lady and gentleman

Wherein Lady Penelope requires a date to a garden party and Scott Tracy goes through the roster.

TRACY ISLAND, 2060

"What do you mean Gordon's not available?"

As though this is the most offensive thing in the entire world, and nations will crumble, all because Gordon's off tagging flightless cormorants in the Galapagos.

Scott's not entirely sure why they're having this conversation in the first place, as it's founded on a fundamentally flawed premise. "Lady P, I know the term playboy gets thrown around gossip rags with the family name attached to it, but we're not exactly available to rent by the hour."

"I had no intention of paying for him."

"Well, depending on what you want him for, it's possible you couldn't afford him anyhow." There's a moment of silent gratitude for the fact that holograms can't throw things, though the slight narrowing of Penelope's eyes is enough to shave a few minutes off his lifespan. Scott clears his throat and queries, "What do you want him for, anyway?"

It's Scott's job—well, one of many—to look out for his younger brothers. And because it's Lady Penelope, off-colour jokes aside, there's no doubt her intentions are anything but sterling when she says, "I need someone of unimpeachable character and rather higher social class to accompany me to a social function."

Scott takes a moment to translate this from high-socialite into boy-next-door-plebeian, and, "…you need a date?" A beat. "And you think Gordon falls under the heading of unimpeachable character? He sealed and flooded the dean's office in college. From the inside. There was the incident at the fireworks factory. He did that naked photoshoot for Greenpeace. They didn't ask him to. He's still not allowed back in New Hampshire, and legal's been at that for the better part of a year. If you're expecting the company of people who do any kind of digging, Penelope, anyone who scratches the surface is gonna find some fairly unbecoming shenanigans."

Penelope sighs and there's the very barest suggestion of an unladylike pout. "But he makes me look good."

"Well, he's in the Galapagos for the rest of the week. Sorry, Lady P, but it's been on the books for months and he's been looking forward to it. If I told him he had to break it off, he'd probably secede from the family." Another pause and then, almost hesitantly, "You said this Sunday? I'm available. You know how I look good in a cummerbund."

"Oh, Scott." Her soft, silver laugh isn't insulting, not in the least. Not even a little. "Well, first of all it's to be a garden party, black-tie would be horrifically inappropriate. And it's tremendously sweet of you, but I do have to decline. You understand, I'm sure."

Scott doesn't, in fact, and he's learned that playing the ingenue to Penelope's femme fatale rarely works out in anyone's favour. There've been some harmless overtures, some nods and winks and the sort of friendly, flirtatious banter that Scott can't seem to help around women he likes. Still, he'd only been trying to help her out. "Well, no, I don't actually. Uh. Not as such. What's Gordon got that I haven't got, besides an arrest record in New Hampshire? C'mon, Lady P, it wouldn't have to be a thing."

Penelope laughs, affectionate. "Darling, we simply look too good together. Heirs and heiresses really must never dabble in public unless they're being serious or being political. Oh, no, Scott, you must imagine the headlines. Lady Creighton-Ward Courts American Billionaire. I simply can't do with the rumors." She waves a hand, airy dismissal, "Besides that, you're far too tall."

"Oh." Well, this is why IR has a London Agent to begin with. "Uh. Well, who else—"

"Virgil? Oh, do tell me you can spare Virgil, I'll make sure there's a grand piano and he can be perfectly charming. No one ever expects those hands to know their way around Rachmaninoff, and I adore seeing him surprise people."

Scott coughs and rubs his nose, reclining on the couch and squinting up at Penelope's hologram. "Well—"

"And he makes me look dainty."

"You're plenty dainty without Virgil. No, I need him. You can have Brains."

To her credit, Penelope manages not to scoff. "I'm not subjecting Brains to an afternoon like this. I'm far too fond of him."

Scott laughs and leans forward, fairly sure that the Lady's let something slip. "Aha. So the truth comes out. Is this going to be an ordeal, Pen? Sounds like I'm getting out by the skin of my cummerbund."

Penelope sighs and rolls her eyes, crossing her legs. She's comfortably at home, just like Scott is, but the tenor of the conversation has changed. There's a metaphorical bargaining table between them and though Penelope's radiant and lovely in a dress of soft, pastel florals, metaphorically she's in a razor sharp black pantsuit with stiletto heels. "Can I be perfectly honest with you, Scott?"

"Demonstrably? No. But give it a shot anyway."

"I have a problem, and I need help." The Lady sighs, and it's possible that her distress is real and genuine, but Scott still doesn't quite buy it. Especially when she leads with the nature of her problem, "My Great Aunt Sylvia is hosting a garden party."

"Call the national guard!"

A look silences him, but he grins anyway and she continues. "When my Aunt Sylvia hosts a garden party, the guest list is ninety-percent members of the European intelligence community. This is the first year my father has declined his invitation, or I wouldn't be in this position. I need to be on the arm of someone with a mind like razor wire, and failing that, I need someone so perfectly everyman that a spy doesn't know what to do with him. So Gordon or Virgil. You're too corporate. Brains is too easy to fluster."

"Kayo?"

"Same problem you present me, just a slightly different set of rumors."

Scott's mother and father raised a gentleman, so he refrains from the sort of comment that would get him slapped. Scott's mother and father raised a gentleman, and a gentleman is always willing to help a lady in need. Scott's mother and father raised the eldest of five brothers, and the eldest of five brothers is always ready and willing to throw one of the younger under the bus, at need. And there's a final card in Scott's hand, though it's one he rarely ever plays, "John's down."

And Penelope lights up. "Hand him over."

That's a little too eager. That's enough to make even an eldest brother rethink his choice of sacrificial lamb. "Lemme ask him first, he's only been on the ground for a day and a half."

"Spare him the chance to say no, just put him in something with wings and tell him there'll be canapes and he needs to wear something in linen."

Scott's already backpedaling, what with the way the light seems to catch Penelope's canines. "John's almost as tall as I am, though."

"Yes, but he's redheaded and he parts his hair differently. Don't tell him to wear anything, just tell me his inseam, I'm not chancing him wearing something that'll clash. Never mind. I'll ask Brains, he has all the specifications for your uniforms. Send him early. Have you asked him yet? I'll ask him if you don't."

"He's probably sleeping, he won't pick up. I'll ask him for you." Scott's gotten stuck. "Hang on, though. I'm too tall, but John's not?"

"John's an autumn, you're a winter, I can wear different shoes." Penelope claps her hands, a little girlish and disproportionately delighted, "Oh and he's clever. I didn't know he was home! Oh, this solves everything! Scott, you must make sure he says yes. Please, oh, please, beg if you have to. On my behalf, just fling yourself on the floor. Be very dramatic."

"John's clever, but I'm not?"

She waves a hand again and elegantly steps around the question, as though she hasn't heard. "No one knows who John is. It's brilliant. I didn't even think of him, that's how easy it is to forget about John."

Scott's wondering whether Gordon really would secede from the family, but he gets up anyway, rubs a hand at the back of his neck. "Well, I mean, I'll ask. But he probably hasn't quite got his land-legs back, he'll probably crash into a buffet table or something, I can't make any promises—"

He'd said it at the beginning of the conversation, that they're none of them up for rent. But Penelope's not above a well-placed bribe, when the occasion calls for it. "Get John out here by Saturday and there's a case of twenty-five year old Glenmorangie in it for you. Deal?"

If she were physically present and not a lady besides, Scott would have spat in his palm to shake on it. As it is, her word's as good as gold, and Scott's a consummate gentleman when it comes to matters of business. "Sold."