Moving quietly, the brunette stalks over to the drawn curtains of the Sheriff's small bedroom. She pulls them open briskly, hoping that the light which now pours hazily into the room will rouse the blonde. When no cries of indignation are bestowed upon her, she turns around curiously. The sight she is met with causes her to chuckle beneath her breath. The younger woman appears to have wriggled down the length of the bed in sleep, and now all that remains visible are two paper-pale hands, palms up and fingers splayed as though reaching for help.

As though drowning.

"Miss Swan."

Her tone is loud and unfairly irritable, but she'd rather it was so than to have her voice betraying her sudden discomfort. Slender fingers twitch comically as her bark wakes the blonde, and the darker woman watches with a smirk as Emma lowers the blanket just enough to peer up at her sleepily; her hair a tousled nightmare.

"Regina?"

"Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"High time you got yourself ready... Or had you forgotten about our little upcoming adventure"

"I thought we weren't going until lunchtime?"

"You thought correctly, dear. It seemed like a sensible idea to me however, that I make a few things clear before we leave."

"Ursula's evil, I get it, I get it, I don't-"

"Well, then you should have no trouble understanding my reason for visiting you this morning."

"What-"

Green eyes narrow in confusion as the Queen holds up a small bundle of fabric, before the younger woman's sleepy bewilderment abates and she shakes her head sternly.

"That better not be what I think it is..."

Rolling her eyes, the brunette shakes out the garment in her hands so that the dress's full skirt falls heavily down and into shape. She holds it out to Emma who continues to frown at the plush fabric murderously before sighing and placing her hands on her hips; the cream dress crumpling against her side.

"Miss Swan, if you only knew the amount of trouble I went through to get myself here so that I could bring you and your mother back for my son... I am not going to return just so that I can tell Henry that his moth- that you were simply too fatally stubborn to dress according to your sex, even for his sake."

"Ok, ok."

The blonde grumbles irritably and Regina smirks as she once more holds out the dress victoriously. When the younger woman simply remains huddled beneath her covers, she raises an eyebrow impatiently.

"Well?"

"Uh... I haven't done quite as much digging around in other people's wardrobes as you have..."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning could you maybe give me a little privacy? Please?"

"Ah..."

The Queen's cheeks flush delicately as she turns to place her proffered dress carefully over the stool in the corner. She moves to leave, but is surprised when she hears sheets rustle and the unmistakable sound of footsteps which hail her simply turning her back, and so remains awkwardly facing the wall with a sigh. The quiet mutterings of discomfort answer what was going to be her next question in regards to the younger woman's current level of pain, but she is encouraged to find Emma to be seemingly just as stubborn when it comes to her own body as she is with just about everything else; her low swearing pained but laced with determined irritability, as though she is simply frustrated with her body for succumbing to such a mortal weakness.

"Are you done?"

"Huh?"

Regina huffs with annoyance and turns round to regard the blonde, deciding the younger woman has had more than enough time to sort herself out, and refusing to spend a moment longer stood staring at the wall like a disgraced child.

"What the hell are you-"

"-Just to get into the shower!"

Emma explains quickly as the brunette glares angrily at the shirt and chaps she now wears from the previous day. Rolling her eyes and taking a seat on the Sheriff's recently vacated bed, the brunette offers the younger woman a shooing gesture with her hand, earning herself a similar expression of irritation.

"You're just going to sit there?"

"well I had assumed you may appreciate someone checking over your injuries before we head off into an unknown land in which there may well be no such medical aids as there are here..."

"...I can do it myself, you know..."

"Is that so, dear? With what, may I ask?"

The Sheriff searches the Queen for any signs as to where she might be harbouring the promise of disinfectant and fresh bandages, but the brunette merely continues to study her disapprovingly. Finally, with an overly dramatic sigh, the Sheriff turns heel and pads over to the door, purposefully refusing to offer Regina another glance.

As she stands beneath the cooling water, the blonde studies her feet through slitted lashes as she protects her eyes from the cascade of running water. She would be lying if she were to say she wasn't nervous in regards to their upcoming adventure, but she is also a little relieved to finally be leaving this place.

The time spent here in what was once her mother's castle has been odd; she has been treated with a peculiar silent respect, but the emotion hasn't quite seemed to reach the eyes of the guards and maids that have graced her passing company. She understands the warnings both Snow and Regina have given her in regards to the quest ahead, but she would still rather face this strange unknown than the hateful expectations of those she has seen stare at her in the palace.

In truth, Mary Margaret's stories about the Sea Witch have her more curious that they do fretting; the schoolteacher having explained to her the rueful story of the Little Mermaid, before returning from her walk around the castle to offer her a vague warning in regards to some dimwitted young woman in search of luxury and companionship from a woman seemingly even more despicable than the Queen.

More 'despicable' than the Queen? A curious way to describe the woman who saved your life...

She shakes her sodden curls distractedly. The last thing she needs is for her mind to get tangled up with thoughts of the brunette. Just recently, her thoughts have been returning to Regina more and more, and the ideas dancing around beneath pretty cornsilk tresses are definitely not anything she'd wish to share. Frowning beneath the chilled water, she supposes her recent interest in the darker woman may simply stem from the fact that she suddenly seems present around every corner, but she is wise enough deep down to recognize some sort of truce forming between herself and the brunette.

We are both outsiders looking in...

True... But maybe it's more than that...

"Oh, give me a break!"

Muttering irritably, the blonde finally climbs out from beneath the shower's cold spray, pulling a downy towel around her slim form tightly and raking her fingers roughly through her hair. She studies herself momentarily in the mirror; green eyes darting about her pale features critically. She is loathe to admit that her housemate may have had a point when commenting on her weight decreasing somewhat; her ribs and hipbones creating noticeable twin peaks when looking down at herself. She shrugs in frustration. She has always been slight- eating much and often but burning her fill off easily- and she decides the fragility suggested by her slim frame is simply misleading rather than telling.

Plucking at the virginally cream material of the frock brought to her by the Queen, she wrinkles her nose in disgust. She doesn't much care for dresses, and she suspects Regina, her mother, and god knows who else have their opinions as to why this might be, but in truth, she has just never been keen on receiving the sort of attention given to a woman when wearing such a piece of clothing.

Pulling the garment over her head, she shimmies her way into the offending item, before regarding herself with a critical frown in the mirror. Growling irritably, she storms out the door and into her bedroom to consult the brunette on her choice of wardrobe.

"What the hell, Regina!?"