Chapter Twenty: PETty Decisions
Ingrid swished her snow queen gown with a royal flourish. Boy was it hot, even though it was four in the afternoon. August was a day away, and it felt like the first day of summer.
She turned her magic ice powers on, frosting away the perspiration. Her satisfied smile came on. Raising her shoulders sweetly, she thought, Unlike Zelena, I will not melt. Ha! If she was unfortunate enough to be reborn as the Wicked Witch, she'd make sure she didn't melt like an ice cream cone.
Whale was strolling beside her, staring at her mouth. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him, that was against the rules…but…she was growing semi-fond of his face.
It wasn't ugly. She had to grudgingly admit that. To herself, anyway. Of course, she told him he was "handsome", but she never meant it, now did she?
She was screwed if she ever meant it. She was a monster. He was one of those scientists who abhorred magic.
Unless, of course, it came with pretty legs.
She flexed hers just to see his mouth water slightly.
"So you want a cat?" she inquired conversationally. Why couldn't she smile without a hint of deviousness? Her smile wasn't sweet. But she supposed, she was far from a saccharine character. She glimpsed her reflection in a shop window. Her eyes had the subtle sheen of wickedness.
"Yes." He fiddled anxiously with the nape of his neck. "Or…would you rather a horse?"
"Can't," she uttered breezily. "I'm allergic."
Of course she wasn't. However, the last thing she wanted was to be in charge of a horse. They smelled and wasted too much time. Horses were Regina's fondness. Ingrid wasn't a fan.
All of a sudden, Tiger Lily blew in Ingrid's face. Scrambling to get away from Prince Philip, as Aurora had just shown up.
Ingrid rolled her eyes when she noticed why Tiger Lily was all of a sudden throwing herself in Ingrid's direction so hard that she was stepping on Ingrid with her spiky heels. Full force. Right on Ingrid's ankle. To a point where Ingrid's ankle almost broke under the impact.
The pain did cause Ingrid to roll her eyes back in her head. She did not, however, yelp.
Tiger Lily didn't apologize. Instead, she snapped, "Watch where you are going!" As she untangled herself from Ingrid, she looked at her expectantly, as if she believed Ingrid should apologize. Funnily enough, she'd been bolting at Dr. Whale and had, at the last second, charged right into Ingrid instead.
Ingrid had seen this happen many times with Tiger Lily. The "prince" would then apologize for his girlfriend and sweep her out of poor Tiger Lily's way. Of course, Ingrid didn't go stalking the girl, but Tiger Lily did this so often that it was hard not to have seen it a few times.
Ingrid geared up to let Tiger Lily have a nasty piece of Ingrid's mind, but before she could, Dr. Whale snapped, "Why don't you watch where you're going?"
Sharp-eyed, Ingrid turned to him, ready to defend herself. To her utter shock, he was glaring at Tiger Lily.
Ingrid's mouth dropped open.
"You pretty much mowed Ingrid off the sidewalk, you clumsy oaf. Just to hide from Aurora. And you have the nerve to act like Ingrid is the one who mowed into you?" Dr. Whale shook his head.
Tiger Lily started to say something, but all that came out of her mouth was a little squeak.
"Get lost," he told her.
Tiger Lily had lost something alright. Her wits. She slunk off, and Ingrid gazed right into Dr. Whale's eyes.
It was the dangerous moment when she fell in love with him.
Holy crap. She had to fall out of love with him. Pronto. She gave him a once-over, searching desperately for a blemish to latch on to and hate.
His butt wasn't pinchable.
She shrugged to herself. She had to work with whatever she could. Her head hammered. After all, he'd done something so incredibly sweet for her…
God, she'd thought he was the biggest soulless perv in Storybrooke. Who'd have thunk it? He was actually a great—and loyal—boyfriend. She knew then and there he would never cheat on her. Men who aren't too much of a wuss to stand up for their girl to a bitch would never cheat on them. Only the spineless do.
Gag. She hated herself then and there. She'd been so bloody proud that she'd never fallen in love. Yet…here she was…in love. Her reputation was ruined.
She wondered if a brief chat with Archie could dispel this disgusting feeling.
"I wonder how old Pongo is," she mused as they came close to the gate of the animal shelter. "Do you think Archie might need a new dog?"
"Well, now that he knows he's a cricket," suggested Dr. Whale, "don't you think he might like not to have a dog?"
Ingrid snorted. "You have a good point there, but Pongo has never tried to eat him."
Happy stood in the doorway, looking undecided. To himself, he muttered, "Sneezy is sure to be allergic to anything I touch, but that poor kid…all alone…a dog would be a nice gift…"
Ingrid brushed past him, not terribly interested to know what he was mumbling about.
She saw a desk with a man behind it. A couple was wandering away from the desk. With Dr. Whale beside her, she strode up to ask where to go. Then she glanced to the side and saw Belle with Rumple.
"Belle!" she called, causing the brunette to turn, beam, and amble up to throw her arms around Ingrid's neck. Ingrid welcomed her embrace with the same joy she'd welcome a hug from Helga. "Are you getting a dog too?" Belle asked, clasping her hands around Ingrid's.
"No. A cat."
Belle glanced at the guy behind the counter. "Why don't we all go looking together anyway? Ask him where the cats are."
Ingrid turned to face the man for the first time. She recoiled, her eyes widening. Then she slowly regained her composure.
The man had a purple puckered scar going down from right above his eyebrow to the bottom of his cheek on the left side of his face. Right through his opened green eye.
His head was full of a mane of black hair. His complexion was quite brown. He had the expression of someone who had swallowed a vat full of liquid Warheads.
"Are you…Scar?" When she was a foster mother, Ingrid had seen The Lion King with her foster children.
"Of course."
"I mean…you're real…but you're not a lion?"
Bored, he replied, "No. I did kill Mufusa. And Simba almost killed me. I ended up in prison instead."
"Okay then. Where's Simba?"
Scar snorted. "I really don't want to cross paths with him. You see," he stretched out his left hand, as if extending it to shake. He opened and closed his fingers in front of her, showing off his sharp black fingernails. His forefinger and thumb were missing. "I killed his father. My brother. He has a vendetta…with my name on it."
"Why didn't he kill you?" Belle asked breathlessly.
"Because," uttered Scar in a bored tone of voice, "someone grabbed him and handcuffed him before he could. Carted him off. He's a big, muscled man. I am…you can see my ribs. I'm a good fighter, but I'm not strong. I've just got street smarts.
"He visited me in prison one day. Snuck a knife in. Attempted to kill me again. Lucky me the cops caught him. He was banished from my prison.
"Which, I suppose, is why the curse didn't bring him here. I'd already be dead if it had."
Ingrid touched him. Just to have the eerie knowledge she touched a man who intentionally murdered his own brother for power. His skin felt like normal skin, if not slightly warmer than most men's.
She winced. Pure evil…if he wanted someone dead, they would die. Except Simba.
"What are you staring at?"
She didn't want to tell him what she was thinking. He might wrestle her to the floor and choke her to death. Or convince the hyenas to murder her in her sleep. "Where are the cats?"
"Cats?" he repeated. Smirking, he asked, "Are you hoping to adopt one of my sadistic cubs? I never mated, sweetheart. My son would've killed me. Power is everything."
"You have lion cubs here?"
"I have everything, sweetheart. Even a werecat."
Ingrid's eyes lit up. "That's what we're looking to adopt!"
"Then it's your lucky day. Someone dropped it off this morning. Found it in a ditch on their way to work. Wouldn't have survived two more hours."
The four of them went to check out the werecat. It was a white cat that looked about seven months old. It was so small. It rubbed hopefully against the cage, its ribs showing.
"We fed him a bit," Scar informed them. "He's doing better. Do you want him?"
Dr. Whale replied, "Yes we do. But how do you know it's a werecat?"
"The back toes," Scar answered, pointing to the two abnormal toes on the right hind leg. The small but human toes. "Every month on the full moon, this cat will transform into a human. Is that okay with you two?"
Dr. Whale nodded as Ingrid replied breezily, "That's fine. But at the moment, we will be walking with our friends to pick out their puppy." She waved her hand at Rumple and Belle.
Scar nodded. Then he handed Ingrid the adoption papers. "Might as well begin filling these out."
Ingrid strolled beside Belle as the foursome headed to the dogs.
One by one, they peered at the pooches. The first was an adorable pit-bull mix. A puppy with chestnut fur but a white chest and foot. Ingrid fell in love with that dog at first sight. She was glad she didn't want a dog. She never wanted a pit-bull, but that one was precious. She could only imagine the puppy tearing her house up and attacking Dr. Whale.
Some of the dogs had magical properties. The third dog they met had dragon wings and snake teeth. Dr. Whale geeked out on that one.
They saw a lilac Shih Tzu that turned electric blue then hot pink then neon green before their very eyes. A pug that teleported to a different corner of its cage.
"The cage is magical," Rumple muttered, touching it. "You can't teleport out."
"What about in?" Dr. Whale inquired with a nasty smile.
Rumple narrowed his eyes at Whale. "Of course they're not going to bother keeping morons from teleporting in there. Once you're in, you can't teleport out. If some madman wanted in just to slaughter a pup, he ought to pick a different dog."
Dr. Whale nodded briskly. "Of course, you have a point. Scoundrel."
Rumple didn't deign to answer him.
They saw a cackling dachshund, a Newfoundland tangled in an abnormal angle, and a Welsh terrier doing back hand springs.
But at last, Belle found The One. A fluffy, two-month old Kuvasz puppy. Her eyes lit up, and she squealed with longing.
Rumple left and returned with Scar.
"Ah. Of course you want her." He looked at Belle like she was the most predictable female he had ever seen.
"I resent that," she uttered with slitted eyes. "I wasn't interested in that hyper-girly Shih Tzu."
"That was a boy. Of course you didn't want him."
"Please. My great-grandmother had a boy poodle. She named him Sweetums. Does she have any magical properties?"
"Several," Scar replied, sounding as displeased as ever. "Her eyes glow in the dark. She has a magical stomach—so if she ends up being starved because your pet sitter doesn't show up while you are on vacation, you won't be able to tell. Nor will she look overfed if she consumes a whole deer. She can run super fast. I would not release her into the wild without a good collar and leash. Her teeth are sharp enough that she can bite into anything and cut through. She is not a biting dog, so you do not have to worry about her attacking you. However, you do have to keep in mind, she will be teething."
"Got it," Belle uttered twice as flatly, trying to match his tone and lifeless expression.
He raised his eyebrow at her then added, gesturing flamboyantly, "And the icing on the cake? This dog can summon an object in the same room to her. That's the only reason," he waggled his finger at Belle, "1% of me does not judge you for picking her. Only 99%."
Glaring at his finger like she wanted to bite it off and add a third finger to his missing fingers, Belle retorted, "At least I didn't pick a boy and have no intention of naming her Sweetums."
"You say that now" he returns flatly. "But just you wait until you name her."
When they filled out the forms, Ingrid asked, "What are you going to name her?"
"Daphne. I'd use my baby girl name, but I can't because I might be giving birth to an actual baby this time—and it might be a girl. So Daphne it is."
"Daffy Duck," joked Whale. "The Dark One's princess."
"What are you going to name your cat?" asked Belle, touching the pen to her teeth.
Ingrid looked slyly at Dr. Whale. "Stupidest name is Little Sweetmeat, so please tell me that's not what you want to name him."
Dr. Whale wrinkled his mouth. "Good god, no. That cat doesn't look like a sweetmeat anyway. Dr. Evil's cat did. He looked like he'd been barbecued!"
"What about Snow Tiger?"
"We should. But Tiger for short."
Little did they know what awaited them.
