Late 20s/18+ blog/Predominantly Scrooge 2022 oriented because ✨OBSESSED✨🥵 BUT we got some other fandoms here too DISCLAIMER: I'm not out to intentionally hurt or offend anyone, but I am also NOT going to regulate myself for anyone else. This blog is MY space, no one else's; it's only meant to be safe for ME. I can promise to not INTENTIONALLY offend or hurt you, but I can't promise you won't unintentionally be. Take that as a precaution.
"To Many Mornings" 🍰Ebenezer/Constance ☆ Birthday fic!
I mean, hey, rules are rules.
Happy birthday, Constance Albany DoGoode. <3
Is this indulgent? Yeah! Do I care? Well ... here's the thing:
(Rated 16+ for innuendos, mild spice and references to attempted su*c*de. Read at your own discretion.)
From glittering gowns to the oyster-shell Pilates sets that hugged every sinew of sun-kissed skin to perfection, Constance DoGoode was walking poetry in every garment she wore. Any garment that graced her skin was blessed to be worn by her, a specimen of womanhood who blended uncanny beauty and aesthetics with the keen eye of a true artist.
Art she was; and Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge had been lucky enough to behold such artistry in all her glorious stages. This, of course, included phases of dress and undress.
Every day of their courtship was another vignette in the saga of their courtship, and though some might have fallen into the trap of complacency, Ebenezer was too much of a romantic to be swayed. There was still a boyish part of him that eagerly watched her curiously, like a schoolyard crush, when she chose a new outfit, hairstyle or make-up look. It was like starting each day with a gift when he would see her emerge from the closet in a new dress or when he could join her at the bathroom sink and watch her dab on blue eyeshadow while he shaved (or at least attempted to while being so keenly distracted).
Even when they went shopping together, which he endurably enjoyed thanks to her company and no thanks to the crowds and migraine-inducing lighting, he genuinely reveled in the moments in the fitting rooms where they provided each other with honest feedback. He told her when seams puckered, and she talked him out of pieces that needed too much tailoring to work (the exception being tailored suits, of course).
He especially loved moments when she sought his feedback, because he knew the trust required for her to do so. He did not treat the privilege lightly.
Decades of abuse meant that Constance had spent her late thirties rediscovering who she was as an adult woman. As such, her questions in the fitting room were less about aesthetics and more … abstract.
“Do you think this looks too juvenile for someone my age?” she once asked when emerging in a gorgeous silk top with a boy at the neck. On another occasion, she’d asked, “Sweetheart, what do you think about this material? It’s gorgeous, but I worry about a night of dancing in it…”
Whether he could provide a simple opinion or help with a zipper, it was always a pleasure to be there. He was a man who believed in the simple power of matching someone’s enthusiasm on certain occasions.
If she looked cautiously excited about an outfit, he would express praise.
If she was obviously not enthused by something or trying to force herself out of her comfort zone too far and too quickly, he would call attention to it and mirror it.
When it came to haute couture, he knew she possessed the required taste to make good choices. She just needed to confidence to commit to her choices without feeling compelled to seek a second opinion.
The day she’d chosen her first dress without asking his opinion (or anyone else’s) was one he still remembered clearly. They’d been leaving Harrods hand-in-hand when the epiphany struck her and she’d flashed him a guilty look, like a kleptomaniac caught at the store exit with a stolen tube of lip gloss.
When he’d joyfully remarked that he couldn’t wait for the grand reveal, he swore something permanently shifted in those cornflower-blue eyes of hers.
That also was a moment he would hold dear to his heart, forever grateful to have been a bystander for.
Of course, he was also present for glorious moments when those gorgeous clothes came off. When she joined him back at his flat after work or for a long weekend and they would retreat to his king-sized bed with its steady oak frame sun rose the next day.
When they cuddled in bed the next day, he always gazed upon her in wonder. She looked like a muse whether she wore jeans, a silk dress, or was snuggled into his 10.5 tog hotelier-recommended duvet.
If he would have been pressed into choosing a ‘favorite’ look of hers, he would have been powerless to do so.
… Until one fateful morning.
The morning of May 1 had altered the fifty-two-year-old’s brain chemistry in a way that no alcoholic concoction, all-nighter, powder, or terrible bowl of gruel ever had before.
After a particularly eventful evening celebrating his wife’s birthday in multiple rooms across the flast, he’d awoken to the sound of someone puttering around in his black-marble kitchen. The domestic symphony of another soul using his appliances or opening his cabinets was perplexing enough to rouse him from slumber, but familiar enough to learn a smile to his face moments later.
After checking his Piaget wristwatch that he’d failed to remove in their haste to jump into bed, he noted it was 8:05 a.m.
“That’s a personal record,” he sighed loud with a chuckle. He hadn’t slept that late since he was a boy staying in his room sick at boarding school. Even then, there had been nobody there to chastise him.
He left his arm fall limply back onto the bed and inhaled deeply through his nose.
‘Open your left, then open your right, then lift your head with all your might.’
Fighting aching muscles, he rolled out of bed and groped for a pair of boxer briefs and lounge pants. After slipping them on, he reached for his pair of tortoiseshell-framed cheaters in anticipation of reading the morning news. Quickly combing his hair and at least making sure the glasses sat straight upon his prominent nose, he emerged from the already-spacious bedroom and into the event more abundantly sized living area.
The living room and kitchen shared the same space thanks to the flat’s open-concept layout, the west-facing wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a perfect panoramic view of the sunrise over London.
The brightly lit layout gave him a clear line of sight across the way to the kitchen, where he spied a familiar redhead lingering behind the back marble island. She was operating the electric kettle with her lift hand and the coffee pot with her right. Tea for him, coffee for her. As usual.
As she swayed out from behind the island and he caught a full glimpse of her, he froze.
She was wearing a loose, light pink blouse … and nothing else.
It was long enough to be a dress, reaching down to the middle of her tanned thighs.
The leftover volume from her styled hair had since been brushed out and fell in easy swoops down her back.
When she turned her head to pull the box of Stevia down from the overhead cabinet, he glimpsed her bare side profile. Even her brows and lashes, which she normally darkened, were their natural shade of light auburn. She looked like a girl-next-door from a soap advertisement; natural pretty, flushed cheeks, glowing complexion.
Her legs were wonderfully bare, her scars on full display without any effort to hide them. She padded around barefoot, humming casually as she swayed about.
When the sweetener box slipped out of her hand and clattered on the counter, she jumped briefly then laughed at her own clumsiness.
His heart lurched so tenderly in his chest at the sight that his hand lofted to cover it, as if he feared she would hear its thrum from across the room.
So rarely was a man of his years and experience stuck with painful awe, and yet in that moment, he stood transfixed by a sight as seemingly mundane as his girlfriend in a billowy sleepshirt …
… And she had never looked more effortlessly, perfectly, wonderfully beautiful.
He magnetized across the room to her without a word, stealing up to her.
It wasn’t until he was an arm’s length away that he sighed a dreamy ‘good morning’ into her ear before kissing her cheek. His arms found purchase around her waist, and she fit so perfectly in the space between his arms.
“Well, rise and shine to you too,” she said, turning just in time for his lips to hit the apple of her cheek. “I think is the latest I’ve ever seen you sleep in.”
He merely hummed in reply, dropping gentle kisses upon her tanned shoulder. Her skin was warm, and smelled of coconut and vanilla.
None the wiser to his admiration, she continued to set the kettle and coffee pot.
“You caught me right in the middle of things,” she said with a laugh. “One second…”
With two taps of her manicured nails, she set the timers on both. “There we go! All set. Now, what to do for breakfast. Any preferences?”
Another hum. The proposal of breakfast with the vanilla scent of her skin caused a myriad of thoughts to come to mind, none of them about food.
“You’re the birthday girl,” he teased, his voice low and slow. “You shouldn’t be cooking.”
“Oh, you’re so cute. I was thinking of trying to make some okonomiyaki this morning! Does that sound good?”
“Delicious,” he said. Then, a pause. “That’s quite specific.”
Another laugh. “Well, you got me started after surprising me with those delicious Hokkaido caramels last night!”
The white candy box still sat on the counter, the front adorned with hearts and a gold ribbon. A few wrappers laid scattered across the table; the last remnants of last night’s dessert.
“Ah.” Using his nose to nudge the shirt collar away, he pressed a long kiss against her shoulder. He sighed, relishing the feel of her velvet skin against his lips.
She continued, still distracted by the ingredients she’d pulled down from the cabinets. “I found a recipe on Pinterest, and would you believe we already had everything? Even the bonito flakes, thanks to little Patience.”
As if sensing she was being gossiped about, the little cat looked up from her snoozing spot on the couch and meowed. She had made herself quite at home since Ebenezer had surprised Costance with her not long after they had moved in together. She even had her own menu of gently-cooked cat food made weekly by her loving paw-rents.
Truly, life had been full of domestic surprises since she came into her life. His older self would be rolling in his metaphorical grave, he knew, and he reveled in that knowledge greatly. To hell with that skinflint.
“I’m thinking the Kansai variation sounds a little better for breakfast,” Constance continued to chat. “It seems more approachable, according to the recipes I looked up. Hm … what do you think?”
When he did not yield any reply this time, she became aware of his nuzzling affection. “Darling?”
The kisses that had started so gentle were now traveling up the cords of her neck.
With a glorious laugh of her own, she threw her arms over the ones he’d drawn about her waist and hugged them closer.
She let out a yelp of surprise, then laughed.
“Well, someone definitely woke up on the right side of the bed this morning!” she proclaimed with a laugh. “Last night must have been even more rejuvenating for you that I thought.”
The remark was teasing, but answered with an acutely serious ‘Thanks to you’ under his breath. The passion of the remark manifested in the rush of breath she felt on her shoulder. Eyes widening, she realized the depth of his affection as his lips landed upon her jawline with impact that was far beyond chaste.
“Eben—” she started to say but was cut off when his eager lips landed squarely over hers.
A muffled gasp of surprise left her, quickly followed by an appraising moan as she fully turned her head to receive his kiss. She lifted her arms, begging him to turn.
Always powerless to her begging, he loosened his grip to oblige.
One chest-to-chest, they continued their kiss with her back now to the counter. On their next breath apart he wordlessly ducked down and cupped his hands under her thighs. With a grunt, he hoisted her on the marble counter and nudged her back until she was fully seated and supported.
Constance squeaked at both the swiftness of the gesture and the feeling of the cold polished stone against her bum. One seated, he returned to her mouth and continued to ravish it, togue darting between her raspberry lips.
Shocked but delighted, she leaned back on her hands as he positioned himself between her parted legs and kissed a constellation across her chest.
“W-What has gotten into you this morning?” Constance asked with a laugh, her cheeks already flushed.
“The same as always. You.”
“We have shared many, many mornings like this,” she parried quickly. “You’re always cuddly, but never quite this randy.”
He chuckled at her observation. “True, and you are always a vision … but you’ve never worn this before.”
For emphasis, his eyes licked a slow path up and down her body.
She followed his gaze down and came to the only conclusion she could. She stared at him through her ruffled bangs, noting the smolder in his eyes, and her mouth fell open in amusement. “The sleepshirt?”
He nodded.
Constance’s expression changed from surprise to intrigue. “Really?”
He repeated the gesture, fingers drumming her wrist with urgency, already anxious to drag her forward into another kiss.
She blinked one, then twice. Then, a musical laughter left her. She sounded positively endeared, which was lovely but not quite the tone he was trying evoke in that moment.
“Is it so incredulous?” he asked.
“It just seems like such a simple thing to warrant such a reaction,” she said, her tone airy and charmed despite the inquiry. “Compared to everything else you’ve seen me in.”
Of all things to drive him crazy, it wasn’t the sight of her in the finely tailored evening gowns or dripping in diamonds that got him riled up, but her in a simple loose button-up, of all things. Even her most sensual of lingerie had yet to garner such an immediate reaction.
“I suppose, but you’ve said similar things to me, if I recall correctly,” he teased in return. “A three-piece suit sparks approves in your eyes, but when I pish up my sleeves or show my suspenders, suddenly I’m looking at a rosy-faced maiden.”
“…Well, that is a fair point,” she admitted with a laugh. “I suppose I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised.” He repeated the word, but not as a question. At least not at first. “Elaborate, please?”
The request was a gilded command as well as an indicator of his disbelief, and her body erupted into gooseflesh as a result. Truly, sometimes the simplest things earned the most intense reactions.
“I’m surprised that you’re so taken with me, even now when I’m just in our kitchen making coffee and tea.”
“Mm-hm.” Again, his mood was impossible to parse.
Feeling prompted, she added with a light laugh, “I’m flattered that even during a quiet morning, you still think I’m beautiful.”
“I don’t think it. I have eyes. I know you’re beautiful.”
One hand softly landed upon her knee, where his thumb rubbed an affectionate circle into her knee cap.
Without breaking eye-contact, he leaned closer, until the bare muscles of his abdomen brushed the insides of her thighs. Reflexively, she raised and folded her long legs around him, ankles crossing near the small of his back. The shift urged him forward, which he obliged with flattering quickness.
His lips returned to worship her chest, where his gentleness quickly shifted into something feral. The second he felt the cloth tease his lips, his course was decided.
A precise tug was all it took to pull the loosely fastened buttons through their holes. Constance gasped, but the sound shattered into a keening moan as he bunched the shirt around her shoulders, paving the way for his teeth to skate over her cleavage.
It wasn’t often that he got like this, he knew. Normally, their romantic escapades included smoldering kisses, long embraces, gentle touches. It was all very Victorian. Or vanilla, as some loved to say.
Most of the time, simple sweetness was exactly what they craved.
But there were other times.
One hand, the same one that had rubbed soothing circles into her knee here moments before, snaked downward to the exposed meat of her thigh. His fingers gripped hard enough to hold her in place, but not hard enough to mark or bruise. Never to bruise.
Even now, you still vex me each and every day.
“How so?”
He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud until her soft reply greeted his ears. Just hearing her voice deepened the red of his blood.
Her hands rose to cradle his head as he kissed down the cradle of her sternum.
“I have to admit, you are very adept at being distracting,” she purred as his head nuzzled her breasts. “But you have not answered my question.”
She felt his rich laughter against her chest and felt the way his body reverberated with mirth. As if the warmth of his skin wasn’t enticing enough, the feel of his prominent nose nuzzling her velvet flesh and the starlight shade of his hair against her tanned skin was nothing short of captivating. As a man, he had no idea how striking he was to behold.
“I can not believe that, of all men, you settled on me.”
Case in point.
“I can believe it quite easily,” she said, tilting her head coquettishly for good measure. “Kind, Handsome. Smart. Endearingly cute when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. And, last but not least, a very good kisser.”
He blushed, despite himself. “You humble me.”
As she rolled her cornflower blue eyes, his hands traveled down her arms. His fingers, ever-searching for ways to please her, skated over the fine ridges at her wrists. Despite the fact that he’d graced those scars numerous times with his hands and lips, on this occasion, they gave him pause.
In his arms here and now, in the glorious present, was the love of his life. His soulmate. His reason for existing, even when the days stretched long and the aches from his aching body threatened to lure him back into old habits.
…And if she would have been left alone in that bathtub for another ten seconds, she would be gone.
Erased from the world and existing as nothing more than beautiful, fleeting dream for her mother to mourn.
Dread congealed in his gut at the thought. It was the same horrible feeling he’d felt when he’d found Marley dead at his desk, or when he saw Bob sobbing over Tiny Tim’s grave.
…The day after Christmas that Jen’s husband had left him a voicemail saying she had died after waiting all Christmas for him to call.
Life was so, so fragile. Including hers.
His grip around her tightened.
Constance’s gaze followed his to her wrists. As he caressed her, she met his eyes in silent understanding. Her own expression shifted, eyes misting and lips curling.
She didn’t speak. Words were not needed.
With a sigh, Ebenezer pulled his head back and leveled himself so they were now eye-level. Without straying from her, his hands took hers and brought them together over his heart. His large hands enrobed both hers easily, and he felt both their rings clink softly on contact. The metal was soberingly cold compared to the feel of their combined grip.
“…As horrible as my last marriage was, it did teach me many things,” Constance confided in a whisper. They were quite close, so even the softest words resonated like church bells on a clear day. “It taught me that death is not an escape … it is an end. To truly escape is to survive and change, and while it is easier said than done, I’m very fortunate that I had the means to come out on the other side. I found a better life. Better people.”
She glanced up at him, auburn lashes beaded with moisture.
“I never want to take any of it for granted. To do so would bee the ultimate foolishness.”
Unable to resist, Ebenezer let a single tear roll down his own cheek as he leaned in to kiss her.
So much for forgoing softness, he thought humorously.
“And I will never take you granted, dearest,” he said. “You have my heart, and will take up full residence there until the day it stops beating. And then, come what may, I’ll wait for you to meet me again on the other side … and pray you’ll do me the honor of starting anew with me as many times as we can.”
Blouse long forgotten, she wrapped her bare arms and legs about him and embraced him as if he was the whole world to her.
A lover to have and hold in life, and in whatever awaited beyond.
“That’s everything I’ve wished for.”
Every birthday since she’d her adoption, her wish had the same: to be chosen and kept. By her wonderful parents. By Orin. By her roommates in 1843D.
And now, by him.
Shaking her hair back in an attempt to feign elegance, she floundered to find the words the fully conveyed the elation she felt. “You … always find a way to make me feel so special, Ebenezer.”
“It’s about as hard as breathing, I fear.”
She laughed, wiped her eyes, and kissed him again. “I’m serious. The day I came to London and met the girls … and you. That was the beginning of everything for me. It was the scariest and best day of my life, but I’d go through it all again if I knew we’d find each other again. That is … if you would have me again.”
“Darling, if I could live life all over again, I’d find you sooner and I'd love you even longer.”
As long as time allowed, for as many birthdays as possible.
“Happy birthday, Connie. Here's to many years, many days, and many more beautiful spring mornings together."
@quill-pen This started being a little spicy and ended up being all sugar, which feels oddly appropriate for them. ^^;
Washington Irving developed a group of friends upon his return from Europe that he referred to as the “Lads of Kilkenny” or “the Lads” for short. Their primary haunt was the mansion inherited by Kemble from his uncle, which they’d dubbed “Cockloft Hall.” Irving had a thing for using nicknames (which they would use to discuss their antics in secret), and every single member of the group (except himself) had one. The main ones in use being:
Peter Irving: “the Doctor”
Ebenezer Irving: “Captain Good-heart”
William Irving: “the Membrane”
Henry Brevoort: “Nuncle”
James Paulding: “Billy Taylor”
Gouverneur Kemble “the Patroon”
Peter Kemble: “Petronius”
David Porter: “Sinbad”
Richard McCall: “Oorombates”
Henry Ogden: “the Super-cargo”
The group was bound together by intellectual and artistic pursuits, dinners, trips to the theater, ill-advised pranks and antics, good humor, and heavy drinking. Their drunken antics became staple memories among the group, recalled fondly by them in later life. Irving often liked to recall a story about Henry Ogden who, on his way home from one of their parties, had fallen through a grate that had been carelessly left open on the street and landed him in a vault below. Recounted the next morning, “The solitude was rather dismal at first” Ogden had recalled but when other drunken members of their party also accidentally fell into the vault with him “they had, on the whole, quite a pleasant night of it.”
Another staple story among them was that one day, when they were all hella drunk and on their way home, they came across a man passed out drunk in the gutter outside of Trinity Church. Upon recognizing the man’s hat as being Henry Brevoort’s, they heroically decided to drag their inebriated friend back to his apartment and put him to sleep in his own bed. The only problem was that, as they discovered come morning, the man wasn’t Henry Brevoort, which resulted in laughter on all sides when they realized their mistake and none of them could figure out how the heck a stranger had come across Brevoort’s hat in the first place.
Another anecdote involved a failed attempt at a drunken knighting ceremony where Peter Irving accidentally stabbed Richard McCall in the ass with a sword. Peter would recall the event saying “we made poor Dick McCall a knight, and I, as the senior of our order, dubbed him by some fatality on the seat of honor instead of the shoulder.”
Another involved James Paulding who, probably passed out drunk, had been carried to his bed in the mansion by the rest of the lads while they chanted Mozart’s Requiem and buried him under all of the furniture in his room. Which, if you listen to it, makes this absolutely fucking ridiculous and I’ll never be able to hear this song the same way again.
Other antics included games of leapfrog, tree climbing, playing pranks, and sporting about the lawn until they were exhausted, collapsing together onto the grass overlooking the river or together onto the drawing room couch and chairs for general group naps in the evening. Irving’s nephew, Pierre, would later write about their various antics, calling them “madcap pranks and juvenile orgies.”
Among the Lads, four of their members were particularly close: Henry Brevoort, James Paulding, Gouverneur Kemble, and Washington Irving. Paulding’s son would write of the four of them saying that they “became more closely bound in an unusual friendship. The relations which united this little group were of the most intimate. A confidence even beyond that of brothers existed among them; a confidence which, it was believed, was never violated under any circumstances, on any hand. And there is no trace of any quarrel to the end of their days.”
[Various sources mostly Washington Irving: The Definitive Biography of America’s first Bestselling Author by Brian Jay Jones, Literary life of James K Paulding by William Irving Paulding, and The Life and Letters of Washington Irving, Vol 1 by Pierre Munroe Irving]
Some Constance & Orin work inspired by “Dragonwyck”, a story about a Dutch patroon in 1840s New York who woos innocent women of unimportant pedigree to him. It’s fun. 💕
I think one of Addie's things is she likes to listen to and follow YouTube drama. Like, of she's doing homework or cooking or something that requires more focus than listening to a true crime podcast in the background would allow, she's finding some random, long commentary video about some weird drama going down around YouTube. One salty creator made a really bad hit video on another more successful creator in the same space and now people are talking about it. Awesome-sauce.
Usually it's nothing worth taking beyond that. But sometimes she stumbles upon one that's just crazy. And she needs to dive in to figure out what the bloody hell this is. And in the end of all her digging and finding the best and most relevant videos and information, she compiles it all together and brings it to the girls as a movie night showcase because she refuses to keep this insanity for herself.
Before they're even halfway through the girls are all strewn about the room in various stages and forms of indignation and disbelief over the audacity, stupidity, vileness, etc. of whatever the drama is about. And Addie feels completely vindicated.
So, random question: we know babies usually say 'Mama' or 'Dada' first. Usually that's the case, but not always.
For the Pups, are there any hcs on their first words? 'Mama', 'Dada' or perhaps another word?
(Example: Starla's is 'one'. Of course it's a number, lol. 'She's already a prodigy!' say her nerdy parents.)
Ooh, this is a fun little question!
Right off the bat, I think Cordell's first word is 'moon'. It's a word that is said a lot in the Wolf household in any universe.😅 And one of his favorite bedtime books in the modernverses is 'Goodnight Moon', so it only makes sense. Honestly, he might start off with calling Mummy 'Moon' because he hears Daddy call her so many moon words so often.
Georgia's? It's 'no'. With confidence behind it. I just imagine her grabbing something she shouldn't have and trying to scamper off with it and when she's told "give it", she just goes, "No". And Mummy and Daddy have to struggle to keep from laughing in incredulity. Because where does something that tiny with hardly any life experience get that sense of self-assuredness? Georgia takes after her Auntie Millie in that regard.🤣
Debbie's is the classic 'Dada'. And then everything and everyone becomes "Dada", as that's all she says. Mummy is "Dada", Prudence is "Dada", a flower is "Dada", her favorite stuffy is "Dada", a rando in the street is "Dada" whether man, woman, or child. Dada is just her language for a while.
Fan is a good little girl. Her first word is 'Mama' followed fairly quickly by 'Dada'. And she uses the terms correctly. It's funny, though; sometimes they'll catch her saying 'Dada' to no one while looking and reaching into thin air with a sweet little smile. Bess and Wolf theorize that she's inherited Bess' gift, because during those times, Bess has the chilling sensation she feels whenever Jacob Marley is passing through. Being so young, Fan's senses must be even more open, so she must be able to actually see Jacob as opposed to simply feeling him for a majority of the year.
Winnie technically doesn't have a first word. Well, not a first human word, anyway. She started barking before anything else, and she actually sounded a good deal like Prudence. It was a little uncanny. I think the Wolves almost died laughing when it first happened. Here they were, encouraging her to speak and gearing up to hear something amazing and then, "... Woof!"
Amos? Sweet, sweet, little baby Amos. So many siblings. So many siblings that can practically read his mind and are plenty happy to speak for him. He doesn't talk for a long while because of it, and the Wolves have a heck of a time trying to get the other littles to understand that they're actually not helping him by saying and doing everything for him. He's probably pushing 2 when he finally speaks, but when he does, it's amazing, because it's not just a word, it's a sentence: "Mama, hug!" Little tyke has been absorbing things all along. And I think it happens when he's upset and crying too, so it's even more impactful.
I love 'Scrooge: A Christmas Carol', but ^^THIS^^ will always be my favorite version of the story ever. The aesthetic, but music, the costuming, the sets, the props, the acting--George C. Scott especially. And David Warner is a fine Bob Cratchit--I'd definitely tap that. Yes, the special effects are dated, but I think they used the sparingly and quite wisely when they did. I get so much inspiration for this version; perhaps you all can, too!
@rom-e-o, his relationship with his father in the movie is very briefly touched upon but it crushes your heart.
Sometimes I wonder why I even consider the idea of getting married. Why even entertain the desire? I mean, come on--I have accumulating health issues. I try to take care of myself, but that doesn't change the fact I just seem to be collecting autoimmune disorders. And they're not going to get better. Maybe I can get to a point where I'm more stabilized and have them under control, but they're not going anywhere--there's always going to be stuff wrong with me. And eventually I'm just going to get old and that will compound issues even further.
Who wants to deal with that baggage if they don't have to? Why would they? How could a relationship with someone like me possibly be worthwhile for anyone? I'd just be an anchor they'd come to regret taking on, right?
Imagine there’s a big, fancy party that Connie and Bess are attending. This is after they’ve started to kind of blend into upper London society through the Twins. The first list is filled with very important people and philanthropists.
As the ladies drink and chat, many guys approach them, and they are cordial but firm in their rejection. They’re spoken for, after all. Their dates are somewhere, no doubt rubbing elbows for a second before the dancing begins.
Then, this one guy comes up and starts being incredibly familiar. In an uncanny way. He flaunts his accent, he flirtatiously kisses their hands, he’s not being subtle about throwing winks. And he makes odd comments.
“Elizabeth, was it? Heavens, you look gorgeous in this yellow, but I think you’d look stunning in white lace. Don’t you think so, Con?”
‘Con’ is NOT a nickname everyone gets away with. Just her girls.
“…I’m so sorry, have you two met?”
“Not until now, bloody shame about that,” he says.
“…Have we met, then?” she asks.
“We have,” he says, “I’m hurt that you don’t remember.”
“I-I’m sorry. That is quite awkward of me, but I can’t place your face.”
“It’s no worry. I shouldn’t be shocked.”
“…Why is that?”
“You weren’t conscious when I last saw you,” he says. “And I saw a lot of you. White lace, and more.”
He was one of the ones that assaulted Connie on her wedding night DECADES ago.
“Call it destiny that we should meet again, hm?”
He smiles and drapes an arm around her, but Connie is already putting herself between him and Bess.
“Hey-“
“Don’t touch her,” Connie hisses, glaring at him as she pulls Bess away protectively, “Don’t touch us, and do not follow us.”
And Mr. Lace is one of the ‘guests of honor’, of course.
I cannot judge because I literally have a wip about Bess' abuser showing up at the office expecting to do business with the boys, so I am just as bad.😂
And this--oooooohhhh! This angst is juicy! At least Bess' sicko has no idea what he's doing when he shows up again and he doesn't even remember her (which is not particularly great comfort because how many other young girls did he do that too?). But Connie's sicko? This dude's got brass balls of Audacity™️ to waltz right up to her and drop this dime like they're just two old college acquaintances. "Oh, yeah. I was totally one of the guys who ran a train you on your wedding night when you were knocked out. The good old days, am I right? Anyway, how you been and who's your pretty friend? Think I could have her number?"
Connie must be holding Bess tight and pulling her hard to get her away from this jerk-off before she lets loose on him. Damn being at a high society affair--she'd be out for blood!
Warnings: Mentions of past sexual trauma, brief language, alcohol, an asshat being a grade A pig, general lovey-dovey, passionate couple things
~☀️🌙Such Devoted Sisters🌙☀️~
"Oh, come now, Con," the man patronizingly cooed. He took a step after the women as they backed away. "Don't be like that, when I've only ever known a warm reception from you." His smile widened in a way that almost resembled a shark and he had the nerve to chuckle. "Of course, you had to be out cold when you gave it to me, though, ironically enough."
"You sick bastard!" Bess spat, eyes bright with hellfire and her angry posh-cent coming out through as she struggled against Constance's hold on her. Her mama-wolf was rising to ire, and she was looking to feed on smarmy git that reeked far too heavily of black vanilla cologne. "Where do you get off coming up to her like this with your janky veneers and bad filler job?"
The man feigned a stumble back, grabbing his chest and making a dramatically pained face. "Oof! Evidently the Rose of London hasn't had her thorns pruned. I think I like that."
A literal growl rumbling up from her chest, Bess wrenched free from her best friend's hold and stormed towards the man. Her fist clenched at her side, readying to be launched into her classic left-hook. The creep didn't back away and seemed completely unintimidated, and the raven-haired woman was quite glad of that. This way, she'd be able to hit him that much harder and pummel the fear of God into him. "Why don't I show you how much my thorns can really hurt, slimeball? We'll see how you like it then. Don't worry, I'll punch you in the mouth first--might fix your lips."
Without warning Connie's arms we're hooking around Bess' waist and harshly jolting her back off her feet. Her surprised yelp caused all heads in the room to swivel their way curiously.
Bess struggled against her best friend's grip, heels dragging on the floor. "Hey! Connie!" she protested. "What are you-hey, you! This isn't over! You better watch your arse tonight, pal! You breathe wrong and I'll be on you! That's a promise!"
"Bess!" Connie hissed. With a mighty heave, she almost threw the younger woman into a secluded little nook beside the curving stairwell behind a lux, velvet curtain and some sort of exotic, potted plant.
Bess stumbled on her heels into the shadows, bumping into the elaborate decorative pillar. She glowered up at her companion in annoyance. "Con! What's the deal?!"
Connie stepped into the shadows with her, adjusting the curtain a bit to try and give them more privacy. "The deal is, if you haven't noticed, that we're at one of the most exclusive parties in London, trying to make a good impression, not just for ourselves but for our husbands as well. And I hardly think the best way to achieve that is to start a brouhaha with some ruffian in the middle of the Lord Mayor's penthouse, no matter how loathsome he might be."
Bess scoffed, aghast. "Ruffian?! Constance, he was one of the-"
"I am very well aware of who he was one of and what he did--you do not have to remind me, Elizabeth!" Connie rushed to cut her off with a well-meaning but harsh glare. "I may have been unconscious, but I can assure you I was very much there and remember the lead up to it all, no matter how hard I wish I could forget it." Bitter tears of anger and long past pain stung the redhead's eyes but she did not let them fall.
"But did you happen to notice who he is?" Connie grabbed an edge of the curtain, ripped it back, and jabbed a finger towards the other side of the wide foot of the stairs.
Just across from their hiding place was stationed a large sign that bore the name of the event as well as several photos that were proclaimed "Guests of Honor". One was of the Scrooges and Bob (who, unfortunately, hadn't been able to attend as he was nursing Ethel and several of their children through the flu); two more were of a gentleman that reminded Bess very much of a human version of the Lorax and a sharp, no-nonsense looking woman in a suit jacket that boasted impressive shoulder pads. The fourth was Mr. Cologne Shower himself, who apparently was actually named Mr. Jax Bruxvoort, a Dutch diplomat.
Bess felt her stomach sink. A diplomat. Virtually untouchable. Especially for something that happened twenty plus years ago.
"Okay, so you really shoulda let me sock him in his fat-lipped, filler-fucked mouth," Bess grumbled, giving Connie a deadpan glare.
"And what would that accomplish besides making a scene?"
"Well, he might think twice about getting in our faces for one."
"I'm serious, Bess."
"So am I, Con! You had absolutely no idea who or what he was, and the perv had the gaul to walk right up to you after all these years and introduce himself. For what? Just to humiliate you and play some sick mind games? He can't just get away with that, Connie--especially not after what he did to you already!"
"And how exactly do we go about making him pay?" Connie challenged, looking like she was just about to lose her battle with her tears. "I can't very well go to the police and make a report about what a diplomat did to me when I was unconscious in another country over twenty years ago, Bess. And I'd rather not bring that part of my past to light in the middle of a crowd of London's elite, thank you very much."
"But, Connie-"
"I mean it, Bess! I don't want to deal with it, all right? Not right now. I just want to stay as far away as I can from him and keep you even farther away from him, because I hate to think of what he might attempt with you."
Bess wanted to snap something back--make a rebuttal that she wasn't afraid of Bruxvoort and that she'd like to see him try something with her: She'd love to have any excuse to sock his botched veneers down his gullet. But the utterly uncomfortable body language her sister-in-law was displaying--hugging herself tightly, shrinking into the shadows, trying to make herself small as possible--made her hold her tongue. A scene would inevitably lead to things being brought into the open, skeletons of both Bruxvoort's and Connie's. As satisfying as that may have been in regards to him, Bess, despite all her ire and sense of vengeful justice, couldn't bring herself to bring about more humiliation upon the woman she adored so dearly as a soul-sister. She'd been in a situation similar in her youth--it was the furthest thing from a cherished memory.
Still, there had to be something she could make happen to Bruxvoort. Something on the quieter side.
With a defeated sigh, Bess slipped an arm around the older woman's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Come on, then," she gently urged. "Let's go find our boys."
Raucous laughter drew her attention towards the bar yet again to see Mr. Filler-Lips hyucking it up with a small group of party guests, having a great time. Bess couldn't help her sneer. Odious bastard--full of his own shit. "And some fresh air," she added, drawing Connie towards the staircase. "It reeks of Bruxvoort in here."
"Agreed," Connie muttered in disgust, lifting the hem of her dress enough to ascend the stairs more easily.
As the pair left the room, Bess looked back over her shoulder to glower at Bruxvoort once again. Yeah, laugh while you can, pal, 'cuz I'm gonna see to it you don't get the last one.
The women found their husbands on the penthouse veranda in amiable conversation with the Lord Mayor Tallowby himself. The very sight of their wonderful, handsome gentlemen did much to lift away the gloom that the encounter with Bruxvoort had settled over them. It dissipated all the more when those gorgeous silver heads turned towards them and flashed matching swoon-worthy smiles their way.
"Brightness!" Ebenezar 'Wolf' Scrooge, the younger of the famous identical billionaire Scrooge Twins, called to Bess in delight.
"Darling!" Ebenezer 'Adonis' Scrooge, the older of the brothers, chirped at Connie at the same time.
The Yankees melted into their respective mates with comfortable ease, sharing their own preferred brand of welcome smooches.
For a moment, as her rebel-edged Wolf kissed her soundly, Bess almost forgot about what had occurred just moments ago: It was much too easy to completely lose herself and her grip on reality whenever those warm, soft, expert lips of his locked with hers. How he'd learned such incredible skills, she still wasn't sure, but they made her want to stay kissing him forever.
"Good evening," Ebenezar purred against her lips. He gazed into her eyes with such an affection that Bess felt she could have melted.
"Good evening," she returned in a low voice.
"Been enjoying yourself?"
Bruxvoort effectively broke through the buzz her lover's kiss had created, and that cozy feeling of being in the arms of the man she adored was quickly replaced with the vengeful determination from earlier.
Bess glanced over to see Constance and Ebenezer speaking with Mayor Tallowby again, an arm wrapped around each other. Despite being right next to them, she couldn't process what they were chattering about--her mind was too preoccupied.
She turned back to her own husband. "Can I speak to you alone?" she asked, voice quiet but serious. Urgent.
Her tone caused the tenderness in Ebenezar's face to quickly change to an expression of concern. "Of course," he answered, and he promptly escorted Bess back inside the penthouse.
"What is it?" the man asked as he shut the door of a little half-bath to give them some privacy. Something told him the last thing that needed to happen here was for this talk to be overheard and thrown into the neverending gossip mill.
"It's about one of the other guests of honor here tonight. The diplomat." More like diplorat.
"Jax Bruxvoort? What about him?"
Bess drew her mouth into a thin line for a moment, considering the best way to explain the situation. "He came up to Connie and me. Introduced himself. Sort of."
Ebenezar's bushy brows knitted together quizzically. "Sort of?"
"... Ebenezar, do you remember when Orin turned himself in after granting Connie the divorce? All of the things he confessed to? How he admitted to all those abuse charges?"
"It's hard to forget when someone confesses to a list of charges that long."
"You remember that those charges included "conspiracy to rape" and "accessory to rape"?"
"Because of what he did to Constance on their wedding night. Bloody bastards. The whole lot should be hunted down."
"He's one of them, Wolf."
Ebenezar paused in stunned silence, trying to process what he'd just heard. Or what he thought he'd just heard. Maybe he actually hadn't heard anything--his ears seemed to be ringing. "Come again?" His voice strained and cracked.
"Bruxvoort was one of the men there that night, Wolf," Bess stated, her voice low and dark. "According to him, he was the first one in line to have his "time" with Con."
"Wait, he told you this?"
"Practically bragged about it. Waltzed bold as brass up to us like he knew Connie and this was just something to reminisce about like old pals. Made some passes at me, too, after he'd announced this, of course. The man is a complete pig."
"Referring to a man such as that as a "pig" is an insult to swine."
"I need to do something, Ebenezar," Bess declared. A fiery determination shone in her midnight eyes as her hands curled into fists around the ledge of the vanity at her back. "Connie told me to let it go and not make a scene... but I have to do something. The idea of him being here along with her, leering at her all night, reminding her about who he is and what she went through--it makes me sick. And pissed."
Bess felt the sting of angry tears at her eyes, and she did her best to blink them away.
"What happened to Connie that night was horrific, but the one little mercy that came out of it was that she had no memory about the assaults; she never saw their faces. She didn't know who or how many exactly. She burned her copy of Orin's confession so she'd never find out. It was the one choice she could still make about that night; the little ounce of power over it she still had. And now one of her attackers has taken some of it away. Again. I can't stand by and let that go without some sort of consequences. Maybe Bruxvoort can get away with the rape legally, but I'll be damned if he can get away with it socially."
Bess didn't know a tear or two had slipped by her guard until she felt her husband's hand on her face; his skin was warm as it touched. The tears were tenderly brushed from her cheekbone with the back of his index finger. A stray curl was gently replaced behind her ear.
She looked up to meet his gaze--soft, comforting, but burning with a silent, determined anger. That alone made Bess feel powerfully vindicated; she pulled her man into a warm hug of silent gratitude.
Ebenezar returned the embrace without thought, pressing a lingering kiss to her crown. "All right," he murmured, as he smoothed her hair, holding her close to his heart. "What do you want to do, Moonlight?"
Hand-in-hand, the couple made their way through the penthouse in the direction they'd been pointed towards that would most likely lead them to the one they sought. They discovered Jax Bruxvoort in apparent amiable and amusing conversation with the Lord Mayor's wife herself, Lady Marcela Belmonte-Tallowby. Exchanging a significant look to solidify the unity of their front, the Scrooges approached.
Mid-laughter, Lady Marcela's mahogany eyes flashed in their direction. The already beaming grin she was renowned for shone even brighter at the sight of them. "Ah, dearest Ben, lovely Lady Bess, good evening!" she chirped, her melodic Spanish accented voice warm as honey.
"Good evening, Marcela," Ebenezar greeted the enchanting, former Miss Universe runner-up. He took her offered hand and met her in a customary exchange of a cheek kiss.
Bess followed suit with an exchange that was a bit more familiar, containing a kiss on either cheek. "Evening."
"It's wonderful to see you both," the woman went on, smiling between the husband and wife.
A sharp ahem! drew attention to the fourth party in the room.
"Ah, yes, you two have met our distinguished diplomat from the Netherlands, yes?"
"In passing," Ebenezar answered, his voice even. Neither it nor his expression betrayed any sort of emotion, except to Bess, who was very much in tune with her husband's mannerisms and could see the forced politeness in his smile and hear the tension in his voice.
The slimeball in question approached with an extended hand and his much-too-toothy grin. "Jax Bruxvoort."
Ebenezar took his hand and gave it a quick shake. "How do you do?" he replied, trying his best not to sound too brusque. He drew his hand back hastily and, so subtly only Bess could notice, wiped his palm against his trousers, as if trying to wipe some contaminant away.
Face still cracked far too wide with that uncanny, too-white grin, Bruxvoort turned his eyes to Bess. "Mrs. Scrooge, lovely to run into you again." Once more he extended his hand.
Bess didn't return the gesture. It was undoubtedly a risky move, but the very idea of touching the predator's hide, likely feeling his unnatural lips on her knuckles again as he customarily kissed her hand--it was a bit more than she could stomach. The most she could manage was a tiny, tight smile for him before directing her attention back at Marcela.
"I apologize for taking so long to find you and thank you for the invite this evening, Lady Marcela," she addressed the older woman. Usually it was a bit of a test for Bess to find an earnest sounding civil tone when it came to fraternizing with those in political power or closely adjacent to it. But Lady Marcela Belmonte-Tallowby? She was an outlier. (Which was probably a major factor in why Bess found the Mayor as tolerable as she did, as well.) "It's been a wonderful evening. You've truly outdone yourself."
Marcela simply beamed. "You've been enjoying the party, then?" she chirped. "Oh, I am pleased! But you must tell me if I've slacked in any capacity--I'll do all I can to change something if need be."
A surge of optimism bubbled through the anxiety roiling around Bess' insides with that declaration. She grabbed on and clung to it to fuel her nerve. "Actually, there is something I'd like to discuss with you in relation to that. If I might have a word alone?"
It was then that Ebenezar turned fully towards Jax. "Why don't we leave them to it?" he suggested, hoping the tone in his voice was amiable enough. "I don't know about you, but I'm not much for discussing the theory of party planning."
The diplomat snorted. "That makes two of us. There's a reason my assistant plans every holiday with my mother.
Ebenezar successfully turned the sneer he was feeling creep up into a decent smirk. Even if he hadn't known what Jax Bruxvoort was and what he'd done, he still wouldn't have liked him. "Treat you to a drink?"
There was something particularly licentious with the way the Dutchman smirked in response to that inquiry. "I never say 'no' to a free treat."
Believe me, I'm well aware. Ebenezar quickly met Bess' gaze as the remark flitted through his mind. He turned to leave with Jax.
The door closed behind the men, leaving the two women all to themselves.
Bess almost felt guilty when she and Marcela turned to each other again. The sparkle and bright smile of the former model were so dazzling and genuinely joyful, the American hated to be the one to kill the mood. But something had to be done.
Her dark thoughts must have transmitted into her own expression because Marcela's shine dimmed just a bit with obvious concern. "Lady Bess? Is something the matter?"
Bess opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out except a quiet croak. Quickly she cleared her throat and tried again. "Ahem! Uh, yes. I'm afraid so, Lady Marcela."
"Is something wrong with the party? I'll be the first to admit, this one isn't usually up to my standards; it was a bit last minute. I usually like to take my time planning them well in advance, you know, but this opportunity was just sprung on us out of nowhere-"
"It's not the party. At least, not the party itself."
"Oh." The lady did look a bit relieved for a moment. "Well, then, may I ask what is wrong? Something at the party?"
"Someone, actually."
"A guest? Oh, dear. I had the guest list as thoroughly checked as I could in the time we had to finalize things, but, as I said, this party isn't my normal standard--things could have slipped through the cracks."
"This isn't your fault. What he did wouldn't show up on any sort of security check you could have vetted him with." Bess paused for a moment, working up the last bit of guts she needed to go through with what she was about to. She had to do this. She knew she had to--she'd never forgive herself otherwise. She just hoped she could find the right words without giving away too much. She impulsively looked towards the door her husband and Jax had exited moments before, as if looking for something to steel her.
"Bess?" Her stalling must have truly worried the older woman, because Marcela had never simply called her just by her name before.
"Lady Marcela," Bess began, looking back at the woman with a somber face. "I need you to understand that some details of what I'm about to tell you I'm not able to admit to you in full, because they're not mine to share. But that doesn't make the basic facts any less true. And I need you to understand most of all that the person these facts are about has claimed himself that they're true. In fact, he did so tonight, not long before my husband and I came to find you."
Sensing and picking up on the energy, Marcela's face became grave. Without her classic grin, she looked much older and more stern, like what one might expect a stereotypical Mayor's wife to look like. Even in her flamboyant, sparkly, tasseled, jewel-toned party dress. "I see," she stated, folding her hands in front of her. "And I understand. I will take everything you tell me into most serious consideration, Lady Bess."
Bess took one, final deep breath. No backing out now.
Ebenezar had never encountered a man with such a penchant for speaking as this Dutchman. And that was saying something, because the business world was rife with big shots who liked to yammer on. Yet somehow, Jax Bruxvoort could out-yammer them all.
In any other circumstance, Ebenezar would have turned his listening-brain on autopilot and let the chatter transform into a drone of white noise as he contemplated other things. However, the circumstances here wouldn't allow such privilege. Here and now, he had to keep his current companion occupied and unawares as to the cogs being set in motion. (And, considering Jax's recently-revealed reputation, it was better to keep him distracted, lest he grow bored and wander off with some poor, unsuspecting lady to find "entertainment" elsewhere.)
So, the businessman did his best to keep himself calm and reserved and hold his urge to pummel the diplomat sitting on the barstool beside him into an unidentifiable lump, at bay. It wasn't an easy task, especially with how the git's mouth seemed to be set in a permanent, smarmy, obnoxious, arrogant smirk. Honestly, did he come out of the womb like that?
"You know, I was hoping to get to meet your brother tonight as well," Bruxvoort suddenly remarked.
Ebenezar felt the sharp prickle of protectiveness twinge through his chest, lighting the fuse of his once-infamous temper. Even as he half-way faced his unfortunate companion, he kept his gaze trained on his fingers as he slowly spun his whiskey sour on its coaster to contain himself. He could just about imagine why Bruxvoort was hoping for such an encounter with Ebenezer and looking at the bastard would not result in anything positive. "Oh?"
The younger man inspected his extra frothy (he'd made sure to stress that order to the mixologist) Ramos Gin Fizz. "Yes," he replied as he took an obnoxiously delicate slurp of said froth. "It's not every day you get to meet a pair of identical twins, much less twins that have made themselves into billionaires and risen as highly into the social stratosphere as the notorious Scrooges have. Even as a diplomat." Jax smacked his lips and directed yet another sneer at the Englishman. "But meeting one Scrooge is remarkable enough."
Do you actually believe you can flatter me? Ebenezar thought, doing his very best to keep his face from revealing the disgust he felt twisting inside him. This boy really believed himself golden.
"Well, the night's still young," Ebenezar replied. "You may still yet have the chance to cross paths." He brought his glass to his lips and took a swig of his cocktail.
"Would I be too bold as to presume that, now that we've met, you might also introduce me to your brother?"
"Apart from anything related to our business, I don't make it a habit of introducing everyone I meet to Ebenezer, nor does he introduce every one of his acquaintances to me. And we certainly don't go about hunting each other up to do so. I'm not my brother's keeper, Mr. Bruxvoort--I'm afraid if you wish to meet him, you will have to do the hunting yourself."
The diplomat looked amused. "So, it's true what they say about the Scrooges not exactly being social butterflies. You know, most men in your position do everything in their power to make connections wherever they can amidst the elite and powerful. Even if they're of the same general social persuasion of you and your brother, they grin and bear it for the good of their influence."
"My brother and I have plenty of influence and are quite capable of making connections where we see fit, I assure you."
"Due in large part to your lovely wives, I'm sure."
Ebenezar was amazed his glass didn't shatter as his grip instantly constricted around it. That sting of protective nature flared into a burning pit inside his chest. Thin ice, Bruxvoort, he thought, taking another slow sip of his drink to give himself time to check his temper.
"Our wives certainly carry a persuasive influence all their own," the philanthropic banker finally answered back, amazed at how noncommittal he managed to sound.
Something rather dark flickered in Bruxvoort's expression, his eyes glinting in a way that could only be described as foul. "Oh, I can very much believe that," he chortled. "Females that look like that? They're always asking for it."
Ebenezar couldn't keep his face from hardening at that declaration. "Asking for what, exactly?"
The diplomat didn't seem to realize he'd crossed a potentially deadly line. "Oh, you know. Attention. Connection. I've yet to meet a dish who'll turn down the chance to, uh, "get in bed" with someone powerful, if you catch my meaning."
Of course Ebenezar caught the meaning, and it took all of his will power to not smash his drink glass in the bastard's face and start using him for a punching bag. He found he couldn't even respond without risking a scene, so he occupied his mouth with another large gulp of whiskey sour. The burn of the cocktail distracted him from his bubbling rage. But only a bit.
Jax didn't seem to pick up on the souring vibes of the situation. "Tell me, Scrooge old boy, how exactly did you and your brother manage it anyway? Locking down two bangers like that, and American ones nonetheless. You especially. The redhead I can understand a bit more; she's used up and past her prime. She'd take anyone, and your brother with his money is already a miracle of a choice for her. But your little sweet treat..." the Dutchman trailed off into a whistle. "A face full of freckles and a head full of curls: Never thought that would be my thing, but your female pulls it off. Not much for tits, I guess, but looks like she makes up for it with that mountain of a-"
"Enough!" Ebenezar barked, slamming his drink down and causing it to splash wildly in all directions. "Say one more word about my wife--one more--and you'll be finishing your drink without a tongue to enjoy it!"
Bruxvoort stared, eyes wide in alarm. Clearly, he was unused to a reaction of this kind. After a moment, he attempted another sneering smirk. "Well," the amused laugh he made sounded forced and shaky. "I guess the rumors are true. The Spare Scrooge has a wolf in him that likes to bark. And apparently he barks loudest over his bitch."
Ebenezar couldn't school his temper any longer: Before he even knew what he was doing, the businessman reached out and snagged hold of the diplomat's tie, yanking it so tight it choked the git as he was drawn forward. Ebenezar 'Wolf' Scrooge held Jax Bruxvoort nose to nose with him, stormy slate-blue stating down seagreen. Had he been able to glare daggers into the younger man's brain, he would have. Growling like the wolf he'd just been mocked for, he held the silky material in his hand taut, watching as Jax's fear-paled face slowly reddened as he fought through the noose of his tie to breath.
"Say 'not'er word, ye radgee," Wolf rumbled dangerously, the deeply-buried Cumbrian inflection acquired in his youth bleeding through, "an' ye'll learn t'wolf not on'y barks but savages o'er his mate too."
Jax Bruxvoort could only stare in strangled terror.
A slender, freckled, prettily manicured hand suddenly came forth and wrapped gently around the Englishman's wrist. "Wolf."
That voice had the same effect on the Ebenezar's temper as Christ's words must have had on the stormy sea; the red-hot fury that had just been roiling through his veins quickly soothed into a controlled, gentle simmer. He looked away from the infuriating git of a man to find the beloved face of his wife. His anger cooled even more, gazing into those soothing, midnight blue irises of hers.
Bess' expression was stoic, her gaze steady as she met his. Her voice matched her calm demeanor: "Let him go."
Ebenezar's gaze lingered on Bess' before flickering back towards Bruxvoort, switching from soft back to stony within the split second. Letting the bastard go with Bess so near and after the vile comments the man had just made towards her mere moments before was the precise opposite of what the banker's protective instincts screamed to do. However, let go he did.
Jax fell back heavily and fully onto his seat, gasping for breath, a hand flying to his collar. Apparently Ebenezar had had more of a grip on the diplomat's tie than he'd realized. Yet, somehow, the prig had enough stones left to make another smarmy sneer. He wheezed out a mocking laugh. "So you take orders from your little bitch too, old dog?"
Ebenezar snarled, ready to snap back, but Bess beat him to it.
With a savage snarl all her own, the dark-haired woman whirled around on the rat and fixed him with a withering glower. "Shut your mouth," she seethed, "or I will make you shut it. You degenerate fuck." Her voice was low and controlled despite brimming with obvious rage.
Ebenezar felt a distinct chill run down his spine; that tone reminded him all too well of old Marley. Sometimes it completely slipped his mind his lovely mate was, in fact, the fruit of his old boss-turned-business-partner's loins.
Bruxvoort must have felt a twinge of fear as well, as he quickly sat straight back on his barstool with an alarmed expression. If there hadn't been a back to the stool, he probably would have scooted right off it in his attempt to escape. Maybe there was a hint of sense in his head after all.
Bess glared at the Dutchman a moment longer to make sure he truly felt the daggers skewering deep into him before turning her attention back to her husband. Her expression softened, though the severe lines on her face had yet to fade completely. "Lady Marcela and I were just discussing the new solarium she and the mayor had installed." Her voice was much more like her usual, mellifluous, purring tone again. The young woman took his large hands into her smaller ones as she smiled gently at him, batting her lashes. "Come see it with me?" she inquired sweetly.
Time to hear how it went, is what that translated to.
"Of course." Ebenezar hoped he didn't sound too eager; he couldn't get away from Bruxvoort fast enough.
Rising to his feet, the banker offered his wife his arm, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. It always felt good and right to have her pressed into his side like this--she fit so perfectly with him. Ebenezar felt truly complete with Bess beside him.
He was about to lead her away when she paused.
"Oh, wait a second."
Slipping out of her husband's grip, Bess turned towards the bar again. She plucked up Jax's mostly unfinished cocktail and, without a second thought, chucked it point-blank in his face.
Jax had no time to respond, it happened so quickly. There were some cries of alarm from a few bystanders that happened to be close to the splash zone. Jax, himself, remained silent and stunned, squinting and blinking as Ramos Gin Fizz dripped down his brow, foam splattered into his obnoxious pompadour, mint sprigs plastered to his artificially angular cheeks.
With a cheeky, self-satisfied smirk, Bess replaced the glass on the bar and wiped her hands together. "There," she chirped at Ebenezar, linking her arm through his again. "Now we can go."
She turned to Bruxvoort one last time. "Oh, I'd go see about getting that out of your jacket before it sets and stains. Ta-Ta!"
With that the couple took their leave, an extra bounce in the woman's step as she strutted on her man's arm.
The Mayor's new solarium had been drawing looksees throughout the evening among the guests; it was a rather clear night, and the penthouse was above much of the light pollution, allowing the stars to be beheld in most of their sparkling glory. It also provided a magnificent view of the London skyline, which was always much more spectacular at night; the Thames glowed and reflected the lights of the city with an almost magical quality. Truly, the solarium seemed to be a little sanctuary amid the bustle of the party.
That was precisely what Bess and Ebenezar needed for the moment. Hardly in a mental state to take note of the night sky or the skyline, they slipped into the quiet space and locked the door behind them in order to keep that sanctuary to themselves for the moment.
"Well, Marcela knows now," Bess murmured as soon as the door was shut.
"What does she know, exactly?" Ebenezar pressed as he tested the door to ensure the lock had caught.
"That Bruxvoort is a rapist, that he's admitted it in his own, sick, twisted way, and that I witnessed the confession."
"Does she know about Connie?"
"I didn't mention anything about Connie--that's not my secret to share. I told Marcela that I saw and heard Bruxvoort harass a woman about assaulting her in the past, which is true, and all she needed to hear. The details aren't important."
"And she believed you?"
"Seemed to."
"Good. Then all we need do it sit back and let the rest play out."
Bess turned from her husband and moved to the far side of the solarium. She gazed out over the glittering Thames as she hugged herself, rubbing her goose-pimpled arms. Somehow, the whole situation involving Bruxvoort had made her feel clammy and cold: She hardly ever felt cold, much less on a summer's eve such as this. Just a testament to how vile the man truly was, she supposed. "What'd'ya think'll happen?"
Noting his wife's chill, Ebenezar slipped off his suit jacket as he moved her way. "If I were a betting man, I'd say Marcela takes this information to Tallowby immediately, tells him she doesn't want Bruxvoort here ever again, and Tallowby has him escorted off the premises. That will start talk going around Bruxvoort; the Mayor and his wife don't just throw out party guests without reason." He draped his jacket around Bess' shoulders and wrapped his arms around her from behind, hugging her into his warmth, smoothing his large along her upper arms and shoulders. "And if I know the rumor mill of London high society," he murmured, chin tucked beside her ear, it won't be long before word reaches influential ears and Bruxvoort's social calendar becomes less and less busy. Of course, there will be some that won't care, but Lady Marcela is well-known and liked among the elites; her rumored dislike of Bruxvoort will be a black mark for many."
Bess couldn't help making a derisive snort while she leaned into his comforting warmth. "So, Bruxvoort loses a popularity contest while Connie has to live forever knowing who he is and what he did to her." Bitterness was woven into her tone. She knew this was the best possible outcome to be hoped for in such an unfair and hopeless situation as this, and, in the grand scheme, this was much better than nothing. But it didn't make it an easier pill to swallow. It didn't help Bess stop feeling sick to her stomach. "Some justice, yeah?"
Sensing the regretful tension within her, Ebenezar gently turned his wife to face him, touching a finger beneath her chin to bring her sullen face up to his. "You did what you could, Brightness," he said softly. "You didn't have to do anything, and no one would have blamed you, yet you chose to take a stand against an evil man and tried to bring some sort of right to his injustice. You stood for Connie tonight and were her strength and courage when she couldn't find any in herself."
"Or else her recklessness and indignation," Bess muttered glumly.
Her Wolf quirked up an eyebrow in amusement. "You were certainly indignant," he agreed. "But reckless? I wouldn't say that."
A flat look. "I chucked his drink in his face, Wolf."
"And I daresay that may end up being the highlight of more than a few people's nights."
Bess couldn't stop the little snort of amusement that left her at that. With a roll of her eyes, she turned back to face the skyline again.
Ebenezar huffed a chuckle and moved in beside her. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled the young woman close, cuddling her into his side. When she turned into him, draping her right arm around his own waist, he turned his face to hers. Her pretty heels put her at just the perfect height for him to kiss the bridge of her nose and the faint hint of a cute little unibrow that dusted it.
Bess leaned into the affection, her eyes drifting closed, the hint of a smile gracing her glossy lips as she quietly moaned in satisfaction. She turned further into his warmth, lifting her left hand up to rest against his chest and returning his kiss with a soft smooch against his trademark sideburns. Resting her head on his shoulder, she gazed up at him so tenderly and softly that her dark eyes looked like meadow pools reflecting a summer midnight.
The man inclined his head to rest against hers, caressing her side. "What's going on in that wonderful head of yours, my lovely girl?" he purred, still sensing a slightly unsettled air about her.
Bess sighed. "Overthinking. Like usual." Her mind was terrible for it.
Ebenezar hummed knowingly. He brought his right hand up to cover her left and press it closer to his heart. "Talk to me, Brightness."
Bess lifted her head from his shoulder and fixed him with an apprehensive look. "You would've stopped me if you thought this was a bad idea, yeah?" she asked quietly. 'You would've told me if you thought I was misstepping or if I was going to hurt Connie by doing this?"
Ebenezar looked back at her seriously. "Did you not just say you didn't mention anything about Connie to Marcela?"
"I didn't. And even if Marcela could guess, she wouldn't say anything either, I don't think. But Bruxvoort knows. And he knows the two of you left Marcela and me to talk alone. What if he gets so angry when he gets thrown out that he makes some sort of... grand confession in front of everyone to humiliate Connie?"
"I think that's a bit self-sabotaging for someone like Bruxvoort. He gets much more out of being seen as squeaky clean morally, if somewhat womanizing socially. The reason he's a guest of honor here tonight is to make a speech for the culmination of the new Dutch Heritage Foundation between our Parliament and the Dutch Parliament. After he's done here, he goes on to Africa to a hospital groundbreaking: You don't get those jobs by exposing your rotten underbelly.
"If he takes his dismissal quietly, he might be able to salvage his reputation with the Netherlands' government and keep his position, whatever else might happen to him socially. For someone like Bruxvoort, who likes things cushy, that's really his only option to preserve himself."
Bess couldn't help her skepticism. "You really think he'll have enough self-control to hold his tongue?" she asked doubtfully.
Her husband snorted, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "I don't think he knows the meaning of the word," he drily remarked. "But, oftentimes, self-interest is far more influential in keeping someone quiet." He kissed his wife's brow again and rested his head against her head as she nuzzled hers back into the crook of his neck. "And the bastard seems to possess that in spades."
Bess made an unconvinced grunt. It seemed precarious, relying on someone like Bruxvoort to do a sensible thing; he could just as easily make this end horribly and painfully for Connie as he could make it end in relief. And if it went wrong, she would hold significant blame in her best friend and soul-sister's humiliation. She would never forgive herself if that happened, even if Connie could.
As if reading her anxious thoughts, Ebenezar softly murmured, "You're a Marley, remember, Moonlight. However deeply you may have buried it, risk-taking is in your nature, and the navigation of it is in your very marrow."
Bess let out a little laugh at that. She didn't ever think she saw much of her birth father in her, and it unnerved her a bit whenever someone who had known old Jacob Marley told her that something about her was particularly Marley-ish; mind and soul, she was a proud George Sullivan daughter. But you couldn't completely escape your genetics however you tried, she supposed. And, in this case, the young woman actually found herself grateful for the reminder of her parentage. If there was one thing old Marley was known for, besides, terrorizing those unfortunate enough to be in his debt, it was making success out of risk: Hopefully, just like the old Marley glare, she'd inherited that little knack too.
Heaving a sigh, the young woman slipped out of her husband's embrace to face him once more. Folding her hands playfully behind her back, she feigned a shy little smile as she peeked up at him from under her lashes. "Help me not worry about it for a little while?" she asked in a small, dangerously sweet voice.
Ebenezar quirked a bushy brow, his lips parting a bit in the wolfish smirk that had earned him his affectionate pet name when they'd first met all those years ago. "Maybe," he replied, his voice dropping an octave into that delicious burr that he knew made his woman shiver all over. He perched his fists on his hips. "What do you have in mind, Mrs. Scrooge?" He practically purred the name.
Bess smile pursed up into a naughty smirk. Without warning, she reached out and snagged hold of the tall man's slim waist and jerked him towards her, going up on tiptoe to be the to crash her lips into his. Not for the first time did she thank the Lord for blessing her with a man who could catch on quickly, as Ebenezar met her halfway, locking their lips together into a fevered kiss. Tongues and teeth quickly clashed in a sensual battle only the two of them knew how to coordinate into a seamless dance.
Feminine hands found handfuls of delightfully firm, cotton-blend-clad little bumcheeks and clutched covetously. Masculine fingers snaked up into glorious curls and wove into their softness with reverent possession.
The lovebirds finally broke apart for air, and Bess took the opportunity to shove her Wolf backwards with enough force to push him into one of the rattan chairs behind him. "I have an idea or two," she gasped.
Ebenezar collapsed onto the thick cushions with a light grunt, gazing up at his young mate with scandalized excitement. "Here?" he practically squeaked. It wouldn't be the first time they'd ever got up to shenanigans at a party in someone else's house, but this seemed a little extra risky. Which was probably why his trousers were already starting to feel rather constrictive.
Bess paused to look around the solarium. She found what she was looking for lying on an arm of the rattan sofa and quickly retrieved it: a little, square, white and black remote with an assortment of buttons. She studied it for a second before pressing one of buttons.
Before their very eyes, like magic, the transparent, crystalline panes surrounding them turned translucent, not unlike elegantly frosted and etched shower glass. The change effectively blocked their view of the outside world. And, more importantly, blocked the outside world's view of them.
The pair stared in awe for a moment at the technology.
"Nifty. Fancy stuff," Bess commented. Then she turned back to give her mate a wicked look and winked as she tossed the remote away. "That'll do 'er. Now come 'ere, you irresistible hunk." With a little wolfish snarl, she pounced.
The Wolf couldn't help but laugh as he let himself be pulled into his She-Wolf's amorous antics.
The time of evening when the guests of honor were scheduled to make their speeches was approaching: Ebenezar and Bess decided to leave the sanctuary of the solarium and make their way back to join the main party. When they entered the hall, where the speeches were to commence, it appeared as though they had only just made it in time for the event, as every other party guest seemed to have already arrived.
As the pair tried to quietly slip in to join the throng of people, they were greeted by their parallels.
"There you two are!" Connie exclaimed, bustling towards them and taking one of Ebenezar's and one of Bess' hands in each of hers. "We've been looking everywhere for you--it's almost time!"
Ebenezer approached his Twin and clapped him on the shoulder with a wry smile. "You weren't trying to skulk off and leave me on my own to give the speech, were you?" he teased. "it's bad enough Bob abandoned us tonight."
Ebenezar returned his brother's smirk. "And let you completely destroy the reputation of S&C Financials?" he shot back. "Hardly."
The elder Twin scoffed. "Me ruin our reputation? Need I remind you which of the two of us has been considered the "rebel Scrooge" since nappies? And which of the two of us took every debate and public speaking course through school, leading to him being chosen for national competition?"
"Chosen, perhaps, but never champion. You were always a little bit too dull to achieve that." Ebenezar directed his cheeky smirk towards the ladies as he winked at them. "He's a droner."
Bess giggled and Constance rolled her eyes in playful annoyance.
Ebenezer snorted in mock offense. "I am no droner, Brother mine," he retorted, "I'm thoroughly eloquent."
"Thorough eloquence without charm is droning," the younger brother fired back.
Ebenezer drew himself up to full height, which made him just a mere inch at most taller than his slightly stouter-framed twin. He folded his arms over his broad chest and did his best to glower down his nose. "You're simply jealous that I got to go to national debate championships and be surrounded by dozens of girls while you were still stuck in school where the closest thing you saw to a female every day was Old Man Twiggletitts slopping gruel and hash onto your plate."
"Twiggletitts?" Bess snorted in amused disbelief.
"What an unfortunate name," Connie commented at the same time, trying to hold back a laugh.
"All us boys used to joke the man stepped out of a Dickens novel with a name like that," Ebenezar stated. He then turned his attention back to his twin. "And if I was jealous of being stuck there with him while you were off curing insomnia with your debates and speeches, it was because you were getting decent food. I couldn't have given less of a damn about you being surrounded by girls; you weren't doing anything with them, anyway, even if they offered and advertised it with a blinking neon sign. You hardly noticed the female species until university."
Ebenezer actually looked indignant at that. "I'll have you know, little brother-"
"Is that security?" Connie suddenly asked, her gaze looking beyond the twins to the far side of the hall.
The group turned to look, along with a steadily growing percentage of the crowd, and see the Mayor flanked by some of the more burly guards dressed in their uniform dark suits. Mayor Tallowby looked rather severe and stern, an expression that wasn't particularly characteristic of him. And he walked like a man on a mission.
Bess' stomach soured when she noticed who the group was walking towards. She turned to Ebenezar, worry in her deep blue eyes.
Her husband met her gaze and instinctively reached for her hand, weaving their fingers together to ground her. He gave it a reassuring squeeze as he made a little nod. It's going to be all right.
Bess clutched at his hand with both of hers. She chanced a sneak peek in Connie's direction to see if she could tell what her soul-sister was thinking, but the ginger was being held by her own husband, both watching intently as Mayor Tallowby and his security force approached Bruxvoort in the very middle of the crowd, where he was shmoozing a small group of women and a few men. Of course, the women seemed to be his main targets, the men just seemed to have been dragged along for the insufferable occasion.
A muted drone of curious and confused murmuring filled the hall as everyone finally began to take notice of the situation.
Bruxvoort, however, didn't notice until the Mayor was right on top of him. Then he turned to address the man with his trademark too-white-too-wide-too-smug grin. His obnoxious laugh could be heard above the din as he greeted Tallowby.
The Scrooges watched just as intently as everyone else, Bess and Ebenezar even more so. Bess had the presence of mind to release Ebenezar's hand before she crushed it in her grip and wrap her arms around his waist instead, and he, I turn held her close. He comfortingly rubbed her back as he gently cradled her head to his shoulder, intense gaze ever locked on the exchange happening half-way across the room.
It was all too far away to hear, but just by using one's eyes it was clear to see that the conversation wasn't a pleasant one. Jax quickly devolved from his beaming, cheshire-esque grin into a dark scowl. He began gesticulating fervently in Mayor Tallowby's face. Considering he was a good head taller than the Mayor, it was an unnerving sight, but Tallowby, for his part, didn't back down.
"You can't do this!" Bruxvoort's irate bellow echoed around the hall. "I'm here representing my government! I'm meant to give a speech!"
The Lord Mayor raised his voice enough to be heard over the shouting, though he remained much more even-keel: "Please, Mr. Bruxvoort, keep your voice down."
"I won't! I refuse! Have you any idea the disrespect this is towards me?! Towards my king?! I demand an explanation!"
"Fuck everyone! What have I done to deserve this?! Tell me! Tell me!"
The Mayor paused and sighed with resignation; the look on his face appeared long-suffering. "Mr. Bruxvoort," he said, with calm authority, "it has been brought to my attention that you are an individual of... certain proclivities. Detestable proclivities. Particularly towards women."
Jax finally shut his mouth at that. Even across the room, the color could be seen draining from his face. The crowd, which had gone silent when the Dutchman had started his tirade, began to stir with whispers once again. Proclivities? What proclivities? Towards women? Did that mean what it sounded like?
Tallowby and Bruxvoort continued to speak in hushed tones, the accusation evidently having humbled Jax and knocked some fear into him.
The hair on the nape of Bess' neck tingled, and she turned to find Connie staring at her. Her stomach tied itself in knots. She desperately studied her sister-in-law's face, trying to decipher what she was thinking but couldn't find a hint of anything. Connie was terrifyingly good as masking when she wanted to.
The murmur in the crowd grew louder, a tone of shock woven into the voices that created it.
Both Scrooge women turned away from one another to look back and see that Jax Bruxvoort was now being quietly, placidly, escorted out of the room.
As the man was led away, he took one last look back around the hall, his eyes darting around at the people watching his humiliation. Finally, whether it was she he had been looking for or not, his eyes fell on Bess and held.
Bess stared back at him unflinchingly, hoping her disdain was made clear on her face. She jerked her chin down in one, small, curt, affirmative nod, answering the silent question in his eyes. I told you I'd get you.
Bruxvoort just stared at her as if in complete disbelief. His eyes didn't leave her until he was outside the hall and out of sight.
An awkward silence hung over the party for a moment. But then, steadily, it began to break, and the heaviness started to dissipate as people began to chatter again
"Well..." Ebenezer finally croaked, clearing his throat. He turned his attention to Connie and smoothed a soft hand over her hair golden-red hair and down her cheek. "That was... rather unpleasant." He pressed a kiss to his wife's hairline.
"Yes," his twin agreed. Ebenezar met Bess' eyes as he gave her shoulder a soft squeeze that was both comforting and congratulatory. "But absolutely deserved from what it sounds like."
"Absolutely," Connie immediately agreed, her voice toneless. Even as she leaned into her husband's affection, her gaze was lowered and unfocused in the way that meant she was doing her best to contain herself.
"Hear, hear," Ebenezer concurred quietly.
"Ah, Mr. Scrooge and Mr. Scrooge!" A voice caused the little group to turn and see Lady Marcela coming their way. She was all beaming smiles and lovely graciousness once again. "We seem to have lost a speaker. That bumps the two of you up to give the first speech! I hope you're ready."
As the Twins went on to assure Lady Marcela of their readiness, Connie approached Bess and touched her arm. "Can I speak with you?"
Bess tried not to feel sick. Her risk had paid off; Bruxvoort was gone, and he had ultimately left in silence without causing a scene that would have brought more shame on Connie. But that didn't mean her soul-sister couldn't still be angry.
Bess hated the idea of Connie being angry with her. They'd had little tiffs through the years, of course, moments of being annoyed with each other over little things, disagreements--every group of friends had such things. But they'd never been outright mad at one another.
"Of course," Bess replied, her voice sounding meeker than she meant it to. She followed Connie to a room off the hall, trying to prepare herself for whatever would come.
Thankfully, Connie didn't start shouting. For a long time she didn't say anything, and the two of them stood there in tense silence. She sounded more confused than anything when she finally did speak: "Bess, what did you do?"
Bess gave her an even gaze. "I told you. He couldn't just get away with what he did to you tonight--I wouldn't let him. He shouldn't be able to get away with what he did twenty years ago either, but, unfortunately, this is the best I can do."
"You didn't need to do that."
"I know you think I didn't need to, but I think I did."
"You shouldn't have done it."
"Why not? As far as I'm concerned, the atmosphere of this place has already massively improved since he left."
"But the way he was looking at you when he was escorted out... it looked like he knows it was you behind it."
"I hope he does."
"But, Bess... what if he comes after you because of it? What happens the next time you see him at a function?"
"Considering what happened tonight, I don't think we'll be seeing him again. Not in London, anyway. And if I do... so what? There are men that scare me, but Bruxvoort isn't one of them; he's an opportunistic weasel with a loud, jacked-up mouth and not a single intimidating bone in his body. He better pray he never runs into me again."
Connie shook her head, looking shocked, worried, and uncertain all at once. "Bess-"
"Connie," Bess quieted her soul-sister as she placed her hands on her shoulders, "there's no point in debating should-haves or shouldn't-haves now--what's done is done. No going back. And I wouldn't even if I could, anyway. Whatever else happens with Bruxvoort after this, I have no regrets; let him come for me if that's what he wants to do--I'll make it worse for him."
The redhead studied the dark-haired woman's freckled face for a moment before sighing heavily, unable to stop the hint of a smile that curved her painted lips. "I can easily believe that," she half-snorted. Taking her friend's hands in hers, she squeezed them in quiet thanks.
"But... h-how did you do it?" she finally inquired. "The Mayor seemed so pleased that he was here; he was singing Bruxvoort's praises to Adonis and me after you and Wolf disappeared."
Bess gave a little shrug. "Called in a favor with Lady Marcela. Once she heard about Bruxvoort's little declaration, she was more than eager to see the back of him for good."
Connie's face paled a bit, worry returning to haunt her cornflower eyes. "Y-You told her about-?"
"Just what Bruxvoort said," Bess hurried to assure her, reaching up to brush a stray lock away from the older woman's eyes and tenderly cup her cheek. "I told her I heard him bragging to a woman about what he did to her in the past, getting up in her face with it. She doesn't know the woman was you, Con. She didn't need to know it was you"
A slight hint of relief came over Connie's face with that reassurance, and her lips pulled into a tight, wan smile as she gave a little nod. Then, without warning, she surged forward and gripped the younger woman into a tight embrace, burying her face into her shoulder.
Bess instantly hugged her back, squeezing her close. She rubbed soothing circles between the redhead's shoulder blades as she rested her head against hers.
The two sisters held each other in silence for a long stretch, finding peace and comfort in each other's presence.
"What would I ever do without you?" Connie finally whispered, her voice croaking a bit with emotion.
Bess' vision was starting to swim a bit at the edges, as it was; she blinked to ward off the tears. "Well, you'd probably still be committing war crimes against London's populace with your damn coffee at that coffee house for one," she teased with a slight snicker. "Because I don't think Adonis woulda pulled his crap together and made moves if I hadn't been the bug up his ass."
Connie snorted a laugh into Bess' hair at that. "And you would still be getting run into the ground at an awful hospital with your Wolf still skulking and brooding around London without you if I hadn't been around.
"He still has a habit of skulking and brooding."
"True, but he looks so much more dashing when the context behind it has nothing to do with being a lonely bachelor."
The sisters laughed as they broke their embrace. Still gently gripping each other's arms, they shared a watery smile.
"Love you, Sister," Connie sniffed, her tone warm with deep affection.
"Love you too, Sis," Bess returned, voice full of emotion just as sincere.
She then linked her arm through Connie's and turned them both in the direction of the hall again. "Now," her tone was much more chipper now, "what's say you we go support those silly, silly men we love so dearly and worked so hard to get for each other?"
The other woman picked up on her energy instantly. "I say what a splendid idea, Mrs. Scrooge. What an impeccable mind you have."
"Why thank you, Mrs. Scrooge."
Arm-in-arm, the sisters strutted out together.
~And there were never such devoted sisters.~
Sorry this took so long coming, Romey, but, as you know, details needed working and ironing and ideas changed.😅
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