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Tabitha Scarlet is going to sacrifice her cousin and lock them away in a cell for the rest of their inevitably miserable little life. And she's not going to feel bad about it—okay, well, she is, she's a self-admitted terrible person, but she still had some capacity for remorse. But this is for the greater good, she tells herself. Her cousin's probably a right prick, anyways, if they're anything like her.
It's one stranger for the good of the town, she tells herself. She's doing a good thing. Tabitha isn't going to led a warped view of 'morality' cloud her judgement—after all, she thinks, if causing one person suffering for the benefit of a greater good really is so unethical, how come everyone says they'd push down the fat man in the trolley problem? How come there's no option to free the boy from Omelas? And if you think about it, isn't the whole world just one big mechanism of the poorest being made to suffer for the enrichment of the entire first world? No one objects to the child laborers making cellphones and cheap clothes and chocolate. No one mourns the trafficked children and the ethnic minorities who are hurt while they sip their brand name coffee in peace.
So why should this, all of a sudden, be mourned? Really, if you think about it, this is a far better deed. One fully grown adult who has already gotten to live out their miserable little life, whose fate is already tied to the town, in exchange for the livelihoods of every person here rather than mere frivolities and fast fashion.
She's doing a good thing, she tells herself, even as her hand trembles while opening the car door to her BMW to go pick them up. She's probably going to hate them the moment they walk in the door, she'll see. The real challenge will be putting up with them until she's ready to do what needs to be done.
And no, she's not having second thoughts. Sure, it would be easier to just get a tranquilizer from Doctor Kelly and knock them out while they're alone. But there's problems associated, she tells herself, refusing to elaborate on said problems.
Okay. She's going to go pick up her cousin and she's going to hate their guts. Pearlanne said they were stuck up city scum after the family inheritance, and sure, Tabitha knows better than anyone that she was wrong about a few things, but she was right about a lot of things, and this is going to be one of them.
The screeching of the bus as it reaches its stop draws her attention, and she turns to look at the last living member of her family. They're probably ugly, she thinks, admittedly vainly, so much so that it puts even her greasy hair and early onset stress-induced wrinkles to shame.
They are decidedly not ugly.
A toned, muscular frame and pale skin just just like hers, except far less ashy—their eyes are that same borderline unnatural violet but brighter and livelier, and those trademark Scarlet cheekbones are worn well on their face. Their countenance is bouncy and energetic and in a way Tabitha never even thought was possible for a Scarlet. They have natural puppy dog eyes, those same ones Stella did, and Sam, too.
Fuck.
Okay. Well, they have those puppydog eyes Tabitha's way too goddamn weak for. So what? Anyone can possess a superficial quality. What really matters is the content of their character. And this little shit's character is probably… really…
They smile at her—a smile with the warmth of the sun and the sorrow of a heroine at the end of a tragical tale, with that very same hope—the spring after the winter, the next generation after the old one is passed. For a split second, every single worry and fear melts away from her mind, and all that's left is an easy sort of calm. She is tranquil. At peace.
"Hey, Tabitha, it's so nice to finally meet you!"
Wait a minute, what the hell is she doing? That's her sacrifice. Why is she letting her guard down?
Tabitha straightens herself up and clears her throat, electing to pretend that never happened. Okay, sure—they have puppydog and that sunshine smile she's always had a soft spot for. They're still a pompous little asshole from the city.
"Let's move on," Tabitha says, deciding to move on before she falls prey to their supernatural charms any further and lets her guard down. "I don't wanna stay here any longer than I have to."
Her cousin nods, humming some Broadway tune—whatever musical it is, it's probably shit, she tells herself. And communist. They probably love posting about Workers ' Rights on Instagram while drinking their unethically produced Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte and wearing clothes from Shein.
"So," they ask, voice as peppy as ever, seemingly unaffected by her coldness. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine," she replies, because that's what you're supposed to say when someone asks you that.
Her cousin frowns pensively.
"Okay… but if that ever changes, I'm here for you, alright?" They say with those goddamn pleading puppydog eyes. Tabitha considers blinding herself so she doesn't have to look at them.
"Okay," she says, hoping she's made it clear just how uninterested she is in conversing with them.
They go silent for a little bit longer and Tabitha is just about to internally sigh with relief when—
"Soo," they say. "The funeral…"
Okay, she'll give them this one—reasonable thing to ask about. She wishes it wasn't. Can't they go out and say something about how they hate gay people and women so she can do this without remorse?
"It's on Sunday," she says simply."
"Need any help planning?" They offer, because they're stupidly nice like that. Tabitha attempts to manifest them kicking a puppy and tying a random civilian to the train tracks while bearing a mustache-twirling grin. In fact, any moment now, they're going to say 'Mwa-ha-ha, you've fallen right into my evil scheme!' and pull a gun on her (of course, that doesn't work, because Tabitha has a pocket knife on her for times like these, and everyone knows the twenty-one foot rule). Unfortunately, though, they remain unblinkingly hopeful, staring at her with those goddamn puppydog eyes.
"No," she says. "It's surprisingly easy. Just need to find the arrangements for a coffin."
They nod, descending into silence for a few more precious seconds before their mouth opens again.
Okay, this time, for sure, they're going to say something nasty about me. This time, for sure. They'll call me an unsocialized prick who could never be as hot as they could.
"I can't believe we've never actually met before this…"
"You have your mom to thank for that. Or had, I guess," Tabitha sneers, keenly aware of just how awful she sounds. Tabitha is an awful person who does and say awful things because she feels awful, all the time, but the different is that normally, it's supposed to be something that fades into the background. Tabitha lives in a world where the ache of joints is something that registers about as much as the contact of skin with the air around it, where a heavy heart is no longer heavy simply because her muscles have grown accustomed to bearing its weight.
But all of a sudden, in that moment, staring down the steering wheel, Tabitha thinks that she shouldn't be saying this. Because it's rude and hurtful.
Her cousin's eyes shine with sadness—okay, she's pushed them away, and surely, they're going to snap at her.
Tabitha pictures them saying—"Yeah, I really have to thank her, because you're an unwashed prick with zero social skills!" And then pulling out the hypothetical concealed carry they've had prepared.
"I don't know why my mom left or what kind of grudge she had against this side of the family, but I'm sorry," they say, looking genuinely remorseful. As if it's their fault she never reached out… until it was time to use them for what needed to be done. "I wish I'd known about you."
God, what the hell is wrong with them? Why are they like this? People aren't just supposed to be so… nice! And kind! Especially not to their cousin who invited them over and got them a forty-eight hour series of shitty bus rides just to start acting like they spat in her coffee!
"Whatever," she grits out. "What's done is done."
They seem to recognize she doesn't want to talk and give her a very sad look while remaining in silence for the rest of the ride. It does not feel satisfying. It feels like she just kicked a puppy.
It's a relief when the BMW finally reaches its stop, and Tabitha is able to step out, no longer feeling the excruciatingly sorrowful gaze of her stupidly sunny cousin burning into the side of her head. The estate is faded opulence, her childhood home and a crumbling building that she knows will fall of the cliffside upon which it lay perched eventually—she still stays in it, of course. Still refuses to change a thing because maybe changing things will just make the inevitable destruction happen even sooner.
Sometimes, when she cries in her room during those late nights, Tabitha wonders if it's a metaphor for her life. But then she remembers that Pearlanne always told her no one likes an overly pretentious fuck who turns everything into a metaphor, so she kind of just stops thinking about it and hopes it'll fade from the subconscious recesses of her mind (it never does—in fact, it is a thought that is haunting her right now as she witnesses her cousin stand in shock at the sight of the manor).
And then…
"Oh, man!" they say, their face lifting up into a sunny grin. "This place is huge! I can't wait to unwind!"
Huge.
They saw this crumbling place, full of history both good and bad, and they didn't even care. They didn't point it out, they didn't bother lying about it, they just…
Thought it was cool.
Because the estate is big.
Tabitha wonders how a person who appears to possess both the countenance and the cognitive capacity of a bumbling puppy can even exist in the real world. But looking at their bubbly face and charming demeanor, Tabitha concludes that loads of people must have felt an overwhelming urge to protect them.
"Yes, the estate is quite huge," she says, schooling her face into a slightly offput but largely calm expression. "I'd be careful about 'unwinding', though, if I were you. Wouldn't want to fall through any floors."
They step into the kitchen.
"Kitchen," Tabitha says, because she's charismatic. Not so deep down inside, she just knows she'd make fun of herself were she in her cousin's shoes. It's crumbling and unclean in that way Tabitha wants it and Pearlanne always hated and also she just said 'kitchen' in front of what is very obviously a kitchen. If she were in her cousin's shoes and they were in hers, their self-esteem would probably never recover from the mockery.
Then again, considering how well they've taken her hostility so far, Tabitha has an inkling that they just might.
"On Wednesdays, Janey comes to clean it. Don't approach her, she'll talk your ear off." Tabitha just knows that if she gets the chance, Janey's going to say something embarrassing, like that one story she just loves about how Tabitha used to roleplay as Henry Ford when she was a kid. "There's peanut butter and jelly in the fridge. Don't touch my Mac n' cheese or my ice cream."
Tabitha is so sure that she's finally pushed this goddamn ray of sunshine to their limits, and they're going to snap, say something—
But unfortunately for her, that doesn't happen.
"Awesome!" they say. "How'd you know I love PB&J?"
That did not make her happy to hear, she tells herself. Tabitha Scarlet is a normal and sensible woman who is entirely unaffected by her cousin's stupidly sweet puppydog personality.
"I didn't," she says, flashing them her trademark ersatz of a smile and watching with no small amount of satisfaction as their face falls for a split second. "But good to know."
Their mouth hangs agape in the air for a second—and then, with astonishing elasticity, they bounce right back into their excruciatingly chipper demeanor. Tabitha doesn't know why she feels the beginnings of something warm fluttering in her chest, and the reasoning is certainly not something she cares to explore. All she knows is that they're too nice. Way too nice.
"Oh, but, um, I might want to eat something else this week," they say. "Is there a place I can buy food?"
"Well, aren't you fancy?" Tabitha says, probably her most sincere snide remark since they got here. Seriously, she doesn't get why people can't just pick one thing or another to eat and stick to it. Stella always told her she needed 'diversity' in her diet or whatever. Tabitha had responded by asking her if she was a goddamn HR manager.
But then her cousin frowns, and she feels bad. Tabitha elects not to think about the fact that she's feeling bad for her sacrifice and instead just sighs—"There's a general store in town if you want to buy anything."
"Sweet, thanks!" They say, beaming at her. Tabitha contemplates, for a split, unbecoming second, if clawing at their face like a rabid animal would be enough to make that snap. She then reminds herself that she is a human being and not, in fact, as Stella would say, 'a sopping wet cat'.
Speaking of cats…
"Frou-Frou," she says, noticing her cousin's gaze turning towards the counter. "Don't pet her. If she wants to be pet, she'll let you know."
Of course, she knows her cousin's type by now: Same as Stella, Sam too (the split reminder of her now dead, possessed ex-boyfriend makes Tabitha shudder internally. Oh, God, it's totally stalking them right now, isn't it?). They're all sunshine and rainbows, but the thing is that sometimes, they really don't know when to take a hint. Respect the boundaries openly set. Her cousin, surely, has this very flaw, well-meaning happy-go-lucky individual they are, and surely, Tabitha will finally see just how loathsome they can be-
"Alright, what's next?" they say cheerily, stepping away from Frou-Frou with a nod of respect.
"Bathroom," Tabitha says."Follow me."
Her cousin nods, walking alongside as they head upstairs.
The sight of the bathroom is, admittedly, grotesque. Tabitha's never particularly minded the mess, and more than that, she's pretty sure there's at least some documents related to the forbidden wing that she'll have to check out eventually, so she's not about to risk cleaning the place or getting anyone else to do so and ruining things.
"Nice bathroom!" Her cousin says. And look, Tabitha scrutinizes this. She really does. She squints at their expression with all her might and puts those lie detection skills honed from a lifetime with a mother who'd say "I'm not mad, Tabitha", while internally plotting her demise and really, really tries.
But no. They like the goddamn bathroom. They go in there and close the door and do their business.
And they come out as chipper as ever and Tabitha considers very carefully the best way to goad them into doing or saying something unforgivable.
"Last stop," she says. "Bedroom. This is where you'll be staying for the week."
"Do you need any help around the house?" Her cousin immediately offers. "I see boxes around here… If you want me to help move them, I'm down!" The sentence is punctuated with a happy pat of the bicep, because her cousin is a good person and really likes to rub it in her face. And Tabitha, damnit, is already feeling mild endearment that she is trying very, very hard to push down.
"That won't be necessary," she says coolly. They nod.
"Alright then!" They say. "Let's get going."
And then the two last remaining Scarlets walk downstairs, with her cousin staring at her like a very curious puppy. Tabitha does not even attempt to bear false hope of them doing or saying anything abominable, because she just knows that's not happening.
"That concludes the tour," she says charismatically and warmly. "I'll be heading out."
"Where are you going?" Her cousin asks, because somehow, despite everything, they're interested in getting to know her better.
"Work."
Maybe, if she gives them one word answers, they'll take the hint and realize that she doesn't want to talk to them.
"Where do you work?" They say.
"Coal mine," she replies. "Same as my mother, and her mother, and every other Scarlet who came before. Except for you and your mom."
Tabitha wonders sometimes just how she managed to garner such a knack for lying through her teeth while still retaining the charisma of a wet rag. These are the questions that really need asking around here… Not her cousin's inquiries on her life.
But then, they frown.
Ah, here we go.
City liberals always seem to have a slew of ethical objections to the act of running a coal mine, which—okay, look: she knows it's unethical. But ethics come second to Tabitha Scarlet's responsibility to this town and to the curse which plagues it, and she's not about to hear any amount of-
"That's… kinda sad." Her cousin's words bring her thoughts to a screeching halt, because seriously, that's their objection? They think it's sad? "Don't you ever think you could be doing things that, um, give you a better sense of purpose than running a coal mine?"
They bear an apologetic look but Tabitha can't even tell them off because they're right, goddamnit, they're right, Tabitha is haunted by the broken dreams of things she could be doing instead every single day.
Buy they're hardly one to talk. They're not the one who's had the role of Scarlet heiress, of perpetuating the curse both metaphorically and literally foisted upon them. They aren't the one who got to be the town's 'necessary evil' since childhood.
Their mother escaped. That's why the mines are failing, why the estate is crumbling and the town is on its last legs. Because Vivian Scarlet couldn't just do her duty.
"Not all of us have the luxury of choice," she says. "Some of us didn't get to have other prospects. Some of us had to stick around to keep the family legacy from crumbling."
Her cousin bites their lip, looking all of a sudden like they're about to cry. Tabitha feels a pang in her heart so deeply unfamiliar and unnatural that, for a split second, she wonders if she's having a heart attack.
But no. She just… feels really bad. For the sacrificial Scarlet.
Huh.
"Did I… do something wrong?" Her cousin says, looking at her with sweet eyes full of pleading. "I mean, um, you asked me to come here, but now that I'm here, you're acting like I spat in your coffee! I'm sorry, I just…"
So they did notice, she realizes. And they do have a backbone.
Guilt rolls over her like a tidal wave. Because it's true. She's been snappy with them this entire time for reasons completely outside their control. For reasons involving her plan to lock them in a cell for the rest of their life.
Tabitha experiences a sudden and deeply sobering realization that the person in front of her does not deserve what she's doing. That there will be no moment when the other shoe drops, because they are a good and kind person who wants to support their cousin after the loss of their mother and who is genuinely interested in spending time with her.
"Okay," she says, throat suddenly feeling very dry. "Fine. I'm sorry I've been…" A raging prick. "'Testy' since you've gotten here. You've been… fine." Getting the words out feels like pulling teeth, but somehow, the sight of her cousin's face blooming back into a sunny grin at the lukewarm sentiment makes it seem all worth it. "I'm just under a lot of pressure right now—" The pressure of arranging their human sacrifice, in fact, wow, she is an awful person—"So just- please, stay out of my hair until later, okay?"
So she can feel less bad when she locks them in that cell.
Her cousin nods with that same bounce they seem to nigh permanently have—barring the recent moment wherein Tabitha had weakened their moxxie (an act which brings more regret to her than it has any right to)—and Tabitha beats down the growing protectiveness of this absolute ray of sunshine with a reminder to herself of the fact that this is her sacrifice. The person she is sacrificing.
"Alright," they say. "I won't keep you, but we should hang out when we get back!"
Tabitha does not look forward to that idea—she just knows the guilt would become unbearable. She wishes for the thousandth time that her cousin could've just been a serial killer or something before sighing at the sight of their beaming grin.
"…We'll see. There's a lot that needs to get done this week." She says. "See you."
And with that, she marches out of the building at mach speed, refusing to look back at them and their happy little wave.
And once Tabitha finally reaches the mines, parks her BMW, and gets to her office, she immediately locks the door and lets out a long noise of insurmountable anguish, slumping over her desk like a deflating balloon.
God, she is so fucked.