-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE----- Tuck Season, Wabbit Season, Tuck Season! Part 15 -*- Copyright 1999, 2011 by either Joel Lawrence or Ellen Hayes Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when used for satirical purposes. This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and possibly sex. If you are legally not allowed to read materials containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading this. I am not responsible. Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish, state, and country. All rights reserved. See the bottom for distribution rights. *** Tucker opened his eyes, finally, and discovered he'd been kissing Charlene. "Oh, sorry," he said, and let go. Charlene pulled back, looking horrified, before sliding off the bed. "What? Was it that bad a kiss?" Tucker asked. "Oh, Miz Philips," he noticed, as she stood in the doorway. *Maybe it was 'cause she was there.* "Charlene, Valerie," Miz Philips said, "we will be having tea shortly. You just have time to change, if you hurry. Valerie, I can assist you with your makeup and clothing if nece-" "No, I can get it," Tucker assured her as he scrambled off the bed and up. The last thing he wanted was the old bat touching him. "Why didn't-" "I TRIED waking you up!" Charlene complained at him. "Wh-" She wasn't complaining, she was making excuses, he saw when he looked, because she was upset. "Oh..." Miz Philips hadn't come in the room. "No, you did great." He smiled at her, which sort of worked. "That... sounds..." Kenneth didn't know what to say. The contract had been utterly unenforceable in a legal sense, of course - for one thing, signed by a minor - but other than that, was almost terrifyingly well-developed. Darla shrugged. "So, I guess we're hoping that things go better, but..." "I think they will," Jane rasped from the other side of the kitchen counter, where she'd been temporarily banished; Valerie had apparently had the clever idea of keeping Jane and Marie separate from the food and cooking. And no one was against it. "At the least, we've got her back... and now, we can begin to work on her, and the puzzle she represents, without quite the pressure we had before." "I thought the early pressure, on her, was crucial?" Kenneth asked. "Well, as we can't apply it now," Jane said sharply, "we'll have to do without it, as best we can." She sighed. "I'm sorry, dear; this cold is making my temper short. Don't say it," she added. "We weren't going to say anything, were we?" Darla smiled. "Not a thing," Kenneth agreed, keeping his face deadpan. *Sheesh, here we go again,* Tucker sighed. Though what Darla had picked out for teatime wasn't nearly as bad as the Jane-frilly toddler crap he'd been wearing, a rose-colored satin gown was still severely over some line of sanity or good taste in his eyes. He sighed, and closed his eyes. *Do I want to try something else, and fight her, or just go with it? Is it even worth it?* *It's just clothes. Fuck it.* He reached for the hanger and pulled it out, surprised at the weight. And the bulk at the bottom. *What the-* He flipped the bottom of the skirt up, and found a large thick petticoat. *Damn it! Everything in the fucking house has a fucking petticoat on it!* Even the furniture in here had white pettis wrapped around the legs. Still, the white thing under the dress didn't have a quarter of the frills that the rest of the Jane-stuff did. A dim memory floated past, of someone in a gown like this, and the skirt being spread out sort of like a cone while the person wore it. *Is that...* *Damnit!* The only way he was going to find out if the petticoat really was supposed to be worn - or HAD to be worn - with the dress, and if it matched that memory fragment, was to put the damned things on. *15:39. And I don't have time to try it then take it off and find something else, AND all the other shit like hose and shoes, AND do my makeup. Still got the stupid wig ready, though. Or that other one...* There was a darker blonde one Darla had brought down, that was much longer but mostly straight. *Hmmm...* "She KISSED her?" Jane repeated. Diana nodded. "And then apologized to Charlene, when she finally opened her eyes. Which was several seconds later." Jane didn't know what to think. "I can't believe I said that," Diana said, shaking her head. "No, I can't believe she took it seriously." "You have to be careful of sarcasm among the students, dear," Jane reminded Diana gently. "They aren't sophisticated and miss most of it." "I know- I KNEW that," Diana sighed, looking down. "What sort of kiss was it?" Kenneth asked, causing Jane to turn around and stare at him in shock. "One might infer the intent was different, depending on the kiss," he said directly to Jane. "Charlene kissed Valerie on the cheek," Diana said. "Almost motherly, I suppose. Valerie's return was definitely romantic. A 'good-morning-darling' sort of... kiss." She looked at Jane, and Jane knew exactly what sort of kiss she meant; she often got or gave one in her mornings nowadays. "But then Valerie apologized?" Jane asked, and Diana nodded. "Valerie?" Charlie called, as he knocked on her door. "Are you ready yet?" "Almos- Damnit!" she shrieked from her room. "Come in!" He wasn't sure he wanted to, now. On the other hand, she sounded angry enough to chase him down and tackle him if he didn't come in. *And that hadn't been permission, that was an order...* He carefully opened her door, and found her half-dressed. "Come help me tighten this damned thing," she snarled as she dropped her corset's laces and presented her backside - as well as her panties and the corset lacing - to him. "I don't have time to change into something else, and I didn't THINK before I started trying this shit on... Come on! PLEASE!" Charlie sighed, but got behind her and took up the laces. "Okay, pull forward..." Tightening a corset was something he'd become too familiar with, over the months, and it was much harder to do yourself, though he'd had to learn how to do that too. He worked the laces, pulling the corset tight against Valerie and the slack in the laces to the middle, so that eventually Valerie could tie a bow in the front and not be trapped. "Okay, done." She snapped back to her balance, almost causing Charlie to lose HIS, and hastily tied a knot before she flew towards her bed. "Damn damn damn damn thanks for doing that," she said as she flounced on the bed and nearly had the large thick and stiff nylon petticoat on in two bounces. She flung herself upright and reached for the dress. "I don't know why- How come you don't have to wear a dress like this for tea?" she asked as she threw the dress straight up into the air and dove underneath it. "I'm supposed to look older, I guess..." "Can you zip me up?" she demanded as she rushed him and did a one-eighty only a step away, causing her skirt and petti to sweep across his legs. He reached out and grabbed the bottom of the zipper with his left hand and the tab with his right and pulled them both as Valerie complained, "Evelyn said the whole reason for having back zippers is so you can't dress yourself; proves you're rich enough to have a maid..." Charlie got the zipper to the top and folded the tab down to lock it. "...to help you dress, which is like the stupidest thing-" and she zoomed off towards her makeup table. "I've ever- I mean, who has a maid for DRESSING nowad- Oh, do we take purses down to tea?" "Well, someti- Yours won't work-" "No, and I don't have time to repack it, f- sh- hell." "You can't say that either," Charlie regretted to inform her. Valerie made incoherent noises as she removed a wig from its styrofoam head and carefully placed it on her own, then stopped as she flicked at it with her fingers. "Okay," she said as she twisted herself off the seat, "le-" "No," Charlie sighed, "you can't go down with your hair looking like that." Jane would never allow the straight hair that Valerie was now wearing to simply hang, plain. "What is WRONG with it!?" she shrieked at him. "Why are you standing there instead of sitting?" Jane asked Kenneth. "Because I just drove nine hours with very little stopping, Momma- Jane," was his unperturbed reply. "Ah." Jane wasn't cruel enough to demand he sit after that sort of ordeal, and since he wasn't one of her students any longer, she didn't have to find a way to accommodate him without seeming to bend. "Momma-Jane, please," Darla cajoled as she sat on the divan, next to where Kenneth was standing. "Let him stand up for a while, at least." Even being nice to her children wasn't working out like she wanted it to. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose we can flout convention and be so shockingly rude. This time." "Believe me," Kenneth intoned in a formal voice, before he bowed, "your graciousness in the face of my inexcusable rudeness and grotesque weakness only heightens my appreciation of your superlative gentility." There was a silent pause. "And you said _I_ was stuck up?" Darla questioned. "Well, you are," Kenneth smiled as he patted her shoulder. "Ouch!" Darla winced, then mimed being stabbed in the heart. "Oratory class last semester?" Jane guessed. Kenneth nodded. "And too much reading of Victoriana recently. 'Vanity Fair' and 'Jane Eyre', Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, Lord Dunsany and George Macdonald Fraser. 'Wuthering Heights' for my sins, with Ernest Worthing and his delightful niece Cecily as antidote." "Dear me," Jane said. "That's quite a load." Kenneth grabbed his head with both hands and grimaced. "My mind is awash with anachronalia!" "I don't think that's a word," Darla said. "Oh. Can you help me down?" Tucker asked Charlene, as he looked down at the Stairs Of Doom. "What? My heels are higher than yours," she challenged. "Yeah, but the stairs don't hate YOU. Just..." He sighed. "Never mind, I guess." "You can hold my hand if you want," Charlene offered, apparently relenting. It would make him look childish and weak and afraid, which would probably get him bonus points from Jane if she saw it; but Tucker was going to take all the help he could get versus those stairs, whether it was bonus-pointing or not. She took his gloved hand and led him genteelly down the stairs. "So why did you get gloves?" she asked. "Oh..." He wasn't sure he needed them, but the partway-up-the-arm white non-stretch fabric gloves he'd found in the top drawer of a dresser seemed old-fashioned feminine, which practically had 'Jane' embroidered all over it. "Just seemed like a good idea. Besides, if she hates 'em I can take 'em off, and if she doesn't, I sort of get bonus points. Hold it, gimme a second," Tucker ordered as he stopped before they reached the door to Jane's parlor. "What?" Tucker took some deep breaths and centered himself. *Feminine and ladylike, feminine and ladylike,* he repeated. Jane shushed Kenneth and pointed at her ear, then the door, because she'd heard the floor creak outside. "So tell us about your trip," Diana said, as a safer topic. "How was it?" "Oh, it wasn't actually that bad," Kenneth got out before the door opened. "Good afternoon, Miz Thompson," Charlene said, and Jane nodded at her while trying not to look around her to see if Valerie was- Valerie was, thankfully. "I'm sorry we're late, Miz Thompson," she said as she came in. "I was having problems with this- with everything, I guess." "Say instead 'I suppose', Valerie." She sighed, then repeated, "I was having problems with everything, I suppose." "Good. Kenneth, this is Charlene," who curtsied, "and Valerie." Valerie did her best, which wasn't very good, and slowly; Jane had to restrain her corrections. "Girls, this is Kenneth Roberts." "Good afternoon, Mister Roberts," Charlene said, and Valerie smiled. Tucker could NOT help thinking about palm trees going overboard. Kenneth had half an urge to ask Valerie what she was smiling at, but only half; he restrained it easily. Charlene was wearing an ivory satin dress with short ruched sleeves that fluttered as she moved, a V neck, self-covered buttons on the top, and some sort of applique or embroidered or beadwork designs on the straight skirt. She had accessorized with a wide sky-blue belt, almost a cummerbund, around her waist, and near-matching T-strap open-toed pumps and hair bows pulling her curls away from her face. Valerie was wearing a far more formal outfit, an acetate satin tea gown in rose, with white lace accents - which matched her white eight-button-length gloves, white lace hair ornaments, double stranded (probably faux) pearl necklace and clip-on (probably faux) pearl cluster earrings, and white sandals. The skirt on her dress was quite full, and undoubtedly had a large stiff half slip (or, especially here, a petticoat) underneath to make sure the skirt stayed full. Kenneth was mildly annoyed that he still knew all the terms to describe everything that the two of them were wearing. *If it isn't gone now, it'll never fade... Like herpes.* "Good afternoon, ladies," he intoned, and nodded his head to them. "You look very fetching, the both of you." "Thank you Mr. Roberts," both of them said, Valerie lagging a bit but not long enough to require (or allow) a correction from Jane. Darla opened the parlor doors and left again, returning moments later as she shoved the high tea cart through the doorway. "And here is our afternoon tea," she announced. *Jeez Louise, that's a spread,* Tucker thought as he looked at the multiple tiers of plates, all of which looked loaded with unusual foods, and a silver tea service. His stomach unexpectedly warned him that he'd better not think about trying to eat any of it, because he hadn't watched it and didn't know if it was poisoned. *Oh hell... I thought I was over this. And they'll all be eating, and I gotta sit there, and Jane won't let me leave... Fuck, I hate character-building experiences.* "Valerie," Jane started, and he almost threw something at her, except he didn't have anything to throw. And, he remembered, he was supposed to be taking all this like a man; or at least a mercenary. "Ladies," she stated, and Tucker noticed she still sounded chest- congested. Which reminded him of something useful, but she was still talking. "... if wearing gloves - and I commend you for selecting them, they look very dainty and elegant on you - must remove them for eating or drinking." Tucker had to run that through the parser three times before he was pretty sure he understood it. "Oh," he said, and started picking at the fingertips to get them loose enough to get a grip on them. There was a very vague visual memory, like an old movie, that told him he should do that once or so per finger, and then pull the entire glove off in one go, by the fingertips. "Thank you, Miz Thompson," he remembered to say, and caught her looking a little confused. Then decided, *Hey, keep this up and maybe she'll die of shock,* so he turned to Mr. Roberts, smiled a weak and girlish smile, and added, "There's so much to learn, about formal etiquette." The left glove came off and he dropped it in his lap and started picking at his right glove. Marie coughed into her hand, which reminded Tucker, "Oh, I forgot to mention, Miz Thompson; I put a lot of honey on the grocery list for today, so you could make some cough syrup." "Excuse me?" "One part rum- or, I've heard you can use whiskey," he said doubtfully, "but rum is better... and two parts lemon juice and three parts honey. And you can heat it a little in a microwave to soothe your throat. It doesn't have any drugs in it like guaifenesin or dextrometh- orphan, but because of that you can take it as often as you like." He hadn't picked those words deliberately, but they sounded a lot like Alice In Wonderland, which was about the right period. After a bit of thought, he could say in the same style, "It's quite soothing." Finally, the second glove came loose and he dropped it in his lap, on top of the first one. Marie smiled and nodded, and then looked unhappy as she tried to croak something and, Tucker deduced, knocked a chunk loose. *She's doing this deliberately,* Jane couldn't help thinking, *to lull me into a false sense of security, before she does something outrageous. Again.* She started to accuse herself of being overly imaginative and paranoid, but then... Valerie's previous behavior suggested she might be doing exactly that. "Sugar?" Darryl asked Valerie when he got around to her. Marie had gone to the kitchen to mix up a batch of that witches' brew Valerie had described, and heat two tumblers of it. "Yes please." "One lump or two?" "Two please." "Milk or lemon?" "Lemon, please." "And would you like a scone?" "No thank you," she said. Darryl almost said something, because it was extremely rare for one of Jane's students, all of whom were male and young teenagers, to refuse ANY sort of food. "Valerie," Jane said, and Darryl saw Valerie wince and tense up. "The food is quite good, and Diana made a special side trip to get the scones for tea today." "Thank you, Miz Philips," Valerie said. "But I really can't eat anything." "And why not?" Jane demanded. Valerie's jaw twitched, and then she said in an almost-calm voice, "My stomach has just informed me that it will... veto anything I eat." That was a very unusual word to use, but Darryl knew what she meant immediately, and was a little surprised at how delicate it sounded compared to the usual terms. *This must be the poisoning she mentioned. She's still worried about that, since Sunday? LAST Sunday?* Valerie continued, "I didn't prepare it, the food I mean, and..." She shrugged. "My stomach doesn't trust it." Jane carefully said, "Valerie, I assure you, they are... unadulterated." "Really," Darryl added. "I prepared them myself, what didn't come RIGHT out of the bakery bags." She shook her head. "Miz Thompson, my stomach - or my subconscious I g- I suppose - can't be assured." She turned to Diana and said, "Miz Philips," and then to Darryl, "Darla, I apologize." There was one of those really uncomfortable pauses that etiquette and politeness training, of which Darryl had had years, was supposed to ensure did not happen. And he couldn't think of anything to say. "Mr. Roberts," Charlene said, "will you be staying for supper?" "I think I'll be staying a bit longer than that," he replied, then nodded towards Jane, across the table, and Darryl. "If they'll have me." "Oh?" commented Charlene. "Why so?" Valerie asked. Darryl's sense of humor got the better of him. "Because he's my fiance!" Kenneth felt an arm snake around his waist, and Darla's head laid momentarily against his arm. Which was about all he could feel; he'd gone momentarily numb. "Congratulations," Valerie said calmly into the shocked silence. "Have you set a date yet?" "No, that's part of why he's here," Darla 'explained' cheerfully. "We need to discuss things like the date, the invitations, things like that." Valerie didn't question this; Charlene didn't know him at all; and he could only assume that everyone else was, like himself, stunned. Tucker had avoided weddings like he avoided major outbreaks of pneumonic Yersinia pestis or anthrax. "That's not going to be this month, is it?" he hoped. Darla laughed at him. "Oh, no, you can't put together a wedding in a month!" *Oh good. Oh so VERY good.* "Unless you're Janice," Kenneth added. "Sheeeeeee's a special case," Darla said, seemingly more to Kenneth than the rest of the room. Though Jane nodded like she knew the Janice in question. *Sounds sort of like Debbie... Oh, Deb...* Tucker missed the rest of the interplay because he was missing Debbie so much his chest hurt. *Or it's my boobs growing.* Which ALSO reminded him of Debbie. *Oh, Debbie...* "And what do I have to do to earn this money?" Mike asked. "You're so suspicious!" Debbie laughed. Mike did not say, 'Jesus Christ, woman, I have REASON to be! Look what you did to Tuck!' It really wasn't her fault that Tucker was mutating, and of course he hadn't been socially normal since birth, long before even Mike had met him. On the other hand, it was impossible not to THINK it. Darla was grinning, and Jane wanted to stand up and slap her silly. Marie came in and towards Jane and presented a nearly-full tumbler. "Here," Marie said, gracelessly and raspily, as Jane took it. "Have some, it works." Jane had a swallow, and the almost-hot rum bit her tongue. "Thank you, Marie," she said, and noticed her voice already sounded a little better and her throat hurt less. "I do believe this will help. Thank you, Valerie," she remembered to say. "You're welcome, Miz Thompson," she replied. There was a silence. "Also? If Darla got the apple juice I suggested?" Valerie asked, and got a nod. "Something approaching mulled cider would also be good for you, if it was heated. I checked, and you should have all the spices for at least two recipes." If you'd asked Mike a day before, if he would consider agreeing to go with Debbie Thursday to one of her makeup sales 'parties', wherein she would put girl-looking makeup on him, in front of a cloud of women, so she could sell a lot of that (or similar) makeup, he'd have laughed and then probably kicked whoever said it. He'd just agreed to go Thursday. *Calling Kim was completely not fair,* he sulked. But, he'd taken Debbie's earnest money, twenty dollars, and so he'd screwed himself. *AGREED to screw myself.* *No wonder Tuck's been so fucked up lately... He's been doing everything she wanted since last summer! She only asked ME to do it once-* He yelped out loud when he realized that this was NOT going to happen 'just once'. Tea had been strained - the people, not the tea - for some reason Tucker didn't understand. He knew why it was a strain for HIM, but everyone else was eating the things he didn't dare, so that wasn't it. Strangely, though, Jane hadn't pushed him as much as he'd thought she was going to. When he'd come in, it seemed like it was going to be the usual endurance contest, between Jane trying to piss him off and Tucker trying not to explode... but something had happened, about the time Darla mentioned her fiance, and he didn't know what, but Jane had sort of deflated at that point. He'd actually had to try and carry the conversation, and be sociable and shit, which was NOT his primary, secondary, or even tertiary skillset. *Quartenary? Quint-* He couldn't even think of the words, and 'social' was further down than that. *Maybe she doesn't want Darla to marry him?* While Tucker didn't have any idea what either of them were like - and since he was out of state, most of his usual research sources were useless or unavailable - they both SEEMED well-suited enough. Darla's light skin and reddish hair looked good, though kind of contrasty with Kenneth's black hair and almost Mediterranean complexion. Both of them 'smelled' of money and manners, too, which was good for the two of them; Tucker wouldn't have dated either of them because of that 'smell', because it was incompatible with his life. *Debbie, too, come to think of it; she's too 'trades' to really fit with people like this. Sell to 'em, hell yes; but not really be friends with them. And of course she'd like their money.* Tucker would also like to have the money they obviously had. *Lisa's close... Sabrina, too, sort of, but she's got an edge I don't see in these people. So does Lisa, really, though it's different...* "If I may speak with you in the office, Darla," Jane said, and Tucker knew Darla was in the shit - and, from the look on her face, so did Darla - but Tucker had no idea why. He managed to repress the 'uh' and let out the, "Kenneth, if you'd give us the keys, we'll take your bags up?" Kenneth pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them casually to Tucker, which would've been great except Kenneth rolled a critical hit - no Parry or Block possible - and got Tucker right in the left nipple. The VERY SORE and SWOLLEN left nipple. If Tucker had had the least hint of an inkling that Kenneth had done that on purpose, he'd have thrown the keys back in Kenneth's face while attempting to neuter him with the heels Tucker was wearing, but Kenneth didn't seem to even be paying attention to where they landed. [quaternary, quinary, senary, septenary, octonary, nonary, and denary - Ellen] Jane knew that Valerie was momentarily escaping - taking Charlene with her - but couldn't quite manage to care. Or, rather, she DID care, but Charlene seemed to be as effective a brake on Valerie's behavior as anyone else, it seemed; and she needed to have a talk with Darla. So, apparently, did everyone else except Marie, who hadn't heard the comment, but would undoubtedly like to contribute once she heard ABOUT it. "Three bags each," Tucker said. He looked at her, mentally looked at himself, and decided they were about equally handicapped, clothing- wise; and he was probably stronger, but she was taller. He put one bag's shoulder strap over his head and cross-ways over his body, took one of the 'garment bags' - though why the really long ones were called that, when pretty much every piece of luggage was going to contain garments, he didn't know - and one of the suitcases. "Can you get the rest?" "I think so," she said, and so he trudged back to the house, up the porch, through the hallways, and about five steps up the staircase before the stairs tripped him. Jane was admonishing Darla, "But you realize, if you don't confess NOW," when she was interrupted by a scream somewhere in the house. Her head turned, but the shrieking that immediately followed told her that it was Valerie having problems with the stairs again. She restarted, "If you don't confess NOW-" and was interrupted by Kenneth's, "Jane? Did you hear that?" Jane snapped, "That was Valerie falling on the stairs, Kenneth; she's done it at least once a day since she got here. If she was truly injured, she'd be quiet by now." Which she wasn't, though she was fading with distance. "Momma-Jane," Darla started, "it explains why Ken's here!" "Once a day?" Kenneth asked. "Wait, what?" he accused Darla. Jane drank the last of her rum-and-lemon-and-honey, and before she could put the glass down, Marie was refilling it from an insulated carafe. They shared a weary smile. Valerie hadn't even waited for Charlie's help; she'd struggled upright and shoved her way upwards, slipping at least once more that he could tell, and cursing the entire way - though it was in a language he didn't speak and couldn't identify, which was probably marginally safer around Jane. He followed, very carefully, since he'd just had two graphic demonstrations of how much a slip on the stairs would hurt; and he wasn't THAT confident about walking in three-inch heels. *And that's without three pieces of luggage, either.* "Well, DUH!" Tucker said to Charlene, who was being either unreasonably prudish or exceptionally stupid. "If YOU were getting married to some guy, enough to be making wedding plans, wouldn't you expect to be sharing the room? I mean, you'll be sharing a house or apartment or something soon enough, right?" Charlene frowned and opened her mouth, but then wavered. "Fine, so it's all going in Darla's room," Tucker told her, and turned around and went to one of the wasn't-his-or-Charlene's bedrooms on the hall. "It's down here," she said, sounding resigned, and so he had to turn around and go the other way. "No, actually, I can kind of see it," Kenneth said, after he'd thought it over. "You WHAT?!" Jane almost shouted, accusingly. "And it gives Darla and I- rather, I can disappear with DARRYL anytime we can smuggle DARLA out of the house and change someplace," he mentioned. "Didn't you say that DARRYL needs some more 'face time' out in the world before college?" "Oh, that's a really good point, Ken!" Darla said perkily, and Kenneth hoped that 'she' could turn that off as easily as she turned it on. *Well, that was the point of getting more face time as Darryl, wasn't it?* Tucker had detoured to the kitchen to investigate what the grocery run had produced, found the ice cream he'd put on the list, and decided that it needed to be investigated even though (especially since) the packages were still sealed with anti-tamper and Tucker couldn't find any signs of needles being stuck through the package. Charlene had accused him of being paranoid, and Tucker had agreed before reminding her that it wasn't his conscious mind that was the problem. Then he'd suggested she also test the ice cream. Which, as he'd planned (and hoped), shut her up. At Charlene's insistence they were both sitting on Jane's Bench, in front of her downstairs office - the principal's office, as opposed to the real business office upstairs. At Tucker's insistence, they had bowls of ice cream, and were eating steadily. Charlene was nervous about it, and Tucker would've reassured her that eating was a normal function, happened in even the best of homes all the time... but this WAS Jane. On the other hand, he needed a little something, and he WAS being neat and careful and et cetera with all of it. And had grabbed a large cloth for each of them to use as napkins. And Jane hadn't seemed to be really on top of her game, at teatime; Tucker was fairly sure he could out-argue her at this point, what with her being sick and hopefully getting blasted on rum. *Might mellow her too, even if she doesn't get stupid-drunk,* he hoped. Finally Darla opened the door. "Oh," she said as she stopped. "Momma-Jane, they're sitting outside." *Eating, too. What is th- ice cream?* Darryl noticed. "Please tell me you didn't drip any of that on your-" Valerie waved the bottom corner of a very large napkin at her; the top was tucked into her dress's neckline. "Oh..." He made yanking motions at his neck, and the two divested themselves of the practical-but-inelegant bibs immediately. "If you're finished, I could take those back to the kitchen for you," he offered with a smile. "Well," Valerie said, "we could-" "We wanted to see if Jane needed us for anything else," Charlene interrupted. "We're desperately eager and all," Valerie said in a very dulled voice. "Watch it, missy," Darryl warned, before turning around. "Momma- Jane, do you need either of the girls for anything?" He wished he could've seen Valerie's face when he'd said that; she hadn't liked the 'missy' but then a real girl wouldn't have liked it either. Something moved. *Er?* Something slithered. Inside him. Then he burbled. Below his waistline. "Um..." *Damnit!* Darla turned around, no doubt anticipating a spectral Jane reaching through the wall and grabbing him. He stood up, possibly confounding an incorporeal Jane, and presented Darla with his ice cream bowl. "I'm gonna be in my room for a couple hour- Oh, um, how good is your plumbing here?" She stared at him blankly for a second, then incredulously inquired, "Whaaat?" "The plumb- My Metamucil is working," which was probably more than she wanted to know but it would, as it were, speed up the flow of the conversation as well as his biology. "I've got less than five minutes before Things Happen, and it's gonna be a LONG time. I'm gonna be, uh, flushing a lot of solids down the pipe," he managed. "Is there any problem with the sewage system, that you know of? Or in that bathroom?" She was shaking her head. "Great. Wish me luck," he sighed as he handed her the bowl and left. "She... said she's going to be in the powder room for a while, Miz Thompson," Charlie said. Kenneth and Darla had left, but he'd been summoned into the office. "A while? What is she d-" A scream from the stairs interrupted him. Kenneth flinched at the scream. "Have you considered rubber mats or something, on the stairs?" "I just got back over the weekend," Darla complained. "And, I mean, did you ever have problems like that on the stairs?" "Maybe I was just more careful." "Or graceful. Did you see how slowly she curtsied at tea?" Charlie thought, *That is gonna hurt...* and wondered why Valerie was so bad at going up and down stairs in those moderate heels. "-Doing?" Jane repeated when Valerie shut up. "She mentioned 'Metamucil'?" he said, trying to remember how Valerie had said it. "What is that?" he asked, because her face had changed when he said that, like she knew what it was. "Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck," Tucker said quietly to himself, because he couldn't scream it. He slammed the door to his room and almost wedged it before he realized he might need assistance. His intestines were urging him to hurry using unfair tactics. "Come on come on..." The gloves got dropped on the makeup table. The wig came off easily because Charlene hadn't pinned it like Darla had; he put it on top of its Styrofoam head as carefully as he could manage in the rush. "Y'all don't watch, 'kay?" he said as he started fishing for his back zipper. "Fucking goddamned bullshit clothing, fu-" He managed to grab the little tiny metal tab, and yanked downwards. It went about a third of the way before he 'lost' it. "Goddamnit!" He contorted his arms around, one going up and one going down, and between them managed to wrestle the zipper down enough to get out of the dress, at the cost of wrenching both arms. He wriggled out of the dress and threw it on the bed, threw himself on the ground, got rid of the petticoat, ditched the shoes, realized he did not have time to remove the corset, scrambled upright, grabbed his canvas bag which had one book and two Dews in it, and ran for the bathroom, pulling his panties down as he went. He made it about five seconds ahead of his overly-selfish intestines. "Hah!" Then he doubled over in agony. Charlie had not been happy to learn what Metamucil was for. And he was way less happy than that to be assigned, by Jane, to go up and ask Valerie if she would (Charlie thought 'could' but Jane didn't) eat supper if Charlene cooked or helped cook it. "Valerie?" He knocked on her door, and eventually heard something that sounded like 'come in', he thought, so he did. She'd apparently shed her dress because it was on the bed; the shoes and petticoat she'd worn were on the floor. And the door to the bathroom was open. He made SURE he didn't let his eyes point anywhere AROUND the bathroom. "Valerie?" he tried again. "It's Charlene." "What is it?" she asked tiredly from inside the bathroom. "Miz Thompson wants to know, if you could eat something for supper tonight, if I cooked it, or helped cook it." "Um..." said the invisible voice. "Damnit." "You know you're not supposed to say either of those-" "Go blow yourseuuuuaaaaaaaaaaahh," Valerie gasped. "Valerie?" He was scared to go look. "Uhhhh. Don't come in," she said weakly. There was no way on earth he was going in. *I'd really like to LEAVE...* "Just," Charlie tried, "can you eat supper if I fix it?" "I think so." "Okay... Um..." He REALLY didn't want to ask, but- "Can I help? Or get you anything?" "Morphine if you have it, which you don't..." she replied. "No. Thanks. I'll be okay... Check back in two hours, okay? And tell EVERYONE else to stay out of here." "Two-" "OwwwwwWWWWWW damnit!," Valerie moaned. "Two hours!" Charlie shrieked, and left. [morphine would also cause further constipation, though with enough of it Tucker wouldn't care - Ellen] "I oughta be dead in two hours," Tucker sighed. He wouldn't be, really, but it would be an extremely long and painful two hours. He was already sweaty. At least he'd managed to start removing the corset, though it had already taken a lot of swearing and a lot of contortions and a vast amount of patience which didn't go with the other two. Which was partly why he was so sweaty already. "I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," Charlie warned the adults. The older ones; Darla and Kenneth weren't here. He hoped neither of them were stupid enough to bother Valerie. "She's... She's not having a good time, and I don't think there's anything you can do. She said there wasn't, and she asked everyone to stay out of there." Valerie hadn't 'asked', but she wasn't here to argue with him. "What happened when she was sleeping with you today, Charlene?" Jane rasped. "Excuse me?" "When she was sleeping with you. She DID take her nap next to you? Diana said she was curled around you when she came in. There's nothing wrong with that, Charlene, it's very motherly and comforting of you to do." "She- It was her idea, Miz Thompson," Charlie explained. "Very well," she nodded. "Go on." "Oh," Darryl said, because Kenneth's bags were in HIS room. He turned around and went the other way and found Kenneth closing a door hurriedly. "They're not in Valerie's room," he said. "No, they're in mine." Darryl frowned. "How do you know it's her room?" "It's got her tea dress on the bed and an alice pack on the floor." "Alice pack?" "Army surplus," he said. "It's some kind of acronym, which I forget." He frowned momentarily as he corrected himself, "I think it's called an alice pack." "Still, olive drab is not one of Jane's favorite colors," Darryl nodded. "Especially for her students." "So I'm staying with you?" Kenneth inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I guess so... It makes sense if we're engaged," he smirked at the taller man. Kenneth sighed. "Oh, relax. Besides, we could always have a fight and you could move to another room for a while," Darryl pointed out. He was glad he'd thought of that already. "Why not just say we did- Ah, verisimilitude," he nodded. "So Valerie won't have to ask inconvenient questions like 'Why are you two so angry?'" "We'd have to fake it, of course... I don't know how to have a good- I mean, a really big relationship fight," he realized. "Oh, be glad," Kenneth said. "What, you've seen one?" "I did go to high school, remember?" "Oh. Right." Darryl hadn't wanted to, because that would have meant moving away from Jane (and, later, Diana) because he couldn't go to school as a male here, and he didn't dare risk being female at a normal high school. Plus, normal school would've bored him silly. But he sort of missed it sometimes, or wondered what it would have been like. And, what it would have been like as male, which he hadn't been consistently for more than a week and a half in... Since... "So do I have to ask permission to enter milady's room now, if I'm staying in it also?" Kenneth asked. Darryl still couldn't tell whether he was kidding or not; Kenneth had the best deadpan Darryl had ever encountered. "No, of course not! Especially not YOU, darling!" Kenneth's deadpan had the unfortunate effect of goading Darryl, because he always loved watching that facade dissolve into laughter or frustration. When he could make it happen, which was rarely. Sandy had had to replay the message from Art (or Diana) on her answering machine twice; the first time, because she wasn't sure she'd heard it right, and the second repeat to get the details she'd missed. "Oh, hot DAMN!" After five minutes, she realized she wasn't able to think of anything at all, because her brain wasn't working right with the damned cold. *But at least I can go back to bed...* "Of course I talked him into it," Debbie replied scornfully. "Mike wants money as bad as Tuck ever did." "But he won't look as good," Lisa pointed out. "Not as good as you," Debbie smiled at her. Lisa smiled back beatifically, and placed her hands on top of the pregnancy simulator. They'd had to try a new restaurant, because they couldn't go to any of their usual places in case someone saw her - pregnant one week but not the next was NOT the way to avoid attention - but they'd gotten unusually good service. And no one had really looked at them funny when Lisa clung to Debbie's arm as they walked. Debbie continued, "Mike'll look good enough. I had some ideas... and, I got him to agree to a practice session tomorrow night. With Kim," she smirked. "What? Kim's do-" "No! Dumbass!" They stuck tongues out at each other. "No, she's gonna be 'chaperoning', to make sure I don't molest him or anything." Lisa snorted. "Wanna come?" "Oh, sure, Deb, I can't get enough of seeing boys in makeup." "You know, if you're gonna lie like that, the least you could do is make it sound halfway believable." Lisa, sounding very innocent and earnest and totally unlike how she'd said the thing about seeing boys in makeup, pointed out, "But what if you halfway believed me? What'd happen then?" Tucker thought that the worst was over, mainly because he couldn't have had TWO baseballs stuck up his ass. *Or softballs.* The lump had been huge, and before it had come out he'd had to wipe his makeup off with toilet paper so he could grab one of Jane's towels and scream into it. And he'd needed to scream. A lot. Now all he had to do was find a wire clothes hanger. *Or I gotta do something REALLY gross... Shoulda gone outside, dug a latrine... And then I could call it 'Victorian authenticity'. Heh, yeah, Jane'd go for that, riiiiiight.* He just had to find the energy to get up. His intestines notified him that Part II was coming, and he moaned. "But she wasn't behaving like that before!" Jane protested. "She wasn't anywhere NEAR that polite! Charlene, you were- Marie!" "Really, she was," Marie nodded tiredly, and Jane wanted to kiss her. "Plus she ran away," Jane remembered, and Marie nodded at that too. "Still..." Diana argued. "And punched Sandy!" "Do you think she might be like me, like I was?" Darla asked. "More afraid of someone..." "I think it's the contract," Kenneth disputed. "That took some work, and you said she had it on her laptop? Either she thought it all up while she was gone, which would be a sign of a pretty incredible imagination; or, she's..." "She can't have done this before!" Darla protested when Kenneth paused. "But if she's done contracts before-" "Not like this!" "Darla dear, don't interrupt," Jane cautioned. "But Momma-Jane!" her child protested. "Don't 'but Momma-Jane' ME," Jane said in a stern voice. More mildly, she continued, "I don't really know, Darla, if she's running to us away from someone else. Her mother didn't... She wasn't in your situation, as far as we can tell." "It's the contract," Kenneth stated, somehow managing to make his words sound like a legal ruling from the Supreme Court, and thus unarguable. "I don't think so," Darla argued. "Diana, what do you think? You read that contract thing, right?" Charlie was beginning to wonder if maybe he shouldn't have stayed with Valerie. He knew - now - what she was going to be doing, although from what she'd said, and the way she'd said it, it was going to be worse than any bathroom experience HE had ever had. Still, at least she wouldn't be arguing about it. *Oh, good, pads,* Tucker thought, remembering he'd bought some by finding the box under his fingers. *Well, I definitely need a wound dressing...* *But how the hell can I wrap it to keep it in place?* *That thong was an elastic string right over-* He didn't want to think about where he needed it, because he might start crying again. He pulled a Kotex out of the box, unwrapped it, and stuck it where he hoped it would do some good, and then had to hike his existing panties up and inwards to hold the pad in place, which almost made him scream some more. *Oh god that hurts... Oh god.* When the whiteout had faded, he crawled over to a dresser and pulled out drawers to use as handholds to pull himself up. *If Marie had one, there's got to be more thongs in here somewhere... Or didn't I get one?* Just about ten seconds before he threw something at one of them and ran, Charlie burst out with an, "Excuse me?" They all stopped and looked at him. *At least they stopped.* "What do we do about supper tonight?" he asked, desperate for them to either shut up or change the subject, and let him escape. "Do you want me to cook? Valerie said I could either cook or help." He didn't care which at this point, as long as he got out of the room or they stopped. Which started another round of argument, but he could handle this one because it was a lot milder and about food and chores. "So, I can-" Tucker was saying to himself before he realized that no, he couldn't; his bowels were about to explode again. "Oh please god not another football," he prayed as he ran for the bathroom. A wave of cramps drove him blind, but he touched the counter at the sink and managed to find his way to the toilet and peel the thong and the pad off before his intestines tried to invert him. "He just came back?" Bill Beale asked. "That's what Diana said," his wife Carolyn claimed. "Can you believe it?" "Not really," he admitted. "Did they say where he'd been?" "No... It was a pretty short message," she admitted. "Do you think we should call them?" "What time is it... Six? We could," he said. "They eat around eight, don't they?" "Tea at four, supper at eight," Caro nodded. "At least it wasn't a softball again," Tucker sighed. He'd had to flush four times, and he hoped like hell that he wasn't going to get the equivalent of peritonitis from intestinal bacteria in an open wound, but the only thing he- ANYONE could've done was give him a colostomy, and the thought of THAT almost constipated him all over again. Charlie could hear the toilet going, AGAIN, in Valerie's room, and wondered if she was really that bad off. *Then again, I never took anything like a laxative, so I dunno.* He shook his head and concentrated on finding what he was going to have to wear to cook. *Uh, no,* Tucker thought. "Damnit." The damned Kotex Super Long Maxi pads were expensive (or he was a cheapskate), probably related to the number of words used to name them. "Good thing they ran out of room on the package. What's next, Ultimate Super Long Maxi Ultra Heavy Jesus Christ They're Fucking Huge?" On the other hand, he didn't want to re-use the one he'd pulled, either. "Oh hey, I bet she has to buy some of these for Charlene and Darla," Tucker realized. "I could just- Er." They probably weren't going to believe he needed them... Unless he told them why. "And the answer to that is 'NO fucking WAY'." He sighed; he was just going to have to 'eat' the cost. "Least I don't have to eat-" unwisely came out of his mouth, which made him gag hard enough he wondered if the tea was going to stay down. "Well, we still have the soup," Darryl mentioned. "And she got- Diana got enough to do it again tomorrow, if we want. And noodles, if anyone would prefer noodles to rice." There wasn't much enthusiasm for noodles instead of rice. Marie, her eyes closed, mentioned, "Those grilled sandwiches were a good idea." "So there's not much to do tonight," Darryl summarized. "Unless you want to cook ahead, for tomorrow," Marie said. "I think that would be a good idea," Diana said, and Jane nodded. "Don't we have some things to do with Valerie?" Jane replied, "She HAS to go to choir tomorrow." She stopped, and thought. "I believe," she said finally, "there are directions on my desk upstairs. Kate Bishop is the director, and I believe practice is being held in a school building, one of the temporary ones." *Not like any of us have really been to the high school here,* Darryl thought. "Also, some more clothing," Jane said. "She needs more bras, and Darla, from what you said, she might benefit from having a more mature bustline." "I said that?" He was pretty sure he'd said nothing of the sort. "Well," Jane said before she sipped at her 'cough syrup' again; Darryl made a note to have Diana pick up a couple bottles of rum tomorrow as well, because that was the one thing he couldn't do. "You did mention," Jane continued, "that she seemed to be quite reasonable today - with which I agree - even compared to Sunday when you saw her. She was, I think, worse while she was here..." She shook her head. "Obviously, we can't hold her as tightly as we do the usual student. The usual first few weeks of 'shock treatment' are unavailable to us, because she has escaped once and shows every confidence in doing so again. I do not intend to run a prison, nor keep her chained to a wall in the basement." *Which might be the only thing that works,* Darryl thought. Jane cleared her throat, had some more of her rum, and said with a slight smile, "I'm afraid we'll have to turn to a more feminine methodology with her." *MORE feminine?! What could be more-* "We'll have to seduce her into it." Mouths opened and closed, and people were making small noises - as was Darryl - but no one said anything. "Look at today," Jane explained. "She was up before Darla, without prompting. She was PREPARING to cook breakfast. Which she did, credibly enough. AND she began preparing lunch, about six hours before the meal? She suggested that we all rest today, and for that alone I'm grateful. She napped quietly - like a good little girl," Jane smiled. "She didn't fight with Charlene or Darla. She dressed for tea in what Darla had picked out - and, Darla, that was a beautiful choice you made for her," Jane praised. "In both hair and dress." "I didn't pick the wig," Darla said, unusually solemn. "She did." "Do you know why?" "She said..." Darla's brow furrowed. "The first one was either too fuzzy or too fussy or too fluffy, I can't remember which. But something like that." She blinked and added, "I think Charlene helped her, too; at least with the hair." "Well, she didn't seem to resist that," Jane mentioned. "Otherwise we would've heard about it." "Or heard it," Marie added. "And it was feminine enough, and she didn't fight having it that I could see," Jane continued. "She also- While she didn't eat at tea, she explained why, and was, for Valerie, extremely delicate and gracious about it. Did anyone notice that she didn't exactly blame us?" "She was thinking it," Diana opined. "I'm sure she was," Jane agreed, "but at least half of manners is not telling the other person outright what you really think and feel. Before she... left, I spent a few hours teaching her graceful gestures, and she didn't fight me then either. I don't think she was pleased, exactly, but she was concentrating- probably harder than I realized at the time," Jane realized now, "if her sleep was that poor and scanty. But, concentrating on what I was teaching her, and not complaining much, and working on it." "Autonomy?" Diana asked. "Just so," Jane agreed, happier than she felt she should be just because her spouse the psychologist agreed with her. But, still happy that she had. "But why is she so autonomous?" "That is a question I can't answer now," Jane admitted, "but I think we can use that, that... demand for, or requirement of, autonomy, to manipulate her, and keep her long enough to get a deeper insight into her." "But how are you going to keep her here and doing things she doesn't want to do, AND allow her autonomy?" Kenneth asked. Jane, a little surprised, said, "You of all people should recognize one aspect, and a major one, of that." "The contract," three of them said at once. "Just so." "You do like giving people the rope to hang themselves, don't you?" Kenneth said. Jane's eyes flinched shut in horror as she remembered too many close calls with too many students. "Jane, I'm sorry," he apologized, sounding truly contrite. "That was really bad of me to-" "No," Jane interrupted. "I suppose, in the metaphorical sense, it's true enough. I just wish you'd used 'hoist by her own petard' instead," she smiled. He nodded. "I will in future." "So," Jane stated. "In that contract, she allowed herself to be tied to a system of rewards AND PUNISHMENTS, for proper or improper behavior. Darla, my child, you will have a great deal to do with her- don't sigh, it's unladylike." Darla complained, though with a hint of a smile, "Momma-Jane, why is it that everything that even hints at me not doing what you want me to do, is unladylike?" "Because it's all part of my twisted and ingenious plotting," Jane smirked. "More seriously, if you can stay here-" "You KNOW I can!" "Very well. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart," Jane smiled. "You'll have to provide even more of a role model than usual. I think we'll also need Charlene to do the same thing, as much as she can. Kenneth, you said you would also be willing to stay and help?" she confirmed. "I did," he nodded. "And I will." "You are exceedingly gracious, Kenneth." Jane marveled anew at the loyalty and support she had. "So. The more feminine she is, the more autonomy we allow her. The more feminine she is, the more we praise her and admire her and allow her to act closer to an adult. Meanwhile, we all must watch her closely, to make sure SHE doesn't backslide." Tucker was lying on his back, hoping to stop the bleeding with more direct pressure than a thong and maxi pad would provide by themselves, and trying to read a book he was holding over his face. "I was slicing some of the cheese," Charlie explained, though why he had to when the cheese was right in- "I know that," Darla said. "I mean, what did you think about the rest of the menu?" "Me?" "Do you see another Charlene here?" Darla smirked. Her expression turned serious as she said, "Oh, the reason I came in is, Momma-Jane wants to speak with you for a while. Which is why I wanted to know what you were planning, so I could do some of it." That sounded like it was going to be an ominously long time talking to Jane. "It's not that bad," Darla said. "She wants to get your help in helping Valerie, and it'll take a while to explain." "Alright," Charlie sighed, and put down the knife. He wouldn't mind knowing what was going on, for once. Kenneth sighed, and rubbed his face. *I know I said I'd stay... I'm just not sure of the 'engaged to Darla' part.* It certainly explained his presence in the ultra-feminine household, and he could see how it could work to push Valerie and keep her off-balance; what he couldn't see is whether it would work well enough to make it worth the strain. On both of them. *I don't think Darla realizes what she's going to have to deal with.* *At least we don't have to try and get Darla AND Kendra ready at the same time in one bedroom,* he realized. *Well, I won't ever be doing that again.* His growth upwards had slowed a lot since he'd sprouted in high school, but he wasn't sure it had stopped yet, and he was six feet two inches tall the last time he'd measured. *That's gonna bug Darla... I'm going to have to deal with 'her' every morning, getting ready - and tea, and supper. And I thought I'd gotten away from all that until I get married. IF I get married.* *This is depressing.* *Well, since I'll be here a while, I might as well unpack...* That was going to be a nightmare, too; Darla was something of a pack rat, and enjoyed being able to find an outfit for ANY occasion, and seemingly kept everything in her room, including accessories. As Charlie opened the door to Jane's downstairs office, her phone rang. She beckoned Charlie inside as she answered it, "Thompson residence Jane speak- Oh, Caro, hello," she interrupted herself. "Yes, she did. Wait a moment, please." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and told Charlie, "I need to speak to Carolyn Beale for a while, dear. Go help Darla, or take over from her again. I'll come get you when I'm done here." "Yes, ma'am," Charlie said, and curtsied, and left. *Well, that was a waste of my time...* Since the volcano seemed to have subsided, Tucker thought it might be okay to take a shower. *Plus, of course, if it erupts again, it'll go in the tub at worst.* Which was NOT good, but a whole lot easier to deal with than carpet. Charlie sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, making sure to flip his skirt out of the way, folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look like he was interested. "Charlene," Diana said from the side, "what we need you to do is basically just the big sister role, which we explained to you before, except a little more." Charlie sighed; it had already been more than he could do to be 'big sister' to Valerie, and they wanted him to do it more. "What I mean is... Jane's usual methods need some modification, now, since Valerie doesn't seem to work like most of her students. What we think WILL work..." "You know what?" Tucker asked the empty room. Or the styrofoam wig heads. "I don't give a shit what Darla says, I'm not wearing this tonight." He'd checked the tag, and a 6 was about two sizes lower than he wore normally; he KNEW he wasn't going to be able to fit into the dress without a damned corset. And the LAST thing he needed was some stupid unfashionable clothing putting pressure on his intestines. "Oh, hell, and it's a day off too. Clothing should be more casual." Even Jane could understand that; she didn't wear ballgowns all day. "Lessee what else we've got..." "Darla, Miz Thompson said for you to go up and OFFER to help Valerie," Charlie said. "She emphasized 'offer' twice. And then, after that, she wants you to change into whatever. She also said that we could be more casual tonight," which was a blessing, and meant HE wouldn't have to change again for supper either. Darla blew her bangs up and sighed, then said, "Okay. I've got the beef cooking here, and..." "And we go to bed after dinner," Art insisted. "We both need the rest," he lied. Well, half-lied; he wouldn't mind going to bed early. Jane protested, "Diana, we need-" "YOU need to sleep, to get over your cold," he interrupted. Realizing that the situation called for extreme measures, he began massaging Jane's neck. It was woodenly hard, as often happened. As often happened, as he began digging the pads of his fingers into her cramped muscles, she moaned and began loosening up in body AND attitude. Jane weakly protested, "But, Diana, she-" "We'll see how she does at dinner, and how your idea is working," Art told her. "And then we can sleep on it. You'll think better tomorrow morning anyway. And you have the morning to plot, remember? We ought to be home around one, I think. Especially if all we're doing is a supplementary trip to Milady's Closet. Should I take the girls out to lunch?" he asked as he thought of it. "Yes," Jane sighed. "See how Valerie does... and Charlene too. Take Darla to help watch, observe... And then she needs to go to Milady's Closet, and get some new, fuller bras, like Darla suggested." She stopped for a while, which encouraged Art to keep relaxing her. "I'd like to spend some time with Kenneth, and see how he really feels about all this. He's so damned hard to read..." Darryl knocked on Valerie's door. "Valerie? It's Darla." "Come in," she called from inside, so he did. She was sitting on the bed, dressed but no shoes, not really made up, and she hadn't done anything with her hair (or a wig) either. The two-colored hair was still startling. "Well, Momma-Jane said we should be more casual at supper, and it looks like you guessed that," Darryl said. "That dress looks really nice on you." It was sky blue linen, with a boatline neck and an empire waistline, sleeves to just above the elbow, and the usual lace adornments in white around the neck, waist, hemline, and cuff. As often happened, the more expensive the clothing, the better the woman - or student - looked wearing it. "Oh good," she replied, sounding tired. "I didn't want to wear a corset, and what you picked out was too small in the waist." She placed both hands on her own body to demonstrate where, and Darryl noted that it was exactly where the corset would make a waist on her. "Why didn't you want to wear a corset?" She sighed and gave him a dirty look. "I just spent over two hours in the bathroom; you think I want to put pressure on my belly?" Which was not what he'd been expecting her to say. "I suppose not," he agreed. "Anyway, I picked this out," she said, "and found a garter belt and stuff in the drawers, but I don't know how you want my hair done, or if I have to wear a wig, or what." Darryl smiled and said, "Well, that's why I'm here." *Definitely a wig; that hair is WAY too stark for that dress. But which one?* Tucker sighed, but Darla did seem to know what she was doing, as she primped him up. *Or 'pimped' me up,* he thought, though it wasn't nearly as whore-like as what he'd been in last week. She'd made him put on a third wig, this one a longer version of the one he'd worn for lunch, and with some reddish in the blonde. She'd also taught him how to pin it in place. Tucker had surprised her by counting hairpins (or bobby pins or whatever the damned bits of spring steel were called); apparently she'd never thought of doing that. She'd also made him fluff and spray the scrap of bangs out and curling downward, although most of what was in the front hairline got tucked towards his ears. While she hadn't done a whole lot to the hair, or made him change into something more formal, she HAD gone to town on his makeup. And made him do at least half the work. Two kinds of eyeliner and a third color - he hadn't even known they made white eyeliner - went on before four or five shadow colors, most in individual containers; Tucker didn't recognize the brand name, but figured it was something about four price levels above what he normally used. She'd also made him line his lips, though she made him draw his lips in bigger than they were, before switching to cheeks for blusher (two colors), then back to his eyes for mascara (two kinds) and an argument about whether he would (Darla) or would not (Tucker) wear false eyelashes. He'd won that one by losing, sort of, since he'd told her he was so tired by now he'd cry it all off if she put them on. Then it was lipstick (two colors) and lip gloss over that. "And don't go away, I'll be right back with some shoes and jewelry for you, okay?" "Sure thing," Tucker agreed. *You know, if you had to do this at every meal... I'd just stop eating.* Which was not a good thing for him to do; he had enough problems remembering to eat when the only requirements were clothing, unstinky, and washed hands. *I don't understand why any high-society girl even bothers with anorexia or bulemia... Just dress up for every meal, and then you don't have TIME to eat more than once a day.* An errant thought made him snort. *Wonder what etiquette says you're supposed to do with your makeup when you're going to go barf? Or maybe the upper-class just Doesn't Do That, just like they don't defecate.* The way the waist-and-below underwear worked indicated that people who wore this stuff did not think they would be trying to eliminate any time soon, and not in a too-small bathroom stall either. *While keeping a purse from being stolen. AND while wearing those stupid shoes-* Which, apparently, summoned Darla, who in one hand was holding Charlene's blue shoes from teatime, and in the other was holding a whole lot of gold-tone stuff. "Fun fun fun," Charlie told himself in the mirror. "Oh... blast." He'd smudged his right eye, somehow, and now he was going to have to redo the entire thing. And getting one eye to look good was much easier than getting one eye to look like the other eye. Darla had flitted off to change herself - Tucker hoped she'd change into an ogre or hobgoblin; it'd be amusing to watch her deal when her charisma dropped from its current twelve or above down to a three - and left him to deal with shoes and clip-on earrings. Thankfully, she'd attached a bracelet before she left. "Oh hey," Tucker said to Charlene as he caught her coming out of her room at the same time. Charlene was sporting a light sweater over what looked like a T- shirt of the same material, lightweight white knit, and a rose-colored pleated full skirt that had been plumped out with some of Jane's petticoats. A brown belt emphasized her thin waist and made her top and bottom look wider too. Her shoes matched, of course. "How come you get to look so casual and I have to do like this?" Tucker asked. Charlene snorted and said, "If you think this is casual..." She shook her head. "It's cashmere." "Isn't that really expensive?" She nodded. "Why are you wearing it to supper? Aren't you worried about a spill?" Charlene looked about as tired of the entire mess as he felt, as she said, "Properly-mannered young ladies do not have to worry, because they won't spill food on themselves." Which sounded like a quote. "Oh, shi-" "Valerie, I'm serious, she'll really- she'll make you wish you hadn't said a word like that," Charlene warned him. "You know, 'bite me' doesn't have any bad words in it," Tucker noted. She shook her head. "I don't think it'll work either. Hey, you know, that wig looks good on you. Better than the one at lunch, I think." "You just like it curly like your hair," Tucker observed. Then he thought of something, and the look on her face confirmed it. "No, JANE likes curly, right? Did she perm yours?" "Sandy did," Charlene sighed. "That..." *Wait, didn't I hit her?* He'd knocked SOMEONE unconscious... "That's the one you punched out, yeah," Charlene said. "Oh... dear." She smiled nastily. "That's one way to put it." "Have you heard anyth-" "No. I guess Jane talked her out of calling the police or whatever... But..." "I think I just avoid her. Lemme guess, Jane always goes to that hair place?" At Charlene's nod, Tucker sighed. "I think I find if someone else will work on me. ANYone else there." "Good luck," Charlene said, not sounding optimistic. Tucker sighed again. *Worry about that later...* She smirked a little, and asked him in a talking-to-little-girls voice, "Do you want some help down the stairs again?" He was tempted to kick her, then realized he'd probably horrify her worse by spitting on her clothes; then he remembered the stupid contract. "Yes, I would," he said. "But you're doing it wrong..." Jane sighed. "Diana, could you go up and see if Valerie is still here, and if so, when she intends to come down?" She caught Diana's eyebrows going up. "Yes, I'm getting superstitious about her disappearing again. Not that it helped on Friday," she remembered. "Isn't Darla with her?" Marie asked. "Oh..." Jane had forgotten. "I hope so." "I'll get her anyway," Diana said as she stood up. Art was more than a little surprised to find Valerie and Charlene on the stairs looking more like mountain climbers than society darlings. Valerie was lower, and had grasped Charlene's hand in an unusual grip, and Charlene almost seemed to be lowering her, step by step. Charlene also had non-matching wide olive drab and black straps diagonally across her body. "Girls?" he asked in Diana's voice. Charlene looked up and rolled her eyes at him; Valerie did not. "What are you doing?" "She's afraid she'll fall again," Charlene said. He decided to test Jane's theory about Valerie's need to be 'grown up', and said, "Well, aren't those heels a little high for a girl your age, Valerie?" "Darla picked 'em out," she called over her shoulder. "I suppose we'll have to talk to her about that," Art said. "You're really MUCH too young to be wear-" "I am NOT!" Valerie protested indignantly as she let go of Charlene's hand and turned- And slipped. Profanity spewed out of her at an incredible rate as she stumbled, bounced against the railing, stumbled again, and finally ended up sprawled head downwards. *Oh god-* Before he could take a third step towards her, she'd lifted her head up and said wearily, "Maybe you're right." "Again?" Kenneth asked when he heard the shrieking. Darla paused in her hair ministrations. "Do you think she's doing it on purpose?" Kenneth went back to knotting his tie. "From what you said, and the bruises Jane described, I'd think she'd have stopped by now if she was doing it a'purpose. What-" "What? 'A'purpose'?" Darla questioned. "If you're going to smother everything in Victorian terms, we're going to need a dictionary to translate." "Barbarian," Kenneth said. "JANE understands me." "So marry HER instead of me," Darla smarted off. "I believe that position has already been filled. Besides," he pointed out, "if I keep everything Victorian, you and I can keep things decorous. Whereas, if you start falling all over me with lustful affections, I shall have to thrash you." She giggled. "Mightily," he added, and she laughed harder. "But BACK to Valerie, m'dear. Why would she keep hurting herself? What would be the point?" He snugged the knot against his collar button and tugged the ends of the collar into perfect alignment. "I can't think of one," she admitted, and brushed and sprayed at her hair a few more times before she set the brush down. "Perfect!" "Perfect," Kenneth agreed as he picked up his suit coat and slid into it. Each of them, he noticed, checked over the other one, one last time, before they met each other's gaze and smiled. "Well, milady, shall we to dinner?" "Thank you, kind sir," she simpered at him, before curtseying. He offered her his arm, she took it, and the two of them went. After Charlene had handed Tucker his bag and laptop case, she disappeared into the kitchen. Tucker gingerly sat down at the table, since Jane and Marie were already seated and Diana was seating herself, and managed not to do anything that would require him to scream in agony. He worked the shoe off, and examined the sole. And felt it. "The problem is, this is so slick it's like greased or something. Isn't there some kind of rubber stuff, like-" "Valerie, do not examine your shoes at the table," Jane said. *Oh, fuck you, bitch,* Tucker sighed as he dropped the shoe and toed his foot back into it. *You're not the one falling.* "We'll look into it tomorrow," Jane said. "We?" At her look, Tucker said, "Miz Thompson, you really shouldn't be going out if you don't have to." *Like fucking duh.* "Diana will take you to choir, and if you're a good girl there, she has offered to take you out to luncheon," Jane notified him with a nod. He took the nod as a cue and said, "Thank you, Miz Philips." Jane went on, like she tended to do, "Also, Darla has brought it to my attention that you would perhaps prefer to be taken as an older girl, perhaps a teenager; I have given it some thought, and I'm willing to agree to that, PROVIDED you act in a more mature fashion than you did several times last week. Your conduct today, for example, while far from perfect, has been vastly more mature and ladylike, and I believe you should be rewarded for that." Tucker was still parsing that, counting parentheses, when a social interrupt caught him. He looked at her and remembered, "Oh, thank you, Miz Thompson." When he decoded what she'd said, he added, "I think I'd look better with the bigger..." "Bosom?" she supplied. "Yes ma'am," he agreed, glad he didn't have to try saying 'breasts'. He KNEW that 'tits' and 'boobs' were wrong, though he sort of wanted to try 'hooters' to see what she'd do. Charlene brought out a rather large and impressive salad bowl, and Tucker smiled at her. *I think I am going to enjoy that...* *If I can.* "Charlene-" "I made the salad," she assured him. "Though Darla helped cut things; is that okay?" "She didn't add any liquids, powders, spices, spray anything..." Her head was shaking 'no' and her curls were bouncing. "Also, we're supposed to toss it." "And serve individually from the one bowl," Jane inserted. Tucker closed his eyes to check with his stomach. And opened them again when he heard footsteps. Kenneth and Darla made a Grand Entrance to the dining room. *And fashionably late, too,* Tucker realized. "Ladies," Kenneth said to the table, and Darla just smiled. *Looks like she's more than happy about being with him. Smug,* he identified. Kenneth walked Darla to the table and pulled out her seat, then pushed it in again just as she started downwards. *Do they practice that?* The timing had never gone right when HE'd tried it with Debbie or some other girl. *I gotta ask them...* *Later,* he realized. "What would you like to drink?" Charlene asked. When Tucker realized she was 'pointing' at him first, he decided, "Milk, please. Skim. We should have some of that, it was on the list..." Charlene, Darla, AND Diana were all nodding at him. "That'd be great," he smiled at her. "Um, Miz-" "Proper ladies do not say 'um'," Jane interrupted. Tucker was reaching for a plate to throw at her when he realized she'd STOPPED. So he stopped. "Excuse me, Miz Thompson," he said. "You were saying?" *I was saying... What was I- Oh, right.* "Miz Thompson, Miss Marie, you shouldn't have milk tonight, if you were thinking about it. It... It- It's a mucolytic," he remembered. "A what?" Jane asked. Tucker sighed; they were going to make him say it, and this wasn't really dinner conversation. "It thickens mucus, which you DON'T want to do. Do I have to say more?" he asked, hoping- "No." *Thank you.* "That will be sufficient. Charlene, I think I'm well enough," she told Charlene. "Darla?" Tucker's intestines tied themselves into an excruciating knot. [Tucker got the word wrong, as he does sometimes - Ellen] Marie noticed Valerie stop, and stay very still for several seconds. Then her hands moved, to her lap, and to all appearances it looked like she was massaging her belly. *How odd. Why is she- Oh, her constipation,* she remembered. *For a moment there, it looked like she was having menstrual cramps.* Charlie noted that they were all way overdressed for the food. There was the extensive salad, more soup and rice for Jane and Marie, and grilled cheese sandwiches again for everyone, though Darla had added beef and sauteed onions to some of them. She'd added a rice-and-beef dish that was pretty tasty - Charlie had tasted it, several times - and a baked potato for each person. None of which looked to him like it deserved the almost-formal wear everyone but Jane and Marie had on. Still, he wasn't going to complain, he was going to eat it. Darryl was actually enjoying this meal, playing off Kenneth and watching Jane bite her tongue, repeatedly though metaphorically. Valerie was at least eating, this time, and continuing to behave; she had quite a ways to go on manners and grace, but she was watching what everyone else did and mimicking it - which wasn't a bad tactic, though you might end up with everyone putting down a saucer of coffee and cream for the White House cat if you weren't careful about it. He'd just gotten discreetly pinched by Kenneth for playing footsie and was looking at Valerie to ask her something when he saw her stop. Then, she turned quite pale. Her blusher almost seemed to darken against her skin, and Darryl noted that he could see exactly where he had applied every bit of Valerie's makeup; it looked startlingly clown-like now. Then she looked very odd as she turned just slightly greenish. "Valerie?" came out of his mouth. "Excuse me," she almost whimpered, then got up from the table. "Valerie! There is no-" Valerie ignored Jane as she grabbed her bags and whirled and almost made it through the door before a shoe came off. She bounced off the wall, said something very rude that Darryl couldn't make out, bent down and grabbed her shoe, then hobbled quickly out of the dining room. "I'll get her," Kenneth said as he pulled his napkin off his lap and shot up and after her. Darryl looked at Jane, who was incensed. "Momma-Jane, I think she had to..." He'd never actually watched a person turn green before. Kenneth was too slow to catch her before she ducked into the hall bathroom. *Well, maybe I won't get her,* he thought as he slowed to a stop. Approaching at a cautious walk, he caught just enough sound through the thick door to suggest that she'd had a good reason to leave when she did. "Ohhhhh..." *Fuck!* At least the cramps were producing something now; he still wasn't sure about the whole peritonitis issue- "Aaahhhh!" As Tucker gasped for breath, he noted that even though his stomach didn't seem to be worried about poisoned food, he still might lose supper, purely due to pain. *You stupid dumbfuck! If I can't keep anything down, you'll NEVER get unstuck!* The next wave, possibly in retaliation for the insults, left him unable to breathe. Charlie was wondering if maybe her disappearance had had something to do with her bathroom problems when Kenneth came back, slower and without Valerie. He said, "Jane, I believe her removal was prompted by something more urgent than the desire to be rude or make you angry." "Where is she?" "Hall bathroom," he answered. "And I heard... too much." He didn't describe WHAT he'd heard, which made Charlie appreciate good manners just a little bit more. "Well," Jane said, either calming down or realizing she'd looked stupid. Or both. "If she doesn't return when she's finished, we will have words," she told the table, as Kenneth reseated himself. "She WAS eating, Jane," Marie said. "Remember how she was, at most of the meals last week? I think this is legitimate." Charlie wasn't sure if he'd really heard a scream or not; he decided that he would pretend he hadn't. Tucker had a hell of a time deciding whether to go back to the table, or not. The idea of simply staying locked in the bathroom for several hours, until everyone else went to bed, had a certain appeal... The food was decent, but there was always this feeling around Jane that she was going to jump him again. Plus, he didn't feel that great anyway. But, when he'd spent ten minutes - he timed it - without any more anal explosions or screaming pain attacks, he decided that it would be more like Jane wanted if he came back to the table. *And don't mention it unless you're asked twice,* he told himself. They'd get a warning, ONCE; after that, he'd tell them, and they'd be sorry. *At least I got my bag...* He'd been smart and packed it for supper, including two of the rapidly-diminishing stock of Kotex Maxi- pads. *These purses are handy things. IF big enough.* He had a feeling that most purses, especially Jane-approved ones, wouldn't carry what he needed to carry, and he had no idea how to get around that. Yet. Charlie looked up just before Valerie stopped in the doorway. "Please excuse my previous rudeness," Valerie said, sounding kind of shaky. "You are excused, as I assume that was a... biological problem," Jane said delicately, and Valerie nodded. "I hope you are better now." "I hope so," Valerie emphasized. "Very well. Did you wash your hands?" Jane asked. Valerie glared at her, but answered, "Yes ma'am. Of COURSE." Diana inserted, "You might not believe it, but some girls don't," and Valerie's face turned horrified. Charlie's face began to heat up as he remembered a few times he hadn't at Jane's, but no one mentioned them. "And now we will return the conversation to suitable topics," Jane announced. "Valerie, will you be returning to table? I wouldn't normally allow you to, after leaving in such a manner, but you have reason tonight." "Thank you, Miz Thompson," she said, and slowly made her way back to the table. Kenneth got up and pulled her chair out. "Thank you, Mister Roberts," she said again, "but I think I'd better do it." She slowly lowered herself into the chair, hissing as she 'hit bottom', but she didn't curse. Kenneth had stood by, and when she stopped moving, he slowly pushed her chair towards the table. "Thank you," she said again to Kenneth, actually sounding grateful. "I hope you feel better the rest of the evening," he said as he returned to his own chair. "So do I." Jane stated, "As do we all. Now, Kenneth, you were saying?" "Ohhhh..." Since Tucker hadn't cooked it, he had to clean up after it, and there was a lot. And, he was full like he hadn't been here in a long time. And his ass hurt. Unfortunately, he'd already filled in his ideogram on the chore sheet for supper cleanup, so he couldn't just take off and go to bed. "Well, off to the grease pit." In the kitchen, he put his laptop bag and his 'purse' bag on the counter, where he could see them but they should be out of the way and not get splashed. "You need an apron," Darla told him, and handed him one. Tucker took it and then had to examine it; while it looked like everything else in the house, overly frilly and infested with lace - an honest six inches of lace at the top of each shoulder strap - the actual fabric of the apron was thick, tight-woven cotton. "These are the less girly ones," Darla told him with a smile. "And they actually WORK," Tucker agreed, and found himself smiling back. *Maybe they are amenable to sanity?* *** Distribution: No part of this work may be distributed as an original work by another person or group. Permission is given to redistribute this by electronic means, as long as the entirety of the work (from the BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE header to the END PGP SIGNATURE footer) is distributed, and credit is given to the original author, me. And no fee may be charged. Archiving is permitted provided no fee is charged for access. All rights reserved. + @>--,--'----- Ellen Hayes o===[-------- __ vicki .sig + -=[1990]=- \/ virus 12.2 + http://www.barkingduck.net/ehayes PGP key: EFC9 5D55 (1996) + -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.2 iQCVAwUBTbDYFHYDebnvyV1VAQE4lAQAroZtfUHJ9IfkF1C+811djiCxxSaAy22M wjIs1lPRUDG92unASn+SAmvwx2Rj4VkICCQvpMv9fD3XwsJxIRkSL7i5AvrnpQdE wIMImKeQswPC1Bi70MZkimxmghmAu95+1TMP9l0cnugWN5bo3N3h/FfrKTWFHnjR 0F2S7qDjTp0= =bm5+ -----END PGP SIGNATURE-----