Chapter Text
Two hours after dusk, he walked into his living quarters, accompanied by the sound of the upcoming storm. He could smell himself - exhaust fumes mixed with gunpowder - and he wanted nothing more than to wash the stale scent off of his body. He could feel the filth on his skin, too, under the collar of his shirt and sliding beneath the cuffs. He scoffed, pressing his hand to the panel near the sliding door. It shut after him with a hollow ping.
“Lights.”
“Good evening, Frank. Please provide the password.”
“Three-one-one.”
“Password approved.”
The lights turned on, and he huffed an annoyed breath. They hurt his eyes; they were too bright compared to the ones in the hallway outside.
“Lower the brightness to twenty percent,” he said. The lights dimmed, and he exhaled, loosening the tie from around his neck. “And get me a fucking drink.”
“Certainly, Frank.”
He threw the tie on the kitchen counter, not bothering with toeing off his shoes. There was a whirring sound at the end of the hallway, then metallic steps as Lois woke up. Frank didn’t look at her. He skimmed past the kitchen and headed straight for the couch, throwing himself down on it. He had a headache, and the anger was still simmering right beneath the surface. Anger he couldn’t control even if he wanted to. He rubbed his eyes. The fridge in the kitchen opened, then closed, and a glass clinked against Lois’ tray. He heard ice falling into it, then a blissful sound of whiskey. Lois brought it over a moment later, and Frank petted her head absently when he picked the drink from the tray. It wobbled the next moment - she was wagging her tail now.
“How are you this evening?”
Frank rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for a conversation, even as easy as this one.
“How do you think?”
“Your vitals indicate you have not been getting an adequate amount of sleep lately, and your blood alcohol level is at 111 mg/dL.”
“Conclusion?”
“Consuming the drink in your hand will raise the level to over one hundred and twenty. You may experience symptoms of alcohol intoxication.”
Frank sighed. “Again. Conclusion?”
“You have seen your father today.”
Smart.
“That I have.”
He saw a movement from the corner of his eye. The voice echoed through the room for a moment, then went silent as G did its calculations. Frank let it do them. With the limited power supply over the day, it was a miracle that the thing was even charged enough to form coherent sentences. Frank had forgotten to leave the modem plugged in that morning.
“How is Mr. Iero Senior doing?”
He shrugged. “He’s still dying.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Frank.”
“You aren’t sorry about anything.”
“No, Frank, I am not. I am unfamiliar with the sensation of sorrow.”
Frank sat up straighter, taking a sip of his whiskey. He hoped something would be wrong with it. Too much ice, perhaps, or the liquid too warm, or the taste as stale as the scent he smelled on his clothes. It turned out to be perfect the way it always was. He felt yet another pang of anger when he thought about it, then downed the drink in one go.
“Another.”
Lois’ tail went motionless when she extended the tray again. Frank placed the glass down, petted her ear again, and watched how she trodded back to the kitchen. G followed her. Its fingers moved as it typed in the order for the fridge to prepare, and the machine came back to life immediately. Frank observed it all with mild interest - door opening, bottle tilting, ice falling into the glass. All perfectly calculated, all perfectly measured. All predictable.
“You seem to be concerned about your father’s health.”
“Oh yeah? Why? Did my heart rate spike?”
“Your cortisol levels are above the norm.”
“Hardly due to his health issues,” Frank rolled his eyes. Lois brought him his second drink, and he grabbed it slowly. “Lois. Down.”
The quiet buzz of her joints died out when she lay down and shut off. Frank hummed, satisfied.
“Would you like to discuss your concerns, then?”
“No.”
“Certainly, Frank.”
Frank allowed the tension to fade from his muscles. The couch was comfortable - the highest quality there was, according to the seller - and without the constant noise of G talking and Lois wagging her tail, the apartment fell silent. There were things Frank had to think about, and he needed peace for it. His father’s health was at the end of the list, but it was there, nonetheless. It had gotten worse again in the past three weeks, effectively bounding him to the bed. There was no way he would be fit for the next day’s meeting, which meant Frank would have to go in alone.
It would be better if he went alone. Dokuhebi were not known to accept weakness easily. They couldn’t see Frank’s father in the state he was in. They would notice the illness in no time, and then his father would make decisions that could not be undone. No, they would have more chances of being successful if Frank took over. With the elections only two days away, they couldn’t afford to fail. Frank didn’t even want to think about what would happen should Santoro lose.
He was too angry, though. He was too on edge. His hands twitched in his lap, and his head kept pounding. Fucking smoke incense. He didn’t give a shit if it helped his father breathe - it was suffocating him. For a moment, he balanced the glass on the tip of his finger. It was tempered. When it fell, it didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces but stayed relatively intact, breaking into a spider-like web - or something Frank imagined would be a spider-like web if spiders were still there to spin them. It was imperfect, though. It eased Frank’s mind a little.
“G.”
“Yes, Frank?”
Frank stood up and stepped on the glass, the sound of it crunching under his boot satisfying another part of his brain. He shrugged his shirt off as he walked and snapped his fingers. Lois’ ears perked up.
“Lois, clean up. G, schedule.”
The dog jumped up, running after him to pick up the articles of clothing he kept dropping. G moved from its spot in the corner of the room, too. Frank shut the door to the bathroom and got the water running, stripping until he was bare. His skin prickled from the incense, and he only felt relief when he lowered himself into the semi-full bathtub. The water was hot enough to hurt.
“The water temperature is at a hundred and thirteen. Not optimal for baths. You are risking burns.”
“Schedule,” Frank barked. G looked at him from its spot by the door, and its eyes turned white as it accessed the calendar. Frank rolled his own, gazing out the window at the foggy city below.
“You have no meetings scheduled for tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“You have lunch with Il Corvo at midday and Dokuhebi meeting at seven.”
“Fucking Il Corvo,” Frank laughed, shaking his head. Lorenzo had always been a pain in the ass, and he had become genuinely insufferable ever since Frank’s father had fallen sick. He looked over at G, trying to gauge its reaction. He didn’t get any in return. The hologram’s face remained blank. “What do you think of him?”
“I’m afraid I do not understand the question.”
“‘Course not,” Frank sighed. Useless fucking thing. He picked some of the water into his hand, letting it slip between his fingers. It wasn’t warm enough, and it wasn’t solid enough. He needed something he could touch. He needed something he could break. “Make plans for tonight.”
“Frank?”
“Call Rosso.”
“The usual order?”
“No,” Frank said after a moment. He was bored of the usual. Everything was usual. “Get me something else from the menu.”
“Special requirements?”
He smiled at the irony. “The usual.”
“Your special requirements lead to Melissa,” G informed him in a monotone voice.
“I don’t want Melissa. I’ve had Melissa three times this week. Who’s second on the list?”
“Karina. She does not match all of your requirements.”
“What’s off?”
“She’s blonde.”
“I can deal with that. Get her,” Frank nodded, relaxing even more. He ran his fingers over the edge of the bathtub, suddenly fascinated by how the light reflected off of it. Everything became more interesting when he switched things up.
“Order confirmed, Frank. Karina will be arriving shortly. Do you require me to introduce her to the rules?”
“Do. I’ll be done in fifteen.”
“Yes, Frank.”
Blonde. Huh. It had been ages since the last time Frank allowed blondes into his apartment. He didn’t trust blondes. He didn’t know why they even had blondes downstairs to begin with. It could be interesting, though. Almost as interesting as the fact that Melissa was still working tonight. Frank would expect her to be off for a day or two, or a week. He stretched, brushing his hair back and sighing. At least he had managed to wash the pollution off.
Karina was waiting for him on the bed when he walked out of the bathroom. She was very blonde - making him wince - but she met the other criteria. He would be amazed if she didn’t. Orders sent by him always got the best quality.
“Do you require any of my other services?” G asked.
“No. G3R, turn off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You,” Frank pointed his finger at the naked woman on his bed. She flinched and turned her gaze away when she saw him looking, but Frank could tell she was still following his moves from the corner of her eye. He hadn’t bothered with putting clothes back on, and he knew she stared. They often did.
They also always lowered their heads when he pulled the strings out. Today wasn’t any different, and he tilted his head when they landed on the bed next to the woman’s hip. He really hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him. He was at the point where the promise of that little thrill was the only thing that could get him hard. Everything else was repetitive. Yes, Karina was pretty, but he would forget her face the moment she walked out of his apartment. It was all the same to him - hot mouth, wet cunt, tight ass, there one moment and gone the other.
He picked the strings up, curling them carefully around his palm. They were heavy and cold, thick - his favorite.
“On your back and spread your legs,” he instructed. The woman moved immediately, scrambling up the bed, and he gave himself a moment to look at her. Her mouth was open. She was panting. Her thighs were full. She was shaven. So predictable. Frank knelt between her feet. “Pain tolerance?”
“High, Scorpione, sir.”
The strings uncurled from around Frank’s hand. He decided he liked how they looked against her skin. He also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would like them more after he was done with her.
But he would make it last.
“Good.”
He didn’t hear the whirring of Lois shutting off a few minutes later. He didn’t hear much anymore, really. The pleading whines drowned it all out, and Frank found his peace. Unpredictable at last.
Karina stared at him with wide eyes when he finished. Her thighs closed in pain, and Frank hummed and walked back to the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth. He didn’t wash her, but he handed it to her, and she did it herself on top of his bedsheets. She didn’t look scared, given his reputation preceded him, but to his surprise, she didn’t look angry, either. She was smiling. Frank gathered the strings, then settled on the bed next to her.
“Scorpione, sir–”
“I don’t do talks,” he interrupted her. He stared at the ceiling that reflected the purple hue of the city. “G3R, turn on.”
“Good evening, sir.”
“Pay her as she leaves,” he said to it, then to her. “Get out.”
“Any special services to be paid for, sir?”
Frank lifted the hand with the strings, letting the assistant see it. Its eyes went white, then back to normal. Karina scrambled to her feet, picking up her clothes without a word.
“Certainly, sir.”
“Order dry cleaners for her clothes. And for the bed.”
“And the strings, sir? Do they need sharpening?”
“I don’t know,” Frank ran his fingertips over them. They seemed sharp to him, but one could never be too careful. He caught a glimpse of Karina trailing toward his bedroom door on unsteady legs and hummed. “What do you think? Are they sharp or not sharp?”
She hesitated, looking down at her naked ruined legs. “Sharp, sir.”
“Good. No sharpening, then. Leave, now.”
The strings didn’t need sharpening, but they needed cleaning. It was something Frank always did himself and would do first thing in the morning. He lay back when the whore left and let the strings uncurl, hanging between his fingers. The neons from outside illuminated the wetness on them, and their color made it appear black. The bed looked black, too, and so did he.
“She is gone, Frank,” G informed him. It appeared back in the corner of the room and froze, connecting itself to the charging station. It always glowed when it charged. “Do you require any more of my services?”
“No,” Frank said. “G3R, turn off and charge.”
“Yes, Frank. Goodnight, Frank.”
Frank rolled his eyes and then himself on the bed. He stared at the polluted city, the bright pink and blue lights, the hue of them slipping into his bedroom. He stared at the fog made out of poisonous exhaust fumes. He stared at his strings painted black, his bedsheets painted black, and his hands painted black. He didn’t go to sleep yet. Instead, he wondered if this was all there was and, if not, if he even wanted to know anything else.