"Good Monday Moring, America!"
"Mhmm, and we've got some very exiting news this morning, Berloiz!"
"Yes, Marie, we do! Pull out your vinyls, folks, because we're about to get a blast from the past. Twenty-four years ago, one-hit wonder band "Rum and The Queens of Darkness" broke up for unknown reasons after their bandleader, an anonymous man only known as "Rum", mysterious vanished in 1982. This group's story has remained untold—many speculating that we'll never know why they abruptly ended right at the height of their career. Well, that is until now! For the very first time, fans will finally get to know what happened to this short-lived but phenomenal band…"
Belle's coffee mug slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor. A look of pure nonplus washes her face snow-white. Her heart skips a whole beat.
No. No. This has to be a joke.
"Mallory Coatl, stage named "Maleficent", has very recently rekindled her relationship with estranged friends Ella Duval Feinberg and Vanessa Adetokunbo, respectively "Cruella" and "Ursula", and the three ex-rockers have finally decided to share their story with the world. The Queens of Darkness themselves will be having a live interview right here on set, 9:00 p.m. central, Thursday night—"
Belle's jaw dropped. Someone said her name, but she was too out of it to care or notice. Every last shred of her rapt attention was fixated on the television.
"Well, I'm certainly on the edge of my seat with anticipation! Hope to see you all there, watching from home. Now here's Toulouse with the sports."
Belle cried out in alarm. She was dreaming. It had to be a dream. This—
"Belle!?"
The librarian yelped in surprise and spun around, grasping her friend by the shoulders. "Oh my gosh! Can you believe it—"
"Believe what?"
"Rum—"
"Ooh, that rock band you're always talking about? Huh, I've never heard of them. But it'll be pretty cool anyway to see them all together… Most of them, anyway. D'you think they'll say what happen to their bandleade? Wonder if he's gonna be there."
"That… that will be really, really exiting…"
Rum and The Queens of Darkness was a European indie/alternative rock band who took the world by storm in the early 1980's. Like many other bands, they started out playing in small pubs that paid homage to young musicians like them. In 1981, they played their one-hit wonder song "I Always Felt Sorry for Rumpelstiltskin" with two music agents coincidently present: evidently, they become an instant sensation. They even gained popularity and attention from other nations! Their musical career skyrocketed within the first few months of the world's notice of them. Some jokingly called them the punkers that became the next Beatles. Within the following year, Rum and The Queens of Darkness had their first tour, an insanely growing fandom, band merchandise, and they even met the Queen of England herself! All in all, they only ever released two records—one official album: Rue for Fairytale Villains, and one other "album" consisting of singles. It was in the summer of 1982 that Rum and The Queens of Darkness became… well, just the Queens of Darkness. Rum was suddenly… not present anymore. The "sub-bandleader" was Maleficent, fondly called "Mal" by fellow band members and fans, told reporters that Rum had quit. For good.
Shortly after Rum broke it off, The Queens of Darkness tried going on as a threesome band instead of a foursome like before. Indeed, they weren't the same without Rum… As a result, fans rapidly lost interest in them, demanding to know what happened to Rum, and for them know his real identity.
But the Queens never reveled Rum's true identity, respectfully remaining silent about the whole affair. Maleficent broke off next, with Cruella and Ursula dispersing quickly after.
The band's short-lived name quickly became history soon after.
Yet, despite that, it wasn't as if they were still missing like Rum—at least, not for long. Ursula revealed herself to be Vanessa Adetokunbo. Despite leaving the band, she never left the singing industry and went on to become a famous opera singer. Presently, Ursula (she still goes by her stage name) preforms in the coast of Denmark. As for Maleficent and Cruella, they didn't go public under years later.
In early 2000, Cruella came out as Ella Duval Feinberg—she's a widow, and she kept her maiden name and used it as her middle name, still clinging to her spouse's name. She's a fashion and interior designer living in London.
As for Maleficent, she broke ended her secrecy and came out two years after Cruella as one Mallory Coatl, a single mother living in Wissembourg.
Even after the Queens let their real identities out, Rum never came forward. The Queens never explained why he left.
As for Belle, well… she was just another fangirl. She accidently stumbled upon the Rue for Fairytale Villains album in the dark corners of her mother's attic when Belle was small. After playing it, Belle instantly fell in love and avidly became a die-hard fan of the band nearly consigned to oblivion. It was even more special once her parents came home that day to find her rocking out with the turntable cranked up as high as it would go. Instead of being mad at her for snooping, they beamed and told her that it was because of Rum and the Queens that they were together.
Belle could still hear her mother say, "We were on our one-millionth date or so… Your father simply couldn't take the hint that I was madly in love with him. No matter how many hints I dropped that I wanted him to take what we had then further, he hardly moved past courting me. I was tired of it. Sometime in 1981, your father took me on a date to see Rum and the Queens. And lucky us, we won a backstage pass to meet the band in person. Rum, the ringmaster so to say, took one look at us and, as if he could read minds, knew what our problem was. Do you want to know what he did, once we saw him face to face? He throws his arm around me, looks at your father in the eye, and says—and this is a rough translation from his Scottish English—"Your girlfriend is hot. Can I borrow her for the night?" Rum didn't give your father time to act on that, for he drops down in a chair and pulls me into his lap, and the Queens—Maleficent, Cruella, and Ursula—came over and flaunted about him like birds to seed. They knew it, too. They were trying to get us jealous of each other. And oh, it worked like a charm, and when we left, Rum went to your father and pulled him to the side. Your father won't tell me what that punker told him, but he proposed to me three days later. We had been dating six years before we met Rum and The Queens of Darkness. If not for them, we would probably still be dating to this day."
The Internet fed Belle the rest of the information. Rum and The Queens of Darkness had a fan site that was more of a tribute. It was used by those who were alive during their small reign, or those like Belle, who simply believed to have been born in the wrong era and gushed over the insanely attractive and mysterious Rum, who was no doubt a geezer by now. The site had things like pictures, videos of their concerts, news articles, revelations and updates on what the Queens were up to, fan art, stories from people who claim to have met the members, and theories as to what happened to Rum. Obviously, many of those stories were farce and most likely pure fanfiction than anything. Some people even tried claiming to be Rum, when, clearly, they weren't (do you think a 6'foot-something Canadian who's had one too many Twinkies pass as a 5'foot-something lean Scotsman?). Hell, the site had so many of those fanfiction it had to create a page solely for them. Belle would be lying if she said she's never visited that part of the site. Or read things on it. Or submitted things.
If Belle had a nickel for every Rum x Reader she's read, she wouldn't have to worry about finishing paying her tuition.
"Huh. Never heard of them, before," Leroy commented at the bar in Granny's, where Belle was catching up with long-time friend Ruby Lucas with her morning coffee. Granny's TV was an old box mounted in the top corner of the room. The news was all it really played, but occasionally played football or hockey on game nights.
Granny herself, Ruby's grandmother, was fiddling with the cash register when the Queens of Darkness's interview was announced. She had a thoughtful look on her aging face, and her sharp bird eyes flitted to Belle. "You a fan?"
"They seldom leave my turntable."
"Yeah… I know them. I think." Doctor Viktor Whale said from a small table. "They wrote 'The Cradle-Snatcher', right?"
"Yep," Granny answered before Belle could, whipping down the counter. "Saw one of their concerts. Once."
If Belle had a second cup of coffee, she would have dropped it, too. "Wait, really?!" Ever since Belle came to Storybrooke two years ago for her job at the library, she hadn't found a single person who knew about the band—and liked it. Belle's thoughts glumly shifted to the one person who did know about the band, but had not one nice thing to say about them.
Granny waved her off but had a small knowing smile. "Down, girly. It was hardly anything special. When I saw them, they were hardly anything popular. None of that costume, makeup crap, anyway. Just some crazy-ass kids having fun on stage in a rundown pub."
Belle was giddy. She had no idea Granny knew about Rum and the Queens. The only reasons her friends knew was because she practically tied them down and threatened them to listen.
As they all talked, Belle noticed from the corner of her eye that one person wasn't participating in the heated conversation. Unsurprisingly, it was the one person who Belle was glumly thinking of earlier.
It was Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker and landlord of Storybrooke. He was at the bar, reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of black coffee when all this began. Now, he was glowering at the small crowd of townspeople like he wanted to set them all on fire. Belle frowned. Mr. Gold, from her impression, was annoyed at the very idea of Rum and the Queens of Darkness. It wasn't just rock and roll—no, he seemed to not care about it, though Belle could swear she's seen him tap a foot or a forefinger to the beat of a song. It was just this one band he seemed to despise. He had made that very clear the day she came to town, two years ago.
~Two Years Ago~
"Bluestocking" by Rum and The Queens of Darkness was blaring through her car's speakers. Belle was happily bobbing along to the beat of the song, singing like no one was listening (no one better be).
"Look around us
my darling,
At the shards of the
Parts of our hearts,
We're running in circles,
I'm starting to think this is,
Just another dream,
But our teas and our quips,
Stain the pages of your paperbacks,
It reminds me of forget-me-nots, roses, and daisies,
Darling,
It's what we have,
A sweet, fuzzy feeling,
A lovely feeling,
It's your smiles at the frosted windows,
It's your stories at the hearth,
Yarn of love to spin, of both wool and words,
I've gone dumb from how numb
This ole sorry heart of mine is,
But you, oh you,
It's like you really see me,
I've gone dizzy,
But you're far from that,
Oh, sweetheart, love me like you mean it,
Don't scheme it,
You're smarter than that,
My darling bluestocking."
Belle was so lost in the words of the song that she hardly noticed the man walking across the street. On a crosswalk. With the lights red.
The brakes of her old car screeched like a dying animal, smoke expelling from the wheels. Belle's insides churned with horror, knowing full and well she was in the wrong, here. If she was lucky, the man would just get a concussion and hopefully forget that a irresponsible driver hit him at all.
But, upon falling out of the car and preparing to see blood everywhere with a dead body, the most irked expression met her face. Relief filled her system. She hadn't hit him. Thank G—
"Did a flock of dense New York housewives teach you how to drive, or are you just particularly fond of hitting crippled old men in the street with this piece of work?"
Belle stood still for a few seconds, processing what the man just told her. The first thing that freezes Belle to the point of muteness was the man's accent.
Good Lord above bless my sorry soul, he's Scottish—Gah, damn, I can't even—that's too sexy for me. I think I just wet my panties. Danger, danger, abort, abort, abandon scene—
Blinking innocently before gathering her wits, she takes a breath and responds. "I'm so sorry, sir. I wasn't paying attention. I—"
"Of course you're sorry. You don't want me to sue you over the horrific damage you've caused me. Really, do you see the way I'm limping, dearie?" the man lifted a cane Belle just now notices, and she cringes. She could tell the man was angry at her, but really—she hadn't touched him, now that she sees. He looked fine. More than fine, actually.
The Scotsman wasn't terribly taller than her, but than again, most people were taller than Belle. He had soft brown hair peppered with silver streaks that fell close to his shoulders, dark sable eyes, an aquiline nose, and a sharp chiseled face. All in all, he really wasn't unattractive—or that old, even. Belle guessed him to be in his mid or late forties, which wasn't too terrible. A little younger than her father, if she was one to guess. Secondly, Belle began to note the devilishly cut black suit he wore topped with a black dress shirt, black waistcoat, and black tie. His cane was made of polished black wood with an intricate golden handle. Belle's knees went weak for a moment. Yep, not a geezer. A near silver fox if I ever did see one...
But then Belle took in what he said, and frowned. "I really am sorry. I wasn't paying attention. I had no intention of hurting you—nor was I taught to drive by New Yorkers. My father taught me. I do beg your pardon, sir."
Mr. Silver Fox sneered for a moment as he straightened his back and shoulders. "Pardon begged. Now, if you have no more intention of running me over, I bid you good day, Miss…"
"French. Isabelle French, but I go by B—."
"French," he said snippily, turning around as if he had no need for a cane. He looked prepared to prowl off. However, Mr. Silver Fox paused and turned his head as if to say something else, but stood still, visibly listening to something.
"…Sir?"
"What… are you listening to?"
Belle blinked owlishly before understanding. Her car door was open, and her radio was still playing—loudly. "Bluestocking" had come to an end, and the next song, "The Cradle-Snatcher", was just starting.
Belle beamed at him, albeit a bit sheepishly. "Rum and The Queens of Darkness. They're my favorite."
Mr. Silver Fox sneered at her one last time before marching off.
Well, then.
Belle was left feeling confused and a bit hurt. So, not everyone liked rock music, but one didn't have to sneer at it!
"Oh, my God. I know the town beast terrorizes every newbie that comes into town, I just didn't think you'd get the heat so soon."
Surprised by the new voice, Belle spun around and saw a girl standing on the sidewalk in front of a cute little building called Granny's. She was scandalously dressed, with red dye streaking her hair and clothes. She smiles, though, once Belle meets her gaze. "Hiya. I'm Ruby."
"Belle," the auburn-brunette smiled, walking over to shake the other girl's hand. "So, you know that man?"
Ruby ducked her head like a parent would stare at a child who just asked a question with painfully obvious answer. "That's Mr. Gold. The one and only Terror of Storybrooke."
"Ooh… Well, he certainly wasn't too friendly. Even though I kinda almost hit him with my car."
"Ha!" the other girl kicked her head back with a laugh. "Would've done us all a favor there, sweetie. Now, why don't you park said car and come in for a nice glass of sweet tea?"
~Present~
Back to the present, Belle watches as Mr. Gold gets up from his seat, carelessly toss a couple of bills onto the counter as if they were nothing, and silently leave Granny's, the soft taping of his cane the only sound he makes.
A bit crestfallen due to his visible disapproval of the Queen's interview tomorrow, Belle gets the chance to remember what she has to be doing. Like getting to work. Panicky all of a sudden, the librarian hugs Ruby goodbye and dashes out the door. Mr. Gold wasn't too far ahead, but Belle had to go a little faster than a speed walk in order not to loose him.
"Mr. Gold," Belle called, slowing her pace to walk beside him. For a man with a cane, he could seriously move fast. The Scotsman did not slow down as much as Belle would prefer, but gave a fleeting glance her way. It left as quick as it came.
"Miss French. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Can I ask you a question?" Belle asked, struggling to keep up with his "casual" pace. But even now, he doesn't stop for her. Why was it that Mr. Gold seemed to hate her? He wasn't her landlord, no; the library was government owned. Belle could count on one hand the number of times they've talked since she moved here from Australia, but every one of those times ended up with Mr. Gold growling at her like a ticked off lion. A sexy, Scottish lion. Still, Belle had never given him a good reason to get to annoyed with her, besides that one time she nearly ran him over.
Mr. Gold says snippily, "Make it quick, dearie. Transactions don't happen by themselves."
"Y-yes, of course—Do you hate Rum and the Queens of Darkness?"
That got Mr. Gold to pause. For just a moment, before he continued on at an even faster pace. "Now, what gave you that idea?"
"You didn't look too happy when I told you about it the first time, or that time I was talking about them with Mulan at the library and you happened to walk in, or that other time I was playing some RQD songs at Mary Margret's place when you stopped by to pick up the rent—"
"You're wasting my time."
"Sor—No, no I'm not sorry. I want to know why. I mean, I see you not minding other rock and roll songs that happen to be playing when you're around, and I think I've seen you tap to the beat of music once or twice. It's just, you always tense up when it's about Rum—"
"Miss French," Mr. Gold barked, stopping to face her. Belle, so caught up in her spiel, nearly crashed into his suddenly immobile figure. "What I do or don't like is none of your business. Secondly, I would appreciate it if you keep your nosy little self away from it if you have nothing to discuss with me that's nae related to business. My shop is open from Monday through Thursday, eight a.m. to seven p.m. If you have nothing professional to speak of, Miss French, I would greatly appreciate it if you remove yourself from my personal space. Good day."
Belle suddenly noticed how close she was. Flushing as she felt the heat radiate off the lean Scotsman, the young woman stepped back politely. Once freed from her presence, Mr. Gold turned away and speed walked down the street. And just like that, Mr. Gold was gone.
And it was in that moment Belle noticed how nice is butt was.
Humph!
If the man weren't such an ass, she would have jumped him ages ago.
Oh well. Why should Belle care what he does or doesn't like? Mr. Gold wasn't important right now, anyway—getting ready to hear long-awaited answers to what happened to Rum was!