Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella made their way to Rumplestiltskin's cabin as per his directions. The accommodations were far more modest than Maleficent was used to, but they would do for now. This discovery about the existence of the Author had altered Maleficent's plans considerably. After all, now there was a question that had to be answered: what was the connection between the Author and the Book of Prophecies? And, more importantly, if they were the same phenomenon, did the Author derive power from the book or did the book derive power from the Author? Maleficent sat by the fireplace, pondering this question.
"I know that look," Ursula said as she slithered up next to Maleficent.
Now in the privacy of their temporary base of operations, Ursula had opted to return to her octopin form.
"We have much that we must learn from this town," Maleficent said. "I had thought our time here would be spent in search of a lead for the book itself, but now it seems that there is much about the book that we do not yet comprehend."
"But isn't that a good thing?" Ursula asked. "It means we're on the right track. We're already learning about questions we never even thought to ask."
"Yes, but it does present certain complications," Maleficent said. "If our search must be turned towards an author rather than a book, it makes the task of controlling the power much more complex."
"Well controlling power is what we do best," Ursula replied with a chuckle.
Cruella entered the room with her hair still damp from taking a shower. "Well, darlings, the water pressure in this dump leaves something to be desired, but the bathroom is free if either of you need it."
"Cruella, my dear," Maleficent began, "you seem to be one with considerable aptitude for darkness. How much do you know about other worlds?"
"I can't claim to know anything about the greater cosmology of it all," Cruella explained. "But I've been to quite a few in my days. This dreadful place without magic certainly was not my first stop."
Maleficent nodded in understanding. "I am the leader of a group of villains from across many worlds. We are known as the Overtakers, and our organization's primary objective is to find the Book of Prophecies, which I believe is one in the same with your Author and his storybook."
"There's more people who are as fun as you?" Cruella asked. "Where do I sign up?"
"Patience," Maleficent assured her. "If you prove yourself useful and loyal, you will be made a member of the Overtakers and be permitted to share in the spoils of the Book of Prophecies. But you must do exactly as I command and tell me everything you know about this Author."
Cruella weighed her options. She'd kept what she was really after from Rumple for a reason, but Maleficent and the promise of the Overtakers were enticing her to show her cards. If Maleficent liked what she heard, it could ensure Cruella an opportunity to get what she wanted.
"Alright, darling," Cruella said. "I knew the Author, a man named Isaac, long ago. He was a wormy little scribbler but easy enough to manipulate into helping me kill my ghastly mother. But then he took something very precious from me and dumped his magical ink on me which led to my admittedly rather fashionable hair."
"And where might we find Isaac?" Maleficent asked.
"Try the morgue," Cruella answered. "He died before I could force him to give back what he took from me. He always had a knack for inconvenient timing."
"If he's dead, then we're wasting our time," Ursula bemoaned.
"According to Rumple, the Author powers pass on whenever one dies," Cruella clarified. "Which means there's another Author running amok. Who they might be, I'm afraid I don't have the slightest clue."
"What can you tell me about the way his powers work?" Maleficent asked.
"He used an enchanted pen and ink that had to be used together," Cruella explained. "When he did, he could make anything iron clad truth. He could conjure material possessions, bestow magical powers, even alter someone's very nature."
"Did he need a specific book?" Maleficent asked.
Cruella shook her head. "No. He could scribble something out on a napkin if he felt so inclined. Though he did use a storybook to chronicle the tales he collected."
Ursula looked shocked. "So the Book of Prophecies really doesn't exist. It's the pen, the ink, and the one lucky enough to be able to use them."
"Can you tell us anything else?" Maleficent asked.
"No, that's all I know," Cruella answered. Maleficent knew she was telling the truth.
"Then we will need Rumplestiltskin's help," Maleficent said. "He seemed to know something more concrete about how to find the Author."
"Oh poo, and here I was hoping we'd get to leave him behind," Cruella sneered.
"It's already dark out" Ursula said. "He'll be waiting for us."
"You two, go then and let him in," Maleficent ordered. "I will be going back into the town proper. I wish to see more of Storybrooke personally."
Loki found Doom huddled in his laboratory as always. That was no surprise. What was surprising was what Doom was working on. Loki had expected to see a new Doombot design or maybe some new weaponry for his armor, but, instead, Doom was hard at work over what looked like an ordinary Midgardian cell phone.
"Bad reception?" Loki asked. "You know connecting to the Tartarus servers is an exercise in futility."
"Our team currently has no way to communicate across worlds," Doom explained. "However, I believe this blend of science and sorcery will permit us to do exactly that."
Loki had to admire how industrious Doom was. The rest of the Overtakers were focused on the furtherance of the team's goals, but Doom was focused on the practical means to pave the way for their goals to be realized. He saw potential problems and designed solutions. There was little wonder why he was one of the most difficult supervillains to best back on their home world.
"Impressive," Loki said. "Do you realize that this is the first time we have had the mansion to ourselves?"
"Ahem," Morgan said from the other side of the lab.
"... Relatively speaking," Loki corrected. "Why do you keep her here?"
"Is that a twinge of jealousy in your voice?" Doom asked coyly.
Loki couldn't help but be amused at that. Doom was turning the tables right back on him for his earlier attempts to make Doom jealous. Loki liked it when Doom played along, even if it was at his expense. But Loki hadn't come down to play coy.
"Come, leave your work station for a moment," Loki urged. "I have something I wish to show you."
Loki opened a Corridor of Darkness and gestured for Doom to step through. Doom had to admit that he was intrigued by what Loki could be showing him on another world, so he set down his project and entered the dark portal. When the darkness cleared, Doom and Loki found themselves in the middle of a large ballroom with a life sized model of a dragon suspended from the ceiling above them.
"Welcome to Chateau d'Onterre," Loki said. "The infamous haunted mansion of the Emerald Graves."
"The architecture appears to be of the French Renaissance period," Doom noted.
"On this world, it'd be considered Orlesian," Loki said. "Quite an interesting nation. They share your fixation with masks."
"Admittedly intriguing," Doom said. "But why have you brought me here?"
"I thought about what you said before about our need for a private space," Loki replied. "And I've acquired this estate for our own."
"You're... proposing mutual domesticity," Doom asked, shocked at this turn of events.
"Don't be absurd, Victor" Loki replied with a laugh. "We already live in the same base of operations. Think of this estate as private shared vacation home where the two of us can go to get away from the wandering eyes of our allies... and a place where you can be Victor freely."
"Well, in that case...," Doom began.
Doom dismissed his armor and stood before Loki in only a skin tight mesh suit. Loki grinned in delight at what Victor was initiating.
"Perhaps we should finish what we started earlier," Victor said with a coy smile.
Loki removed his trench coat and began to disrobe. "And as I said earlier, you're still overdressed."
The construction crew working on repairing Villain's Vale was making good progress. Russell and Steve, with their incredible strength and speed had basically singlehandedly gotten the entire frame for the east wing built in under an hour. Jafar telekinetically was putting stones in place that Pain and Panic proceeded to seal together. Fish and Blackheart ditched, but Fish had used her powers of persuasion to get some Restoration Committee construction workers with actual construction equipment to help out so Hades couldn't be too mad.
Fish and Blackheart decided to make use of their day by making their way into the nearby town past the Great Maw. Fish wasn't entirely sure what the Overtakers' newest recruit was hoping to find there, but even Fish had to admit that he kind of gave her the heebie-jeebies. She knew Blackheart was a demon straight out of Hell, and even though she'd made nice with ancient fairies and Pagan gods, something about being with a literal demon made her a bit uneasy. Fish was never religious, but her mama used to indulge that brand of fire and brimstone fear mongering and the remnants of that hung over her head.
"You're afraid of me," Blackheart said.
It was true, but Fish wasn't about to let him know that. Besides, she had experience faking bravery up against objectively terrifying men from years of climbing the Gotham crime ladder.
"Not everybody's afraid of you, sweetie," Fish replied.
"I can smell your fear," Blackheart replied. "And if you call me 'sweetie' again, I'll rip out your entrails and shove them back down your throat."
Fish grimaced at the thought and made a mental note to make sure she was alone with Blackheart as little as possible. Fish hoped Blackheart would go off and do his own thing once they got into the town proper, but, to her dismay, he followed her around like a lost puppy to every clothing boutique she stopped in. It was incredibly difficult to shop for shoes with a demon hanging over her shoulders.
"You know, you don't have to follow me everywhere," Fish said, hoping her demonic companion would take the hint.
"I make you uncomfortable," Blackheart observed.
"That tends to happen when you threaten to rip out someone's entrails," Fish replied.
Blackheart looked at her, utterly confused. "It was a joke. Don't you have jokes in Gotham?"
"Uhh, not like that," Fish said, mentally adding that in Gotham, threats were never a laughing matter.
"So you don't have funny jokes," Blackheart said as if it were a realization.
"Must not," Fish said, actually finding herself laughing a bit at that and relaxing. "So, what do you know about shoes?"
"I know what shoes people usually get buried in," Blackheart said, altogether too pleased at himself for knowing that much.
"Well that's... something," Fish said with a nod. "Let me teach you a thing or two about color coordination."
"Like black, black, and black?" he asked.
"Honey, I'm gonna show you how to use all the colors of the rainbow," Fish said with a grin.
"If you call me 'honey,' I'm going to bludgeon you to death with a high heel," Blackheart threatened.
Fish wagged her finger and clicked her tongue. "Bitch, try it, and I'll claw your eyes out."
Blackheart smiled genuinely at Fish having a snappy comeback. Even Fish had to admit that the demon's macabre sense of humor had a freeing allure to it. Against all odds, the two managed to have a fun afternoon out shopping together. Fish even talked Blackheart into adding a few touches of blue into his wardrobe. When the two started feeling peckish, they made their way to a bar called Seventh Heaven.
Fish perused the menu and immediately started craving the calamari bites. Fish hoped there wasn't anything particularly Freudian about that. Blackheart seemed to have an unwavering stink-face on as he looked over the snacks available to him. It occurred to Fish that she had no idea what a demon's diet consisted of. She just hoped if said diet included human flesh that Blackheart would wait until he was out with Russell and Steve to get chompy.
Two burly men entered the establishment. The brunette bartender seemed to know them well, and she was clearly not a fan.
"I told you before, you're not welcome here," she said.
"Tifa, come on, things don't have to get ugly," the first of them said.
"Yeah, tootsie," the second chimed in. "The Professor wants to give you one last chance to pay up before things start getting messy."
"Like I said last time, tell The Professor if he wants me to pay protection money, he has to come be in the range of my fists personally," Tifa said.
"That's not how this works," the first said. "You either fork over the cash, or our crew comes back tonight with Molotov cocktails and a whole lot of guns."
"Try it!" Tifa said, not backing down. "The Restoration Committee won't let The Professor make Radiant Garden into his personal piggy bank."
"You just made the wrong choice, tootsie," the second thug said.
The two thugs turned tail and left the bar, knocking over a bottle of liquor on their way out. Blackheart seemed to be disappointed that nothing had come to blows. Fish, on the other hand was enticed by the scene. Protection rackets were a specialty of hers back in Gotham, and to see that they were a universal phenomenon was oddly comforting. However, it also made her ache for the days of being large and in charge on the streets. She loved working with the Overtakers, but she had to admit that she wanted a chance to get back to basics. Perhaps this was opportunity knocking.
Fish hopped up from her seat and went after the two men. Blackheart, as he had done all day, followed after Fish eagerly.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Fish said, causing the two men to stop in their tracks. "Did I hear correctly that your boss wants to run this town?"
"Back off tootsie," one of the thugs warned.
Fish saw red. Echoes of Maroni calling her "babes" rang in her ears. Memories of every God forsaken man who thought he could dominate and control her flashed before her. She kept herself composed but barely.
"Don't call me tootsie," Fish warned.
"Or what?" he replied. "Tootsie?"
Fish clenched her teeth, and before either of them realized what she was doing, she pulled out her pistol and shot the sexist thug right between the eyes. Blackheart laughed wickedly and clapped at the display of violence. The second thug attempted to run, but Blackheart stood in his way.
"Let's try this again," Fish said. "Tell me everything you know about The Professor."
Once Rumple was inside the town boundaries, his entire demeanor changed. No longer was he disheveled or timid. Now he was impeccably well dressed and carried himself with class and power. Magic had clearly done wonders for him. Maleficent knew now that this Rumplestiltskin could be either a powerful ally or a formidable enemy. He'd led the group to a large mansion on the outskirts of town that he referred to as The Sorcerer's Mansion. Maleficent couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity looking over the mansion's décor.
"So this Sorcerer is the Author?" Ursula asked as she rifled through a desk drawer
"No, he is not," Rumple replied. "The Sorcerer is a powerful wizard with connections to many realms. However, I believe he knows fully well who the Author is. Perhaps we can find a clue amongst these dusty things."
The star and moon patterns decorating the area were eerily familiar. A sickening thought popped into Maleficent's head, and she hoped against hope that her assumption was incorrect.
"Does the Sorcerer have a name?" Maleficent asked.
"Name's are what I traffic in," Rumple replied. "He would be a poor sorcerer indeed for me to learn his."
Yen Sid. It could only be that withered old wizard. That presented Maleficent with both problems and opportunities. She had little use for this town if Yen Sid knew the identity of the Author. But if she wanted to squeeze information out of Yen Sid, she would have to cross Sora and the other Keyblade masters directly. That could prove challenging. As Maleficent was contemplating how best to deal with Yen Sid, a free standing door materialized in the center of the room. The four villains stopped their search to face the strange new pathway. The door swung open and out walked three faces Maleficent had hoped not to face again so soon: Sora, Donald, and Goofy.
"Maleficent!" Donald squawked.
"Ursula too!" Goofy noted.
"Friends of yours?" Rumple asked.
Maleficent sneered. "Pesky interlopers."
"We make a habit of sticking our nose in Maleficent's business," Sora boasted, drawing his Keyblade.
"Well then, darlings, allow me," Cruella said, stepping forward.
Cruella huffed and blew out a cloud of green smoke over the trio. Sora covered his mouth and nose so as to not breathe it in and waited from the poisonous effects. However, confusion washed over Sora when he realized that it hadn't done anything to him.
"Huh?" Sora said. "Guess your bad breath's not as strong as you think."
"I wasn't aiming for you, short stuff," Cruella said.
A sinking feeling overtook Sora as he realized Donald and Goofy's eyes were glowing the same shade of sickly green as Cruella's breath.
"Now, my strange little animals," Cruella began. "Attack!"