"Bad Juju" Part 13

"Bad Juju" Part 13

"So, ya' gotta' tell me, Guildy, what in God's name is goin' on, here?" Ace flopped on the immaculately clean white sheets of a canopy bed. Guildy shuffled about the room, his spats-clad boots rustling his comparably meager amount of petticoats. Ace couldn't help but think Guildy finally looked right in that velvet bodice-dress, with his hair in two coiled buns on the sides of his head.

"Zis is the life zat iz your karmic problem," Guildy said as he pulled an intricately carved chair up to the bedside, "S'ank God it iz one I knew about, previously, yah? Ach, it pains me to s'ink of how lost you vould be if zis vas not ze case!" Guildy chuckled brightly as if the whole thing was some amusing premise on a TV sitcom.

"Well, then why the hell didn't you prepare me for this?" Ace couldn't help but move the way he normally did, his manly gestures looking ridiculous played out by this small, delicate girl.

"I didn't know zis vas ze real hitch. I guessed zere vould be a much bigger one," Guildy shrugged, "Go figure."

"So tell me what I gotta' do, man!" Ace wanted nothing more than to be out of this. This was a much bigger debacle than he wanted to handle. Defending yourself with nothing but prison-issue silverware was one thing, but leaving the body and life you'd known for more than 20 years for that of a Civil War-era damsel was entirely another. "First of all, get aquvainted vith your life and zurroundings. Ze last s'ing you vant is for people to realize zomething iz truly different." Ace was suddenly feeling curious in the most sinister way.

"What would happen if people did notice a difference?"

"Vell... Hmm," Guildy thought for a moment, "Many long lulls in converzations, a reprimanding from Mrs. DeLouise, und maybe a few disguzted stares."

"What's so bad about all that?"

"Nobody likes awkvardness." Guildy said definitively. Ace rolled his now powder-blue eyes.

"So what do I need to know?"

"In zis life, you are Miz Abigaille Irving, daughter of Beauregard Irving, ze cotton plantation owner. And zat man, ze one you vant to punch in ze face? He is Hiram DeLouise, ze son of zat voman in red. Alzo, he vants you to be his fiancee," Guildy spoke as if he were relaying some long, important epic. Ace found himself caring less and less with each name.

"Well, that's just great, Guildy, but what's the problem?"

"Ze problem iz prezisely zat. You did not become hiz fiancee. You ran off vith Chester Van Houten from New Jersey," To Ace, this did not feel personal at all. This was someone else's history, not his.

"Chester Van Who?"

"Chester Van Houten," Guildy said definitely while fixing the pins holding his braided buns to his head. For whatever reason, the whole look was unsurprising to Ace.

"So, what do I gotta' do? Just espouse myself to that bastard in the tails?" That seemed easy enough. It wasn't like he actually had to wed Hiram. He just hoped to God he wouldn't have to stick around for the wedding night.

"Ideally, yes."

"Simple."

"Oh, I doubt you vill think zo, later on. Now let's get you vashed up for dinner."