SCARLETT BROWNING. 33. owner of browning stable / part time columnist. native to merrock, maine.
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@scarlettbrowning
SCARLETT BROWNING. 33. owner of browning stable / part time columnist. native to merrock, maine.
ABOUT < | | > WANTED CONNECTIONS
"I am one hundred and ten percent a sucker for picnic food," she agreed with a nod of her head, forking another bite of pasta salad into her mouth. She calked it up to the fact that they had grown up on this -- large, community-based picnics where everyone brought something and you had such a fear of missing out on the best foods around. "For the kids?" Livvy asked, a grin sliding across her face, "or for you?"
"For me, of course. I brought something basically no one is going to eat so I have food for a few days," Scarlett said with a sly smile. "Tomato salad. Tomatoes are very commonly disliked by the texture haters, luckily for me," Scarlett seemed pleased with herself. Tomatoes were the only thing she could get to grow in her sad little back patio garden. She did not posses a green thumb.
"That's boring." He said, a subtle smirk resting just off his face. It was there, he wanted to use it, but he didn't know if he should. While the girl in front of him currently, didn't look like she would break if the wind blew just hard enough, that's the one he knew. Knew being a very loose definition. Out of all the times he'd ever spoke to her, she never seemed like she could handle the joke.
"When I think of you," Wes started, and while it wasn't admittedly all the often, it was every once in awhile when they saw each other in passing, "you're squared up and ready to Tee off." And then, all the sudden, he couldn't keep the smirk from his face. "And in the retelling," he continued, "you always win." He shot her a wink before taking a drink out of the bottle of water he'd been given by a parent, because obviously he couldn't be dehydrated out here. While he recognized it as a thinly veiled attempt at flirting, he never seemed to reciprocate, not with parents of students, that was messy, and he wasn't a messy person. "You gonna give it up easily?" He said pointing to the roll in her hand, "or has world spread throughout the pigeon population that you're not to be fucked with?"
"My reputation proceeds me these days," Scarlett said with a laugh. "Bitches know better than to come for my bread, or whatever that one rap song says." Scarlett was more of a post-hardcore type of girl, but she'd indulge in plenty of different genres when she went on longer runs. Rap, admittedly, wasn't one that was well versed in outside of the classics from high school. "Bitches being birds, by the way. In case that was missed." Her lips tilted upward, and her eyes flicked to the water in his hand.
"That's less fun than the flask." The whiskey that night was good on the rooftop scene he'd gotten to witness. Whiskey from a flask and a cigarette, tough times in the big city. She almost snorted a laugh, think about that night, and how he said she always won in his retelling. She knew damn well he never retold that story. "I don't think I ever apologized for drinking like half of it, so I probably owe you a drink at some point." Her eyes suddenly traveled to the group of women that were watching them. Well, him, in particular. "Well, actually, that all depends on if your horde of admiring fans will scratch my eyes out."
Then, true to form with a woman who threw a rooftop pebble at a bird who stole her breadstick, Scarlett waved at them and smiled. Popping a tomato from the salad into her mouth and chewing it, she wrestled with her inclinations. The urge to mess with them was fighting with the urge to leave it alone and it was playing out in her eyes as they dance with mischief. However, Weston never said he was into messing with them, so she let the thoughts have a moment before she stepped into line with him. "I don't know you well enough to mess with them, despite how I want to. Plus, you might not want that sorta drama in your life," Scarlett said and stopped paying the gaggle of onlookers any attention.
Shopping is a way of life for us sisters isn't it? Now I can actually enjoy doing it a bit more, and I may or may not have Cage's credit card? Oh hardly, sweetheart of Merrock? You missed the years where I was the pariah of Merrock that our parents made me. So I take that I'm just a happy wife and mother with really good friends.
"Now, now — we don't bring them into my true narrative that the Sweetheart of Merrock reigns on," Scarlett smiled at her and shook her head to continue on. "What are we shopping for? I fear I keep bringing ridiculous things into my home, so if I tell you I need a cow shaped creamer, please stop me."
Jason had very vague, very few memories of attending these sort of events when he had been younger. Once, maybe twice, at charity events where teenagers and kids had been invited, where he had been spit shined by his mother into a nice suit, where his father had tied his tie, where he had been told to mind his Ps and Qs and be polite and smile and not to touch the alcohol (which, he had, of course he had), and more importantly, how much he had hated it all. He had been first in the door, first to announce that he needed a shower, scrubbing out the gel and wiping away lipstick prints from old church ladies that had kissed his cheeks and told him what a handsome young man he was becoming. The military, getting away from all of this, had been a breath of fresh air. Until it wasn't.
"At least I know what to get you for Christmas this year," he retorted as he pulled himself away from his thoughts to let out a laugh, "lobster socks. In an adult woman size, don't worry," because he didn't think Scarlett would be stuffing her feet into childrens' socks anytime soon. "But I get you. This is sort of all… par for the course for you, right? Except you're allowed to have more than one glass of champagne and if you spill it down the front of your dress, you don't have to go home in tears and worry if your reputation is ruined forever… probably," she might still cry if she ended up staining her dress, but at least it wasn't a life and death situation the way it might have been years ago when she was living a different life. Funny how that worked. Funny how they could relate in different ways.
"Has anyone called you Delia yet?" he asked on a laugh, leaning back against the ship's rail and looking over at his sister, "you know, curse of the pearly Browning sisters, assuming you're interchangeable?" At least they looked different enough that they probably avoided too many mishaps. That, and Cordelia was nursing soft drinks and on Cage's arm all evening. And Theo was at home with the kids. "Being super dad," he nodded his head, though there was no malice or sarcasm behind it -- he did mean it. Where he and Scarlett hadn't settled into that lifestyle, Cordelia and Theodore had took the upbringing that they had lived through and turned it on its head and done right by their families, and he thought it was beyond admirable. "You might be able to pay me to pull out a pirate costume for Halloween, though. But you'd have to be a sea wench or something to go with it."
Par for the course, she supposed. Their childhood had very much prepared them for the life that she ended up in. As it stood, there had been a twenty-five success rate with the Browning children, Scarlett the last one to commit the final disappointment to their parents. It stung more than she'd ever admit. As much as her other siblings seemed to handle it, Scarlett had yet to really get there. She was still trying to stitch their family back together, trying to make their mother less concerned about appearance and more concerned about them and their father... well, if she could coax him from his study, that would be a cold day in hell.
"The going home in tears over my reputation being ruined stopped in high school — it just evolved to not having to think of the perfect cover story for whatever Page Six wanted to say," Scarlett sighed. "Did I ever tell you about the time I lost my shit after a Homecoming Dance?" Jace was gone from the house by then. In the back of her head, Scarlett knew she did tell him. It was tucked in a letter he never replied to. She was seventeen at that point, battling her own demons, and hoping letters to him would make it across the sea. "All I wanted a lemon cruller — Mom would never let me have a dessert — and I dropped it. I caught the chain of this... very expensive clutch on something and broke the clutch, and I tried to fix it, and..." Scarlett shook her head. "I couldn't. So, I smashed the whole clutch into like the row of lockers repeatedly. My best friend's very perfect boyfriend at the time caught me, and I felt about this," she moved to pinch her fingers together, "big." Scarlett smiled and laughed, shaking her head.
There was a lot his missed, and she never stopped missing her brother. "Only Mr. Jones has called me Cordelia, but he's like 94, so he gets a free pass. I also heard Mrs. Jones tell him, 'George, that's Scarlett, are you blind?' and that kinda made it all the more funnier." Sure, she was Cordelia's twin mirage, but Delia and Theo were closer in life stages currently. Kids, significant others they loved, a nice home life. "I'm not dressing up a sea wench, keep dreaming. I'm more of Christmas girlie, thank you."
He snorted. Not the kind of snort that you hide politely under a laugh, or try to disguise through talking, a genuine snort of disdain as she rambled on about how her so-and-so had been raised by the greats and had the taste of a god, apparently, unable to stop his eyes from rolling nearly into the back of his head, because Ryder had heard that his entire life growing up. Ushered into this museum to be told that uncle so and so had curated the collection, shown this gallery and listening to a lecture from his dad's girlfriend's great grandmother's cousin or whoever about how the art was the top of the top and the best of the best and everything that he should aspire to create… he hadn't cared then, and he didn't care now, bringing his glass to his lips, taking a sip, and then, "I don't care."
But he had to remind himself that his qualm was not with the person in front of him, but rather with the man that wasn't. And maybe she had better taste than she gave herself credit for, venturing out on a limb as he stepped a little closer and said, "maybe you have better taste than you give yourself credit for, if you're here without him." And granted, looking at displays that talked about how and why a jellyfish seemed to glow the way that it did might not have bene the same rush as looking at paintings in an expensive, hoity toity gallery… it was still more fun than spending time with someone with a stick up their ass. He'd wager. "I genuinely didn't realize you lived here. You do… live here?"
It was Scarlett's turn to snort, but only at herself in reflection of his words. Keeping him in her gaze, her eyes rose as if to ask the question if they both believed that. Yet, she hung on his words, lifting the glass to her lips, and considering what he said. Did she? Have taste better than she gave herself credit for? She wasn't so sure. Most people called her an idiot for letting that relationship crash and burn. Scarlett herself, though, she was exhausted trying to hold everything in her life together, tired of trying to climb ladders to places she didn't really belong. And she was reminded that she didn't belong at every turn, every misstep she took. That was the reason she had liked his art — she could see the missteps and sharp re-correction in them. They had reflected a piece of herself to her, and then she stood there and listened to Hudson tear it all down.
They had gotten into a fight on the drive back — seemingly over the trip and the art, but it was deeper.
"Born and raised," Scarlett said, her voice soft, her eyes still assessing. "Left for college and a career, but returned." Her shoulders finally relaxed a little more, her face slipping into a more pensive stance as opposed to the guarded one she wore. Maybe friend, not foe, was what her body language said. She paused, more curious than anything, "Don't you, though? Care? I think I would..." Her fingers drummed on her glass. "Leaving that much of yourself bare on a canvas, I would care a lot."
starter for @westoncrwfrd at the labor day picnic —
When it came to people to tended to set Scarlett in a place where she wasn't the facade she so carefully constructed, Weston was on the short list. He'd been witness to not one but two of her shattering moments where she was alive. One of which she internally called the Breadstick Bird Fight. That would be the last time they really saw each other outside of in passing. Marked low points in both of their lives. With another bread roll in her hand, with a plate of tomato salad in the other, she gave him a sheepish smile. "Promise I am not trying to recreate the incident where I very classily lost my shit over a bird taking a breadstick."
There was a vast cavern of difference in her now as opposed to that night. Her collarbones didn't jut out as much, her eyes were lighter, her shoulders weren't pinned forward as she tried to hold herself together. Carefully looking him over, he seemed a little better too. Maybe a lot better. It was hard to tell. They didn't really know each other like that — he'd just been the witness to several of her breaking points over the years. Privy to information that was not really his to hold, the first as the boyfriend of her best friend in high school after a very tense Homecoming Dance.
"Freestyle?" It came out more like a question, really being up for whatever Scarlett was up for, the goal was just to have some fun and enjoy the music.
Grabbing Jayla's hand — this much vodka in, Scarlett tended to lose her normal social boundaries around not touching people, even if she was still respectful — and chased down the music to the best place on the dance floor.
Galas were always fun. Even if Stelly spent almost every day of their life in black jeans and boots, dark purples and navies and burgundies, normally wore casual, comfortable clothes... they had to admit. These nights, when they could go all out glam?"I can multi-task," Stelly said with a wide grin as they turned to look at Scarlett. Having gotten to know the woman pretty well since she came to write for the Times, Stelly found that they always had a good time together, could make a good laugh out of any situation. And getting to spend some of that time together at the Gala was a good added bonus, in their books. "I have my camera," they held up their hand, "but I've also got this," and then the other hand was raised with a glass of sparkling, blue liquid in it, a bright smile stretching across their face. "You look absolutely stunning tonight, by the way! Love the pearly girly look on you."
Color heated Scarlett's cheeks at the compliment. Sure, she'd been complimented before, but there was something about it coming from Stelly, that it felt genuine and real. Sometimes compliments felt like the nice things that people said in civilized company and not because they really meant it. "I do really like this dress, I am glad I was in a rush to pack everything to move here, because I might've thrown it out back then," Scarlett smiled. "You look wonderful as well, and I never doubted your ability to multi-task. I do need to not be an awful influence on you though. Otherwise the Times will never invite me back to write the occasional piece here and there." A roll of her eyes, and she tossed back her drink, and made to grab some water as well.
WHO: cage & open!
WHERE: hideaway market
WHEN: late summer, early fall
Creek Fest was right around the corner, and Cage could feel the seasons changing. The way that the morning air felt crisper when he stepped outside to walk with Willie down the driveway to grab the paper. The subtle shift in insect and bird sounds, the crisp crunch of early leaves on the ground, the smell of camp fires burning in the evening by people who were too stubborn to let go of their summer nights on back patios. His to-do list was a mile long, between finishing up his brother-in-law's house, starting work on baby bean's nursery, and getting ready for the event, but what was an extra couple of hours in the late afternoon, enjoying the camaraderie of other Merrockites milling about Hideaway Market?
He had just picked himself up from the bench he had been sitting on to lace up his work boots when he realized he wasn't alone near the market center, offering a smile and a wave, even as the sun in his eyes prevented him from fully seeing who he was talking to. "Hey. Shopping, just passing through, or did you come to help out, too?"
There was a sweet spot between the summer and first crisp of frost. Scarlett supposed this was that part of the season, not quite autumn, not quite summer. Fall into line with Cage, she said with a slight grin on her face, "What's up Poppa Newman," and then went on, "My morning run has turned into errands, and then, I plan on letting my ADHD just take me." Scarlett was clad in running attire, with a bag of whatnots over her shoulder, to further prove that she was doing whatever she needed to. "Horses were fed and turned out, I need to repaint some standards and rails, and I think I am going to attempt to make a better brush box for the hunt course," Scarlett said with a shrug.
Her place was renovated by her two hands. She was capable of most anything, and her late nights with a spoon of peanut butter and YouTube taught her that she could learn how to do most construction herself. What she didn't know, she had bashfully bothered Cage with. There were somethings she needed that she didn't touch — electricity for one — she outsourced that. "Luckily, I do not have that Pony Club meeting tonight."
starter for @docolives at the labor day picnic —
"You know, say what you want, but there's something about a good macaroni salad and a hamburger that really hits the spot," Scarlett said with a smile. She had neither of those things in her hands, instead, she had an otter pop — the glorified Kool-Aid in a plastic bag that people could get about a hundred for two bucks at Stop and Shop. "I keep hoping they bring slip and slide kickball out."
There were so many memories from Boston that followed him to Merrock. Some were good, some were bad, some were just that: memories. The blonde woman that he caught sight off across from the exhibit he had been looking at -- seashells encased in glass, glittering in how they were preserved to look wet, actually very pretty in the moment -- knowing that he recognized her. But like most things, it took a few moments, a few seconds to figure out who she was, and why he knew her… and then it clicked.
An art show, his art show, one he had done quite well in. But there always had to be that one person who had something to say. Not that Ryder specifically remembered it being the woman in front of him. There had been someone else, someone opinionated… probably in all of the wrong directions. Slipping a dollar bill into the display, he watched as it lit up more, came to life, as a melodic voice began to tell him all about the different kinds of seashells that one found along the shores of Merrock.
"Probably a good thing," he said casually, raising one brow, though the smirk on his face said that he was more amused than anything. Even if his ego had taken a blow that day, and of course, that stung. "I seem to remember your partner at the time having an absolute awful taste in art. That's probably why he's not here tonight. Good choice."
Shots fired — he remembered then.
Her face and shoulders locked into a position she knew all too well. There was a primal part of her that still covered for Hudson, even in his lesser moments, which the gallery moment was one. "Well, he was raised around the greats as his family donated and curated many pieces that truly raised eyebrows in the circles where taste truly mattered. His endorsement rose more than a few young artists to the notoriety that few achieve in this day and age, so he tended to be quite picky with the quality of not just piece... but artist."
Her smile flickered, her teeth showing for a second. It was gone in a flash and her face immediately went back to neutral. She reminded herself of her mother in that moment, and she looked away from Ryder for a moment. "Luckily for the both of us, I possess no such taste, I suppose." Her shoulders were still squared off, but her posture relaxed ever so slightly. Prepared for the next verbal volley, but her eyes were curious about the artist before her.
These events were not for Jason. Since childhood, he had been most comfortable in casual clothes, hiking boots, a little dirt smudged on his cheek. Telling him that he needed to pull on a suit and tie, slick back his hair, shave his beard and get on a boat for a few hours seemed… torturous, to say the least, but he understood the reasoning: it was for a good cause. The state park worked with the aquatic conservatory quite often, he understood that it was up to the whole town to raise money to help them continue the hard work that they did. But that didn't mean he loved being in the light tan suit. He did love his seagull socks, though.
Another thing to add to the list of things that he didn't love was the tension between himself and Scarlett. Having left town so, so long ago, Jason knew that there were consequences to that decision. Doubly so when he took into account the fact that… well, he had never come home. When he had left, he had left hard. And now he was paying the price for it while piecing his life back together. Work, his home, those all fell into place. His relationship with Cordelia was strengthening every day, things were good with Theo. But there was Scarlett… and that was hard. But he had to start somewhere.
"Oh, this is all a ruse," he said with a lopsided smile, coming to stop next to his little sister and lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips to take a sip, "it's just an excuse to wear these cool seagull socks," he pulled up the leg of his pants to show them off, before nodding his head towards Scarlett. "You clean up pretty okay, yourself."
Like frayed pieces of string, Scarlett had held on for too long trying to keep the string from unraveling. Little by little it always did, and she was left looking at the pieces with a sadness she knew came from her mother's need of perfection. In the back of her head, she knew some things were out of her control, but as hard as she tried she kept trying to put the family back in her own ways throughout the years like she was trying to mend that tapestry.
Still, the pretender in her locked into place. She didn't want to pretend — sitting in this level uncomfortable required something she didn't know and since she didn't have that in her to figure out, she resorted to old habits. A gracious smile, even if a little warmer around the edges locked into place on her face as she looked at his socks. It reached the edges of her eyes, though, the indication that she was trying hard to not be made of stone. "They are really cool, I saw some like... ones that had stuffed lobsters on them, but they were children's sizes only. A missed opportunity." She shrugged, "Years of practice. It's weird to not... this is one of the first times that I am not already creating a story for some hair of mine that is out of place. I don't need to." It was a weird freedom that she enjoyed immensely, even if she still sometimes didn't know how to handle it.
"I'm matching Delia, I thought I was pretty slick with that," Scarlett said with a grin that was more her own. "I am disappointed that I didn't attempt to convince either you or Theo to dress as a pirate," she said, "Not that Theo was coming, so that would have been a convincing on top of a convincing I don't think I was going to win either."
Starter: Open Location: Vibrations
Sam groaned, dusting off his hands as he stepped back into the club after tossing out a rowdy customer. He glanced around at the wreckage on the ground, spilled drinks being cleaned by bar-backs. A sigh escaped his lips as he scanned the group, "Alright. If you were caught in the crossfires, come see me by the bar and I owe you a new drink."
At the very least it was an entertaining scene. The unfortunate part of was that it ended in property destruction. Scarlett shrugged, "No one drinks to get smarter, but if you're not a fun drunk, maybe don't drink, always been my thoughts on it." She was rambling, unworried about the drink. She followed him, regardless, to collect a new drink. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. You probably see a lot."
Now that the news is out, and no longer has to be kept between siblings I was thinking I could use a day out shopping, do you feel up for that? Feel like it'll give us a chance to catch up, I'm sorry I didn't get to chat much with you at the gala. Things were a little hectic with everyone around, trying to catch up with so many.
"You know I am always down for some shopping. And, it's really fine." Her eyes twinkled with amusement, "Must be so hard to be the sweetheart of Merrock," Scarlett laughed, the joke apparent on her face. "Is the crown shiny at least?"
Theo rolled his eyes and scoffed at his sister playfully, "whatever you say," he waved his hands. In reality he felt like he wasn't an old man, neither physically or mentally but he didn't mind the ribbing by Scarlett. There was an eleven year age difference after all, and they werent even a part of the game generation. But it didn't matter, as adults, he didn't baby her. "They still do, but the girls are newborns still. They're not even a month old," it's not that he didn't trust a babysitter, but he didn't want to leave a newborn, let alone two with some high school kid. But he understood the sentiment, heck Riley was in high school and probably knew of kids who would want to babysit. Or Colton and Shawn might know too. But he wasn't thinking that just yet.
"Oh nice," he nodded, not really understanding why one couldn't wear the same dress more than once in New York but he didn't say that part out loud. He just kept nodding as if he understood but then took a sip from the glass she placed by him. "Pearls are nice," he smiled, that much he did know about fashion but that was about it he'd say. "Don't tell me they're moms pearls," he muttered though he wasn't even sure if their mother had pearls. It had been quite a while since he had seen her, let alone seen her wear any. Nonetheless he didn't care much for what their parents did or didn't have. "I appreciate it, and have you changed a diaper before? I'm sure you had to have changed Riley's or Lilly's way back when."
Scarlett's face softened a bit — a rare piece of herself that she offered to her siblings. She still battled with herself at every corner, never giving too much of herself away, still battled with trust issues, and she tried to keep herself in that moment where she was vulnerable, but there was a part of her that still understand the children aspect, so she also felt just as much of a fraud as when she kept herself from people. "I understand, and you guys probably aren't there yet, but when you both need a break from the screaming and diapers, I can handle a few hours." Probably. Scarlett's interested waned off from kids when they became toddlers and only reignited when they were older.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to derive that Theo didn't know why she couldn't re-wear something in New York. That life was one that most of her siblings defaulted from, either by intentional choice or subconscious. It was a life their mother wanted for them, the life their mother attempted to carefully groom them into having. She caught the comment, and Scarlett snorted a laugh. "Bold of you to think mother would ever let us any of wear her pearls. She's too busy clutching them." A pretty solid joke. At his question. "On a doll, all the time. Plus, they're super easy nowadays, I use them for when I need to ice a horse's leg. Put some water on them, freeze it, wrap it."
where: summer gala 2025 - boat on the marina when: august 16, 2025 who: jayla & OPEN
Jayla had had a few drinks, now feeling much more social. With that little bit of liquid courage, she opted to go out of her way to ask if anyone would like to join her out on the dance floor. "What do you say, are you up for a dance or two?"
Scarlett was someone who loved to dance. There was a delicate balance between ensuring that she was loose enough to relax but never loose enough to be seen as messy (God forbid, her mother's voice echoed in her head). A smile bloomed over her face, coloring her cheeks as she nodded. "Of course! Lead or follow or free style?"