The Rum Isn't Gone
The pub was as quiet as a forest set on fire (there were all kinds of barking, chirping shouting, yelping and other unmentionable noises).
Suddenly the door opened with a bang (a few curses were thrown on the poor man's way, as the chilly wind sneaked into the dwelling). The man who entered appeared to be mildly surprised (shocked was a better word, actually), since none fear what-so-ever was provoked by his entrance. For he was the great Rumpelstilstkin and he was supposed to be the most feared man in every kingdom, realm, universe, galactic (be it the Milky Way or some other).
So yeah, he was supposed to instigate fear everywhere.
Apparently not here, however.
"Shut the door, you clod!" one of the men shouted and threw a half-eaten chicken wing on Rumpelstiltskin's way. The sorcerer briefly considered turning the idiot into a chicken himself, but he saw that the poor bastard was completely wasted and mercifully decided not to.
Actually, each and every soul in this place was thoroughly drunk. Smashed. Pixilated. Intoxicated. Boozy. Pie-eyed. Loaded. You name it - they were it. Therefore, he decided that not being noticed and squealed at was completely forgivable and not an insult.
The Most Feared Of Them All, who was sometimes even called 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named' (because people feared even his name) sat on the lone, dark corner of the pub and ordered a bottle of rum.
"Hey, Mister, get away from this table - I declared it mine twenty minutes ago," a female's voice said half-soberly from next to him. Apparently that was the disadvantage of going in the darkest, loneliest corners of a pub - it might not be as lone as originally presumed. "Last fellow who tried to take this place..." the woman whose features were hidden in the dark trailed off. "Well, see this one over there?" She supposedly motioned to some guy, but as it was as dark as a dungeon, he just looked around to -presumably- see some beaten guy, but - to his utter astonishment - the only distressed thing was a weeping giant.
"The big one there?" he asked, just to be sure.
"Him."
Who was this woman?
The bottle of rum arrived. The barmaid just searched in the darkness for a hand that would catch the bottle.
"Look, dearie, how about I make you a deal? I share this precious darling here with you, and you let me stay on this table. I rather like dark corners."
"Creep," was all she said, but didn't decline the deal.
"Says the woman who made a giant cry."
She told him to cheerfully bugger off, and snatched his bottle. He heard a long gulp and something along the lines of 'Sweet nectar of the pirate deities...'.
Soon said sweet nectar was returned to him and he felt the bottle considerably lighter.
Rumpelstiltskin snickered.
He loved dealing with drunk people even more so than the desperate ones.
This place was a paradise.
He felt like a whale in the big, blue ocean, only opening its mouth and food just flowing to it.
He giggled.
And promptly drowned his giggle with a big sip of rum.
"Dearie, would you like to strike another deal with me? Is there anything you would want?"
The woman's silence sounded thoughtful.
Yes, silence could sound thoughtful.
"I want only to kick this guy I met in the forest. Down there, where it hurts."
"I'll grant you the opportunity if you like. But, pray tell, why would you want to kick this unfortunate mate?" he couldn't help but ask, and wrote it off to that giant gulp of rum that was already making him giddy. He drank another one, as an afterthought.
"He stuck 'imself inside my head and doesn't wanna get out, even though he's gonna get married soon. To a woman as dull as a tree," she slurred and felt for the bottle again, stealing it away from his loving hands.
Soon a second one was ordered.
"So, when will you grant me the deal?" she asked.
"When you agree to give me your firstborn, of course!"
"No way!" she exclaimed in a drunken drawl. Huh? He had thought she'd be more gone by now, and she'd agree. But the woman appeared to hold down her alcohol. "But I'm gonna give you my puppy!"
Hmmm...
"Deal!" he said, cheerful once more, and searched the darkness for an out-stretched hand to shake.
He heard her laugh.
"Only that I don't have a puppy! You screwed yourself up!"
"Then the deal is off," he simply replied..
She cursed herself for giving out like this.
Soon some completely wasted wanna-be musician (actually, it was the giant) stood up on the top of his table (thankfully, it didn't give in like many people thought, as it had been through much more serious things - like twelve dancers, or a horse... don't ask about the last one). However, he did smash the bottles and goblets and started slamming his fingers on a violin (unknowingly, he was the first creature in the Enchanted Forest to ever play guitar-style; this was an important historical moment). It came so off-tune, like a cat scratching its claws on glass, that he was hastily taken down by his strongest (and soberest) friends. The poor thing promptly burst into tears once more.
After this accident, one of the braver men in the pub took the violin and started a not-so-horrific tune that was liked by the mob.
The tables were put near the walls, the space was quickly cleared of all bigger rubbish and people started dancing.
"Let's go join them!" the woman suddenly squealed, after they half-finished the second bottle.
He nodded, forgetting she couldn't see him, but he figured she'd understood, once she grabbed his hand.
As they entered the lit part of the pub, joined hands, bouncy enthusiasm, giggles and all that, they looked at each other and stared, each finally realizing the identity of the other.
Snow White should have run in screams the moment she laid her eyes on his golden face, but strangely (actually a lot reasonable, for a person so drunk) she didn't.
"I've been drinking rum with Rumpelstiltskin! Oh, I'm definitely spreading the word that you've changed your name to Rum!" she told him in a slurred chuckle.
He giggled with her and they danced.
...
When they sat again (on a more lit table this time), Snow told him of her meeting with Charming. Usually he was absolutely, bloody horrified whenever a woman - God forbid! - spoke of her feelings, but he found himself listening because of the... entertaining way she described her situation.
"... and that... baboon told me he'd always find me wherever I was, in that sappy tone that was suppos'd to sweep me off my feet but really didn't... as if he's my One True Love or somethin'..."
"Love's such an unnecessary thing. I think that the person who invented it was a bored queen who wanted her kingdom to be full of drama. So she'd be the drama queen..."
Snow White looked at him as if he'd grown two extra heads and laughed.
"You're right! We should sic Regina on her! Maybe then the balance of the world will be returned!"
"And we'll all live happily-ever-after!"
They toasted to that.
"We should also toast to - what day is it today?"
"Tuesday," he supplied.
"To Tuesdays!"
"And to the Wednesdays when our heads will be spitted as though the fairy Godmother has decided to throw a party inside them!"
"To Wednesdays then!"
There were also toasts on all the rest days of the week, to thieves, to dealmakers, to Regina (?), to rum, to the barmaid who delivered a third bottle, to the giant who was so touched to be toasted to that he shed a few more tears (he was actually such a softie, because he was just complexed that he was only three foot tall, unlike his much taller brothers).
Snow also toasted to the day he decided to wear leather pants ('Oh, come on -don't tell you haven't realized you have such a nice bum!'). Later she added a toast to the person who made him wear those pants and even gave him her blessing to never wear anything but leather, ever again.
Rumpelstiltskin figured she was completely drunk by this point.
He, never being the chevalierious one, and also quite drunk himself, figured he should try his luck. After all, Snow White was er, a fairly beautiful woman, and he hadn't gotten laid in a... ah... a really long time.
"Look, love, True Love is way overrated. Especially 'True Love's Kiss'. But I know something that isn't. Not even a bit." She looked at him with curiosity.
"Go on. You've got my attention."
"Not-Necessarily-True Love's Roll In The Hay." Her eyes suddenly fluttered closed.
"Is that so?" He nodded with a smile. "Well, you do have those dreamy, beautiful hands..." She rested her head on one of the empty bottles. He almost jumped in excitement - he might have a chance after all. "... And you have this incredibly sexy Scottish accent when you aren't trying to sound like a little girl who has been given a pony as her Christmas present two months in advance..." She trailed off.
For this story's sake and Robert Carlyle's sexy accent's sake, let's just accept that there is Scotland in the Enchanted Forest.
He stared at her expectantly.
She snored.
Oh, bummer.
How did Snow White manage to fall asleep with all that noise?
...
It was twenty eight years later when they spoke in such... depth again.
She was sulking in Granny's since her Prince Charming had just rejected her in favor for his wife. Doctor Whale headed towards the poor woman, sure of himself that he'd charm her out of her pants. Overconfident, arrogant bastard.
Mr. Gold promptly tripped him with his cane and the man fell gracelessly on the floor. He looked around in confusion and the loan shark gave him his best I'll Ruin You If You Don't Get Out Of My Way smile. Whale - a sometimes questionably sensible man - thankfully understood that Mr. Gold had just called dibs on the school teacher, and retreated out of the place. Honestly, this man was like a hyena with its arse on fire.
Mr. Gold sat next to Miss Blanchard and at once a rather morose, yet sexy jazz song began on the radio.
"What's been bothering you, love?" he asked. She didn't try to wipe away her falling tears, but she did turn to him and answer. A conversation started.
I have a feeling that this is the beginning of one beautiful friendship, Mr. Gold thought. Again.