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Not much to say...the day proceeds apace. Still just an ordinary Saturday in, as yet, unincorporated Widespot.
Reiterated warning: Lewd gestures, crude speech, but no pixels doing unpixelated things. And again, racialised undertones are just tones here. And, yup, gender and class are hard at work, too, in this first wave culture clash (...in, as yet, unincorporated Widespot.) And no one ever said a story could have only one villain...
I did my best to convey a sense of simultaneity across the three groups that naturally formed as there's virtually no interactive overlap between Kid World and the Grown Folks Oasis or with the Teenagery Afoot in this 'episode.' (They will converge again in Pt. 3.)
On with the show, already in progress 😊
“Scot, go check on your brother while you're up. See if he's okay. That boy's gonna sleep the whole morning away.”
“Hey-llo, Delta-boo. You didn't wanna be left out, huh? Wanna play like
the big kids, too, right? Don't worry 'bout Scotty, he'll be back in a minute.”
“Hey there, Skye. How's everything going?”
“Hello. Um, very well. Things are going very well, Daytona.”
“That's good—Oh, I have some things I want to discuss with you,” she said. ”Remind me later if I forget.”
Beulah was pleased to see Skye needed no prompting about scooching that chair over to be a part of whatever
conversation they got going, 'stead o' leaving it out there where Dixie left it and waitin' to be invited in to talk.
She'd spent a good amount o' time workin' on him, but still, that had to be Daytona's influence.
The man had it bad!
And she'd be only too thrilled to put two and two together for them two, at the slightest hint it might be true.
So even though she knew it wasn't all that likely...yet, Beulah was gon' keep her eyes
and ears peeled for any signs that maybe, just maybe, it was their coy Mr. Skye who'd done
a l'il sneaky-sneak last night and put that spring in Day's step and that poof in her hair.
Daytona, of course, was on a whole 'nother page. Literally.
She flipped the page in her magazine and let out an “ooh.”
“Now, this here...this is what I'm talkin' about! Chiseled for the gods?
Yes, please. And straight down on those knees...Pamper me!”
“Well, now...uh...wow.”
“Wow? Girl, don't act like you don't know what I know. Start at the bottom...and work your way up!”
Far as Beulah was concerned, she didn't know nothin' 'bout that pampered lifestyle.
That put on a pedestal, sittin' pretty, pampered and pedicured by half-nekkid menfolk kinda life.
“I see they put anything in ads these days,” Beulah said, and added under her breath, ”Ain't got no shame.”
Daytona wasn't one to hold her tongue either. “Exactly,” she said, leaving her
tone to make it known that they were not in agreement on the value of shame.
That backwoods Beulah prudery was hard to get a handle on sometimes.
One minute she's trying to pump her for hot gossip about her sexy fun times and the
next proving why she was one of the last people Daytona would ever spill her guts to.
And for her information, it wasn't an ad, it was an illustration—and the principle was sound!
Shame? Shame? Hell no, having 'no shame' was the goddamn point! No shame in being
a woman, no shame in being a black woman, being successful, being desireable and desiring.
It was aspirational. And not in the least scandalous to see in any women's magazine. Like,
damn, did she miss out on the '90s? And then Daytona realised that, yeah, she probably did.
In a way. In this time warp of a place. Her friend here no way, no how ever took a Cosmo quiz or
read a '10 Ways to Help Him Find your G-Spot' article in her life. And that was a damn shame.
“So...Skye...” Daytona re-directed her attention and tossed the
magazine aside. “Tell me something good. What's new with you?”
“Oh. Nothing much. I, um, I keep forgetting how the pull of summer affects the children. They are still, well,
we are all too used to the rhythm of summers off. They want to be gallivanting. I want to be researching.
But I, I take your point about the half-day curriculum going forward. It was a very good suggestion.”
“Good. And consider also that a little structured play never hurts...Unless that's what you're into.”
Daytona said that more for Beulah's 'benefit' than to bring on the blushes teasing Skye. She was
still annoyed by all that arbitrary sanctimony. Shit, if it was envy then at least be for real about it.
For her part, Beulah only chimed in that “Play is all well and good, but there's always
plenty work to be done 'round here, too, if you're ever at a loose end with those children.”
“What's'at ya got there? Scot's rocket? You know how to play rocketship?
Or you just gonna—yep, just gonna put it in your mouth.”
While Dixie was distracted by her baby sister, Virgie quietly 're-appro-priated' Grandma's
nail polish, or they would never see it again! Even Dix wouldn't know where it was by the time
they finished doin' hair if it was left up to her. She didn't know how to keep track of her stuff.
But Virgie did. Know how to keep track of stuff.
Case in point: what was up with Woody?
“Hello, Woody.”
“Hi, hi Virginia.”
“Oh, yeah, heya Woody.”
“Hi, Dixie.”
“Whatcha doin' all the way over there, Woody?” Virgie sing-songed, deliberately repeating his name.
“Um, nothing...nothing. Just, um, just sitting.”
“I can see that you're sitting. Why are you sitting over there?”
“No, no reason. It's a chair — I mean, it's a couch — so I sat down.”
“Uh-huh...”
“Uh-huh. Well, my point was that work and play don't always have to be separate things.”
“I guess that depends on how you labour for your bread.”
“Beulah. You tryna tell me something? Am I boring you right now?”
“What? Chile, please.”
“Well then. My point stands, don't it?”
Daytona knew from that whiff of resentment aimed...in her general direction
and at those other divas livin' their best lives on the glossy page that Beulah was
ironically, conveniently, overlooking her own role as kitchen-tician extraordinaire.
Beulah liked doin' hair, so she didn't think of it as labour...but wasn't she gettin' paid
for her time and talents? And did that transaction infringe on them having a good
time when they got together like this? No, it did not. She worked at her own pace, in
the comfort of her own space — not Day's — and if it took all day they broke bread
together and then broke out the cards for some rounds of gin rummy — hopefully,
heavy on the gin and the rum if and when Homer's hook-up came through for him.
As for the regular everyday drudging that they had to do to get by...it
didn't ever seem to stop them from knowing how to have a good time.
“It's good to enjoy your craft, isn't that right, Professor — oh, you didn't forget about my sweet potato pie, did you?”
“Do I ever?”
“And the pecan pie for Hamilton? Did he forget to ask if you had time to add that on top of mine?”
“He did, but I did not.”
“Well, thank you Ms. Beulah. You are a marvel. Now, as I was saying, we have all
worked hard for our...wherewithal, isn't that right?” she said, turning again to Skye. “And when
you work hard, you should damn well play whenever you feel like it. At this stage of my life,
I have got no time for games, but I'll make time for play. If ever I happen to stumble across a
suitable playmate. And if that means, on occasion, mixing a little business with pleasure, well...”
“Well...?” Beulah piped up. “Come on, do tell.”
She couldn't see for herself whatever sly looks Daytona was givin' him, but she saw the flush risin' up Skye's face.
Day was only foolin', she wa'n't ever gon' say, but he might, if she let him go on and give away the game.
“Well, sometimes what looks like blurred lines ain't the least bit blurry if you look close enough,
or know how to look at it. And that's all I've got to say about that. How 'bout you, Skye?”
“Eh? Erm, I...”
“Ever dipped your toe across a blurred line or two in your time?”
“I...”
“I...” Woody unwittingly clutched at and released the blanket at his side
when Virgie came over to get him. “...yeah, of course, I know we're friends.”
Hand on hips, Virgie had leaned hard into her Grandma-stance, but then she
remembered: “oops, my nails. Oh, okay, they're only sticky. I didn't mess 'em up.”
“So whatsamatter then? Why are you staying over here by yourself?”
“I...I don't know.”
“Aw, leave him be. You have your secrets. Let 'im keep some o' his.”
“Some? He's like a vault, our Skye. There is gossip gold locked
away behind those sky blue eyes. But I won't pry if you won't.”
“I'm not...not as, um, rich in secrets as you imagine.”
“Ssh...” Day made a show of pantomiming. ”Don't spoil the mystery.”
Skye had never before been invited into the inner sanctum, as it were, but it spoiled no mysteries for him.
Daytona Beech remained ever mysterious to him. A tantalising curiosity, in all her moods and phases.
It was strangely comforting and unnerving to bear witness, up close, to the processes of female transformation.
Yes, his Penny certainly did enjoy playing with her makeups. She was an adolescent, her identity was in flux.
She was exploring the outer limits of “Penny” in a controlled, experimental fashion. And as for “fashion,”
she had always had her own particularities, her own determination to arrange the way that she appears...to
the world, and, and to herself, which only expanded in scope and urgency once adolescence descended.
Going forward, being female meant that she would always be visible in ways that he could not help her navigate.
So even when she slathered on the colours to 'remix' and remake his precious Penny face, he did not interfere.
That, however, seemed to him more art than...artifice. No, no, that was not the word.
Not for Daytona. There was certainly nothing artificial about such a quintessential Woman.
She was Woman. And he sat in awe. He might never hear her roar. In her full power.
He certainly would never hear her...purr. Yet he was true to his thralldom.
Skye watched and inwardly winced as Beulah singed away her halo and flung aside each defeated tress,
too limp now to stand up for itself. It was...it was the process. It was intriguing to see it happen.
But the end result, well, it could neither enhance nor diminish her beauty, which was immutable.
Therefore, it was change for the sake of change. Which always made him uncomfortable.
It was a woman, this woman, changing her appearance because she could.
Adjudicating how others perceived her because she would. Which restored
his sense of awe. It suggested to him that some other, even more deluded
mere mortal was likely about to be snared in her thrall and not know it.
“Das Ewig-Weibliche.”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, I'm sorry. I was lost in thought.”
She believed it. He was staring, but not exactly at her. Staring through her maybe
and that absolutely would not do. “Am I boring you, too, Skye?” Daytona teased.
Certainly not. “Certainly not,” he forced himself to speak out.
“Afraid I can't converse in German, my dear, but I'm happy
to chat about anything you like in our native tongue.”
“I mean, I don't wanna make you play with us if you don't want. You don’t want to play? You sure?”
“No, I do.”
Mary had a little lamb?
Not really, it belonged to Mrs. Joy.
It's fleece was white as snow and Mrs. Joy was gon' teach her one
day how she turned it into wool for clothes. And other needful things.
Elaine never cared to learn that part of they business, but Mary thought it would be good to know.
All the same, when Mary left their farm, where she was goin', little lamby could not follow.
Doin' the wash was one ritual that Mary actually kinda liked and then gettin' out
o' the house and goin' 'round this well-worn path...it was familiar and peaceful and kinda
pretty, their Widespot, at this time o' year, and gettin' this time to herself...she liked it.
She didn't dilly-dally, but whenever she got to this fork in the road, she hesitated before makin' that turn.
Not that there was nothin' special out that way, just more field, but sometimes she jus' wanted to take a different way.
There was no trail back to the house that way, though.
And with the cart...it was just easier to go the way everybody go.
Homer didn't take the beaten path back. That would've been out of his way because
he had been out in the fields with Norman Joy, trying to help him get the tractor restarted.
He was on foot now, so it was easiest for him to cut his own path through the grass.
Damn gophers! Or goundhogs, or whatever varmints it was!
It's been a while since they had critters digging holes in their yard.
Homer tripped but, thankfully, he caught himself before he slipped too far and wrenched his ankle.
That was all they needed! Him out of commission even for a day or two was definitely not in budget.
He'll fix 'em. He still kept some of that sand and gravel mixture stashed in the empty barn.
They won't be burrowing up through this hole again!
“Hey Dad. Lazy bones is still in bed — hey, how'd you get so dirty? You been diggin' in the trenches?”
“Something like that. It's varmint warfare out there, son,” Homer joked with him. “Gotta stay prepared.”
“You don’t hafta play if you don’t want to. I was just asking.”
“No, I do.”
“You don’t have to, Woody. Only if you want.”
“I do. I do!”
“So, okay then.”
“O-okay what?”
“Okay-ee, get up.”
“Delta-boo...I'm talkin' to you, c'mon, look at Dixie...”
“Hey!”
Mary nodded acknowledgement and kept on moving.
“You need a hand?”
Mary shook her head.
One thing Mary didn't like was how close the trail cut to Hatfield land.
She like to steer clear o' them Hatfields when she can.
“Look at Dixie, Delta-boo. Ha-ha — Boo!”
“I like your shirt,” Virgie said. “It's almost perfect cuz it almost spells out my name.”
“You want it? I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind. I mean if you want it...”
“Uh, no, that's okay. It's nice you're so nice, but I got tons of clothes. Even stuff with my name on it already.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“But you don't.”
“Uh, what are you doing? Leave Delta ‘lone, Dixie, don’t scare her.”
“You leave me alone, Scotty. She likes it. Rowr!”
“Hey! Wait up!...Hey!”
Mary never turned around, but she could tell he had stopped
running after her. And also that he was still coming up behind.
She just kept on walking.
She was almost home.
Penny knew this was around the time Mary did her run to the Joy farm.
She was gonna go with her but she...forgot. She still liked to sleep in on Saturdays.
“You're funny. That's funny.”
“No, for real.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah.”
“You sure now?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“So, whatcha think? Now it's perfect!”
“Might hafta start callin’ you Cheeks instead of Chin when you bend over like that.”
“Anyways, whatsamatter with you — I told you I would help.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“Hey! I'm talking to you! What did I ever do to you that you're ignoring me? Hey!”
“Fine. Fuck it.”
“You stop that. Leave those birds alone!”
Her big sister instincts kicked in, overriding her plan to say nothing and hope he'd just go away.
“Got your attention, though, didn't it? So do you want any help unloading the cart or what?”
“No. Thank you.”
“You ain't gotta act like no superwoman. It looks heavy. Lemme—”
“It's not heavy.”
“Oh, c'mon...Mary...? Fine. Whatever. Have it your way, SuperChin.”
“An' now, look-a-here, IT’s coming. IT’s here.”
“You hush your mouth,” Mary snapped. “Don’t you talk about Penny Weiss
like that. And get up offa there, it ain’t fit for holdin’ all o’ you.”
“Hey, guys!”
“Heyyy, IT's Pennywise.”
“Hi, Penny.”
“Doo-doo-doo-de-doo-de-doo-doo-doo-doo...”
“C’mon, Penny.”
Mary led her friend away soon as she’d hopped within earshot.
“Whuh? Oh, he’s being a jerk today?” Mary didn’t say anything, but when wasn’t he...like he was?
“And folks say I’m the dumb one,” he muttered. “Ain’t you never read a book or watched tv?
Eh, forget about it,” he said, getting off the cart just in case it really didn’t hold him up.”
Dixie was still giggling in shock and awe that Woody let her do that.
Her mama'd have a holy fit if they ever just wrote all over any of their clothes!
But that didn't mean she wasn't gonna get in on the action while the gettin' was good!
“You're gonna write your name, right?”
“Virgie, duh.”
“Oh, cool!”
Scot saw them and came over to join in, making sure to choose his own different colour.
Homer was more of of a mess than he realised.
Though, of course, not from varmint 'wrastling' like he led Scot to make believe he believed.
“Hold still again for a minute,” Beulah said as she combed out
a stray strand she'd missed and re-set the last roller again.
And now that she had some free minutes, she went and checked on the food simmering on the stove.
“Thanks for keeping me company, Professor. I think I always learn something just from talking to you.”
“And I you.”
“Lookin' good, Daytona!”
“Not yet,” she said, “you charmer, you. But just you wait 'til these rollers come out. Won't be able to tell me nothin!”
“Don't I know it. Eh, Skye? How's it hangin'?” Homer asked before he remembered best to
tone down the banter for the one while turning it up for the other. “Everything's all fine and dandy?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good to hear it.”
“Hey there, MamaBear.”
“Oh…” she reacted. Not really surprised. She’d heard him chit-chatting with
Daytona and Skye. But she did have a heavy pan in her hand. “...Lumpy.”
“You...need me to do anything?”
“Naw. They ain't for pickin' yet. Just prunin'.”
“Okey-do — ha. Somebody's lonely.” Penny gave Mary a heads up and smiled to herself.
“Hmm? Oh.”
“So you just gonna follow us around, or what?”
“What us? Ain’t nobody followin’ you around, IT-Face.”
Penny laughed. “That’s the best you got? Really?”
He didn’t have a good comeback ready so after a pause he just said “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“Me, too. Jerk.”
Mary intervened and called Penny over to pick peaches for the sweet tea
for supper while she wrangled with the cabbages to go with Mama’s roast.
“Somethin' sure does smell good,” Homer said, and kissing up and down his wife's neck, he added, “Tastes good, too.”
“You cut that out, Lumpy.” Beulah repressed a giggle. “We got company.”
Daytona glanced over at the kids but did not inquire into what mischief her granddaughter was ringleading over there.
“Not so hard, Dix,” Virgie said as Dixie just had to add some extra flair. “That's still Woody under there.”
And she eased around to the back to think of what extra she could add herself. “Oh, of course.”
“I'm putting your name here, Woody. So now it's like really, really perfect. It's all of us together.”
‘Ooh, that little hussy,’ Beulah laughed to herself about her friend. There she went, throwin’ them hips
about while she scooched her chair around like she didn’t know what she was doin’ to that poor man.
Even Homer noticed that, probably noticed more than his wife did since he saw the way Skye crossed his legs.
Body language mirroring? Uh, yeah..he thought not.
But unlike his wife he didn’t have any matchmaking notions. Not even fleeting.
And he hoped she didn’t either. Not seriously. Because Daytona...well, she was good people, but
a man could get his feelings hurt messing about with that one and no lie! Nothin’ wrong with a passing
fantasy — naw, naw, nothing like that, she’s not his type, Homer assured his conscience, because
its name was Beulah, too — but...well, he wouldn’t say he knew the type, Daytona...she wasn’t ‘a type’
per se — but, uh, he knew what he knew,* that’s all. For Skye’s sake, Homer hoped he knew it, too.
*no, he didn’t know anything about a Mann in particular — Homer hasn’t even met Rich yet — but
he felt he had insights as a warm-blooded heterosexual man that his biased Beulah did not
he felt he had insights as a warm-blooded heterosexual man that his biased Beulah did not
Now that Beulah's hands were free and they were all together, she asked, “Y'all want
some tea? Let's have some tea. You like lemon in yours, don't you, Skye? No sugar.”
“Put a whole lotta sugar in mine! I take it extra sweet. Like me.” Day winked at Skye.
Homer shifted Daytona's bag over to the next chair and plopped down, but immediately reconsidered.
“You come on and sit down, MamaBear. I'll make the tea. You been on your feet all day.”
“And you been out in them fields.”
“Just for a minute.”
“Lumpy...”
“Wouldya listen to them...like newlyweds! Ain't they sweet?”
There was only one really ripe peach on the tree so far as she could see and Penny...ate it.
One wasn't going to do anything to flavour the sweet tea or encourage Ms. B to make cobbler.
Mary was doin' her level best to act like she don't hear him when he say that stuff
'bout what she look like, pickin' apart the different parts o' her and soundin' off like every
time she bend over it's 'specially for him to look at and say how he likes what he see.
“S-weet!”
There he go again!
She almost liked it better when he was sulkin' around town by hisself all the time, but
she didn't really like that either. A stranger, a boy, lurking and snarling and staring.
Maybe he called hisself bein' friendlier nowadays but it wasn't really no better.
“Sweet Cheeks!”
And the fact that he kept on focusing on her...hindside...it didn't just annoy her — it was embarrassin'!
She was all too aware that she ain't curvy-shaped, nowhere near like Miz Daytona, or even like her mama.
Like if it wasn't bad enough her daddy's people didn't think they was good enough to be kin to them
their half o' her genes also went and cheated her out o' her rightful share from Mama's end of the
gene pool. And, well, even out here where nobody’s ‘specially bound to see her, she just don’t feel
completely right bein' in the skin she in and not, well, not fillin' it out the way it should be.
Like if she ever met anybody who knew better — not that Andy Hatfield — well, but
she was too young to start worryin' on that too much yet. If only that Andy Hatfield
would stop drawin' attention to what he so obviously don't know nothin' about!
For a non-Mary perspective on the matter, well, no, unlike Virginia, she is never going to fill out a pair of leggings quite
like Daytona — BUT Valentine is a Butt man. And he was raised around naturally thickset, curvy women so his frame
of reference for what’s enough isn’t based on a mainstream aesthetic and means she’s surely got a little more goin’ on
‘round the backside than she realises. Just a bit more on the stuff you didn't even know you didn’t care to know! 😝😆
like Daytona — BUT Valentine is a Butt man. And he was raised around naturally thickset, curvy women so his frame
of reference for what’s enough isn’t based on a mainstream aesthetic and means she’s surely got a little more goin’ on
‘round the backside than she realises. Just a bit more on the stuff you didn't even know you didn’t care to know! 😝😆
“Damn, was it good? Must've been damn good the way you gobbled up that peach.”
“Yeah, it was,” Penny said before she tossed the pit overhead into the
back field, to be free to maybe make a new super sweet peach tree.
She had also seen the way he stopped staring at Mary's butt long enough to watch her
slurp up the juice running down her hand. Just like a boy. No matter how he talked so big and bad
about her. He was still just a boy. Like, literally, she had him in the palm of her hand. For a minute.
Penny didn't mind that he was watching. She still licked the last drips from her fingertips
before wiping them on her pants and asking, “So...what's your deal, dude?” She was gonna say
'like, do you like her for real or what?' but then that dog came over barking like crazy, right at Mary!
But in a way, that answered that for her. Dogs always know.
“Guess somebody's jealous.”
“Who, you?” he got another dig in, lest she forget she was the sideshow.
“Hey, hey now, Brownie, baby. You takin’ up for me, girl? Stickin’ up for me ‘gainst that mean Chin?
Or are you jealous like the IT one said? Huh? Aww, look at you, comin' on command. Who's a
good bitch? You'se a good bitch, isn't you'se? Oh, yes, you'se is, you're a good little bitch for daddy.”
“Ugh. Knock. It. Off. Sheesh!”
“Now what's your problem now? I'm bonding with my doggie here.”
“Whatever. We see you, dude. You are not subtle and you're not slick.”
“What? Already told you I call 'em like I see 'em. A good little bitch is a man's best friend. Isn't that right, Brownie, baby?
Yes, it is,” Andy said, still patting her on her sleek little brown head and peering up at Mary. “But a bad bitch—”
*WOOF*WOOF*WOOF*WOOF*WOOF*
Before either girl, well, Penny could even interrupt properly and pounce on whatever b.s.
was about to tumble out next, the big one came over full-speed, growling and barking away.
“Now, don’t you start!” Penny jumped in.
“Hey, don't blame him cuz you ain't got no animal magnetism.”
“No worries. I blame you.”
“Ay, boy! There y’are! Come on 'n come along then, boy, if’n yer still comin’.”
“How? What the hell did I do?”
“Dude. Obviously, they get their people skills from you.”
“First off, only Brownie's mine, like you already know. And she's a good little—”
“Ugggh.”
“—female dog.” Andy snickered. “Gotcha, bitch.”
Penny wished she still had that peach pit in hand. She'd aim to pop him right in the kisser.
The dogs had started bounding over at the first whistle on command, and ran faster when their master whistled again,
but that one was fer that other young cur, the one on two legs, cuz he meant to bring all his charges to heel.
“I said come on along, boy! You leave that Homer Land’s gal be. An’ git yourself offa his property.
That’s the Lands’ patch o' dirt now.” He humphed and sniffed and spit and muttered loud
enough to surely be heard. “We Hatfields dont’ go trespassin’ — squattin’ on what i’nt ours.”
“You okay, Penny?”
“Hmm? 'Course!” she said. “Just wish I had something to throw.”
Mary didn't really hear that last part. She had never liked the look of Ulysses Hatfield, or
the sound of him, 'specially now, always only referring to her as 'Homer Land's gal' and more'n
more traipsin' 'round with that gun. She did not turn away from a Hatfield fixin' for a hunt.
“Hey, where’s my rifle, Unc?”
“Don't ask fool questions just a'cause o' them gals.”
“Nah, but really, Unc. Why can’t I have a gun? Billy has his own gun and he’s way younger than me.”
“Billy was born and bred to shootin’ an’ huntin’. City boys don’t get
guns ‘til I’m good an’ sure you ain’t finna blow my dadgum head off.”
“Old Town’s not a city.”
“It is to me, boy. Now, come on.”
Andy started to run off and then suddenly skidded around.
“Ay, Chin-Chin, this is for you. You know what I mean…” he said, swirling his extended middle
finger around and smirking. Mary didn’t know what he meant. But she knew she didn’t like it.
“Gross.” Penny’s one word confirmed for her.
“Eh, don't worry about him. Boys are always super dumb.
'Specially when they're young and full up with all that cumbersome stuff.”
Penny nudged her friend in the ribs under the arm she'd grabbed hold of, not remotely
sure she would actually get it, but whatever. She didn't have to for it to still be freakin' funny!
Sim biology...puberty! — Had to be some kinda crass cosmic clownery. And the joke was on all of them!
*😘*😘*😘*😘*😘*
Loud kissy sounds like he was calling over his dog but obviously meant to get their attention...got their attention.
“This is for you, too!”
*😘*😘*😘*
“Yeah, I’ll give you somethin’ to gag on, IT-Face,” he said, “In your dreams!”
Penny made a show of flipping up her gag me finger to flip him off
right back and she threw up the other one for good measure.
All with the cheekiest smile. She was kind of in her element.
There weren’t a lot of assholes round these parts — definitely not age-appropriate assholes...She missed this.
In response to her double bird, Andy morphed his secondary gesture into a thumbs down to Miss IT-Not It.
“Don’t you wish!” He laughed.
“Yeah, you see this? You wish!”
He didn’t say ‘you fucking wish’ seein’ as how his uncle was in earshot and all.
So don’t say like he doesn’t understand respect.
“Look sharp, boy. Andy...Andy, would’ye come on along. That thing
you got there ain’t ready for no shootin’ neither. Now, come on, boy!”
“Remember what I said, Chin-N-Cheeks.
This……............…...Is….........……...….
For……..................Yoooooouuuuuuu...”
Boy had spunk. And plenty of it. Not a bad sign at all even if it did make him a genu-ine pain in the be-hind.
That was the boy's birthright. He'd learn him when to keep it zipped.
Least he wasn't soft like a boy raised only by a female hand can get. Couldn't say he didn't have
no right to the Hatfield name even if he did come by it only through the ma'ammary line. Him
and Lee was Hatfields twice over* anyhow so it don't even matter who the jackass was what
knocked her up back then — she still ain't never said — their blood was strong in that one.
The strong devours the weak, true enough. And the strong shall rule the meek.
Speakin' o' which...that Mary gal the boy was sniffin' up under...Whoo-whee! Homely as all get out, that
Homer Land’s gal. And she sure was a skittish l'il somethin’. If’n she wasn’t quite so young still he might
be tempted to break her in on his own long gun, just to teach that Homer Land a lesson if nothin’ else.
But in herself? Hell naw, nothin’ to trouble his heads over no rights or wrongs in the call o' nature.
16 was the law, so called, but 15 had always been thought proper enough most all the time... Not before.
Nope, never before. Don’t let no spitin' tongues wag that Ulysses T. Hatfield was a pervert.
But jus' cuz that homely gal formed no part o' his own plans don't mean her daddy shouldn't worry.
That Homer Land had upped and set hisself up to be the law. Jus' to fend him offa gettin' his justice,
he knew that's what it was. Like he gave a good goddamn 'bout a badge 'n a reg'y'lation pop gun.
The law was only the law. It only dealt with the after-the-facts.
Couldn't stop a damn body from doin' a damn thing. An' there was damn sure more'n one way to skin a cat.
Or to teach a thievin' polecat a lesson 'bout who not to mess wit'.
The meek shall not inherit this here patch o' earth. Not for long. Not so long as there was Hatfields around.
*why, yes, that is a kissing cousins allusion — the degree of 'consanguinity' presumed, entirely
up to you (but the musing about Andy's unknown paternity is not meant to hint at any sibling *ick*)
Also, not a typo, did mean spit(e)ing tongues, like spiteful, not spitting, but however you heard it works.
Early 2000s era Maxis had no qualms ramping up the stereotyping and I don't mind leaning
into it either, for any sim-characters, trusting they'll all manifest as individuals...eventually.
Going along with the assumption that Ulysses T. was named for the Union General (and 18th President)
Ulysses S. Grant, the sister I invented is named Lee, for Robert E., on the idea that the Hatfields never
could decide what side of the Lost Cause they came down on, the winning one or the “right” one.
up to you (but the musing about Andy's unknown paternity is not meant to hint at any sibling *ick*)
Also, not a typo, did mean spit(e)ing tongues, like spiteful, not spitting, but however you heard it works.
Early 2000s era Maxis had no qualms ramping up the stereotyping and I don't mind leaning
into it either, for any sim-characters, trusting they'll all manifest as individuals...eventually.
Going along with the assumption that Ulysses T. was named for the Union General (and 18th President)
Ulysses S. Grant, the sister I invented is named Lee, for Robert E., on the idea that the Hatfields never
could decide what side of the Lost Cause they came down on, the winning one or the “right” one.
Homer inched over close to Day and leaned in confidentially to say:
“Bad news. No booze.”
“No booze? Oh, then I’m gonna have to love y’all and leave you today, definitely!” Daytona laughed. “If ain’t no
booze forthcoming then I do believe I've just remembered I've got some pressing business to attend to.” As their
phone started ringing just as she said that, Day embellished the joke, “See now, that must be my secretary calling.
I gave 'em y'all's number in case I needed to be reached in a pinch out here in our land of no cell towers.”
(She wasn't far wrong, it was Hamilton calling.) But when the call dropped before the kids
could even race to beat each other to it, Homer said, “Guess it wasn't urgent business after all.
And, uh, don't count us out just yet. I might still have a little somethin’ to tempt y'all to stay and play.”
Hmph. He wasn't there for that part of the conversation earlier, but Beulah do wish Lumpy'd landed on a different word.
“Gi-i-in...rummy! And don't even try to tell me you don't have a
backup stash of some kinda bathtub gin ‘round here somewhere!”
“Maybe I does and maybe I doesn't,” Homer joked. “But we'd better
enjoy it while we can. Looks like the, uh, supply chain is drying up.”
“I...I understood that we were a, a dry county.”
“Oh, honey, we are. Technically. More's the pity. And more's the work to be done.
The regulations themselves are a mess and the loopholes are worse. And also,
technically,” Day said, looping them both in with her sly grin, “the area is moist.”
Even Homer fought back the blush at that one!
“So Widespot isn't definitively wet or dry.”
“Or moist?”
“Ah, no. Widespot isn't anything at all because we're not really our own town. Now, we can
change that, but all in due time. Legally, that makes us beholden to the dry county laws,
but being smack dab in the middle of a, well, a kind of moist district with all the towns around
us being like that, well, it makes things more complicated than they could possibly need to be.”
“Except when you've got a taste for my famous rum punch.”
“Except when I've got a taste for rum. But, I'll tell ya, some gin and juice will do!”
Homer didn’t know why he was flirting with Daytona, except sometimes it was hard not to flirt with Daytona.
He told himself he was setting the example for Skye*...but that was a lie. He honestly did
not think that Skye should risk it with her. Surefire way to get his feelings hurt. No doubt
about it. But one thing he knew was true: his Beulah knew better than to ever be jealous.
*Homer is actually nearly as shy and serious as Skye — he's got 3 Outgoing and
1 Playful point to Skye' s 0 in both — but, clearly, he's also got overrides. My endnotes
overfloweth, though, so I'll elaborate a bit more about these two in the next part.
1 Playful point to Skye' s 0 in both — but, clearly, he's also got overrides. My endnotes
overfloweth, though, so I'll elaborate a bit more about these two in the next part.
And that was true. Mostly true. Beulah knew in her bones that neither one of them would
ever do that to her. And then sit and smile in her face? Not possible. But that didn’t stop a
flickering fear that it could’ve been Lumpy creepin’ ‘round that way, sniffin' after new pastures.
Not really, it couldn't. Not last night, not any night. He was always snuggled up next to her,
right where he should be, every night. But menfolks do always find a way when there’s a will...
Now, look at that, here she was suspectin’ the worst all because Daytona wouldn’t just go on an’ dish the dirt!
Imagine that. She ain't jealous...she's just nosy!
Beulah laughed so hard at herself at that bit o' insight that they turned in unison to look at her.
“Not for you!”
“And here's what I think of that! And of you, you rat bastard!
♫Doo-doo-doo-de-doo-de-doo-doo-doo-doo...♫ Oh yeah, I figured it out!”
“Not, not, not for you....Nothin' for youuuu!!!”
Andy kept jeering while hop-stepping backwards.
And, claiming the last word, he ran off to catch Unc Uly up.
Sheepish Mary watched her friend aghast and also amazed as she lingered on even after he was gone.
“Penny!”
“What?” She stood up and belly laughed. “He deserved it.”
“But what if my mama saw! Or your daddy? He’s in there in the house, too, y’know.”
“Oh. Oh yeah. Oh well. Nobody saw but that jerkface jerkwad. What? He is, though.”
Mary shook her head at her wild and crazy friend. To Mary that's
how she seemed sometimes. Extreme. But in a fun way. Mostly.
But she didn’t want to head inside through the front no more so she said, “Let’s head back round the back.”
“Okey-dokes,” said Penny, who looped her arm back in Mary's and asked, “So...’d’ya kiss him yet?”
“What? Him? Kiss him?”
“Yeah, him. Who else is there? One of us is gonna, one of these days. That’s just plain arithmetic. And he’s
got his eyes on you...You sure y’all haven’t been secret kissing? That’s not what all that was about?”
“I ain’t been kissin’ on no boys, Penny — my mama’d kill me. Least of all Andy Hatfield.”
“If you say so. It’s obvious he likes you.”
“He hates me. An’ anyway, all them Hatfields...naw, Penny, God don’t like ugly.”
“Um...hello? Earth to earthling...Mary...he is so not ugly. He’s a dumbass, but he’s hot!”
“Penny, please don’t go kissin’ on that Hatfield boy.”
“See. I knew you liked him. But don’t worry. You don't gotta actually call dibs to have dibs. And he likes
you way better than me anyway. If you don’t wanna kiss him, though, you’re gonna have to fight back
better than that. Ya gotta at least say no and tell him where to go. Cuz he’s gonna keep on trying.”
If that was trying...!
Naw, Mary didn't know where Penny got that idea from...
“And anyway, something's better than nothin'. Don't wanna end up like Elaine Joy. T-ra-gic.”
Tra...tragic? Mary didn't know what to think or how to feel about that either.
Mary dropped her arm and had gone quiet.
Penny heard rustling in the grass as they walked by, and she wanted to know, so she asked,
“What’s the whole Hatfield deal, anyway? Like, I never understood why’s their hunting trail over here next to your house?”
“They say it was all they land. Once ‘pon a time. Kept threatenin’ to take Daddy ‘to law’ when they first
showed up, or came back, or however it was. ‘Cause they wasn’t around when Mama and Daddy first got here,
wasn’t here all the time when I was little. Just came back one day to ‘claim what was theirs’ — but it’s ours!”
“♫This land is your land. This land is Land land!♫”
“Good Lord, Penny, please don't sing.”
*
Notes:
- Andy Hatfield: He’s a horny teenage boy, but not at all in the shy future Woody mold, and there are only these two girls for him to notice. For the most part. Only these two age-mates period in Widespot. So maybe he’s attracted to Mary, maybe he’s just latched onto her to piss his family off, maybe he thinks she’s the more challenging target or, ironically, the easier one than Penny, maybe he fully expects to get them both and he’s playing them off each other, maybe he’s just bored and this is his best way to amuse himself for the summer because he still expects to be allowed to go home after serving his term in the boondocks. Maybe his motives cycle through all of the above...because he’s 15.
- Oh yeah, I keep forgetting to account for the new characters. The Hatfields are from TS1. I'll try to remember for when the whole family is properly introduced, but I don't think I made these guys. Except nephew Andy, of course, because he's a character I made up. But he's looking a little template-replacement-faced to me and that's not how I roll so he must've randomised himself into being. Except...he does actually have parents in sim bin limbo who were originally part of my Hatfield household and the only reason that would be is to play around with and link up the genetics. So...I don't know. Does it matter? No. No, it doesn't.
- Oh, Penny, my Penny: When I first ran through this scene, I was just going to say that Penny was on the verge of giving him the finger right back but she knew Mary wouldn’t like it. She’d been living in Widespot plenty long enough to take the edge off some of her own city-girl-adjacent reflexes. And then immediately I thought nuh-uh (lol). Penny with her scraped together 3 nice points and full 10 outgoing points was going to give back as good as she got and better. Also, I thought it was hilarious! So back into Milkshape I went just for teen Pen-Pen. Almost hesitated again because it’s giving shades of Violet (I even put them on the posebox I’d made for Rick because it’s called Digitus Impudicus), but honestly Violet would most likely wait til he turned his back and tackle him from behind if it were one of her friends he was harassing (ugh, that’s in the as yet unshared minisodes, but I really can’t get back to Desiderata and then finally Widespot until I can wrap on Starrywood and the commercial). Anyway, it’s an odd image to be so absurdly proud of, but I hope anyone who sees it gets a good laugh. And that if PeniG should happen across here, she's not too aghast to see teen Penny Weiss being so immature. Probably wouldn’t fly with most of her other iterations, but oh yes, that’s my girl, that’s exactly the girl who could fall for Rhett. And perhaps also some hints at how Mary ended up setting her sights on Valentine. These young boys? No thank you, kindly.
- Oh! Yes, another oh: All this time, I took the pennywise pun at face value, never making a connection to Pennywise the Stephen King clown/killer alien thing because it wasn't part of any of my frames of reference. Which now that I have become aware (like, literally, only at most 4-6 months ago stumbling across documentaries by people who love horror films — not my thing but I love watching people parse their own passions) it seems almost impossible except that I am prone to pretty massive pop culture blanks. Like, there were popular contemporary film adaptations of IT at the exact time I was setting up these scenes and apparently a Tim Curry miniseries that was a cable tv phenomenon in the early '90s. Had no idea. So the fact that I'd put that makeup on Penny Weiss way back in 2018 is kinda wild, and the fact that I didn't write any of the dialogue until now is kinda serendipitous. See, boys and girls, procrastination does sometimes pay. LOL!!
Well, actually...not actually. This was super tedious to write. (At first.) I've been at it almost three weeks. Just the writing! The kid stuff was the fun stuff, initially, but this is where I started from months ago when I decided to get this prequel ready to post instead of more Starrywood. But there were sooo many pics to prune and arrange and rearrange that I'd mentally written this thing a hundred times already. I did still laugh out loud on occasion, but I'm easily amused. If you're actually still here, reading these words, I'm gonna trust it did not bore you.
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