A/N: first time Ever doing an AU that's not just slightly canon-divergent ! Just rolling with it for now . Hope you enjoy & thanks for reading !
Disclaimer: I don't own any recognisable characters .
"So I can crash at your place?" Emma slurred into the cell.
"Of course. D'you need me to come pick you up?" August asked.
"Nah, I'm in the neighbourhood. We were at Granny's. Prak-tally 'round the corner." Emma paused. "Prick-ick-tally. Practically." She lacked a natural way with words, so her brain kicked into overdrive when she had to talk and be drunk at the same time.
"Oh, God. Okay, Emma. I'll be home in an hour or so. You know how to get in. Be safe!"
The full effect of the alcohol hit her a minute after they hung up. The world blurred into watercolour-soft hues and sharp lights, and while she was beginning to realize maybe seven shots in such a relatively short time was not her shiniest idea, she was definitely enjoying the free Instagram filter she was viewing the world through. And the looming nausea was a small price to pay to celebrate Ruby and Elsa's engagement right.
By the time she ended up in Storybrooke Heights—the apartment complex her best friend lived in—the night had grown cold enough to make her teeth chatter and fingers begin to purple. She went around to the side window August always left inched up, regardless of the season.
It took her a few tries to get a grip, then Emma dragged the window higher, clambering through the opening. The change in altitude, however slight, caused a burst of vertigo that had her catching her boot on the frame and stumbling over the sill.
"Shit shit shit." She chanted as her head glanced the hardwood floor. Then she broke into a fit of giggles despite the hot burst of pain. She had a habit of calling August 'Blockhead' because of a clumsy streak she claimed he only survived due to his head being made out of wood. Clearly she was out to sweep his title from under him with her drunken antics.
Emma crawled across the floor a few feet, the resonant pain in her head weighing her down. She got to her haunches and steadied herself on the wall. August usually left a light on when he went out in the middle of the night, and the unexpected darkness had Emma struggling with the mundane obstacle course made out of the furniture's silhouettes. She took a chance on one of them, bending to sit, catch her breath-and the chair started screaming.
Or yowling, rather, as it broke apart into two shapes and the smaller, denser one erupted into a flurry of claws.
"Yikes. Sorrysorrysorry. Shhh." Emma said as the shape dissolved back into the darkness, retreating with a series of disgruntled hisses and growls. She wondered when August got a cat.
"You got this, drunk Emma." She rallied herself on, though the words sounded too slow for the fast, hazy world she was navigating.
She finally found her way to the couch, though it certainly wasn't where she remembered it.
She flopped into the plush leather—which should have been coarse fabric? "Damn, Augie. Did you win some HGTV show or something? Why was this not on Facebook?"
Her musings were interrupted by a heavy plop on her shoulder. She stifled a half-laugh, half-scream as the beast made its way to her lap, catching on her long wavy hair and purring furiously when it reached its destination.
"Well hello. I'm sorry I sat on you earlier. I didn't expect the seat cushions to be alive." She trailed her fingers through the critter's fur, and it accepted her offering happily, settling solidly half on her lap and half across her chest. "Friends, then?" Emma had always liked animals. They were much easier to read than people. And even in their deceptions, there was a particular transparency. When the cat assertively butted her hand in response, she smiled.
"Mm, good." She was happy to find the expected afghan on the back of the couch, since everything else was topsy turvy. She pulled it down across her, covering both herself and the cat. "Slumber partyyyyy." She cheered quietly.
She was out in a heartbeat.
The first time she woke up, it was from the stifling heat. Without the afghan, though, she would be too cold.
"What a dilemma Emma." She mumbled blearily. She struggled up from her slumped position, pushing the afghan aside. The cat in her lap made a noise low in its throat in protest, and she absently patted the resultant cat-and-cover lump consolingly. She stripped off her red leather jacket and the lacy camisole underneath, exhaling in relief as cool air graced her skin.
"Better." She murmured, drifting back to sleep.
The second time she woke up, it was to a sharp exclamation and a pair of golden eyes blinking and burning with indignation.
"Bloody hell."
