Constance and Moira: A History Lesson

What Men Can't Refuse

'There's not going to be any swimming pool, you stupid slut,' Constance's quaking voice hissed out at Moira's stoic expression, as she turned to face the blonde. 'There won't even be a house. He plans to tear the whole thing down. And put up affordable housing.' The words tumbled from her lips, drenched in despair. She took a breath. 'He's gonna seal your tomb for good.'

'I don't believe you,' Moira shunned.

'Well, it's true. He told me so himself. And while I would normally rejoice at the thought of you spending eternity scrubbing out low flow toilets in government subsidised housing, there's every chance, that when these walls come down, I am going to lose my family forever. And I won't have that.' Constance glared her defiance momentarily and then slinked around the kitchen island heading for the door.

'He lied to me,' Moira muttered, hurt spreading across her ghostly eyes.

'Well of course he lied to you.'

'Why do they always lie?' The redhead's lip quivered slightly, holding back her tears.

'It's in their nature; they can't help it,' Constance soothed, taking a step towards the maid, and putting a hand on her shoulder. 'But we can help each other,' she whispered, her eyes glimmering with hope.

'What do you want me to do?'

'What you do best, darling. What you've always done.' Her voice was deep and controlled, but her dark eyes briefly glance down at Moira's lips. She wiped the maid's tears away tenderly. 'You have a great gift, Moira. You're what men can't refuse.' Constance's hand lingered, slowly tracing the outside of her lips with her thumb. The maid looked back at her, both eyes glassy with tears, but only one with any emotion in it.

'Is that what you're calling it now? A gift?' she huffed.

'It is a gift,' Constance exhaled, conviction in her eyes. 'I've spent my life battling against everyone and everything in the hopes of having some control over them. All you have to do is bend over in that trashy little outfit of yours and men are clamouring over themselves trying to serve you.' Moira noticed the distant jealously that coated her words.

'And so I open my legs and let them help themselves. And then they're gone,' she whispered solemnly. Constance let out a sarcastic, throaty laugh.

'Well, that's just men, Moira,' she shrugged, finally taking her hand back and using it to fix her hair.

'No it isn't,' Moira glared up at her, anger replacing her sadness. Constance tried to hide her surprise, her lips pursed together, tightly.

'So we're back here,' Constance drawled, loudly, slapping her arms against her thighs as they dropped, frustratedly.

'You told me you loved me, Constance,' the maid hissed, her words embedded in pain. 'You swore it.'

'I did love you,' the blonde screamed, slamming her fist on the kitchen island. 'I did, but you knew the plan. Jesus Christ, we went over it enough. You knew how it was going to go down, how it needed to go down.' She calmed her voice, briskly wiping a tear from under her eye and collecting herself. Constance looked back at the redhead, whose countenance had retired to placid maid once again. She shrugged off Constance's words and turned to finish washing the dishes. Constance sighed, stepping quietly towards her, resting a hand on the maid's shapely hip, sending a wave of ice through her body. 'I didn't use you, little girl,' she growled into Moira's ear, sending a chill through the ghost. Constance kissed the back of Moira's head, lingering only for a second, with closed eyes and a quiet squeeze of the flesh between her fingers. She felt Moira exhale, silently and then continue with the dishes. Constance dropped her hand, turned, and left the house without another word.