Emma
I walk up to the table next to where the strange guys are sitting. One of them is eating from a huge, huge bowl of ice cream, as opposed to the other one, who has a small bowl.
I know from experience that he can't eat all of it.
He'll throw up before he does.
I lean over the back of my chair, drink still in my hands. I gesture with my drink. "Hey."
"Hey," the XL-ice-guy replies, his mouth full.
The other one just frowns at him. "I'm the sheriff around here," I say, showing my badge.
They don't seem impressed. "Mind if I ask you a couple of questions? We don't get many strangers around here."
"Sure."
"Names, please?"
"Dean." XL-ice-guy gestures to himself, and then to the other one. "Sam."
"We're brothers. Not husbands," the other one clarifies – it probably isn't the first time that someone had thought that they were married.
"And what are you doing here in Storybrooke?" I ask. The XL-ice-guy named Dean anwsers.
"Just a short stop, it's too hot in the car." It sure is too hot.
"We're gone before sunset, don't worry," adds the other one, named Sam.
I nod. "Okay."
I wonder if I should ask them anything else, but I don't think so; they seem innocent enough.
So I nod, tell them it's okay and then leave, ending our conversation with a "bye".