Making her way down the statue studded hallway, Emma finds herself repeating the mantra 'don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out' over and over in her head. She supposes the ominous depictions of nubile wretches in various displays of submission do little to ease her troubled mind, but at the forefront of her disquiet is the simple peculiarity that accompanies what should be effortless movement.
It is a most disconcerting feeling, placing one foot in front of the other; an act repeated day in, day out since about two years of age- at least, she would reckon on this being the case, but it's not as though she has anyone to ask who might have documented the feat- with no thought or effort at all. The closest thing to which she can relate her current predicament is having to learn to put weight on her leg again after sustaining a bad break at the age of twenty-three; the raised letters of the embossed licence plate belonging to the car responsible leaving a bruise across her fractured shin which had been almost legible.
Regina's legs are a little shorter than her own, which is something numerous arguments spent with her teeth bared in the brunette's face could have told her without having to undergo this most unusual transition, but the difference in the tilt to their hips and the way the weight is dispersed on their frames is something she has never given pause for thought. Now though, as she stalks regally down the empty cavernous hall, she finds herself pondering with wonder the strange fluidity of the darker woman's limbs. It is almost as though she glides across the intricate marble rather than walks as a mere mortal might, and she finds pleasure in the fact, despite its difference to the norm.
To her norm.
However, the aspect of the change that her mind seems most intent to return to, is the odd sensation of, well, femininity the brunette's petite frame offers her. As a teenager she had become aware of the fact that she was perhaps less 'girly' than many of the young women she'd interacted with at the time, but it had been an absent, decidedly vague discovery; not something over which she had lost any sleep, nor anything she wished to change. The idea of being 'female' in the sense of mannerisms and interests had always seemed intertwined with such notions as being weak, of being dependent, of being helpless within her subconscious mind, and, despite a few snide comments here and there- and she has to give Regina credit where credit is due for fulfilling the quota of snide remarks over the present year- the fact that she lacks any real feminine traits other than those biologically bestowed upon her has never really given her much cause for concern.
Maybe it's not about that though... About being weak...
No, because if there's one thing the brunette is not, it is weak, and the Sheriff mulls on this pensively as she walks with a little extra sway; watching the perfect hourglass of her curious shadow appreciatively as she continues towards the large entrance hall to the Palace.
As she nears the threshold, her heartbeat increases warningly in her chest- no, Regina's chest; about the same size, but fuller due to a smaller frame, and oh, why the hell are you thinking about the Mayor's 'assets'- haha!- right now, Swan? Can't this wait for a time when, gee, I don't know, you're not pulling off 'the great magical heist of the century'?- as she notes a silent sentry stood on either side.
What would Regina do...?
Supposing it works to her advantage that she has frequently found herself on the receiving end of some of the less pleasant aspects- the regal aspects- of the brunette's behaviour, she summons up the memory of Regina as she had been- Regina the Mayor- and pulls herself up to her full height; her neck long, and the dark skirts of the gown dancing about narrow shins in an oddly reassuring manner.
"Do not speak unless spoken to..."
Tossing silken locks back with an arrogance she prays doesn't look as theatrical as it feels to herself, she stalks past the two translucently pale men without a second glance, allowing a sigh of relief to escape pleasantly plump lips as she finds herself cast beneath the peculiar glow of green emitted from the sea up above.
Step one: complete. Operation 'Snow' is underway.
She allows her tongue to toy over the small nick to her upper lip with intrigue before catching herself in the act with a frown.
Stop that...
Pursing her lips and offering Regina's misbehaving tongue a sharp nip in reprimand, she glances up at the ominous stone of the tower which looms up ahead and continues with a greater purpose.
She takes the spiralling stairs slower than she usually might, supposing the Queen would be unlikely to bound up them two at a time, and still struggling to be one hundred percent in control of slim, amazingly loose limbs.
If you trip and scuff yourself, you're dead meat, dear...
Banishing the small smirk this thought garners, she sashays authoritatively up cold stone until she is presented with the curved arch of an entrance way a little above her. Taking a deep breath and telling the mutinous thumping of her heart to desist with its painful pounding, she stalks into the damp cavern stiffly, spying the crude stalactites that form a barrier across the middle of the large room and moving to stand before them slowly.
Mary Margaret lies on her back on a small cot bed, her eyes closed and her lips gently parted. Her hair tumbles in disarray and her clothes are ruthlessly crumpled, but she seems otherwise to be no worse for wear.
She's fine... She's okay... Regina, I know you've sacrificed a great deal for what seems like something so small, but I needed to know, I needed to see...Needed to have just a small touch of, well, home... And she's okay... And I can't thank you enough for allowing me this...
Clearing her throat, the Sheriff scolds herself swiftly as she feels a foolishly dopey grin alight borrowed lips and quickly schools fine features into an expression of aloof boredom as the raven-headed woman rolls onto her side to greet her visitor.
"You're back..."
"... Yes."
Green eyes narrow suspiciously, and Emma swallows, wondering how in the hell her deception should be so obvious.
"Why are you looking at me like that...?"
I was going to ask you the same thing...
Sighing, the Sheriff merely offers a nonchalant shrug, deciding the safest option to be ignorance.
"... How are you?"
Snow blinks in surprise, but she casts a glance down to the meagre cot bed beneath her before returning her attention to the Queen with a cold, humourless smile.
"Is that question supposed to be funny?"
"No... I..."
Casting her eyes down to the dirt ridden floor, Emma gathers herself swiftly before regarding the woman before her with a hard expression and injecting her words with the confidence so familiar within the rich tone that falls from her lips.
"Hardly; I have little time for games. I merely came to warn you not to get too comfortable- At least there's a mattress, right? It's not too bad? We're working on it, we really are! We're going to get back and it's all going to be fine, and please stop looking at me like that... Stop looking at Regina like that... Things have changed, I promise, and I just can't take you looking at me like that- as we will soon be embarking on our trip back to Storybrooke..."
"Well... You've certainly been taking your time..."
Cold. So very cold.
"And I suppose my daughter still finds herself down in the servant's quarters. Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if you actually mean to take us back with you at all..."
Emma balks visibly at the acid to the schoolteacher's tone- not having been privy to the previous conversation in which Regina had warned the younger woman to act in a way expected of her- and the look of hurt that crosses fine features has the pale woman frowning as she can't quite shake the feeling that there is something most peculiar about the Dark Queen.
"... As I've already told you, Snow White, your fate lies in my hands and do not think for a second that leaving you to rot in this cell will suffice to satisfy my need for revenge for... All that you've done to me..."
While the Sheriff struggles to keep herself from inflecting nervously, the raven-headed woman's focus lies predominantly within the use of her full name; the words sounding clunky and out of place.
"... All that I've done to you...?"
Narrow shoulders shrug in a fashion entirely foreign to the brunette's regal frame as full lips form a hard, thoughtful line that seems oh so familiar to the school teacher, but she is unable to put her finger on just why that might be.
"Regina..."
Troubled eyes fail to flicker in recognition of being addressed, and Snow rises from the bed and pads towards the stony bars of her cell with a frown.
As the pale woman approaches the barrier, the brunette seems to pull herself together; tossing back glossy locks and sniffing irritably. Paying this little mind, the schoolteacher peers through the bars critically; green eyes narrowed as she stands so close to the darker woman that her breath whispers gently across her cheeks.
"What are you playing at?"
It is a low murmur, and she imagines that to any onlookers they would portray a rather strange tableaux indeed; close enough to kiss through the bars... Close enough to bite.
"... Playinhg at?"
The Queen takes an awkward step backwards, mouth hard while dark coals flicker uncomfortably. She places her hands irritably on cocked hips and the paler woman's mouth falls open as it dawns on her just where she recognizes Regina's sudden strange mannerisms from.
Whom she recognizes them from.
"Oh my god..."
Spanish eyes glitter dangerously as the brunette gives a minute shake of her head, her expression rife with warning as she regards shocked green warily.
"I... Uh..."
Wishing more than anything for a chance to simply drop her tiresome act and reach through the bars to her housemate, Emma gives a small nod of apology before once more adopting a tone of disdain and sweeping her hair back indifferently.
"Well, I will leave you to your thoughts..."
"... Right... Uh, Regina...?"
"... Yes?"
"Emma... She's alright? Will you tell me that much?"
"... She's fine, dear. I imagine she simply looks forward to returning home... Foolishly of course..."
"She's looking forward to coming... home?"
"... Of course she is... "
Allowing just the smallest of smiles to touch full lips, the Sheriff gives the schoolteacher a small nod of farewell before turning with a flourish and marching from the room; Snow watching with a disconcerted sigh as the last swatch of black satin slips from view.
You take care of yourself now, Emma... It was good to see you- better than you could know- but tread carefully... Please.
It is only when she moves back to perch on the bed that she thinks of just how strange it should be that Regina would allow the blonde the faith to carry off her little masquerade. Frowning, she tells herself to simply take solace in the fact that both the Queen and the Sheriff seem to be keeping their heads above water while refraining from clawing each other's eyes out.
