Tonight should have been like any other Friday night for Regina over the past few months, and yet there she stands, umber eyes trailing the smoke billowing up from the burning nightclub adjacent to her perch on the roof. Bright flames lick at the sky, bathing the street in an orange glow that clashes garishly with the neon lights still spilling out from the club entrance. Throngs of drunken habitués shove at each other in escape, some still futilely attempting to cradle their overpriced drinks in the chaos. Regina sighs internally as her mind shifts towards a number of contingency plans. Perhaps the evening wouldn't be a total bust. She casts a cursory glance towards her watch as she surveys the scene below. Emergency services should arrive within two minutes, news media in another…eight, but she'd be long gone by then.
The air loses some of its brisk snap as she scales her way down the side of the building, her tense muscles relieved with warmth from the flames seeping into olive skin. The moon hangs heavy and full in the sky, and the bright lights of the Boston skyline shimmer invitingly. The dark city seems almost cheerful outside the chaos of the area. On another side of town, it's a night where doe-eyed lovers dot the sidewalks, digits intertwined as they huddle together in their light sweaters. A blissful naivety hangs over the city as her svelte form prowls concealed in the shadows.
Cropped sable tresses brush at bare shoulders as Regina looks down to retrieve her phone from a tight leather pocket. Sliding her thumb over a textless crystal ball icon, a discreet app opens to a blank screen - or so it would appear to a casual observer. Another moment and the screen flashes white once to verify the sync to her remote comm device. She wonders briefly if her target has discovered the tracker yet. But of course, he hasn't - a fact confirmed by another flash and blinking violet LED. The idiot, Jefferson Palarier. The man proved slippery but not incredibly tactful. Although, the downtown wildfire he set did complicate matters.
Regina curses herself inwardly, begrudging to admit her part in the mayhem. It had been many years since a target had actually managed to slip by her. Practically gone at the drop of a hat, the man's sense of self-preservation is admirable; she could give him that, though she finds it no less irksome. She takes pride in her reputation. It is, after all, one that couldn't be questioned until tonight. With grit teeth, she damns eyes like teal glass for stilling her body too long.
Dusky lashes flitted over the crowd taking in the sea of bodies within the interior. Wonderland was a miasmic den of stale smoke, cheap liquor, and feverish perfumed flesh. Vast swaths of the club were shadowed with immodest silhouettes grinding against each other, their figures crammed together like gnarled trees in a dark forest, the thundering bass keeping time like a sluggish heartbeat. The only light came from flickering lasers and neon lights which offered the eyes little reprieve with their sudden blinding intensity.
Wonderland is a sensory overload groping at every perception. Tricks play on the eyes, bass vibrates along slicked skin, and thrumming raucous inundates coherent thought. But that is the charm the spot offers these types - a near complete escape from reality. It is a place to get lost in sensation. On a Friday night, it easily reaches capacity with the cities clamoring underling delinquents. It is their haven, existing above the law by way of well-placed bribes and the favor of people in high places for their frequent clandestine visits.
Regina made her way through the sea of gyrating forms towards the vantage point she had eyed on the way in. No one bumped into her, all compelled to give her whatever berth possible despite the dense spread of bodies. Inwardly amused, she found her sneer often had that effect.
The couches were littered with bodies as she passed - some dazed on opiates and others ground together at the hips with ecstasy-laced vigor, though the quickly waning clothing was common among them.
Of course, Jefferson would choose a place like this to hovel in, she thought barely managing to suppress rolling her eyes.
From her position, she could take in most of the dance floor. Keen eyes quickly mapped viable exit routes, a second nature compulsion by now. The squalid hotbed wasn't very accommodating in that regard, but she weighed her options anyway as she looked on.
Halfway through a pass over the crowd, she bristled slightly, the odd sensation of being watched pricking at the nape of her neck. Regina knew she was an attractive woman, garnering stares from both men and women whenever she graced the public, but the weight of this gaze was different. Curious, she turned her head in search of her observer and was met with glistering teal little more than a meter away.
Willfully angling her body towards her observer, she wondered how hadn't noticed the woman before. The blonde was, in a word, stunning. But more than that, it was the sharp unwavering gaze that commanded the brunette's attention. Regina arched a brow in response to the woman's brazen observation. A sense of familiarity niggled at the back of her mind, though it she could place why. For her, people existed as more ephemera than constancies, either made up of passionate touches that faded with the morning light or streaks of scarlet that pooled down the drain. The notion was an impossibility. The blonde wasn't a target, and she hadn't bedded her.
That, she mused, absently wetting a corner of her mouth, I'm sure I would remember.
Mere moments slipped by as the women observed each other. The blonde's gaze glassed slightly as she tilted her head in thought, causing loose waves to slip over her shoulder. A look flashed over the her face suddenly, brief but easily caught in the dark-haired woman's intent focus. A faint narrowing of the eyes and a minute pull to one corner of her mouth. Bemused, Regina would almost have called it recognition but-
"Shit."
Regina's head whipped around swiftly at the barely audible word. She couldn't have been distracted for more than a few seconds, but it served enough as Jefferson laid eyes on her immediately after stumbling out of a private room, a ginger-haired woman in tow. Jefferson shoved the woman forward intercepting his pursuant's path as he took off in the other direction, ignoring the sounds of indignant protestation behind him.
Cursing, Regina chased after him, bodily thrusting people who were too slow to move out of the way. Chasing a mark through a crowd like some neophyte. Appalled at the very thought and her own distraction, she swore he would pay for both their errors.
She was just gaining ground as she saw him dive behind the bar, but she forced herself to an abrupt stop as she saw him snatch a rag and bottle of high-grade vodka off the countertop. You've got to be fucking kidding me, she thought watching intently. Jefferson was known to have a few screws loose, but she wouldn't have thought him capable of-
Her thoughts were halted as an orange glow began to grow. She turned knowing what was coming as she quickly assessed her catalogue of viable exit points. Making a split decision, she ran to the back of the club, patrons wise enough to make way for her this time though completely oblivious to the situation at hand. Just as she burst through the heavy backdoor, a chorus of exploding glass and screams rent the air.
Regina runs a hand through her hair as she walks down the alley, the fresh memory plaguing her. She had never been so easily distracted before, and for what? A pretty face? She exhales sharply, knowing that's not the case. Having been with many gorgeous women in the past, beauty is not a novelty to her. No, it was something in her eyes, in the way she watched her.
Rubber scrapes loose asphalt, and Regina spins quickly, knife drawn and level in one hand as the other blindly closes around a lean throat. She has the body pinned to the wall before she registers the owner's identity - and the cool blade pressed against an exposed sliver on her own stomach where her top has ridden up.
Her eyes focus on the blonde from before, and she is torn between aggravation and amusement - because what else should she expect from the clusterfuck of a night - but is inclined to express neither as she takes on an impassive mien.
"Just who the hell are you?" she intones.
The woman smiles before glancing down at her hand, and Regina feels the blade move away from her skin.
"Sorry about that. Force of habit." the blonde drawls and lets the knife drop. It clatters against the asphalt before she splays the newly freed hand in surrender.
Regina arches a brow in response and tightens her grip on the blonde's throat.
"I don't believe that answers my question." she says, her voice dipping menacingly as she searches the blue-green eyes intently.
The woman clears her throat before responding tightly, "Name's Emma. Emma Swan."
Regina jerks her hand back as if burned as the feeling of familiarity assails her, exponentially stronger than before.
Emma coughs lightly, but manages to resist the urge to rub her throat.
"And you," she continues after a beat, "well, you're Regina Mills, aren't you?"
A/N: This scenario has been hounding me for a while, and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. I thought might as well publish it so it can serve as an opportunity to refine my creative voice. I think I'd like to continue the story though. We'll see. Reviews are more than welcome.