One happy family (Hannah)

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

Life wasn’t made for shit like this.

Now, it wasn’t that Frankie was not one for the dirty. In fact, he fully approved of scum, given the right time, condition, and location. Nasty had its place with neat, just as dingy had its place with dainty; although truth be told, he’d never been much for the dainty. This, however, was unprecedented.

It had taken forever to find her. And by forever, he meant roughly four weeks after he’d seen her riding that shiny red bike, backpack over her shoulder and concentrated look on her face he couldn’t mistake for anyone else, even after five foggy years of absence. He hadn’t said anything. She’d been across the street, after all, and it was only a five second glimpse—she hadn’t been looking his way. How he even managed to recognize her through the crowd was a goddamn miracle and nothing less.

After that, it’d been all about looking. He’d grown frustrated, of course, looking through directory after directory, dialing number after number. Why he cared so much, he had no fucking clue. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Either way, the hunt—search, what have you—had brought him here, in front of this beat-up wooden door in this beat-up, peeling hallway in this beat up, peeling, sagging building in this beat-up, peeling, sagging, lonely neighborhood. And now he was having a staring contest with the door as he held his breath. Not that he was nervous. He knew how it’d turn out, after all. She was going to slam the door. It was inevitable. She’d slam the door and he’d still manage to worm his way inside because he always did, one way or another.

He always got his way.

He’d taken a shower before he came. Gotten a haircut, too, although the scruffy beard remained. The result was moderately grungy. His hair, darker brown than it had been half a decade ago, was messy, mussed and tousled from towel drying and a general lack of interest towards the end result, although it seemed to work in favor of the rest of his attire. What could have been classified just two days ago as a beard had now shrunk to mere two days’ worth of stubble. The purple circles under his eyes, although still present, were minor. His muscles were thinner than they’d been last he saw her, but then, he was still nowhere near scrawny. He’d been worse. And besides, the jacket he was wearing masked any weight loss well enough. Long sleeves were life savers in more than one way, then. Motherfucking miracle workers.

For another second or so, Frankie merely stared. At the door, the peeling address painted there, the wood that was so very unlike their front door back in Chicago. A complete one-eighty. So she’d meant it, then, when she’d said she wasn’t coming back. He didn’t mind. He’d found her, after all this time. That was all that mattered, really. A reunion.

Lifting his fist to the door, Frankie cleared his throat. He knocked, loudly, three times. Then he stepped back. Just a step, just enough to not be breathing on the door when she opened it.

Then, of course, he waited.

[HANNAH VULPINI]

OUTFIT OF NBD, I'M YOUR SISTER.

Hannah Vulpini was not a morning person.

There really wasn't any two ways about it. Especially on her days off, she was the type to relish sleeping in, to say 'Good Morning' at one in the afternoon. Yet, today, she couldn't sleep in. She woke up at eight in the a.m., staring at the clock like it had just committed treason against her country, and rolled around in bed for the next hour and a half, attempting to rekindle the urge to sleep. But it was a no go. There was something in the air, like a tingle hanging over head before a big storm. Damn these animal senses, it was probably an overdue bill coming in the mail or something. Spidey Senses sucked, why the hell didn't Peter Parker become a hermit in the fucking Catskills?

Rolling out of bed, Hannah didn't make any effort in altering her appearance. Even if Joel hadn't of told her he was going to spend the morning job hunting, she wouldn't have bothered. The lack of trousers wouldn't mean anything to hum, because as his sister, she was as anatomically correct as a Barbie Doll. She wore a baggy Mickey Mouse tee shirt that her little frame swam in, the shoulders damn near her elbows, and the hem brushing against her thighs low enough to cover her Cookie Monster cheekies. The monkey beanie on top of her head was a creation she had finished last night and had been wearing to stretch out a bit, before falling asleep. Underneath, her long, dark, hair swished messily down her back, yet to be tamed by a comb. Her make up was smudged and slept in around her tired eyes, and her blue nail polish was chipped and ready for a new coat. The only effort she had decided to make this morning was the fluffy blue slippers on her feet, and that was only because her floors were cold as balls in Antarctica during this time of year.

Settled in the couch with a much needed cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit loops, Hannah flipped through the channels lazily, eyes almost glazed over. She wasn't looking for something to change her life, just something to take her mind off from how balls early this was in the morning. Finally landing on Nickelodeon, she settled with Dora the Explorer.

God, Children's programming was bright. If she ever bred (an idea that made her go lolno), she wouldn't let them watch this stuff. She'd seen kids at the mall freak out over this. Dora was basically a nickname for crack to the little ankle biters. The more she watched, the more she saw why. As she chewed her sugary cereal, her foot bounced to the songs, and her eyes flickered across the colours. And oh shit! Swiper the fox was there just to fuck up their day! "Fuck you Swiper! You don't even want that umbrel- LOOK! You just threw it! Jeez, you're an asshole! Boots, make yourself fucking useful and throw some damn feces..." A knock at the door interrupted her rants. Three knocks, in fact. Hard, and solid. Ominous, like a cop. She'd have paid more attention to the nervous clutch in her gut had she not been so distracted by the antics of a television show made for four year old's. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

Crossing her apartment, Hannah's eyes stayed on the tv as long as she could get away with before looking at the locks on her door. Three were thick dead bolts, because she was a safety girl. She had seen Law and Order, and it's various spin offs. She knew what happened in New York. Unclicking those, she kept her chain on, wondering who was bothering her at this hour in the morning.

It was not the who she was expecting at all.

He blue eyes widened as they met near identical ones through the door. Frankie? HOW THE FUCK DID FRANKIE FIND HER? With a squeak, she slammed the door, much as she had done to Jolly. Unlike Jolly, she didn't reopen it, instead leaning against the door, wondering if she could still pretend not to be home at this point.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

He should have known. Even after so many years, he could have—should have—guessed what it was she’d do. He shouldn’t blame her for it. How could he? It had to be like seeing a ghost. Like being a ghost yourself, so sure you were too far off the map for human eyes, only to find the person you’d been hiding from all along was, in fact, dead too. They’d been able to see you the entire time. Just didn’t want you knowing they knew your secret, was all. Simple.

Spooky.

Now, maybe it wasn’t him specifically that Hannah had been running from when she left home all those years ago, but a small part of Frankie (the not-so-small, largely self-centered part) liked to think of it that way. He was very like his father, after all, and that was who she’d claimed to be so upset with.

It could have been him.
Could still be him.
It was him.

Frankie shifted slightly as the sound of the deadbolts clicking seemed to echo their way through the dark, dilapidated hallway. His face settled into one of impassive curiosity when the door ceased its opening after about three inches—so she was cautious, now, then. Smart sister. Not that she’d have anything to worry about, once she saw it was him. They were family after all, and therefore unexpected visits were warranted, even the childhoods were hardly spent together and the teenager years of the younger had been largely overlooked by the elder (although that wasn’t quite true, were Frankie to sit and think about it for a moment), and even if they’d never gotten along, all the way through. It was allowed, if nothing else.

A small grin spread on the twenty-six year-old’s face as he watched the shock spread over his baby sister’s face. She looked different. And that was to be expected, of course, given the age she’d been when he’d last seen her. He hoped she’d look different from when she was sixteen. Still, it was only a glimpse. Entertaining, though, when she shut the door in his face. Entertaining, and just as equally annoying. She hadn’t even said hello.

Frankie’s cold blue eyes narrowed slightly at the door which had been so rudely, so abruptly shut in his face. She hadn’t even said a word. He cleared his throat before proceeding. One, two, three times, he kicked the door; the motion might not have been hard enough to cause damage, but it was certainly enough to be considered born of annoyance.

He sighed, jaw tensing slightly before the exasperated words left his lips. “Fucking Christ, Hannah, open the damn door.” If one thing hadn’t changed, then, it was his language. Frankie had never been fond of holding his tongue, known to spew out swears when not around his parents as casually as pronouns. “It’s your brother…” he added after a moment’s thought, voice a bit calmer, as though she didn’t already know.

Shifting just a few inches closer to the door, Frankie began to tap his foot impatiently as he glared at it. Now he just had to wait.

[HANNAH VULPINI]

Shit.

Yeah.

He knew she was home....

Shit.

The kicks echoed through her apartment, and his voice echoed outside of it. Shit, this motherfucker was going to get Mona and Holden's attention if he kept that up! Which, honestly, that was the last thing she needed. While she knew Frankie to be a scrapper- he was sent home constantly from school for his temper- she was fairly sure Holden could whomp his tiny ass. She didn't need to be bailing them out of jail because they were hopped up on testosterone and general pissiness. Undoing the chain, Hannah swung the door open and yanked Franklin Vulpini in the house, her impressive brows knitting into a scowl.

"What the fuck, Frankie!?" Exasperatedly, she relatched her locks shut, irritated beyond reason. It hadn't been the best morning ever, and now this. "I swear to God, I'm going unlisted. Joel was one thing, because you know, I like him, but what the fuck? What are you doing here?" Had he been anyone else who she had this feeling about, she'd assume he wanted money. Frankie was the troubled sort, after all. But no. Frankie had Mumsy and Daddy to handle all of that. Oh God, Daddy... "Does he know you're here? Did he send you?"

Hannah didn't mean to play favorites with her brothers, but to be frank (no pun intended) she had a favorite. Honestly, when you have two people who want to play 'The floor is lava' as kids, which are you going to like better? The one that pushes you off the couch, or the one who dives off from the couch so you don't burn up and die? It wasn't just that? She remembered being asked to the eighth grade dance by Scottie Miller, and Frankie throwing an absolute fit! About how "MY baby sister wasn't going to be the biggest slut in Chicago, dammit!" As if by going to a dance, she'd automatically just start blowing every guy she saw. Her Mother had tried to tell her it was just brotherly concern, but Hannah had always gotten the feeling that it was more... malicious.

Plopping on the couch, Hannah gave no concern to her bare legs. Mostly because she wouldn't have thought anything of it with anyone, let alone her big brother. Grabbing her cigarette case, Hannah took out one of her slim cigarettes, lighting it quickly. After a long drag, she finally spoke, voice considerable less agitated as plumes of smoke escaped her lips. "You want a smoke? Or a bowl of cereal? Don't eat it all... it's fruit loops." She offered, attempting to be hospitable. "There's also some coffee on the pot.." Her eyes were still wary, but she had let Joel right in. Obviously she wasn't going to shower Frankie with hugs and kisses like she did him, but she could at least put on a face of friendlies. Until she found out what it was he wanted, anyways.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

OH LOOK, FRANKIE HAS CLOTHES

Now, as much as Frankie generally disliked being forced, dragged, or dumped places, he had to admit, this wasn’t so bad. Surprised as he was when Hannah grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him inside, he was grinning. He’d known she’s come around. Unable to help himself, Frankie’s eyes glanced over the girl—that was all she’d been, really—he hadn’t seen in five years. The movement was quick, performed as she re-latched the lock, though it rendered wondrous results. She’d changed. Obviously. Grown, gained curves he was almost positive lay somewhere beneath that baggy tee—not that he cared—and was currently, at least, without pants to cover her bare, pale legs. Again, not that he cared.

“The fuck what?” he countered instantly, voice leaning more on the smug, triumphant side of things than the abashed. He was just about to tell her more, or at least play more innocent, when she spoke again and instantly, he felt his mouth clamp shut. Joel. Joel had been here. And before him, too. But how long before? Was he still here now? He better not have been. If there was one thing Frankie would not hesitate to do upon seeing his younger brother, it would be punch him square in the face. Not for any particular reason other than “missing” his sickly punching bag of a brother and wanting a good laugh when he bled, but still. The fact that this was Hannah’s house would, in all likelihood, hardly stop him. Frankie wasn’t much for rules. Sort of like he hated sharing.

Still, he didn’t have time to ask anything, as once again, accusations were flying. Indignation immediately spread over his face as he shook his head. “What?! No! Calm down, will you? Who do you think I am, Dad’s bitch?” he stared at her for a moment before continuing, “Haven’t even talked to him in weeks…” so, technically speaking, that wasn’t a lie. What were a few missed calls, really? He hadn’t returned them. And even if he had, it wasn’t like he’d tell Hannah, anyway. God knew she’d probably throw him right back out the door, where he’d spent the past minute and a half trying not to be.

He watched her move to the couch, eyes lingering only a half second longer than any decent older brother’s would. “Yeah, sure. A smoke sounds good…” he responded absently as he looked around the room. It was small, much smaller than where they’d grown up, and even littler than the place he’d had with Jennie—which, all things considered, was still fairly large. After he’d finished shifting his gaze around the room, Frankie moved himself to the couch, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the furniture’s arm as he did so. He sat on the side opposite her, though he slouched and made himself comfortable immediately, as though he’d been here loads of times. Like he’d seen Hannah in the past few years.

Frankie cleared his throat, holding his hand out for her to deposit the cigarette in as he dug around in his own jean pockets for a lighter. He spoke as he produced one and grabbed the little cancer stick, voice largely calm and casual despite the mocking undertone. “So, Rat’s been here, then?” he spoke his brother’s nickname with ease, a small smirk crossing his lips as he did so, almost as though saying it brought back some manner of fond memory of shoving the younger boy in the dirt. In truth, there were many. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he continued as he lit up, words slightly mumbled by the paper rolled between his lips. “No wonder this place is shit….You live here?”

Sliding the lighter back into his pocket, Frankie took a long drag, smoke meeting the air between them as he turned to look at his sister, some mix of curiosity, pity, disbelief mixed onto his face. There was, of course, also the look of someone poking about amongst embers, trying to figure out what way was best for starting a fire.

[HANNAH VULPINI]

God damn, Frankie was such a smug little dicktwat.

The way he grinned at her, as if he had expected a warm greeting at his arrival. The way he just lounged on her couch, giving not even the slightest impression that he was even slightly uncomfortable. Was she mad that he was comfortable? Kinda. Was that petty? Probably. Did she care? Not a single fuck was given on this day.

Still, his indignation was a comfort, eased that her Father wasn't finding ways to check up on her. Long ago, Hannah had loved her Daddy a great deal. She had been the apple of his eye, his little Princess. True, she was never fond of the dinner parties and the fine cloths he'd insist on. But it certainly didn't hurt her to go along with it. But then he changed! Of course, Frank Seniors change was provoked by Hannah's change into maturity. The appearance of curves and breasts was unwelcomed by her father, and if memory served well, her brother as well. "I almost feel bad for him..." She admitted, the butt of the cigarette grazing her lips. "He's lost all of us now..."

Oh, of course he would, of course he would go and insult poor Jolly, who wasn't even here to defend himself! With a sharp and strong movement, Hannah slapped the back of Frankie's head, her face utterly unapologetic. "You shut up about that, Frankie! I swear to God, if you start bringing up that Rat bullshit, I'll more than happily;ly kick your ass right out the door. While you're here, you don't say it. Not even if you're not talking about Jolly!" Her face was stiff with her protective nature over Joel, her striking blue eyes hard on him. "And if my apartment- which I like, thanks- isn't up to your shining standard, you're more than welcome to leave. Got me?"

Bam. The law was not only laid down, but sat up and walking around. Hannah was law in this apartment. In fact, as far as she was concerned, even Joel and Frankie weren't even on even footing. Because she would bet money, hard money and lots of it, that Prince Franklin hadn't bothered himself to get a job.

Looking back at her television, Hannah watched as Dora and Boots did the 'We did it' song, her face far too serious to really being taking in the cartoon. Enjoy it while you can, Dora. Because even if you think you did it, swiper will always come. He will always try and fuck up your day. Always.

With a heavy sigh and a long drag of her cigarette, Hannah crossed her legs stiffly and looked at her big brother. "So, you said you haven't talked to him. Why come here then? I mean, it's not we're close. Did Daddy cut you off? Do you need money or something?" Frankie wasn't her favorite person in the world. But she would help him, if he needed it.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

Frankie shrugged, the cigarette cradled between his fingers as he took a deep breath. “Serves him right.” Now, in truth, Frankie did not hate his father. He disliked him on good days and despised him on the worst, but it had never been for who his dad was in itself. Rather, it had been the fact that he had never been the favorite. Even now, when he was the only one left for his parents to talk to, Frankie couldn’t help but mentally point out all the ways in which his father clearly despised him, though he’d never say it. Frankie was a disappointment. He knew this. He had no intention of fixing it. But he was also the heir and he was the best son—one fact, at least, which could not be disputed. So even if he’d been divorced, arrested twice for pot possession (and promptly bailed out), and irrevocably convicted with the status of “business failure” as a high schooler, he was quite simply his parents’ only option. So although he was first, he was also always last, and if there was one thing Frankie Vulpini could not stand, it was losing.

Frankie coughed slightly when Hannah’s hand made contact with his head, for he’d been in the process of inhaling as she hit him. Once the short rasping fit had subsided, he began to rub the spot where she’d hit, although it truly hadn’t hurt so much as surprised him. Blue eyes trained on her, he glared for a moment before softening his expression to one of mere mirth. Hands raised in a gesture of surrender, he spoke in a voice that clearly suggested she needed to calm her tits. “Jesus. Fine, fine, I’ll stop. You don’t gotta shout…” he looked around for a minute, the small smirk on his lips dropping as realization came over him. When he looked back to Hannah, his expression was one of disappointment. “Oh, come on…He’s not here now, is he?” he pointed to down to the floor so as to indicate the whole of the apartment. “I thought he went and jumped off a bridge or something, when mom said she stopped hearing from him.” Damn. Wouldn’t that have been good news.

Frankie waited a few moments before responding, taking his sweet time in coaxing two more drags off the cigarette before he even thought about giving her an answer. He shook his head and shrugged. “Nah. Well, sort of.” Not at all. “We fought, that’s it. Pretty bad, I guess. Haven’t talked to him since.” Not a lie. It had been a large one, having to do with the fact that he flat out refused to tell his father why exactly he needed so much money in his account, and the way his mother looked at him like she knew precisely what lay nestled comfortably in a small baggie in her son’s back pocket. So he wasn’t cut off. Not really. But he wasn’t speaking to them, either.

Frankie’s blue eyes dropped as he took another breath of smoke. Clearing his throat after he exhaled, he ran his fingers through his hair before looking up at her, voice significantly more civil than when he’d called out his brother’s existence as he changed the subject. “Is there a law against just stopping by or something? I could miss you.” Still, he was teasing slightly as he rubbed his forearms against his ribs, inching the sleeves up higher on his arms to combat the sudden wave of heat that could possibly be attributed to nerves, except this was Frankie and that was Hannah, and he really didn’t think such things existed.

[HANNAH VULPINI]

Growing up, Hannah had a strange relationship with her brother Frankie. In a way, she despised him. He was imperious and hot tempered, selfish and greedy. He always cheated at games, and had not been shy about teasing. In another way Hannah felt sorry for him.

Joel had been Momma's favorite, because he was unwanted and she knew all to well what that was like. Her parents hadn't shared a bed since Joel was born, and from what Hannah had gathered, neither were sorry about this. Olivia Vulpini had once had stars in her eyes, a plain daughter of a small but successful businessman who married the very handsome and desirable Franklin Vulpini. But the stars soon dimmed when the relationship proved loveless. A means to an end, as was often the case with Daddy. She empathized with poor, sickly, nervous Joel who was the constant victim of getting picked on inside and outside the home. And Daddy had always showered his 'Hannah Belle' with affection and love, coming home with gifts almost every night, praising the most minute of successes she had. Before she had been born, Frankie had been the apple of Daddy's eye. Not warm or affectionate, as Senior had never been like that with either of his boys. But the subject of praise and high hopes.

Frankie had never forgiven his sister for being born.

Hannah did, however, remember moments of humanity in her older brother. Once he had been picking on her, as Frankie's are apt to do. He grabbed a pair of scissors, and threatened to cut off all of her treasured long, red, hair. Hannah, of course, use to him making good on his threats ran. And he chased. After a ruckus in the parlour, the scissors slipped, and Frankie was filled with such fear and- yes- remorse. When Daddy noticed, Hannah took the blame, and her brother was torn between humiliation and gratitude. He didn't want to be a coward, which was one of Hannah's preferred insults. It hurt, because they both knew it was true. And Frankie was ashamed.

So at the inquiry of couldn't he have just missed her, Hannah really didn't know how to respond. "He lives here... but he's not here now. He's looking for a job.You know... a job." One of those things Frankie had never needed to have, even now at the age of twenty five. And you're not funny. So while you're here, don't make stupid jokes like that, or you can leave." She wasn't fourteen anymore, she wasn't going to play his stupid games.

There was something off about him. His smell... Hannah could smell it on him. He smelled similar to Hannah and Joel... Another fox. She blinked, looking at him closely. "Have you noticed anything odd happening to you lately, Frankie-" Her acute blue eyes narrowed at his arms, little marks over where blue veins should be. Without another word, Hannah grabbed his chin and smelled him deeply. Oh, yes, there was something there. An astringency. Drugs. Serious, hard, drugs. "You better not have brought any of that here, Frankie!" Hannah spoke severely, before simmering down to a more gentle tone. "What have you been doing, Moosh?"

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

So then she hadn’t grown out of her bitchiness. He couldn’t say he was surprised. It’d always been a gift of Hannah’s, growing up, pushing his buttons with her snide inflections and blunt sarcasm. The fact that making him angry had never been exceedingly difficult was beside the point; to say Frankie had a temper would be an understatement to rival most others.

Still, he couldn’t help but say he was a bit pleased. He’d always liked that about Hannah, after all, as much as it annoyed him—she was more than willing to fight back. Unlike Joel, who he’d never stop calling Rat until the end of his days, even if Hannah wasn’t about to allow it under her roof.

Just look at her, playing grown-up. He supposed she’d had to for quite a while now, living on her own for five years and all. She probably thought herself mighty high in the grand scheme of things, having survived so long on her own without Daddy’s help. Then, she was living in a dump. And she was still a princess—she’d always be Princess, just like Joel would always be meant for the sewers, and there was and never had been anything either one of them could say to make him think otherwise. It was a mocking nickname, hers, and one he’d taken from his father, who’d called her that and in no way meant it in jest. They hadn’t spoken of her in years now, however. He was fairly certain the door to her room was still closed, the inside preserved like some sort of sick teenage museum piece. His was cleaned out. Joel’s was empty, too, but he’d never had much in there to begin with.

And now here she was, lording over a new tower, telling him to play by her rules in a voice ever so much stronger than when he’d used to chase her with scissors, pull her hair or step on her feet. In an odd way, he sort of liked it.

Frankie played oblivious. It mattered not that she’d see straight through to his mocking core. “Oh, well good for him. You know, I was really worried for a while there that he was never gonna manage the people skills to get one…Really great, though. Make sure you congratulate him for me.” He grinned broadly as he flashed Hannah a thumbs up, ignoring entirely her warning against jokes. No fun at all. She’d never found him amusing.

At the mention of oddness, Frankie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What…kind of odd?” Somehow, he had a feeling he knew. There was something in the air, here. Something familiar that didn’t just smell of family. Before he had the chance to question further, however, he found her particularly close to him, hand gripping his chin roughly as she…sniffed. Deeply, with the same conviction typically associated with canines. So then, maybe that was it? The odd smell, the one that wasn’t quite so odd, the more he thought about it, and became familiar the more he didn’t. But it couldn’t be. Surely, he was just insane. It took a lot, for Frankie to admit he might just be pretending.

Shoving his sister roughly off him by the shoulders, he scooted up further on the couch, glaring. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about—” And he didn’t—not really, although he could most certainly have guessed. Yanking his sleeves back down once more, Frankie frowned a bit at the nickname, one she’d only used when they were young enough to pretend to get along and the rare instances between when they hadn’t been at each other’s throats. “Nothing. I haven’t been doing anything...” he turned quiet, glancing at the floor for a moment before glaring back at her and snapping. “And it’d be none of your fucking business anyway, even if I was. That’s not why I’m here.”

Although, maybe it could be.