The first thing Rumford Gold realized when he opened his eyes, was the rain streaming onto his face, the second was the pounding headache gradually making its presence known. He knew he shouldn't have drunk so much the night before but when drunk patrons just left half full drinks outside the bar it was too much of temptation. Rum's nickname, after all, had been earned, not given.
He struggled up with a sigh into a sitting position taking the time to use the same curses towards his ailing body he did every other morning. It wasn't easy being homeless and being old, add the bum leg and Rum felt near useless.
Homelessness, however, had a way of making one useful and Rum knew sleeping away his hangover was not only stupid, it was dangerous. What little things Rum did possess he could easily lose if he wasn't alert at every moment.
The world wasn't kind to people like him.
As Rum sat blinking into the rain, the city noises began to push harder against his already protesting brain. He groaned at the prospect of finding food, knowing what an ordeal it would be for him. It was usually an ordeal, what with his disabilities and all, but the hangover amplified it tenfold.
"Might as well get up." He muttered under his breath. While there was no one else to hear his voice, simply knowing it still worked was a small comfort he wouldn't deny himself.
Rumford stood up, shaking water off of his clothing onto the blanket that covered his meager belongings. He rooted beneath said blanket for his walking stick using it to pull his weight up to full height.
Rum swayed on his feet, his head wasn't making things any easier. He knew he shouldn't leave anything behind he wasn't willing to lose while looking for food, but with the walking stick, carrying things was equally as difficult. Luckily, Rum had one water bottle left, meaning he didn't also have to find water.
He leaned down to grab the water bottle, wincing as he drew back up. Grabbing the lid with his teeth, he twisted it and drank as fast as he could. Wiping his mouth, he tossed the plastic bottle further under the overhang. No sense in throwing something away that could possibly be useful later.
There were only a few options for food, the shelter a few blocks away run by a young couple, the Nolans, who always seemed to want to "help" him, stopping by the diner and hoping the elderly matron of the estate took pity on him, or simply relying on the kindness of passersby.
None of the options were looking particularly appealing but something would have to be done. And fast, if his body had anything to say about it.
The rain had picked up by this point, proving to be both a blessing and a curse. It was an extreme annoyance, but people were less likely to come rooting through his belongings in a downpour. Rum stood for a moment longer, letting his tangled thoughts unwind in the cool morning air.
"Might as well deal with the Nolans, at least there'll be a roof over my head."
Picking up his coat, Rum shrugged it on over his clothing, or what passed as clothing for him. At least the coat provided another layer against the weather. Storybrooke wasn't known for its wonderful weather. Not exactly a summer vacation spot, or an any time of the year vacation spot, for that matter.
Rum took the tarp he had pilfered from Storybrooke Hardware's dumpster and tied it to the two poles supporting the overpass. At least his belongings would be dry. If they were still there when he got back that is.
With a satisfied grunt, and the knowledge that he had done all he could do, Rum set off down the street towards the Nolan's shelter. Normally, it wasn't too bad of a walk but with the rain and his leg, it proved to be a little more vexing.
It was a good thing there weren't any other Storybrooke inhabitants present on the waterlogged streets. Rum didn't like interacting with other people, he avoided them at all cost. Most people did not look kindly on someone in his situation, and Rum didn't like having to swallow his pride to accept their pity or sympathy offerings.
He turned onto the main road and grimaced. There was a figure at the other end of the street covered by a comically large umbrella. Rum knew exactly who it was, simply from the bright red of the object covering her precious hair.
Regina Mills. Before his son and ex-wife had died, Regina and he had been business partners. They thought alike, unafraid of doing everything it took to succeed, but then the accident had happened and Rum's life had been flipped upside down.
Regina hadn't waited too long before taking over everything they had built together and claiming it for herself. Anytime she accosted Rum in the streets she usually smirked at him before tossing whatever piece of change was loose in her pocket.
It was humiliating.
Luckily for him, or unluckily considering the weather, the Nolans' was halfway between himself and Regina. If he hurried, again, unlikely, though this time due to his head and lameness, he could make it to the relative safety of the shelter before having to deal with the smarmy Ms. Mills.
Rum straightened up even more, if that was even possible, and started walking determinedly towards the shelter. Regina was moving towards him at a slightly slower pace.
Both could see the other coming, and whether Rum liked it or not, contact was inevitable. Regina reached him just as he was placing his hand on the shelter door.
"Wet morning, eh Mr. Gold?" She smirked at him, knowing exactly what it cost him to not only go to the shelter in the first place but to be caught outside of it.
Rum grunted in return, not willing nor wanting to engage in any sort of communication.
Regina wasn't deterred. "You know," she continued, "Granny's just started offering the most wonderful spin on those pancake breakfasts we used to get before meeting. Now they come with sausage and bacon. Helps one start the day off right."
Rum willed his stomach not to betray his extraordinary hunger, though it started uncomfortably with the mention of his former morning indulgence.
"That sounds lovely, dearie." Rum finally gritted out. "Tell me, have you found any one able to stomach your companionship at any portion of the day since my fall from grace?"
Regina blanched. She glared up, a new steel in her eyes, though Rum knew he had hit a nerve. If Regina was anything, it was predictable.
"Have a good time with the rest of the truly unwanted." She growled, turning to march away, heels clicking on the wet concrete.
Rum chuckled. Regina wasn't anything he wanted to deal with but getting the best of her on a day he already wasn't feeling too excited about was enough to lessen his headache.
He pushed open the door, a blast of very welcome heat assaulting his senses.
An impossibly cheery voice greeting him along with the smell of breakfast. His stomach gave another growl and his head swam before he could focus on the words the shelter owner was speaking to him.
"Good morning Rum! So good of you to join us this morning." The female of the shelter owning couple, Mary Margaret, was the person behind the overtly positive greeting. Along with her husband, David, they fought to keep their doors open every day of the year offering food and a roof for a few hours for anyone who felt they needed it. They didn't offer any judgement, but were renowned for their "wisdom", always given free of charge.
"I believe David's just finishing up with breakfast if you want to head into the dining room," she continued, "I think it's waffles this morning!"
Rum halfheartedly grimaced at the woman before turning away from her. He didn't need a detailed rundown of that morning's menu, he needed coffee, strong coffee.
He walked down the darkened hallway to the room they had placed tables in, in order to utilize it as a "dining room" of sorts. The room wasn't large, but it connected to the kitchen by way of a large window installed into the wall. The window allowed David or Mary Margaret to be working on food, while simultaneously watching interactions between patrons.
Rum pushed open the door, the smell of food even stronger as it gave beneath his hand. He saw the room was fairly crowded this morning, most of the tables occupied.
Rum sighed, it made sense so many of Storybrooke's misfortuned would seek out the comfort of the indoors on such a cold, wet morning, one of the first of the year, but it also meant he'd have to sit with someone during the meal instead of enjoying a solitary breakfast.
His eyes scanned those already seated, trying to figure out where he'd be able to have the least amount of human interaction. Rum didn't have a ton of friends, nor did he feel he needed them. If he bothered to make connections then that meant he would have something to lose.
Rum wasn't going to take that chance. Not again. Not ever.
Rum's scanning had brought his eyes across David scrambling eggs in the kitchen window. David raised his spatula in greeting, Rum merely nodded.
All of the tables had at least three people already sitting at them. Three people too many, in Rum's opinion. Finally, he spotted a table almost immediately to his right, the closest to the door.
A single inhabitant sat with their back to him. Rum couldn't tell if the person was male or female, their features entirely hidden by the tattered black hoodie they had enshrouding their upper body. Whomever it was, they were small, smaller than he was and he was barely average height, on the skinny side.
He, or she, didn't have a plate of food in front of them, nothing to drink either. In fact, as Rum continued staring, they weren't doing anything, just sitting.
The door again opened behind Rum and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at the contact, falling forward onto his walking stick.
"Oh, I'm sorry Rumford, I didn't mean to startle you!" It was Mary Margaret again. Rum glared at her while he tried to get his bearings again. Mary Margaret glanced over to their right, her eyes sweeping over the still form Rum had just been scrutinizing.
"We found her this morning," she said sounding both heartbroken and curious at the same time, "David and I did, on our way out the door. She had been in our trashcans we think, we found her huddled under the bushes next to our house."
So the form was a girl, Rum thought. It explained the reason the figure was so damn small. Rum still couldn't figure out why Mary Margaret was telling him about her. He just wanted some coffee and food, he couldn't afford to spend time thinking of others.
"Tiny slip of a thing," she continued, oblivious to Rum's growing discomfort, "she didn't seem to be aware of who we were or what we did. We tried explaining to her that we were taking her to a safe place but we haven't been able to even get her to tell us her name." She shrugged, clearly wishing she could crack the shell of the girl. Rum knew better. The streets hardened a person. The longer one was surrounded by struggle, the more one retreated into their own mind. You were your only friend, the only one who would always be there, the only one would could make any changes that mattered.
He grunted at Mary Margaret, not entirely caring for the pity blooming in her eyes, if the girl wasn't in the mood to talk, all the better. At least he'd be able to salvage his breakfast.
He hobbled over to the table, choosing to sit across from the girl rather than invade her space. He pulled the chair away from the table roughly and plopped down, allowing his hurt leg to stick straight out in front of him.
The girl was staring down at the plastic checkered tablecloth completely silent. Rum had a spectacular view of the top of her sweatshirt covered head. It mattered not, he thought, reaching down to massage the ache out of his knee, he had no intention of striking up a conversation.
The girl hadn't moved when Rum had sat and still didn't move as he continued to merely sit, trying to gather enough strength to walk across the room and make a plate of food. He didn't know what caused her to finally shift but he heard a soft rustle and looked up.
Across the table from him, hidden in part by the hood and in part by the lanky chestnut hair, her face was finally bared to him. Rum started as his brown eyes met eyes as blue as the sky they rarely saw in the rainy Maine town, or at least, he was pretty sure they were blue. The shadows of her clothing didn't help illuminate them at all.
As he openly stared at the girl he realized he had judged too quickly. This was no girl sitting across from him, this was a woman.
A woman just as broken as he was.