Why do I feel like Connie might be the default wedding planner/coordinator of the Pack? And why do I feel like she has a headset like Monica does when she's planning Phoebe's wedding? Except she's obviously way more chill than Mon.😂
I love, love, LOVE this hc. There are many reasons why, but most of all, I love this because it feels like such a natural fit for Connie and what she loves to do.
Connie was a socialite, and a big part of being a New York/Manhattan socialite (in the 1840s and today) is party-planning for the upper crust. She's not an influencer; she can't phone it in. These are parties for VERY wealthy people who can have anything they want with the snap of a finger.
Being TeTe and Arthur's baby really cultivated her taste well, and also gave her access to this high-class society from a young age. She could really get a good look behind the looking glass, so to speak, and had a head-start by the time she was finally an adult.
Being a good party-planner in the 1800s also made a lady highly-coveted marriage material, so those skills (in addition to her wealth and intelligence) also captivated Orin's attention. Just having money isn't enough to build long-term wealth.
So in the 1820s-40s, she's getting fresh oysters and string instruments on the line for parties.
But for her friends' weddings in modern London? Oh, I had fun with this. Here are some ideas (curated from writing Constance's own wedding and researching many, many, MANY options):
Given Constance's established taste — classical, elegant, leaning into old-world refinement rather than trend-chasing — here's how she'd likely approach planning a modern London wedding for a friend:
Venues for her Friends
(Perhaps bridal showers or receptions?)
For all her friends, Connie proposes venues she thinks match each couple. It's not enough to just find a 'pretty place.' No, no. She wants to choose a place that matches the couple.
Her suggestion for Addie/Tom: Claridge's! English elegance with an Art Decco twist that feels very appropriate for Addie and Tom. They could have all the pops of purple and pink they want and nothing would look out of place.
Her suggestion for Bess/Wolf: Cliveden House! She knows Bess/Wolf have their eyes on something in the countryside, eventually. So he'd try to get a deal here, because it's 40 minutes outside London and a beautiful sprawling estate with lush gardens. Enough said. I also think she'd think Aynhoe Park might be good fit for them.
Her suggestion for Jake/Gal: 5 Hertford Street. It's elegant with a discreet, speakeasy vibe. It gives the same vibe as how I picture their pub & diner, but just elevated. It's definitely not as preppy as Claridge's or as regal as Cliveden. It's very private, has a good bar with hard drinks, a cigar lounge. The works.
Menu
Connie would be Monica-esque in this regard, lol. She would REALLY push for a seated, plated dinner rather than a buffet or trend-driven "family style" service.
"I understand that you want things to be easy and approachable, I do, but I REALLY want you to think about choosing a seated, multi-course meal. Please. I have seen buffet-style for parties like this, and guests end up juggling plates."
Her pitching the menu would be like:
"I suggest starting with a chilled soup or a delicate fish course to start. Then something hearty but easy to cut into like a beef Wellington or lamb as the main. Then we finish with something architectural — a chocolate soufflé or a croquembouche! It's wedding cake-esque, but doesn't steal the show.
"Champagne or Prosecco on arrival, poured properly rather than pre-set at tables.
"A serious wine pairing, likely with at least one truly special bottle for toasts — Burgundy or vintage Champagne would be wonderful."
"Petits fours and a coffee service to close the night. Dessert isn't the final note; a proper digestif is necessary. We don't want to sent people home teering and bloated."
If someone even suggests 'chicken tenders' in her proximity, her eye will start twitching.
Entertainment
Connie LOVES a string quartet .It's the little black dress for event entertainment. You can never go wrong." They start with the ceremony and drinks reception. For Bess/Wolf, she'd try to get a live blues or live jazz band for dancing later in the night. She would resist a DJ-only reception as too casual for her beloved friends, though she might allow one after the band's set, once things loosen up. "If you must. But mind the mood, please."
Maybe a single set from a jazz or classical vocalist as a toast-adjacent moment. Perhaps she even asks Bess to be the performing for the other ladies' events, if she's so inclined.
A proper first dance treated with real ceremony, not rushed. Ever.
For activities, I see her posing a calligrapher on-site for a guestbook, or a live portrait sketch artist circulating during the receptions.
The HC about Connie/Adonis handing out embroidered patches after each party? This is definitely a trend of hers, lol. She's a big fan of tactile luxuries over 'silly photo booths.'
"Your love is something to be coveted and remembered. The souvenirs should be as well!"
Valet and rideshare is also essential for events taking place outside a hotel.
Of course, she would always defer to her friends' tastes first and foremost when planning their big day(s). But as you can see, she would take any responsibility given to her very, very, very seriously.
She LOVES planning parties, and would do it in a heartbeat for her friends and soul-sister. Especially for them.
In Timeless, Adonis has invited Connie as his date to the Lord Mayor's Christmas party. Wolf was encouraged (in the end, more like dared, because brothers be brothers) to invite Bess (as merely close friends, of course) and she accepted.
Let's dress our guys and dolls up and rp a little!
OKAY, I think Tumblr ate your ask @quill-pen because I have searched by drafts & inbox over and over, but I had it saved in a different doc:
"So, we know Connie deals with postpartum depression at least after Starla. I think Bess goes through it too, but it doesn't happen until after she has Georgia. Something about having her first little girl (ya know, she can actually keep) just triggers something in her. It's a mix of remembering the horror and heartbreak of Helena's birth and the terror that she'll turn out to be just like her mother towards her own daughter."
So I know we discussed this a while ago, and I’ve been baking the idea on the oven for a long time.
Considering what Bess has been through with her own mother, then with losing Helena? No wonder this triggered something in her. Those are both traumatic situations by themselves, let alone when paired together. There’s also the compounding factor that, because Bess though she could never have children, she never had a reason to really unpack this with the expectation that she would eventually come face-to-face with these feelings again (literally).
And now, without further ado …
It was an act of either the best timing (or perhaps the worst) that Constance hadn’t been properly buzzed into the building that day.
By now, the bottle-blonde receptionist posed at the stately reception desk knew the redhead by glance alone. Even through the frosted glass panels, thick enough to cloister the luxurious interior from the financial district’s heavy traffic flow, she was still recognizable. From the top of her coppery her head to the pointed toes of her Manolo Blahnik heels.
It helped that she visited multiple times a week, after all. If she wasn’t strolling in to see Elizabeth Scrooge, her fellow Yankee of a best friend that lived upstairs with her infamous English paramour, she was strolling arm-in-arm with the paramour’s twin brother. The couples had been together for years, yet the novelty of spotting the couples in the wild still caused heads to turn (including hers).
Sometimes she pushed baby carriage when visiting. Other times, she strolled in with whom she had come to learn was her mother who, get this, was Bess and Ebenezar’s divorced neighbor.
It was like a soap opera up there, she thought.
That web of connections alone would have already created novel enough gossip for the bored receptionist. Added onto her small novel of social connections was the small, trifling fact that she herself was wife of one of London’s most esteemed billionaires.
While not technically a resident, if anyone had clearance to step over the silken red tape of formality that the property manager insisted upon for other visitors, it was her.
“Come on in, Mrs. DoGoode-Scrooge,” the receptionist spoke into the intercom, her ballet-pink acrylic nail punctuating the blessing with a resonant click.
Constance never had the opportunity to hit the ‘Call’ button before she was waved in. A doorman, standing opposite a neat pyramid of luxury parcels and embossed envelopes of paperwork, stepped up to open the door for her.
Greeting the guard with a smile, she then make her way to the reception desk.
“Good morning, Mona. Are you sure I’m okay to go up? You won’t get in trouble, will you?”
She waved away the concern. “You’ve accumulated more than enough good faith, I’d say. Plus, I trust your company is expecting you, as per usual.”
“My! I’m more predictable than I thought,” she answered with a light laugh.
“Nothing wrong with routine,” the woman said, the pleasantry genuine. Perhaps it was her age or the quiet prestige she wore with the subtlety of an heirloom pearl necklace, but something about the redhead didn’t just beckon respect: it demanded it. “Actually seeing you feels like a welcome return to routine, if I may be honest.”
“Oh?”
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Scrooge in a while. I know she had a little girl on the way, and I meant to congratulate her! But I haven’t seen her since … well, I don’t know.”
By now, months had passed since Georgia has been born.
“She hasn’t even come down to get the mail,” Mona added, sighing as she held a thick stack of envelopes aloft. “Mr. Scrooge has, though he’s been sparse recently as well. It’s very strange.”
“It is,” Constance agreed. She didn’t say any else. While Mona’s concern was appreciated and her observation skills were commendable, it was not her place to confirm or deny any suspicions.
Especially if those same suspicions were what had inspired her visit to their building that very day.
With a final wave, Constance made her way to the lobby’s posh elevator and pressed the correct button. Moments later, the doors opened to a clean, warmly-lit hall accentuated with tall windows and cream-colored crown molding. Tasteful but understated, she thought pleasantly. All looked so normal. Her heels clicked softly upon the polished floors as she navigated around a corner and made her war toward the familiar door.
As she approached, she heard noises. Voices, she ultimately determined. At first, she thought that one of the neighbors most have had the television running too loud.
Constance was still a couple doors down from her destination when the clarity of the voices struck her. Their familiarity was such a sudden realization she nearly staggered back, its impact like the weight of a hammer slamming up into her jaw.
She would have known those voices anywhere, and if she could hear them from such a distance through walls and doors, that meant they had to be shouting. Not bickering; full gulps-of-air shouting.
“I don’t even know the color of her eyes, Bess!” a man’s voice cried from the other side of the door. “She’s my own daughter!”
Since she hadn’t been buzzed into the building, her friends had no idea that anyone they knew might be lingering in the hall. While she had been there to hopefully ask them directly about why they had been so sparse lately, she couldn’t eavesdrop on their private business.
Then, all of a sudden, she heard footsteps stomping a quick path toward the flat’s front door.
“Wait, where are you going?” the woman called, her voice fraying.
“Out. With my son.”
“…Fine! Fine. That’s fine. Go, then!”
The next moment, a familiar man existed the apartment swiftly, his long silver hair loose and flowing over the shoulders of his broad Huntsman coat. By comparison, small diaper-bag he carried was a shade of yellow cotton with tiny blue stripes. Cordell’s bag, she knew. She recognized it from the many playdates he and Starla had been on since he was born.
As he stepped into the hall, he reached back and yanked the door shut behind him without looking back. His expression was pinched with an emotion that, while unreadable at first, became painfully clear as he turned to head down the hall. The man looked agonized.
When he looked up from his trance and saw a spectator in the hall, he froze.
Wolf faced her, looking more like a deer caught in headlights that the ferocious protector he was named for. His blue eyes shimmered with wetness, his mouth slightly ajar in surprise.
“C-Constance?”
Cordell, oblivious to the argument, cooed happily in his dad’s arms.
Both were silent for a long moment in an awkward stand-off. At first, his face was a mask of guilt. Then, steadily, confusion caused his brow to slant.
“H-How in the world did you …?”
“I’m sorry. Mona let me up, and I was about to knock when I heard …”
She paused, realizing than explaining her presence was not the question that needed the most urgent answering.
“I came to check on you two,” she offered softly. “It’s been a while since we’ve all seen you two out and about, you know.”
By ‘we’, she meant their entire Pack of friends, family, and extended family. It would have been one thing if the couple was keeping to themselves in general. Such was the case for many couples preoccupied with the arrival of a new baby. But, as the weeks passed, it seemed more like they were both retreating inward and isolating, even from each other.
There was also the factor that the couple hadn’t shown these isolationist tendencies when Cordell, their first son, had been born. There had still been the inevitable bumps (namely a large argument upon Bess’s conception – something the couple hadn’t thought possible), but the sheer joy of the situation had ultimately prevailed.
Now? There had been no disagreements or public acknowledgement of any unease, which was odd. While a couple was entitled to their own private business, there was usually at least an acknowledgement with one’s close peers that there had been a scuffle or tiff that needed to be addressed. It was by no means a hard and fast rule of the friend group, per say; they were just a group of very close people that trusted each other implicitly.
At this, Connie held aloft a handful of mail for emphasis. A week’s worth of magazines, letters, and congratulatory letters to the couple regarding their new daughter.
When faced with concern and evidence in tandem, he couldn’t argue.
After all, Bess hadn’t been the only one side-skirting inquiring calls or text messages.
Magda and TeTe had both tried to reach out to him several times, and his twin brother was all but cornering him at the office about why he suddenly seemed to have become part of the walking dead.
All with pomp and circumstance was to no avail. Calls were shirked, texts went unread, and Wolf even told his brother on one heated occasion to ‘go fist himself’ before ushing past him to storm out of the office.
After that, he had finally left it alone.
“Something isn’t right, Connie," Adonis had told her later that night, teeth nervously worrying the nail of his thumb while he spoke. "The way he looked at me just now. I know that look. I haven’t seen it in a long time. He hasn’t told me that since … well, since his last relationship. When he was scared she was falling out of love with him.”
Now, those same man’s eyes fell to the floor in shame, a sigh fleeing his lungs in one prolonged exhale.
“So you’ve all noticed, then.”
“We’ve noticed you two haven’t quite been yourselves,” she supplied gently, “Beyond that, we don’t really know what to make of things. We’re not a group that tends to speculate.”
He sighed, deflated. Defeated. “I know.”
Slowly, Wolf glanced back to the door. In real time, he saw exhaustion change into tight-lipped hurt. He lingered there, as if waiting for Bess to come after him. However, the door remained shut, without a peep of life from the other side.
The trance was only broken by Cordell looking up at his papa with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Chubby fingers flexed toward the man’s face, trying to grab at him. He made soft vocalization with each failed grasp, agitation building with each swipe for attention.
Upon noticing his son’s gestures, he immediately began to bounce him in his arms. “Sorry, little man. Have we been still for too long?”
Seeing the blend of his and his wife’s features staring back at him with such innocence brought a fresh sheen to his eyes, and he subsequently buried his face in the thickly corded material of his son’s jumper. She heard him whimper something against the squirmy lad’s tummy, but couldn’t make out the word.
They needed to pivot.
“…Cordell, are you and Papa going to have some fun at the park today?” Her hand came to a stop at the boy’s cheek, which she cradled tenderly. It was as soft as marshmallow under her manicured nails. “You like the park, don’t you?”
The mention of the word not only once but twice made his socked feet pedal in excitement. “Paa!”
“Haha, does that sound fun, Cordell?” Wolf asked, bouncing the bundle of joy in his arms. “Is that what you’d like, my boy? Would you like to go to the park today?”
“Yah, yah! Swee, swee!”
“We’ll most definitely play on the swings. For as long as you’d like.”
As he cheered in delight, Ebenezar’s voice dropped low. “And … maybe you could check on her? To make sure she’s okay?”
His voice was so soft, so timid.
Constance nodded softly. While she wasn’t in position to make hard promises, especially when it came to another couple’s private business, she did know we wanted to talk o Bess even more than before.
Now, Bess was on the one who needed her support, and she would try her hardest to give her what she needed.
As Wolf carried Cordell into the building’s stately elevator and vanished behind polished sliding doors, Constance made her move.
With a preparatory inhale, she tapped her knuckles on the neatly lacquered front door. There was a doorbell she could have rung instead, complete with a golden frame and adorable little RING plaque, but knocking was an old habit from their days living as roommates in their cottage in Pip’s Park. Back in those early days, all four girls (and their beaus) had always knocked on the door to announce themselves, and the habit had stuck.
It also provided the accidental but nice side benefit of immediately indicating if someone at the door was a friend or visitor. If someone rang the bell, it was likely a courier or neighbor. If there was a knock, it meant that family, friends, or the emotional cavalry, had arrived.
One tap was all it took before she heard rustling on the other side of the door.
Not a second later, Bess surged out into the hall, her teary eyes alight with hope. “Wolf?”
Whatever malice had permeated the woman’s being when she had yelled ‘Fine!’ earlier as her husband walked out of his flat had since evaporated. Now, all that remained of her outburst were silvery tear tracks and a telltale redness to the whites of her eyes. She’d been crying. Heavily.
As Bess halted in the doorway and realized the person on the other side of the door wasn’t her husband, she seemed to deflate a bit. Shoulders dropping, she recoiled back into the doorway and began to wipe her eyes as reflex.
“O-Oh, Connie. I-I’m sorry.” Using her sleeve, he dabbed away a pearl-sized tear from her bottom lashes. “D-Did we have something planned for today? Ugh, I’ve been a disorganized mess lately, haven’t I? I’m sorry. Let me—”
“No, it’s alright.” Constance reached into her bag and procured a pack of paper handkerchiefs for her. “We didn’t have anything today, Bess. I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
After accepting the pack and gratefully pulling one free to try her eyes with, she fixed her blue eyes upon her friend. The redness that wreathed each iris made the midnight hue even more striking than usual.
“Really?” she asked, then pivoted, “T-Then … um, good! I’m glad I didn’t ghost you.”
After one last scrub across her eyes, she popped her head back up and even tried to strike a casual pose with her hand on her hip. “So, w-what’s up? Everything okay?”
Her tone was brimming with forced indifference that came across as near mania.
Constance’s brows arced gently at the question. “Well, I think that might be a better question for you, my dear. Is everything okay?”
“Y-Yeah!” Bess rushed to say before leaning against her doorframe. “Of course! I’m just here, you know? Hanging out!”
“Well, that is true,” Connie conceded, then asked gently, “And the tears?”
“Oh, nothing! Something stupid. You know how those pesky, after-birth hormones are. They make you a wreck, yeah?”
“I do know.”
The second Constance’s reply came, Bess screwed her eyes shut and looked ready to punish herself. “Ah, cats, Con. T-That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, ” she replied, even laughing a bit. “I didn’t think it was.”
“Oh, good.”
“But you aren’t wrong, after all. At least you aren’t sopping wet from the rain with raccoon eyes from your mascara getting wet.”
Bess laughed at that; a real laugh, teeth and all. “Don’t worry. You still looked like you had just stepped off the set of a photoshoot.”
Constance snorted, tossing his hair over her shoulder cheekily. “Says the gorgeous and infamous Bess Moonrock of all people.”
She kept her voice light and tone conversational. Fishermen didn’t use intimidating lures, after all. One had to feel safe before they felt safe enough to bite.
Connie craned her neck to peek over Bess’s shoulder and past the crack in the door. “Is Georgia in there with you?”
“Of course! Where else would she be?”
Fair enough. “Well, I didn’t know if…”
“Nope! It’s just m-me and Georgia, hanging out, you know! Having a lazy afternoon. Spending s-some girl’s time toget…her…”
Halfway through her answer, a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. As a sob rushed up her throat, both her palms rushed to smother it. She stood there, shaking and breathless on the threshold as a horrible, vague emotion choked her to her core.
Constance ended up being pulled into an embrace. Bess’ whole body rattled from the force of lung-rending sobs, each one clawing itself from her raw throat like a small demon. Constance took care to hold her close and guard her from any potential passerby in the hall.
After a few shushes, the two women finally ducked inside for some privacy.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Constance whispered, weaving her fingers through the woman’s thick curls to stroke the base of her neck. The curve of her spine is severe at the base, almost like her head is weighed down. She tries to massage the pain away, but the muscles that should have budged under were as immovable as if they were carved from wood.
“I-It’s not okay,” Bess croaked. The next few words came out as a squeak of slurred vowels, too manic to parse words.
“…Come again?”
“I’m ruining your d-dress.”
“Oh. You are not,” Constance assured softly. She took Bess’ face between her hands, thumbs wiping away the silver trails that raced toward her chin. “Don’t worry about that.”
“B-But it’s silk, right? A-and my make-up, I didn’t think …”
“I live with a neat freak, honey,” she reminded her with a smirk. “And I’m the mama of my own, voraciously creative little girl going through her finger-painting phase. Trust me, I could clean a Dario Argento crime scene with the stuff in our laundry room, and have plenty to spare. A few tears and a little lip gloss is nothing.”
Bess tried to smile, and Constance’s heart splintered at the sight. Even now, when she was in the pit of despair and sobbing her eyes out, she still placed the comfort of others above her own. She was trying to play along that she felt normal, even though she clearly did not.
“That being said, you can’t be comfortable like this,” Constance encouraged, smoothing some curls back to kiss her forehead. “Go wash your face.”
“But—”
“I insist. Freshen up, change clothes, get a drink of water." It was impossible to cry while drinking, so that would at least help the tears. "When you’re ready, come back here, and we can talk. Okay?”
Bess lingered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “But…”
From further in the flat came the soft, babbling nonsense.
Georgia.
“I’ll be right here,” Constance said. Proving her point, she removed her heels and sat them by the door. Beside them, she rested her Telfar bag, her heart-shaped keyring jingling as she did so.
“But …”
“No buts. You can take five minutes for yourself, Mama."
This time, Bess’ smile was truer.
With newly bolstered assurance beneath her wings, she finally turned and vanished down the hall to her and Wolf’s bedroom.
After a quick peek to make sure she had truly retreated to the solace of somewhere private, Constance sighed in relief. Then, she took a moment to survey the condition of the flat.
To her relief, everything appeared mostly in order. The countertops weren’t cluttered, the closets and cabinets were all shut (complete with child-proof locks), and what little she could see of their balcony garden beyond the doors appeared to be flourishing. Constance went ahead and grabbed the small pile of mail from her purse and put it face-down on the island.
In the middle of the spacious living room, wash in rosy light from the vintage lamps, was Georgia’s lavender playpen. The pen had made many appearances in shared photos, video calls, and even in-person for some days in the office when Wolf brought the kids for socializing.
Another burble game from beyond its pastel walls, and a smile bloomed as naturally as a violet in spring. She peered over the side to see the little bundle herself smiling up at her. With a gummy grin, she chewed on her chubby fingers and wagged her arms back and forth like twin puppy dog tails.
“There she is.” Her voice remained low despite the fact the infant was fully awake. It was a habit as this point. “Hello, angel. It’s been a while.”
Georgia glanced up curiously, laying supine in a sea of soft blankets and pillows that stretched to the pen’s walls in all directions.
The appearance of a new visitor leaning over the towering walls of her palace rendered her silent in awe, but only for a moment. A second later, the dark-haired girl babbled curiously.
When Constance ducked behind the wall to hide then jumped up a second later with a ‘Boo!’, she squealed in delight.
The woman’s heart melted at the display, and she suddenly missed her own daughter terribly even though she was only few blocks away at home. She briefly checked her watch for the time, making a mental note of when she would need to return for dinner. It was an occasion that she was careful to not miss.
As she reached down to caress the girl’s cheek, and she suddenly felt eyes on her. A new shadow swept over Georgia’s form, covering her like a blanket.
Glancing up, Constance was surprised to see Bess kneeling right beside her, no more than three inches away. Their knees could have touched with a mere breath’s movement.
She hadn’t even heard her approach.
“What’s wrong?” Bess asked, eyes wide as they darted from Connie’s arm to her baby’s face.
“N-Nothing?” Constance answered, retracting her arm with forklift-slowness.
“Why were you checking on her?” Bess asked, her tone was more concerned than accusing. “W-Was she crying? I didn’t hear her, even over the monitor.”
“No, no crying. We were just saying hi.”
Bess blinked, as if Constance had answered with her a conspiracy rather than a simple truth. After a moment, she sighed and sat back on her heels. Despite the fact she hadn’t been gone long, she had in fact washed her face and changed clothes. The young woman had changed out of the corduroy skirt and sweater combo she’d been wearing before and changed into dolphin shorts and a well-worn Bauhaus band tee. One of Wolf’s, Connie knew, from when he’d enjoyed his last years of rowdiness before sinking into the quicksand of the banking business.
Bess wore it often, saying it was the comfiest piece of clothing she owned.
… And that it always made her feel safe.
“Why don’t we talk on the sofa?” Constance asked. Her tone was polite, but she also wasn’t giving her friend a choice.
Yet, Bess was not listening. Instead, she was reaching into the crate to scoop up Georgia. The little girl, ignorant of anything beyond her mother’s loving embrace, burbled happily. Crutching up her legs, she yawned and turned towards her mama’s breast, magnetized to the familiar beat of her heart. Bess reciprocated, hugging the bundle tight and close.
“…Hm?” Bess finally asked. “Did you say something?”
Connie tsked. Not mean, but nonplussed. The sound shook Bess out of her complacency, and her eyes slide to meet her friend’s.
“I said I think we should talk on the sofa,” she repeated tenderly. “I’m sure Georgia wouldn’t mind coming with. Isn’t that right, sweetie? Do you want to stay with Mama?"
The baby made a cooing sound, then began to chew on her fingers. It was as much of a ‘yes’ and any other reply that would have been offered.
"See? The lady agrees."
Plus, if Georgia stayed with them, Constance had a feeling the conversation would be more focused.
The trip to the sofa, a luxurious but cozy model from Formitalia in a shade of wine-deep burgundy, was short.
As they settled, Bess kept her girl tightly swaddled to her chest. Even as the little girl wiggled about like an energetic caterpillar, she kept her cocooned.
Constance noticed this, and Bess noticed her notice.
“…You see it too, then?” she asked.
“See what, darling?”
“Oh, come on, Con,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I can see it written on your face. You think I’m suffocating her, right? Keeping her all to myself?”
Those were some specifically-worded allegations, she noted. “I don’t believe I said anything like that.”
Bess dropped her gaze, then kept it there. Then, a defeated stream of words left her: “No. You didn’t.”
“But perhaps someone else did?” Constance asked.
Bess was silent, but her postured stooped. By now Georgia was almost completely concealed by her mom’s curly hair. The little girl reached for the coils and played with them joyfully, easily able to make them dance despite her straw-strong grip.
“Was it Ebenezar?” she asked softly.
When Bess looked up, her eyes were as big and glassy as marbles. For the second time that visit, Constance heart splintered with a look alone.
“Oh, Bess.” Constance offered the woman a hand. Bess was quick to seize it with urgency, as if she was in danger of falling off a tightrope.
Hiding a wince of pain, she returned the fierce grip with a gentle squeeze of her own. “Okay. Start from the beginning, okay?”
At this, Bess barked out a laugh. She wiped a stray tear as it threatened to drip onto her lap. “Which one?”
“Whichever one you want.”
A pause. Bess angled her body away, staring ahead. George still wiggled in her lap, and when Bess looked down at her, only then was her melancholy broken with a touch of familiar emotion.
“I-I know I’m acting differently with her than with Cordell,” Bess said softly. “I can see it, especially after Georgia and I are alone. In those moments, everything feels normal ... I’m happy. Even-keeled, even.”
“That’s good.”
“But then someone else comes in, and it’s … like a switch flips me. It’s almost instantaneous, and I don’t see it coming until I’m in the dark. I feel ... paranoid. Panicked. Like I'm in survival mode, but I'm just at home with my husband or out with my friends! I-It makes no sense, right?"
“Is that what happened at the playpen?”
“Yes! Con, I know you’d never hurt my daughter. I know that. I promise. But it’s like a compulsion. I feel like I react before I can even think to stop myself!”
“I can only imagine how terrifying that would be,” Connie said sincerely. Loss of autonomy, physically or mentally, is harrowing. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“I don’t mean to be possessive or a bitch or anything like that, I promise. I just—”
“Who called you a bitch?”
As Constance stopped her, there was a terrifying look in her eyes.
“Nobody,” Bess quickly amended. “Except me. I have. To myself.”
“…Well, that’s not ‘good’, per say,” Connie said, murderous intent leaving her in the firm of an long sigh. “Oh, if Ebenezar would have said that to you, I swear I would have—”
“He would never,” Bess said, her tone gravely serious. “I’m serious. He would never do that. Even though I’d deserve to be called that.”
“Bess.”
“Admit it, Con, it’s true!” she fired back. “Don’t lie. You saw Wolf storm out, right? You would have hand to have run into him while he was leaving, right?”
“I did,” she agreed. “I was on my way up to check on you, and heard yelling. We talked a bit, and I said hi to Cordell. Then they left to go to the park.”
“…Did he say anything else?”
“He asked if I could talk you,” Connie said, then chanced a tiny grin. “As if that was a question. It would be more of an occasion if we didn’t speak to each other.”
Yet that was exactly what had happened after Georgia.
She continued, “It was more about what he didn’t say.”
“W-What do you mean?”
“He looked back at the door for a long time, Bess. I think he wanted to turn around and go back to you, but he knew the right thing was for both of you to have some space.”
A single, silver tear dropped down her cheek. “Oh.”
Constance didn’t tell her friend that Wolf had also been misty-eyed; harboring more sadness in his gaze than he’d ever observed. That fact would only break her heart further. Besides, she needed to hear such a personal revelation from his mouth, not hers.
After a moment, Connie gave her hand another squeeze. “Bess, honey, something you said earlier is bothering me.”
“Just one thing?”
“One thing especially,” she corrected. “Your comment about calling yourself a ‘bitch.’ That’s quite a severe statement to come out of nowhere.”
Bess nodded meekly. “I suppose.”
“Such inklings are usually colored by comments we hear other people say. The words hurt, of course, and they leave a mark, especially when they come from the lips of someone close to us. Perhaps family.”
Bess’ eyes fell shut. Then, with a shudder, she pulled her hands to her face in sorrow. “My mother.”
Of course, Connie thought bitterly. Bea was all but banished from her soul-sister’s life, and yet mere thoughts of her left behind clouds as toxic as secondhand smoke in their wake. As stubborn as a roach, but with a nastier mouth.
“After Helena was born, the things she and other women said to me … oh, Con, I know I shouldn’t care,” she whispered. “I know it’s childish, but she’s my mom! Of course I cared! I still do.”
“I know, sweetie. You didn’t deserve anything about how you were treated back then.”
Bess curled up on the couch, suddenly feeling small and scared again. Just like she’d felt as a teenager. Only this time, the baby she cradled in her arms wasn’t in her womb. She was alive and hers.
Hers in a way Helena was never allowed to me.
“I hate that I’m like this,” she said, heaving the words forth as if she was purging them from her body. “I tried so, so hard to be better than her. To rise above what she put me through and how she made me feel. Now look at me! I’m so terrified of losing Georgia that I’m pushing away my own son. My own precious baby boy. A-And I pushed away Wolf! My husband! I could wring my neck with how stupid I feel!”
“You’re not stupid,” Connie said soothingly.
“No? Then what the fuck is wrong with me?”
Connie plucked a tissue from a nearby box and gently lofted it to Bess’ eyes. Georgia, still mesmerized by her mama’s curls, kept swatting at them and giggling in joy.
“You’re not stupid, and you have not pushed Wolf away,” she told her, dabbing gently at Bess’ scrubbed cheek. “He loves you. He may be confused and sad, much like you are right now … but if you think that’s enough to make a man like Wolf quit on the woman he loves, you’ve got a wake-up call coming.”
“I-It can’t be worth it. He can't be truly happy."
"Why would you say that?"
"It's nothing he said," she said. "It's all this stupid baggage about my past. He’s got to realize eventually that it’s not worth it. What if today was that day?”
“… You really think your husband of all people wouldn’t empathize and sympathize with having emotional baggage about his past?”
Bess chortled reluctantly. “Alright, point taken.”
“Have you two discussed anything about this? That feeling of a switch flipping in you?”
“N-No,” she admitted, shame touching the word. “I don’t think I knew how to describe it. Or that it was a real feeling at all. I thought maybe it was just hormones or something that would fade away. I should have known better.”
“You were thinking very logically and drawing from your past experience,” Connie said. “Nobody likes sending up a flare before they’re certain they need it, after all."
Another nod, and Constance noted this time that the other woman’s tears had dried.
“I just didn’t want to lose her,” Bess admitted. “I love Cordell too, of course! I-I would give anything for both of them. I-I’d give my heart. I’d rip it out myself.”
“I know you would.”
“But having another daughter? I feel crazy. Like everything and everyone must be conspiring to take her away.”
“Like Helena.”
“Right! So I thought I was doing what I had to do. I thought … I was being a good Mama.”
As a fresh sob rose in her throat, Connie scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Bess tightly. She gave her a tight squeeze, encouraging her to lay her head fully on her shoulder for support. To just lean in, relax, and let someone else support her.
As she felt her muscles relax and her weight shift onto her, Connie used her hand to brush some askew curls from her friend’s face.
The act earned another peal of laughter from Georgia. Both women looked down at the bundle, still cozy in Bess’ arms, and they smiled in tandem.
“I don’t know,” Connie teased, “You seem like a pretty good Mama to me. One who, even when feeling her lowest, makes sure her baby girl is clean, dry, and in her own special playpen for safety. One who raced to check on her despite how close we are. One who also tried to convince me that everything was fine and assumed when I showed up that somehow you had done something wrong and missed a playdate.”
“W-Well, I haven’t really been myself lately,” she confessed, “As you said.”
“We all go through our seasons,” she said. “All roses wilt and have thorns, but nobody remembers them for that. They are known for how glorious they are in full bloom. The faults are trivial compared to the joy they bring during their life.”
Bess looked to her in confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“It means that we all make mistakes, but the people who love us understand that these moments don't define us,” Constance said. “Flowers are adored despite the fact that they wilt. People adore each other despite knowing nobody is perfect. Not us, our friends, our spouses, our children … our family."
"Ha. If you want to try to tell my mother she's not perfect, I'd love ringside seats to see that conversation."
"Tempting, but I'm biased toward her kind, generous, loving daughter much more than her," she said. "Plus, I hear her daughter also has three beautiful children, including two daughters of her own. So it seems Bea is the odd one out, isn't she?"
After drawing a breath deep enough that it straightened the notches in her spine, Bess sat up and wiped her eyes one last time. After a beat of silence, she pivoted to Connie and extended Georgia to her.
“C-Can you hold Georgia, please?” Bess asked. “Just for a few minutes? I want to grab her a change of clothes and freshen up a bit myself.”
Constance nodded, accepting the giggly girl in a safe and supportive grip. “Of course. What’s the occasion?”
“I think it’s time we got some fresh air,” Bess said. Then, softly, she turned to her friend and asked, “Do you mind tagging along? You don’t have to stay the full time, but … maybe just for the start?”
As if she would miss her best friend’s grand entrance on any occasion.
“Mind? Darling, I wouldn’t miss it.”
With each swing, Cordell’s feet flew from beneath him with a triumphant laugh.
Waving his pudgy arms in delight, he cried, “Hiweer, hiweer!”
Wolf laughed, equal parts skeptical and amazed at his son’s fortitude. Playing on swing sets had always made him motion sick, even as a child, so he couldn’t help but observe Cordell’s enthusiasm with a great deal of pride. He must have inherited his mother’s sterling constitution.
“Well, look at you,” he applauded. “Good show, my boy! Fancy yourself a stuntman already, do we?”
He wasn’t sure his heart could take that, but swings? He could manage that.
“Higher, you say? Very well, but hang on tight, okay?”
“Yaaay!”
A few gentle nudges into the new rhythm, Cordell stopped cheering suddenly.
He stared ahead, his demeanor almost uncannily still. Wolf was worried for a moment that a delayed wave of motion sickness was hitting his son. Before he could race to him, the boy began to bounce excitedly in his safety seat and squeal. Two words described his tone: pure exuberance.
“Papa, ith Mama! Mama!”
The man thought for a moment that his son must have seen a lookalike on the street and misidentified her from afar. Yet, as he followed his boy’s gaze, his doubt was rendered null and void.
There, coming down the street, was none other than his wife.
The moment her name fell from his lips as a careful whisper, he also noticed that she was pushing a stroller. A very familiar stroller in a custom amethyst shade and wheels that made a telltale clicking noise from afar. He still remembered the day they’d placed the order for it together, holdings hands tightly the entire time.
Ebenezar watched semi-frozen as Bess tentatively slinked past the playground’s iron gate and through the entrance. Spying him instantly, she slowly advanced down the path, only stopping when they were a mere step's breadth apart.
“H-Hi,” she said, her voice soft and still slightly scratchy from prior tears. He noted a telltale redness lingering in her eyes, and his heart ached knowing that she’d been crying. “I hope we didn't, um, interrupt. Is it too late for two more to join?”
Behind her, he heard the gate creak again. Constance entered, carrying a small cooler bag over her shoulder. She stole toward the couple and gently placed it on the back hook of the stroller before backing away again to given the couple much needed space.
She gave Wolf, who was still stunned, a nod. Then, as quickly as she appeared, she slinked back and watched them as silently as a rabbit in tall grass.
“Never,” Ebenezar practically sighed, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding. Then, his gaze flicked to the stroller. “T-Two, you say?”
Bess nodded and unzipped the mesh sunshield to reveal their sweet daughter, who had fallen asleep on the short walk to the park. However, upon awakening to the heat of the setting sun and seeing her papa’s familiar face just beyond the threshold, her eyes snapped open.
Like Cordell, she wiggled in excitement and reached for him, worming her fingers in the afternoon air in an attempt to grasp him.
A sob of adoration left him. He swooped down to meet her, then paused short of touching her. His hands froze mid-air, and his jaw tensed suddenly. When he looked to Bess, she felt her heart lurch at the sight of his questioning stare.
He was nervous. Nervous to reach for his own daughter.
She could have spoken her agreement, but she knew actions spoke louder than words. It was something she and her husband agreed upon heartily, in fact.
The woman reached down into the stroller herself and unfasten Georgia’s seatbelt. After lifting her up and into her arms, she walked around the side and to Wolf. “She’s been cooped up with me for too long, poor thing. Would you like to take her for a while?”
The man couldn’t open his arms quick enough. Once Georgia was tucked safely in his grasp, his shoulders shook briefly from barely withheld joy before he reached for Bess. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tugged her toward him and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, mashing his nose in the process. This caused Bess to laugh before he impishly leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.
Upon pulling away, they both idled in each other’s arms before Cordell’s excited cries broke the trance. The boy was still fastened into his safety seat, but by Jove, that did not stop the little tyke from pumping his little legs back and forth in an attempt to sway toward his parents with increasing urgency.
“Hehe, mama! Mama!”
Bess laughed and reached out to grasp one of the chain supports.
“How about you take her, and I’ll stay with our aspiring daredevil here?”
He smiled at her observation. “We’d both very much like that, I venture to say.”
Before he released her, he tugged her back gently and urged her close. Bess didn’t need to hear the question to know what he wanted to say.
“I’m so sorry,” she started. “I’ve been horrible to you. My own family. Our friends.”
“Shhh, none of that,” he soothed. “I’m sorry too, Brightness. Truly. There are many, many things I should have done differently … not to mention ways I should have acted differently. But, I would still …”
“We should talk about it,” Bess agreed. “I-Is that okay?”
“I love you too much to not talk about it,” he whispered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “Later, then?”
She hummed, not liking the word. “Tonight. After bedtime. Maybe over wine.”
“How romantic, Mrs. Scrooge.”
As the promise was sealed with another kiss, Constance decided it was time to make her exit.
All's well that ends well, she thought.
She pushed on the gate to exit only for the couple to notice her departure.
“Constance!” Bess called. Thank you. “Oh, shoot! It’s later than I thought. It’s nearly sunset. Are you alright getting home?”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” the redhead called back, giving a queenly wave all the while. “It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be able to make it back before dinner.”
It was a tradition she never missed.
“Don’t worry about me! You kids have fun, alright?”
As the couple exchanged tender smiles, their giggling babes huddled close around them, Constance noted how picturesque the family looked.
In fact, they were the very picture of true happiness.
I am truly sorry for how long this took lol, but I hope I did the idea justice! It's always a joy to write the soul-sisters being the perfect bonded pair.
So, we know the white wedding gown is to signify "the purity of the bride" (even though it's literally just because Queen Victoria started it and, my own personal take, everyone looks good in white). That in mind, is there any universe where Connie goes to marry Adonis and sort of... hesitates to wear a white dress? Like, maybe in the college AU where there's a little less time to process what Orin does to her, and she also has the idea of him "ruining her" for Adonis going through her head?
Oh, this is an amazing question! Not dumb at all! tbh, I had SUCH fun with this!
Funnily enough, I have never written their wedding in any universe. Connie had her canonical modern wedding dress and Adonis had outfits for classic and modern, and you provided amazing hcs for the maids of honor and best men. So I had to think on this a bit, but my gut reaction? She probably feels it in all universes a little bit (how could she not?) just in varying degrees based on factors.
Like you mentioned for the college AU, I do think that universe is where her doubt is most intense.
🤍College AU with Ezzie:
So happy to be engaged. Over the moon, kissing Ezzie silly, giggly and filled with excitement. “Oh, let’s start planning! Can we? Even if we don’t make decisions, I’m just too excited to wait!”
Then … she goes dress-shopping. And it’s awful.
Suddenly, doubt consumes her. All her excitement is just dimmed. Suddenly, she's putting off cake tastings, hesitant about the guest list, and avoiding Ezzie's questions. ("W-What happened? A-Are you upset? H-How can I help?")
And then, what happens? Connie (like she does post-Starry) retreats inward. Shuts down and focuses on other things. Ezzie tries to be there for her, but for obvious reasons, she's squeamish.
Ezzie goes to see his father and, over drinks, he just breaks. "That bloody bastard ... he's behind bars and still hurting her. F-Father, I feel helpless. S-She won't talk to me. I-I love her, but ... gods, if I lose her?"
Enter a perhaps odd choice to help her: Papa Ebenezer. He knows a little something about putting something off out of fear.
“I cannot pretend to know how you must feel, but I do know what it is like to postpone something out of insecurity at the expense of your own happiness. And I beg you … do not do it.”
“But I do want it. I want to marry Ezekiel. I love him. With all my heart. I promise!”
"I know, little one. I know you do, which is why your sudden chance in attitude has made Zeke worried. All of us, actually. Could you ... please talk to me?"
The fatherly approach works, and she breaks.
“It’s not him. It’s … the dress. And it’s stupid. Everything that happened is still out there. I-I still hear people whisper. The tabloids bring it up when Ezekiel and I are seen together. When he picks me up, or we go somewhere for a date. Everyone knows what happened. Then, when Mama and I went dress shopping for the first time, they carried on and on about ‘purity’ and ‘innocence’ between shades of ‘eggshell’ and ‘pigeon’ and … oh, I nearly vomited. I felt so sick and disgusted.”
“Oh, sweet girl. I’m heartily sorry.”
“Mama got me out of there. When Ezzie heard, he actually drove there a-and scolded them. I figured perhaps I was just being sensitive, but they knew. Of course they did. Like I said, everyone does. And Orin was right. He said he wanted to ruin me for everyone else. And now look. I-I can’t even pick out a wedding dress without getting nauseous!”
“Shhh, come here. It’s okay, little one. … Did Zeke give them a piece of his mind?”
“Apparently he made them cry. Mama hugged him.”
“Ha! Well, ahem. Normally, making ladies cry is unacceptable, but these are extraneous conditions.”
“I love Ezzie so much, and yet here I am, worrying him and turning our engagement into a spectacle!"
"You are not making anything a spectacle, but I am sure he's worried for you."
"I don't want to lose him."
"He was just telling me how much he feared losing you."
"Really?"
“You won’t, dear. He loves you. However, you do owe it to yourself and Zeke to be honest and tell him. Has he ever been less than understanding?”
“I couldn’t ask for a more understanding man.”
“Good. I’m pleased he’s been the gentleman you deserve.”
“…Is that who I deserve? Even after everything?”
“Yes. You deserve a gentleman, orange blossoms, something blue, a veil, and a white dress. All things fit for a lovely lady."
It's after this that Connie goes dress shopping again, this time with a FULL fleet, haha. Bess, the girls, Magda, TeTe. Ebenezer and Isabel are also there for support/back-up against anyone who dares say a word. If Bess is there, Ephraim is also definitely invited (and accepts). ;)
Ezzie is also there. I imagine Connie asks him to come. She knows they want the 'first look' at the actual ceremony to be a surprise, but thinks that having him there for her reception dress fitting will be helpful. He bashfully agrees.
When she steps out and reveals her reception dress, she gets to see Ezzie's reaction to her in white (a color she never wears).
It's impossible for her to not feel confident after that. The way he inhales shakily, eyes lighting up, and even walks around her for a full 360? It's clear the color does not put him off. Quite the opposite.
"You look like a princess," he says dreamily without a single stutter. "W-Wow. So, um ... t-this is for the reception? So there are two dresses? ... Is there a third? Do you maybe want to try on, um, more?"
I just imagine Bess saying cheekily: "Well, Con, even if you decide to go with another reception dress, I think you're taking this one home anyway."
And she's giggling and giddy all over again.
After all others leave, she asks Bess and the girls to help her choose a Honeymoon Dress and lingerie for all the occasions.
Her wedding dress? This one. It's VERY similar to her Modern one, just a little more youthful/princess-y to match her younger age.
💐Classic with Ezzie:
In this universe, being 38-40 when they meet/court, she has the silver-lining of more time having passed since her wedding night assault (and also her memories being wiped thanks to the drugs/alcohol.)
That being said ... she still jumped a ship to escape 20+ years of on and off abuse. So the shock is dulled, but the trauma is there.
This is still Victorian London, and they're already a couple the draws ayes. Between his 'Scrooge' name and prosthetic and her being a divorced redheaded Yankee, there are those foolish few who view them like a sideshow act.
I think her hesitation here would be less about the color and more about the guilt of wearing the color again. As if it's a slap in the face to Ezekiel.
Late one night in Scrooge manor, I see Bess making rounds and catching her still awake, just staring into the fire. "... Waiting for more ashes?"
There, Constance opens up. She's more composed here, being older and having more time to process the horrors she experienced.
"I wore white with Orin. Now I'm 20 years older. I'm not a maiden, in age or purity."
"Well, neither was I."
"You were still a young woman, Bess. You still are."
"And you're not even 40 yet, so don't start that with me. As if you wouldn't look beautiful, Connie. Anyone who sees you in a wedding dress and notices the color first needs their head examined."
And she laughs.
"...I'd like to wear white for Ezekiel. Is that distasteful? Do you think he'd be insulted?"
"Depends. Did he say something to prompt this?"
"No."
"Then no, I don't think he would be."
"Is it that simple?"
"Connie."
"I love him, Bess. Very seriously. He is not Orin, and I'd sooner perish than give him any inkling that I see any shred of that monster in him."
It makes sense, but still, Bess knows her well enough to know that Connie manages stress (actual immediate danger) FAR BETTER than anxiety (anticipated danger that hasn't happened). Anxiety is too illogical and unknown for her. AKA, she lives in her own head more than she should. So, Bess proposes something:
"Has he ever seen you in white?"
"No. I don't wear it often. I'm too, um, clumsy for it. ... I see you laughing."
"Ha, well ... I have a white dress you can borrow. One of Josie's creations. Just trust me and wear it tomorrow when you see him."
"Whatever for?"
"You'll see."
The next day, Connie dons the dress with her usual work apron for chores around the manor. When Ezekiel calls on her that day, he predictably is stunned. He's immediately dreamy-eyed and swooning.
"I-Is this new? I know I have not see you wear it b-before."
"Bess was sweet enough to lend it to me ... what's wrong?"
"E-Elizabeth did? W-Well, that explains why it's so lovely. She has remarkable taste. I-It suits you, I mean."
"...It suits me? The dress? Or, um, the color?"
"Well, both ... but the color especially. You look gorgeous in blue, of course. Y-You wore it on the swan boats in Hyde Park, and I still have dreams about ... a-ahem! That. But white ... it makes you g-glow. Like an angel. Like a bride."
"...I was thinking of wearing a white wedding dress, I confess."
"...I see." He steps back and sighs again, blushing. "....Well, um, the choice is yours, of course. but if you harbored doubts about the color, um ... forgive me, I don't know a kind way to say 'sod them.'"
And she bursts out laughing and smooches him hard enough to send his cane rattling to the floor.
Bess gets a very large vase of flowers delivered to her and Ebenezer's chamber the next day, naturally. Signed with a big heart and a: 'thank you!'
💍Classic with Adonis:
As we are very aware, memories of the wedding are ... not good.
As we've discussed, Orin definitely steered her toward her wedding dress. Frills, lace, ruffles, etc. Big, glamorous, etc. It's more than a dress. It's a statement.
Guess what Connie doesn't naturally choose for her outfits? Frills, lace, ruffles.
And, of course, the dress is white.
"It must be," Orin insists. "I want the world to know I'm marrying the most angelic nymph in all of New York."
It was to help his little posse of friends get their rocks off.
Constance doesn't like white. Or ... she thinks she doesn't. She's too clumsy, of course, but also, it makes her tan and hair stand out. Victorian women are pale and dark- or fair-headed, as Orin reminded her often.
She has similar hang-ups to the Classicverse with Ezzie, but without Bess (yet) to ground her, TeTe and Magda fill that role of assuring her when doubt rears its head.
And funnily enough? This is also the universe where the Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and actually replays Orin & Connie's wedding. This clear up a lot, for both of them.
When he awakens one night standing in an unfamiliar church with Connie at his side, he's very confused. Until the strange, annoying candle lady thing pops up cheerfully, still wearing Lottie Milligan's likeness.
“Before you ask, no, you’re not being visited because of anything you’ve done wrong. Fear not! You are not in any danger of any nightmarish vision, painful memories or an eternity of potential damnation. Today, you will merely watch, and reflect, on the past."
“Certainly not my past."
“No, not yours, but the past of someone you hold dear."
Cut to Constance, disoriented and absolutely terrified for many reasons. They're in Grace Church, where Orin and Connie married (his church, of course.)
A man and woman in white. One with inky hair and a diamond-cut face, and another with strawberry-blonde curls and a flush too merry to be dulled by even the cold, ice-white shade of her gown.
Constance, age twenty. Orin, age twenty-two. Gods, they look so young.
"You never got to experience a wedding in your past, did you, Mr. Scrooge-If-You-Please? Blew that opportunity right out of the water. Well, if all goes well, you will finally experience one in your future."
“This summer. August ninth.”
“So, we both agree that it’s better if travesties from both your pasts don’t repeat themselves.”
It's obvious how mismatched her and Orin are in the memory. She watches, feeling pain and humiliation, but ... she does watch it. Relives the worst day of her life with more grace than many would.
As the couple shares a first kiss, Ebenezer can only comfort her. After all, he'd been practically inconsolable after he’d lost Isabel. He couldn’t imagine living with someone, loving someone for nearly 20 years, all for it to mean nothing.
“You know…for as horrible of a man as he ended up being, he did still give me a wonderful wedding day. For one day, our marriage felt beautifully real ... Ebenezer? Do you know what I really want for our wedding?"
"Name it. I'll give you anything."
“I don’t want much. I don't need flowers, a church, or even a dress or ring. I had all that, and it was lovely, but…I want the wedding you want.”
“The one I want?”
" I had a wedding. Everything I shared with Orin is in the past. I don’t want it back, and never will. I want to create brand new memories with you."
“...I don't want much either."
“You must want something.”
“No, just someone. You. I need no flowers, no suit. We can marry under a bridge for all I care. Prudence can officiate. I want you. I want you in a dress you get to choose. I want my ring on your finger, and I want us declared man and wife, and I want your name on every official document that crosses my desk.
“I want your photo on my desk. I want your portrait hanging in my hall. I want your nightclothes in my wardrobe. Your perfume in my washroom. Your body next to mine, every night and every morning. Even children. If it's safe, and if you’ll have them. If you’ll have me.
“That’s what l I want, Constance. The wedding is one day. I want you forever.”
When the day does come, it's grand. Beautiful. Ceremonial.
Constance wears a simple dress of ivory, her hair tied with a ribbon. The dress isn't the frilled, ice-white, shiny, vanilla cupcake topper from before. It's warm. It's sleek. It's her. (Absolutely worn with a jacket and veil, haha)
Again, Eb's first look is on the wedding day. He truly let her choose completely.
And upon seeing her, he breaks down into happy tears. Because she still looks like herself. His Constance; his bride. His wife.
🦋Modern with Adonis:
Connie's modern gown is probably the most defined in my mind, lol. It's a blend of her newly discovered sensual and feminine tastes. Hair loose, heels delicate, etc. Definitely different from the primped and bustling gown she wore with Orin.
Orin steered her on the dress? Adonis does not. In all the universes, Adonis/Ezzie doesn't want to see the gown until the wedding day.
TeTe remembers the first gown. There is NO question in TeTe's mind when she sees the gown for her second wedding that her daughter definitely chose it. ("That's my baby's taste, right there. I remember her always looking and dresses just like this in bridal catalogs, even when she was a teen. She chose this.")
As for the color, I think this is the universe where Connie is the least impacted about it because ... the dress is SO different from the one she chose with Orin, and people are just more open-minded in the 2020s.
Don't get me wrong. It bothers her. The abuse still haunts her, of course, and she still has flashbacks and panic attacks. And especially since her divorce is all over the news before the wedding.
It bothers her, but it's more personal. It's an emotional hurdle rather than a big conflict.
Talking with Bess while dress -shopping, she even says, "...It does feel silly."
"What does? This dress? I'll admit, I'm not loving the bustle."
"Not just that, though I must agree. No, just ... all of this. I'm almost 40, and I'm trying on white dresses for my second wedding. After all the details of my case have been televised and read in court. The media is going to have fun with this one."
Bess just nods. She can't argue with that. Thankfully, both these ladies have become battle-hardened to the media, and have learned that it's pointless to give energy to the tabloids. Unless something is slander and libel, it's not worth fighting back. And sadly, everything that happened to Connie is not public knowledge. Well, mostly.
"The UK's tabloids are infamous for reasons. They'll snark, as they do," Bess says, "But that's where my agreement ends. I don't think it's silly that you're a grown woman trying on white dresses."
"I don't think it's possible for you to look pitiful, Con, especially in a gown. ... Okay, this one is a bad example."
And they laugh and laugh.
"What about if I added a pink lipstick and veil? Would I look like I'm going through a mid-life crisis?"
"Your definition of mid-life crisis is concerningly mild, Con."
"You know what I mean, darling."
"I think you're going to choose a dress you love and wear make-up that makes you feel your most beautiful ... and then Adonis will see you, and will explode like a party popper."
"Oh, dear. Well, he is overdue for that. It's been two months since last time, when we went to the weather vane museum."
"This time, it'll be heart-shaped confetti."
"Really? I should buy him little heart boxers to match!" She teases, but then swoons. "Ohhh, Bess. I love him dearly. So much it makes me ache. This is my second wedding, but his first...and hopefully only."
"It will be his only. and don't you worry. You being there is what will make it perfect, not the shade of white the gown is. He's not Orin."
"Blessedly."
Again, she's insecure about it, but not to the point where it's a crisis.
And honestly? The day she wears this, the photogs immediately forget the case details and just gush about her dress/fashion choice.
🔥DnDverse:
This is the only universe where I see Connie not choosing a white dress because it's just so far-removed from reality and our standards.
Orin is dead in this universe, and he used glamour magic to change Connie's appearance so completely that (oddly) I don't see her having any attachment to the person he changed her into.
I think she would be excited. She gets to choose, and look like herself! No ruffles, no fake brunette hair, no hiding her freckles.
Besides, thanks to her identity as a fire mage/"Lamplighter" as she's called here, She probably leans into that and chooses something more golden and red/orange/pink.
It kind of calls back to her overall motif of leaning into warmer tones, but just taken up a notch here, haha. It's just a little more literal.
So here, I think she honestly has a ton of fun with ALL the dress possibilities!
It's definitely custom made from the ground-up.
Depending on when her Eb has the option of doing back to his timeline, the wedding might also be a celebration of him deciding to stay and commit to a life with her in the new dimension.
I could totally see her choosing something like this! Something romantic, but passionate! Or something softer like this for colder weather.
Or even this.
Regardless of the choice, Eb's Victorian sensibilities would be ROCKED. He's seen a lot so far, but this? He's delighted, stunned, and amazed.
"O-Oh ... my word. You ... you NEVER cease to leave me speechless. Ye gods, you look ... oh, look at you."
"You're pleased, I hope."
"Pleased is one of the many positive emotions I'm feeling now, yes."
I’m not including the ReVerse because the romance parallels the modern one pretty closely, obviously with more friction at the start considering the Twins’ initial involvement with Umbrella, but it follows the same beats afterward. Her dress would be the dress from the Modern Adonis timeline.
So, um...that's my answer. ^^;
I had WAY too much fun with this, haha. Not to mention finding all the sources. Thank you so much for asking!
So, there should probably also be a college roommate au, right?
Um, YES. Absolutely.
I mean, the whole stereotype about college roommates sharing an apartment/dorm and having totally opposite aesthetics is practically made for these ladies. One side pink with velvet curtains and framed oil paintings, and the other side with black lace, grunge accents, and music equipment.
Especially if they're both going to college in London. Both fish out of water.
Thanks to FeFe and TeTe's stations, I imagine the girls both end up in similar social circles pretty quickly, especially with them both being Yanks (though Connie is a bit older). Neither of them probably has to have a roommate, but but both like the idea. Connie definitely does. The girl would probably go crazy if she lived along, haha. A friend, roommate or SOMEONE to live with is essential. And her long-distance boyfriend isn't an option either, so she's wide open in looking for much better company.
It would be so, so poetic if their building was still 1843. Maybe it's still a cottage, or maybe it's a townhome?
I like to imagine that somehow, some way, all four girls still find their way back to each other. ;;
What about the others? Does Bess still sing? What about her siblings, or Helena? What is she going to school for? I imagine Addie might be on the school paper, but what about Gal? Perhaps the rowing/boating club?
(Also, even in a college AU, Connie would still 100% be a cheerleader, and would definitely still have a drug abuse problem ... but with having the girls in her life sooner, I don't think it's nearly as dire as it was before.)
Also, of course ... now we need to discuss their majors. Connie is business and economics, with a dual-minor in French and cybersecurity.
And thanks to the Sims, she also apparently makes for a pretty impressive hacker that steals from jerks and donates the money to charitable causes, which fits pretty perfectly, ngl.
Orin would be a Yale boy overseas, for sure. Still in the golf club (the joke writes itself) and still having Connie do his homework as often as possible. He's Warner, but WAY worse.
While she's evaluating Adonis and his relationship with Connie, TeTe taking out each of the girls one at a time, one-on-one with her so she can see what each has to say about the topic. She quietly compares notes between each conversation with the girls to see if anything doesn't add up like it should. But things ultimately do.
Okay, I know I need to respond to so many asks and usually try to do so in order, but I saw the notification for this one and couldn’t resist jumping in.
TeTe would ABSOLUTELY play detective in investigating Adonis. It’s just like her to call each lady in for interview-style conversations, especially as she gets to know them and trust them more and more. They are her daughter’s roommates, after all.
More than that, they are the women who have helped make her daughter feel SAFE again, and helped her find shelter in a new city. Plus, she’s pretty sure Bess is her soul-sister from another mister, and TeTe knows how rarely connections like that come along.
Their feedback is not only prized, but it is trusted.
Their testimonials would soothe her soul more than any business endorsement or gestures from him.
Why? Because Orin didn’t have those testimonials. None. Not even from his own family.
I am curious what each lady’s thoughts are, I’ll admit. 😂 I feel like they’d have very … sisterly things to say about him.
Tete asks about his flaws, and she’ll hear mostly about how he hates spiders and is a clean freak at times.
The most real one would be Bess, in my mind, as she knows his true biggest flaw.
“He’s a good man, but he’s unsure. Insecure. He nearly ghosted her out of a relationship because he was too nervous to make a commitment. He gets hung up on the past. You know how, when confronted, most people have a fight or flight response? Well, he freezes.”
And would TeTe see that as a con? Honestly, probably not (at least not a terrible one), especially when comparing him to Orin.
But the speed of their relationship combined with that flightless might give her slight pause. Him being her superior at work would also set off a warning bell, ngl.
“I’ve heard that he’s her supervisor at work. Is that true? … Ah. That’s not reassuring. He’s not using that superiority as leverage for her to maintain her employment, is he?”
It doesn’t look amazing on paper, but the girls can dispel her worries pretty quick. Most of them. 😅
“He’s not her direct supervisor. He made sure of that, to his credit.”
Again, she trusts their judgement and opinions, after all. Even after all that, she’d stay wary of him. Just to make sure he knows he’s being watched very carefully.
When TeTe finds out that Adonis sent flowers to Arthur’s grave on the anniversary of his passing and didn’t brag about it to TeTe, that’s when things start to shift.
She realizes, stars be praised, that he really might be different.
I'm hearing you, and I'm INTRIGUED. Music is so tied into this world and all the universes with the Scroogeverse (especially the classic & modern timelines).
And for this to be separate from the Dickensian High AU is also extremely intriguing. That opens the door to a variety of meet-cute opportunities for all the friends and couples as well!
So, yes, I'm INTRIGUED. because, how many bands? One? Multiple? Are there rivalries between the Yanks and the Brits? Are we talking potential rivals-to-lovers? The options are endless.
Also, the variety of different backgrounds at play means they all might be coming from different schools, which would be such a fun dynamic to play with for a band.
And also ... imagine the duet potentials. And battle-ballad potential.
Also, I can so imagine Bess having a style like Scene Queen (with annapantsu vocals, of course): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpEW8J3Lfio&list=RDfpEW8J3Lfio&start_radio=1
(Every time this comes on, it gives me SUCH Bess vibes. Same with this one: http://youtube.com/watch?v=M08t_KJsPg4&list=RDM08t_KJsPg4&start_radio=1)
I don't know if bubblegum pop/trance belongs in a garage band, but I feel like that would be Connie's speed, haha.
Now...what else can we flesh out. We need to chat about Addie and Gal, of course!
So, I feel like the press struggles for forever how to tell the Twins apart. It boils down to, "Grump in the office? Probably Ebenezer. Grump stalking the streets? Probably Ben."
Then the changes happen, and the girls come, and physical differences become more obvious between the two. The press starts to rely on the hair to tell the Twins apart.
But then, one, something happens at the Wolves'. Either gum or a mechanical toy gets caught in his hair or something bad happens, but Wolf has to have his hair lopped off. Of course, he still slicks it back and has the little curly-q instead of the Scwoop, but like the press takes the time to notice that. So the next time the Wolves are caught being romantic in public, the tabloids are subsequently filled with pictures of them smooching, accompanied with accusations of scandal and cheating because obviously that's Ebenezer with Bess--he's got short hair!
Cue the Scrooges all standing side by side together at the next photo-op, to showcase the stupidity of the press. Of course the couples are as lovey-dovey as ever.😅
This is so funny, because we've kind of noodled the idea around a bit, but i do think it would be very hard to be around a pair of identical Twins at first. Ngl, I would definitely be relying on visual cues at first, too.
So by the time something happened to Wolf's locks later in the relationship, the girls can tell of course ... but the press? Yeah, you're right, that's not happening. They don't notice. Even with the subtle body chances and the curly-q instead of the swoop (and the fact that he rides a motorbike sometimes, and has a different clothing/suit preference) ... the tabloids don't care. And even the photogs that notice don't care, because the photos will still make a killing for them.
So Bess and Wolf's next smooch? BAM! Scandal. Front-page, right in the corner in full-color: "FROM STOCKS TO SHOCKS: Scrooge Twins Caught Trading Broads Instead Of Bills"
The ladies?
Bess: I'm sorry, BROADS?
Connie: Well, that's a little rude.
The men? HATE the 'broads' comment (nobody disrespects their women like that), and also ... they would be petty. They are going to invoke the classic Scrooge rage and dish out a little public humiliation. AKA, the most memorable kind.
I love the shadiness of them all lined up beside each other, lol. All four of them there, both Twins in shorter hair and flashing those signature glares and scowls at the crowd as they deliver a public chastising statement to the press.
The publications WILL print a clarification. They are not asking, they are being told to do so. Any does anyone refuse? Nope. Nobody in the room has a death wish.
This anger then immediately dissolves when they return to their ladies and each one receives an appreciative embrace/kiss for their efforts. Shutters definitely fly for that moment, and seeing how their faces and postures immediately relax around their lady is very visually telling. Try to accuse them of wandering eyes after that, lol.
I won't speak for the Wolves, but you know how the Sunflares/Bunnies don't love PDA usually? In this case, they will hold that kiss. Maybe add a little extra head tilt. Adonis giving that waist a little extra squeeze. Anything to hit the point home.
The message from the Twins is crystal clear:
"Do NOT accuse me of having wandering eyes."
They know their Wifeys know better than to suspect them of anything (especially with their soul-sister of all people), but if the paparazzi poses even a tiny threat to the relationship security? I get the vibe they would not take that kindly, and might act a little more strictly than anyone anticipates. Perhaps even the ladies themselves. It's not a different side of them, but perhaps a protective/possessive little reminder of their affections.
