now, do you, darlin'?" It wasn't hard to put together the symptoms with the events of the day and figure out what was going on. And he could play southern gentleman in his sleep.

"Oh, Papa, now don't you tease!" Scarlett took his arm, but not before pettishly stamping her foot and pouting up at him. You know, like an adult. "Ah don't have a single suitah worth the name. You can chase the Tarleton twins off with your shotgun for all Ah care! Maybe they'll cleah the way for a real gentleman!"

Edited 2018-05-24 22:23 (UTC)

"Well now, you're definitely not allowed to be courted by twins," Eliot said, gently guiding Kathy towards the edge of the park, Val trotting along at heel. Two boyfriends was totally fine, but Dante and Anders weren't related. "In fact, I'm not sure you're old enough to be courted by all. Wasn't it just last week you were knee-high to a grasshopper, getting grass stains on your skirts?"

"Aww, Papa, how you joke," Scarlett said, her ill-humor forgotten. "Ah'm a woman grown now--and a fetching young lady to boot. Everybody says so. Why, Mistuh Calvert said he'd come a-courtin' if he was just a score younger. You and Mama did yourselves quite proud with me."

Please don't bring her home, Eliot. There's no way that her hallucination would interpret Hardison without being terrible.

Oh god, no. Hardison would never forgive Eliot for bringing this into their home. He was going to take her to her home, where the boys could pretend to be suitors and Raven could be her giggly southern belle sidekick, probably complete with giant crinoline.

"That we did, darlin'. That we did. Why, I can hardly bear to let you go." He smiled. "Besides, we had to spend your dowry on Mama's liquor."

Raven, at least, would probably have a hilarious time.

Scarlett gasped in false outrage. "Listen to you slanderin' Mama's character where just anyone could heah! If she did drink anything stronger than sherry, it's because your sass talk drove her to it!" She shook her fan at him, which really involved flailing ropes and beads at his face. "Though when Ah'm married, Ah shall drink whiskey and port with the gentlemen, rathuh than sherry with a bunch of gossiping old hens like Mama must."

Okay, even Eliot has having trouble parsing that accent now. "You'll hold your own with the best of them, darlin'," he said, patting her on the arm. You'll have inherited your parents' hollow legs, after all."

This imaginary southern family they were building was awful in every way.

The drunkards Eliot was imagining were still probably less terrible than the genteel antebellum Southern family 'Scarlett' was convinced she belonged to.

"Once Ah get a husband propuh, Ah'm gonna drink and ride just like a man!" Scarlett announced. "No more sidesaddle and punch for me! And Ah shall refuse to eat before goin' to a fine barbeque like this one, and just fill up when Ah'm here! No more pretending like Ah don't have an appetite, just cause Ah'm a fine lady."

"Your 'proper husband' might not like all that," Eliot pointed out. "Might be better to get started doing it now, so you get one who loves even your strange, mannish ways."

"Oh, Papa, how you jest!" Scarlett trilled with a giggle so high-pitched it was almost only audible to dogs. "Ain't no woman ever caught a man without using her wiles!"

Which was certainly...an opinion, sure.

"Besides, Ah'm only gonna marry a man Ah can wrap around mah little finger so tight that by the time we marry, he won't say boo to a goose about what Ah do!"

"Well then, why even get married at all? You've already got me all wrapped up, and you know I'll take care of you."

And it wasn't like Scarlet wanted children. That would require taking attention away from her and, ugh, no thank you.

"Because then Ah'd be a spinster," she declared in horror, the way some people might say 'serial killer' or 'Interpol agent.' "And we'd have all the girls 'round here laughing up their sleeve at me, sayin' Ah couldn't catch a man!"

Perfectly valid reason to get married, absolutely.

"And who's gonna run the plantation after you get too old, Papa? Suellen's husband? Ha!"

"Now, why does it matter what anyone thinks if you're not trying to marry them?" Eliot knew it was futile, but sometimes he had to try, anyway. "And hey, maybe we'll just dissolve the plantation. Sell it off in little bits and free all the slaves. You can move out west and be a girl gunslinger."

It seemed highly unlikely that whoever she thought she was would go for "become an abolitionist", but maybe the allure of western progress would work?

"Papa!" Now Scarlett was looking at him, alarmed. "Did you get too much sun?! How're you supposed to be a Southern gentleman without a plantation! Dissolve it? It's our home! Give up the land? The fields? The slaves?"

It was like everybody in the world had gone mad.

"You talked to that western woman, didn't you?" she accused. "And she's turned your head with her nonsense."

"Didn't need to talk to anyone, darlin'. Just been doing some thinking is all. Seems to me it ain't right makin' folks do all that work and keeping all the profits to ourselves."

"Papa, you're soundin' positively abolitionist," Scarlett declared. "It must be the heat. You need to lie down."

She pulled off a macrame square--which she was certain was an oversized sunhat--and tried to put it on his head.

And god help him, Eliot wore that macrame square with dignity and poise.

"Well now," he said. "And just what is so wrong with being an abolitionist?"

"You mean how it runs contrary to our whole way of life?" Scarlett asked tartly. "And how no real Southern gentleman would evah countenance such a thing?"

"No 'real gentleman' would countenance anything but," Eliot said. "Southern or not. Seems to me someone does an honest days' work, they should get an honest days' pay. Enough to live on at the very least."

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The Park, Wednesday [After Summer Camp]

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