Matters of Discussion
Bae was about to knock on August's door when it opened, revealing his puppet friend and an older gentleman. The gentleman nodded to Bae and walked out as he entered. August closed the door behind him. "What's up?"
"It's happening again," Bae said.
"You destroyed another fax machine?"
"A candle this time."
"How's that possible?"
"Magic."
"Well, in this world, magic is unpredictable."
"It's not even supposed to exist here."
"But it does."
"Goddamn you."
"I'm worried about you."
"Why?"
"Because I think you're dangerous."
"Excuse me?"
August sighed and took a step forward. "Ben, this isn't fax machines and phones anymore. This isn't the difference between why you'd choose a flashlight or a candle in a given situation. I've felt it for a long time. You can do things, things you might not be aware of. What happened on the pier was only the beginning."
"I didn't want or need this conversation right now. I blew up a candle this morning, and I nearly killed a man last night. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was turning into my father."
"But you're not."
"How do you know? How does Papa know? How does anyone know that? For all any of us know, I could start killing everyone in this town, and everyone will have to flee."
"They can't. They lose their memories forever."
Bae turned away from August and walked over to the window. He braced himself against the sill and bowed his head against the glass. His heavy sigh left a spot of fog on the pane. "Once, August, just once. I can't deal with what you can feel. I need time to process it. I need something to occupy my time so I don't have to think about it right away. August, give. Me. A break." He turned slowly to August. The puppet's eyes widened and he took a step back. "What?" he snapped.
"You...you don't feel it?"
"Feel what?" August fetched a mirror from the bathroom, and in his own reflection in the glass, Bae saw something he didn't recognize but despised on sight. He drove his fist through the mirror, all the way through the wood behind it, and straightened, staring at August. The mirror's remains fell from the puppet's hands. August said nothing as Bae, stricken with fear, rushed from the room.
OUAT
Mulan walked into the one chamber of the fortress that she had been ordered to avoid except under special circumstances. This was one such event.
When she entered, she immediately noticed something odd about the furniture's layout: the chair between the desk and the hearth was facing the hearth rather than the desk and thus the door. "Commander?"
"What news?" asked a female voice from the chair.
"...Ma'am?" Mulan raised her eyebrows.
"What news?"
She cleared her throught and squared her shoulders. "He found his power."
"Where is he?"
"In the world the prisoners call Storybrooke."
"What prisoners?"
"Two females, the so-called Savior and her mother."
Mulan noticed the commander's hesitation, extremely brief but still apparent. The commander said, "In any event, they will want to return, yes? Imprisonment here is nothing to sneeze at."
"So far as I can tell, returning has been their only concern."
"Help them," Mulan's commanding officer said. "Recruit whoever you need to to accomplish this, and let me know what you find as soon as you find it."
"You'll be the first to know."
The commander paused again, though Mulan could tell this was no hesitation. "You may go." Mulan bowed briefly and rushed out of the room.
The commander smiled at the fire over her folded hands. "Time to come home," she said.
OUAT
Tinker Bell paced back and forth across the room she rented at Granny's Bed and Breakfast, for a long time struggling to think of a solution to what she had informally dubbed the "Captain Hook problem" and even less formally as the "Jas problem."
"Wendy, of course," she blurted out. She stopped her pacings at once and called up a small crystal ball. "Paging Wendy," she said. A woman with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail with two sets of strands, one reaching her eyebrows and the other reaching her cheekbones, tied off with steel beads and serving as her bangs, appeared in the sphere. She seemed somewhat surprised. "Yes, I know you're not expecting me," Tink said, "especially given that I kind of dumped you like a hot tomale after Neverland, but Jas is here, in Storybrooke."
"With my fatal flame," Wendy said, leaning back.
"You know, I've long suspected Wendy's not your name."
"He gave it to me."
"Ah."
"So this is your news: the captain is in Storybrooke."
"He's trying desperately to get his brother out of the wraith."
"He knows it can't be done, right? The wraith is a soul-sucker, and once it has a soul, it keeps it forever."
"He refuses to believe that, and if he falls, he's going to bring everyone down with him."
"And what happens after that is anyone's guess," Wendy concluded for the fairy. "But if he can be talked out of this grief-induced psychosis and into something resembling an actual plan of action, whatever it may be, then we might have achieved something."
"Maybe, but it only works so long as he agrees to it."
"The same with all therapies."
"But it's our better alternative, versus just killing him."
Wendy nodded. "True. I'll accept that."
"So I'll find him and talk him down, and if I need to, I'll refer him to the town's therapist, Jiminy Cricket."
"Excellent. I wish you the best."
"You, too." Tink took the ball in her hand and closed her fingers over it. It disintegrated.
