Multi-Muses RP; +20 only

Before Frank could react, James lunged. He drove his shoulder into Frank’s ribs with a force that sent them both sprawling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and dirt.

“Fucking coward!” James snarled, his voice low and venomous. He wasn’t done. He grabbed a fistful of Frank’s shirt, hauling up until their faces were only inches apart. “You think I’m just gonna take that? Think again.”

The world around him was muffled. He could hear Ethel’s voice, but the words were drowned out, indistinct. Anger began to twist in him, morphing into full-blown rage. It was taking everything in him to control it, to stop himself from losing control completely. With a surge of adrenaline, he grabbed James by the throat, his fingers tightening, almost at an attempt to stop the next punch. Then slowly, he lifted his hand, poised to throw a punch. The motion felt sluggish, weak, but it was enough. The punch landed with a dull thud, and James shifted to the side.

Frank didn’t give him a moment to recover. He punched again, this time harder, more determined. The impact echoed in his mind, and he felt a brief sense of satisfaction as James buckled under the force.

Breathing heavily, Frank rolled over and got on top of James, pinning him down. He punched once more, a final blow that sent a shock of satisfaction coursing through his body.

Frank's chest heaved as he pulled himself off of James, looking around for Ethel. He caught sight of the gun on the ground near her. His voice was low but firm as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Ethel… give me the gun"

"No!" she shot back, her voice frantic, but the rest of her words were lost in the noise. It pissed him off more than he could explain. Her voice kept going, but Frank couldn’t hear a thing—he just heard the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

"Give me the fucking gun!" The words tore from his throat.

Ethel rushed to the gun, but it seemed to slip further out of her grasp, just out of reach. Then, in a swift motion, she grabbed it, her fingers tightening around the handle. Without hesitation, she glanced toward the direction of her house, her eyes filled with a sudden resolve. She began jogging, her pace quickening as she moved away from him.

With a growl of frustration, he reached out and grabbed her from behind, his arm circling around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. His voice was low, dangerous. "For Fuck sake, Ethel, hand it over!"

She struggled in his grip, her words coming out sharp. "Mr. Connors, stop this at once! I'm calling the police!"

“Feel better now?” James asked, his voice low and edged with quiet disdain. He tilted his head ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of a smirk ghosting across his lips. “You’re not going to scare me off, Frank. You do know that, right?” He raised an eyebrow, meeting Frank’s glare head on. “You can push me around all night if it makes you feel any better, but I’m not leaving until I talk to her. End of story.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught the telltale shuffle of Ethel, the nosey old neighbour, her thin arms flailing slightly as she hurried toward them. James barely spared her a glance. Instead, he turned his focus back to Frank, his voice dropping to a mere murmur, a challenge.

“She’s watching, Frank. You want to keep this up?” His lips curled into a faint, humourless smile. “Go on, then. Give her a show. Or maybe…” He paused, his tone hardening. “Maybe you want to think this through before it gets worse for the both of us.”

"He's right, Mr. Connors" Ethel finally cut through the silence, her voice firm despite the tremor beneath it. "I will call the police..."

Frank exhaled sharply, scoffing at her words. His grip on James' collar loosened, fingers uncurling with deliberate slowness, but his expression barely shifted. As he pulled back, his gaze flickered to the gun lying near him on the ground. He reached for it, gripping it tightly.

And then—swiftly, thoughtlessly, he struck. The gun cracked against James' cheekbone with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through Frank’s arm. The sound was solid, brutal—like punching into concrete. He felt the sharp resistance of bone beneath the barrel.

Ethel gasped, the sharp intake of breath piercing the moment like glass shattering.

But Frank barely heard her. His anger was still burning, still red-hot, still loud. And damn it, damn it all—it felt good. Ethel, however, was already moving, her footsteps quick and unsteady as she rushed toward them. What did she think she could do? Stop them? Break up a fight that had already gone too far?

"Are we discussing flaws though? Because I can pull out my list on you." They smirked as they said it, not entirely putting their heart into the jab at her. As they got closer it was dawning on her that the two of that the two of them had never been in each other's personal space this way. Never was a rare thing in Eve's experience and there was a knot building in the middle of their chest that felt entirely unfamiliar. Like unlocking a door that was never meant to be opened. Unfortunately, that only thrilled her even more.

"Here we are, my humble abode," they told her as they turned the corner and Eve's house was in front of them. It wasn't obnoxiously large but definitely too big for someone who lived alone. Eve had felt the modern approach felt too sterile so had settled on something more cozy, full of a lot more warmth than they gave off. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, "I'm a shoes off household," they told her and slid their shoes off before walking towards the kitchen. "I'll get us drinks, I know i'll need it."

"Of course you'd say that" she muttered under her breath, adjusting the strap of her bag as they walked.

Then Eve’s words rolled over her, but Jennifer smirked. "Oh, please. What kind of flaws could I possibly have?" she replied, her tone light, teasing.

Everything moved so fast after that—one moment, they were outside, and the next, she was stepping through the front door. The warmth hit her first. As she slipped off her heels, the smooth glide of her tights made it almost too easy—bad idea not wearing cushions in these damn shoes. But the floor wasn’t cold, which was surprising. It was warm, inviting. Jennifer glanced around, taking it all in. The living room, the kitchen—the whole space radiated an unexpected warmth too, something soft and almost comfortable. It caught her off guard.

"Wow," she breathed. "It’s… inviting. And warm." She hesitated, blinking as if seeing Eve in a new light.

Then, regaining her usual sharpness, she exhaled with a smirk. "Which is funny, because it’s the exact opposite of you. Who the hell did you hire as your interior designer? They did a hell of a job making you seem like a normal person and not, you know, a complete psychopath."

She leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching as Eve moved to make drinks, still stealing glances at the space around her.

But before he could speak, his attention was drawn to the window above Frank’s shoulder. A small movement. A shift in the curtains. Ethel, the nosey old neighbour, was watching from the window, her beady eyes barely visible through the crack. She wasn’t hiding, wasn’t trying to be discreet. No, she was practically leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity that could only come from a life spent knowing everyone’s business. And now, she had a front row seat to the shit show unfolding.

He reluctantly brought his attention back to Frank. “I’m here because I need to talk to her, Frank.” He said, the words coming out far steadier than he felt. “I didn’t come here to argue or to fight. I just need to talk to her.”

"You don’t need to talk to her" he ground out, his grip tightening. "You’re not going to talk to her. Do you understand?" He shoved him once more for good measure. "If I see you here again, I’ll fucking kill you—and this time, the bullet won’t miss."

As he pressed James harder against the wall, the weight of his gun slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Across the street, Ethel caught sight of the commotion from her window. With a gasp, she rushed out of her home, her feet quick but faltering. She jogged across the road, breath hitching with the effort, one hand clutching at her chest.

"Good Lord" she wheezed, eyes widening as she spotted the gun lying in the dirt. "What is happening here?"

Frank didn’t spare her a glance. His knuckles were white against James’s vest, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He ignored her, his focus locked on the man before him, his threat hanging thick in the air.

it was undeniable that she was visible now in this dress and half-dried curls. should she have gloves and little rouge, perhaps she could pass for a gentle lady. especially if she put on the jewerly she knew was hidden in a drawer in this very room.

opening the door to alexander, she could imagine what it would be like to have suitors asking for her time and maybe her hand. in another life, she could promenade with him down the park and ask him intimate details about his wants in dreams. henrietta felt silly and hot- must have been the drastic change of temperatures.

"good evening," she responded with a smile. it was nice to see him again, even if they were parted only momentarily. though she'd been in this room tons of times, it felt different now. "indeed. i am much warmer, thank you."

he averted his eyes? why? though she could admit the awkwardness of the situation, henrietta briefly wondered if it was her appearance. it was a preposterous thought. she was not one to be insecure in herself but maybe she looked humorous in a dress that was not her own.

his other actions, however, were nothing but kind. "thank you, she would have been worried about me." henrietta inhaled, feeling a bit of relief off of her shoulders. "would you like to come in..?" she asked before she could change her mind. her mouth spoke too quickly before her brain could catch up. "or, i mean, if you are not too drained by tonight's...events."

Still, he nodded. "Why… yes, Miss Olsen" he said, stepping inside with a composed air, entirely unaware that he’d gotten her last name wrong once again. His gaze swept across the suite, one of many within the vast Vanderbilt estate.

The room was spacious, though not ostentatious—grand yet somewhat forgotten. Printed wallpaper in muted florals adorned the walls, giving it a sense of faded elegance. A large four-poster bed with heavy draped curtains dominated the space, its presence both inviting and imposing. The rich hardwood floor beneath his feet gave a satisfying sound with each step of his leather shoes, a subtle reminder of the weight of his presence in such an intimate space. He moved instinctively toward the fireplace, where the soft crackling of flames provided a warmth that felt strangely comforting.

"I had quite forgotten how long it has been since last I stepped into this room." he said absently. "Oddly enough, people always seem to pass this room by, as if it doesn't exist. Even the housekeepers forget to tend to it sometimes. It’s…" He hesitated, before offering a sheepish smile. "It’s the forgotten ghost room, I suppose." As soon as the words left his lips, Alexander inwardly cringed. A forgotten room. Did it sound as though she belonged here, tucked away and overlooked like an afterthought? His eyes flickered back to her, suddenly uncertain, silently hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

candles lit the room up, causing small shadows to flicker as she walked around the room. if it were any other circumstance, perhaps she would sit and admire the well-decorated room and imagine what it was like to live here, sleep here.

but the cold still found a way to sink into her bones. with some help from a flustered maid, henrietta undressed and removed her soaked clothing. she shivered beside the fireplace as a new gown was set out for her. a pretty woolen thing of burnt orange and yellow. at this point, henrietta would have worn a potato sack and been happy. she never expected to be offered a set of new clothes.

she toweled off her body and attempted to wring out her hair, hoping it wasn't as much of a mess as she thought it was. the dress was warm and welcomed against her skin. henrietta caught herself daydreaming and shook herself out of it. as soon as she was dry, henrietta would return the dress and leave.

a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. a tinge of anxiety ran through her, yet her feet led her to the door. with a breath, she opened the door and peered outside, eyes finding none other than alexander. "hello again."

Noticing her.

This—this feeling creeping over him—was dangerous. A distraction he could not afford.

Alexander quickly averted his eyes, his brows knitting together in an effort to collect himself. Was he nervous? Ridiculous. Yet, the subtle friction of his thumb running over his palm betrayed him. He swallowed, steadying himself before looking at her once more.

"I took the liberty of having one of my men deliver word to your sister" he said, his voice measured but softer than intended. "She has been informed that you are well and in safe company. Simple words—nothing to alarm her, only to reassure."

Grateful for the fresh air, Eve purposefully stood close to Jennifer with a devious smile. "So, your place or mine?" They didn't really know what had gotten into them but they knew that after all of these lifetimes of loathing, maybe it was time for more excitement. Something different then endless back and forth. "You know, why don't we start with mine, my cleaning person came by today so it's in the best shape it could be. It's not too far, just a few blocks if you're up for walking." And Eve hoped that she was, the night air always calming to them.

"You know, I liked what you said back there. An old kind of friend," they repeated as they put some space between them once they started walking. "Suppose it's easier than introducing me as a pain in your ass."

“Alright” Jennifer said simply, her thoughts elsewhere.

Eve was talking about how much she loved the word friend, and it caught Jennifer off guard. She wasn’t sure how to define Eve, and maybe she’d overstepped. Still, there was a strange comfort in knowing Eve liked it—or at least said they did. Yet deep down, Jennifer couldn’t shake the feeling that Eve was lying, manipulating, scheming something beneath the surface.

“Oh yeah?” Jennifer replied, her tone light. “I was actually thinking of calling you a bitch, but that wouldn’t reflect well on me, you know.” She studied Eve for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You always look so calm and put together in public. No one has the slightest clue about the chaos you’re hiding inside, do they?” Her voice dropped slightly, edged with something between curiosity and challenge. “Not even you, sometimes. I think that’s your biggest flaw, Eve, you have absolutely no self-awareness.”

Laurie looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time, not sure of what he’s feeling.

It wasn’t aimed at him. He knew that. The bullet had gone wide, burying itself harmlessly in a nearby tree. But it didn’t matter. His heart hammered within his chest, thrumming so violently that he could feel it in his throat.

“What’s wrong with you!?” His voice came out hoarse, cracked. He didn’t step back, didn’t give Frank the satisfaction, but his hands were still half raised, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Frank took a step forward, heavy and deliberate, the crunch of gravel underfoot grounding him for a fleeting second. His breath steamed in the chill, each exhale sharper than the last. Part of him knew he'd crossed a line. The shot had gone to the side, like he intended, sure, but the weight of it lingered in the space between them. James stood there, hands half-raised, eyes wide with a mix of defiance and shock. Frank hated that look—hated what it said about him.

Still, the anger roiled inside, thick and suffocating, like boiling water left too long, spilling over and making a mess he couldn't clean up. He moved another step forward before stopping himself, the distance between them taut like a stretched wire.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Frank's voice cut through the air, low and sharp. His eyes locked onto James, daring him to move, to speak, to justify whatever reason he'd shown up. "I won't ask twice."

Out of the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. The old house—Ethel's—stood still and silent except for the thin slice of curtain drawn back. Ethel's eyes glinted from the shadowed window, peering out cautiously. Of course, she heard the shot. Of course, she was watching. Frank's jaw tightened. Let her watch. Let them all watch. He wasn't the one in the wrong here, so he thought.