A/N: So, this isn't a straight up "celebrity au" really, but it will eventually lead that way (it's gonna take a while tho). I just find the reality of struggling with breaking into Hollywood makes for a more interesting/unique story.
Also a late entry, and will be updated sporadically while I work on the other days, huhu.
Emma goes through her lines one more time as she waits in the crowded lobby amongst a dozen other aspiring actresses hoping to get the part. Having had the lines memorized since last night, she's mostly just doing it for something to do. The thing about being an actress people don't tell you? All the goddamn waiting you have to do. It's not a good state for someone as restless as her, so she tries to occupy herself by quietly whispering her lines one more time. Unfortunately, it's not working too well.
A few of the others have their phones out or earbuds in while they wait, Emma wishes she could do the same, but doesn't want any distractions right before she's called in, because she'll likely end up forgetting her carefully memorized lines, or worse, end up with a repeat of the time she ended up accidentally blurting out something related to the email she received just before she scrambled through the doors. That was bad enough, but to make things worse, it was an email from her roommate, and she ended up blurting something about how to get bird poop stains out of the couch.
Needless to say, she did not get a callback, and she went home to give Mary Margaret an earful, which ended up turned against her as the pixie-haired woman started on about her stupid bird, and things devolved into an argument about whose fault is was that Grumpy got out of the cage and onto the couch in the first place.
Honestly, if the other woman wasn't so generous about Emma not always keeping up her half of the rent, the blonde would've left and found a different roommate a long time ago. As it stands, the crazy schoolteacher is one of the few people she could actually consider friends in LA. Having grown up as an orphan in foster care didn't lent itself to many connections. Like most other abandoned kids, all she had to cling to were vague hopes and dreams, in place of love and care.
For Emma, the hope and dream has always been Hollywood. Growing up, TV and movies was her escape, one of the few things that could brighten her day and make her smile. Emma wants to be an actress so she could do the same to some other kid like her someday. Well, that, and the more selfish reasons of just wanting to be rich and famous, because there is no greater achievement for a poor, nameless orphan.
Of course, it wasn't so easy. It's been almost five years since she set out to LA after she aged out of the system at eighteen. Emma's spent it going on countless auditions, significantly fewer callbacks, and only landed a few bit parts so far. The biggest part she's landed was a minor role in one episode of a new ABC family show, and that was almost two years ago.
Frankly, Emma is doing better at her day job, as a bail bondsperson. Not the usual struggling actress' day job, certainly, but the blonde is pretty good at it, and she is terrible at waitressing, so it all works out. Certainly more than acting has.
More and more, Emma wonders if she should just give this up. Going to audition after audition with nothing to show for it wears down on her nerves constantly. Maybe she could at least take a break? She knows plenty of fellow struggling who have done just that (and never picked it up back, she reminds herself, but would that be so bad, really?).
Under the oppressive ticking of the clock, and the faint sounds she can hear from the closed doors to the audition room, Emma is gripped with the fierce urge to just get up and leave. Heart suddenly pounding, she looks around the room, trying to find something to calm herself down. But all she sees are a sea of faces just like her own, many just as blonde-haired and blue-eyed, all weary and hopeful, and it is too much.
Emma rushes out of her seat, heedless of the startled complaint from her two seatmates, and heads straight for the hallway that will lead her out of this building and out of this terrible, depressing cycle forever. In her determined haze, she barely sees what's going on around her, which proves to be a big mistake, when she is steps out into the hall and ends up nearly bowling someone over in her rush.
Thankfully, Emma manages to stop herself just in time, but she ends up with only a few inches away from startling brown eyes, and soft pink lips that are not at all marred by the thin scar she can see peeking through makeup. There's something vaguely familiar about the face too, something just tickling at the edges of her memory, but it slips away before she can confirm it. In any case, she has bigger issues at the moment.
Frozen in place by shock and the flash of immediate attraction, the blonde doesn't move until those soft lips are tilting into a frown, then opening to let out a low, sultry voice that has her shivering, "Excuse me?"
Emma abruptly realizes her awkward position and scrambles to get away even more awkwardly. Coughing in embarrassment, she tries to fight down the blush that flames across her face, but it is a lost battle.
"Sorry! Really, really, sorry 'bout that," Emma quickly apologizes, wincing as she tries to explain, "I wasn't paying attention, and I nearly knocked you over, and I couldn't stop loo-I'm just, sorry." She flames even more, as she just manages to stop herself from blurting out I couldn't stop looking at you, you're so pretty. No need to sound like a creepy stalker on top of being a clumsy idiot, Emma.
Jesus Christ, today is not my day at all, she thinks mournfully. Of course she meets a pretty girl in the worst possible way, on the worst possible day. Not that she has a chance even on the bed days, really. What are the chances this pretty isn't completely straight, anyway? She was in LA, not San Francisco.
But to her surprise, The Girl with A Scar On Her Lip actually looks amused instead of disgusted by her antics. There's almost a flicker of a smirk on said lip, as she speaks, "Apology accepted, Miss…?"
"Swan! Emma Swan," the blonde says on instinct, then resists the urge to facepalm because she sounds like she's trying out to be a reject James Bond. Coughing to cover up another blush, she says, "Just call me Emma. You?"
"Regina Mills." She replies simply, before her eyes flicker to the door she just came out of, and she asks, in a deliberate neutral tone, "Bad audition?"
Just like that, Emma remembers why she came out in the first place, and she flinches, quickly shaking her head. "Didn't even wait for my name. I… I just don't think I can do this anymore?"
It comes out a lot less confident than she'd thought it mere minutes ago, when she'd practically jumped out of her seat. The underlying frustration and the weariness from it all is still there, of course, the same nagging sensation that's been dogging at her heels for weeks and months now. But is she really ready to throw in the towel, after everything? Part of her says yes, while part of her screams no. She has no idea which voice to listen to, until the pretty brunette speaks up and she listens to those dulcet tones instead.
"I understand." Regina speaks with more softness than her initial impression makes her seem capable of. Her eyes flicker briefly to the door again, before she admits. "I ran out before my audition too."
Emma's eyes widen in surprise, though she isn't quite sure why. Some part of her had immediately pegged the girl in front of her as a fellow actress, after all. "You're thinking about quitting too?"
At the blunt question, Regina stills. She purses her lips as she replies, eyes clouded over, "More of a… strategic retreat. It's pointless to continue waging a war cannot be won, isn't it?"
This is the first time she's heard the acting business it compared to outright war, but it's so accurate it hurts. Emma cannot help but laugh, bitter and choked. Shaking her head, she says, "Someone once told me I was a fighter who never when to give up."
Dark brown eyes lock with hers then, suddenly serious when she asks, "Are you going to give up now?"
Emma is gripped with the sensation that her answer will determine the course of someone's life today. Maybe two someones, even. What is the right answer here? The truth is, more than a fighter, Emma is a runner. For as long as she's been able, she runs, when things get hard. But, also, for the longest time, she'd had something she was running towards. Maybe she's headed for a finish line she'll never cross, but she's also not sure where else she'll go.
In the end, she already has her answer, has it all along. Shaking her head, Emma says, with a slight laugh, "Like I said, I'm a fighter, and I don't give up."
The way those lips quirk into a small smirk makes the blonde feel surer of her answer than she has in a long time. What's she doing, succumbing to her nerves before an audition like a newbie? Emma knows why she's doing this, and why she has to keep doing it, even if it goes nowhere. She just forgets sometimes.
Regina tilts her head slightly in acknowledgement. "The tide of a war can change in the blink of an eye, after all." She adds, eyes clear and sparkling with something that might be mischief. Emma probably shouldn't find that so attractive.
She also probably shouldn't blurt out, "Do you want to run lines together?"
But when Regina says, "Alright."
Emma can't remember much of anything at all, then.
The two of them end up getting into the practice so much they actually end up missing both their auditions that day. It's a bit of a setback, maybe, because the part would've been a great stepping stone to more roles, but when Emma goes home with Regina's number on her phone, and a newfound determination to achieve her dream, it feels far more like a victory to her.