"What did you find out?"
"Well, to be honest, she's not an easy woman to track down... She ran into some trouble with the law at seventeen, but the records are sealed up pretty tight."
"So you found nothing?"
Regina accuses silkily as she glares up at the slippery reporter. Her gaze drops to the slim folder he holds in his hand and she snatches it from him irritably as he opens his mouth to elaborate on his pitiful excuse.
"Not nothing, Madame Mayor... I was able to contact Katelyn Matthews; Miss Swan's cellmate whilst incarcerated. I spoke to her over the phone and explained I was a local reporter in Emma's current hometown wanting to do an exposé on the young woman. I left out my reasoning for fear of questions- simply stating I was trying to build up a picture of her past- but it would appear Miss Matthews is rather more forthcoming than our Emma, and asks far fewer questions! Perhaps the opportunity to be quoted in print? Who knows. She emailed me across what she could find- she and Emma moved in together for a couple of months once Miss Swan finished serving her time- which I've printed off as you can see... I have yet to look through any of it myself as you summoned me as soon as it was in the tray, but anything of use to you will be in that file."
Raising an eyebrow, the brunette flicks distractedly through the thin black folder before looking back up at the reporter and speaking with an air of dismissal.
"Fine. That will be all, Sydney."
"Very well... I... I hope you find what you're looking for."
"As do I, but I doubt it."
"I hope you find what you're looking for."
"And what exactly is it you're looking for?"
The Mayor mutters to herself beneath her breath. Truth be told, she has no clue, but she refuses to believe that one so caustic as the Swan woman could live a life free from any number of shameful events and altercations. Still, it is most vexing to her that the circumstances of Emma's incarceration are under proverbial lock and key, as she is certain that whatever it was that landed the blonde in jail would provide perfect smoke to add to the fire she plans to ignite.
As it is, she must search for another stain on the younger woman's already tarnished reputation.
Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I just want the bitch gone!
Settling down behind her desk, she flips open the folder Sydney has provided and runs a finger pensively over her bottom lip as she scans the first page.
Dear Mr Glass.
I hope this email finds you well. As requested, I put together what I could think of concerning Emma. However, as I mentioned on the phone to you, she and I were never actually very close, so there isn't really much to tell!
I must say, I was surprised when you contacted me saying you were wanting to write about her. Emma always seemed the private sort, if you know what I mean.
I guess people change.
I managed to find some letters and photos from our time living in Tallahassee, which I have attached as a PDF file to this email. Sorry, it's not much- Emma always preferred the other side of the lens!
Please do let me know if any of this gets published. It would be cool to receive a copy. (My own little piece of the fame! Ha ha!)
Regards,
Katelyn.
"...Weren't actually all that close... Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
The brunette muses aloud as she flips over the printed email to reveal several scanned letters and a series of photographs. She finds she has to squint in order to decipher the messy scrawl of the blonde's handwriting, despite Katelyn having blown the scribbles up to fill the page. She is able to make out enough to discern that the younger woman had drawn up a do-it-yourself document to act as a written agreement to her side of staying with her ex-cellmate; signing her name spikily at the bottom to assure her new housemate- and, given the nature of the paperwork, the likely owner of the residence- the right to evict should she feel the need.
Regina finds herself unsurprised that the blonde would put her trust in such a risky document rather than take any sort of responsibility of her own.
Deeming the rest of the scrawled nonsense to be useless, she frowns, aware that it is much less likely she will find the sort of incriminating material she needs from mere photographs. She almost opens her mouth to mutter as to the idiocy of supplying photographs at all, but as her gaze falls on the first of the poorly-printed pictures, she finds herself intrigued.
Katelyn has supplied Sydney with three photographs altogether, including a little typed description beneath each of them pertaining to when and where the image was taken. The first is a slightly blurry picture taken in a remarkably stark little room, and has been labelled 'Moving day, Tallahassee, '03'. Emma stands with one hand on her hip and a paintbrush held loosely in the other as she gives the camera a disapproving frown. Her hair is long but rather ratty, and her face is bare but tanned; her cheeks slightly haggard in spite of her youth in the image. Regina ponders on how many days might have passed between the young woman leaving the correctional facility and the image in her hand.
She imagines not very many.
The second picture causes the Mayor to scowl, as the blonde winks back up at her impishly, holding up several ketchup-tipped french-fries as a paper crown rests upon her curls which appear in much better condition than they had in the first image, having been snipped back so that they feather down to graze her shoulders. Regina is unsure what 'BK' stands for, but she dislikes the thought of the younger woman wearing any sort of crown, regardless of the initials emblazoned across it.
Cardboard or not.
The small blurb below the image simply reads 'August 23rd (My birthday), Emma BK, '03'.
Turning to the last image, Regina stills as her eyes widen with open curiosity. This final picture has been printed off on its own separate page, and she is unsure if this is the reason for its larger size or whether the computer is at fault. Either way, she finds herself accosted with a full-page print of the blonde as she stands in a very peculiar manner beside a soapsud covered car. She has never travelled away from the small, sleepy town over which she presides, but she has seen enough of the world through television and in books to know that it is rather unusual for one to perform an activity such as washing a car in the attire the younger woman wears in the photo.
The blonde's tight physique- unfairly tight, as this is surely only several months after the birth of her son- glistens; bright white bubbles flecking her bare thighs as she smiles back from the page wearing nothing but a yellow bikini top and washed out denim shorts that barely provide the coverage of underwear. Her hair is once more longer and golden, offset prettily by a deep Florida tan, and her lips are pulled back in a flash of white teeth which seems alarmingly predatory.
And just a little sexual.
Frowning, Regina sits back in her chair as her attention lingers on the curious image of the young woman she has come to openly despise in just a few short weeks.
Despise... Yet, I look forward to her predictable insolence and sarcasm with a kind of sadistic anticipation...
The expression Emma pulls in the image lying on the desk reminds the brunette of the fiery look the younger woman had given her after taking a chainsaw to her apple tree, and the fact that such a recollection stirs within her an inexplicable dark excitement causes the Mayor's brow to furrow as she subconsciously wets her lips, her dark eyes remaining trained on the scantily clad young blonde.
'Helping out at the Sorority car-wash for fun! Panama City, '04'.
Denim shorts rest ridiculously low on sharp hips, showing off lean muscle tapering deliciously south. A light spattering of dark freckles dapples the girl's shoulders, chest and stomach. Painted red lips and sharp white teeth. Tousled blonde tresses bleached sensationally white by the sun. Green eyes glittering and lashes dark.
"How inappropriate..."
Regina starts at the sounds of her own voice, a little disconcerted to say the least by the complex surge of emotions she's experiencing in response to the photo. She is surprised by the heat that flushes her cheeks and its sweet cousin playing dangerously somewhere much further south. She is not so stubborn as to refuse the notion that the way the younger woman's slim frame is clad so minimally might be the cause for her reaction- after all, she has always found lust in beauty- but she finds herself very disconcerted to be harbouring any sort of fancies for the hateful young blonde at all.
Hateful, but undeniably desirable.
She sighs, as it isn't the first time she's thought such a thing about Storybrooke's vexing newcomer. Upon meeting her the night she had brought Henry back from Boston, she had found Emma to be unnervingly attractive. The sort of attractive that had made her wish for the first time in years for her power back; itching to force and manipulate pale fingers and soft lips to do her bidding. Finding the blonde later then, glaring haughtily at her from behind metal bars much like a caged lioness, hadn't exactly helped matters either.
Neither had the fact the ridiculous woman seems to have had no qualms about answering the door in her underwear.
Scant scarlet off-setting pale thighs.
Rolling her eyes, Regina pushes the image away irritably, pursing her lips primly as she becomes aware of the feeling of damp silk between her legs.
She rises briskly, her stomach tight with a familiar ache, and she scolds her body for its mutinous reactions. Moving gracefully through the room on sharp stilettos, she slips through the door and into the grand en-suite bathroom, eyes glittering as the lock clicks softly shut behind her. Studying herself in the gold-framed mirror that hangs above the sink, she slips out of her sinfully tight pencil skirt slowly; allowing the garment to fall to the white tiles of the floor.
"This is ridiculous..."
She hisses, her dark eyes flickering to her reflected lips as she speaks, her cheeks rouged prettily and her chest flushed beneath her shirt. She imagines her reaction is as much pent up frustration with the blonde as it is attraction, but the kittenish expression gracing Emma's pale features in that curious image- carwash- have elicited a pure and undeniable lust she is willing to go with. She is able to make out the darker silk that blemishes her ivory lingerie from her wetness, and pulls the incriminating wisp of fabric swiftly aside before finding her heat and closing her eyes as her fingers slip sweetly between silken folds.
"Regina?"
Emma doesn't bother waiting for a reply as she lets herself into the brunette's office; deeming the sharp rap of her knuckles against heavy wood to be more than sufficient. She sighs irritably when she finds the room to be empty, aching to give the darker woman a piece of her mind after finding her car clamped yet again.
Honestly, for someone claiming she wants me the hell out, she's making it pretty damn hard to do as she says!
She recognises her current predicament as yet another curious aspect to the little game the Mayor seems hell-bent on playing, and as much as she may bitch and moan, there is something to the cunning spite of it all that makes her heart beat just that little bit faster with inexplicable excitement.
Turning to leave, she pauses as something catches her attention; her gaze falling to the sheets of paper that litter the desk. She frowns, padding over slowly as incredulous recognition dawns on her.
She studies the photograph that lies on the Mayor's desk for what seems like a decidedly long time, trying to work out what in the hell the brunette would want with such an image.
And how she even came by it in the first place!
Flicking through the rest of the pages, she rolls her eyes; fury settling in swiftly as she understands what the darker woman is up to.
"You bitch!"
She hisses angrily, her cheeks pinkening as she bites her lip and tries to decide what to do.
A low moan from behind the door lining the far wall has her glancing up, startled, and she frowns as she pads a little closer. Listening in for just a little longer, her eyes widen as comprehension dawns on her. Turning tail, she all but sprints from the room, trying both to figure out and repress what she's just encountered.
By the time she reaches her car waiting in the lot outside, a slow smile has found her lips as her eyes glitter dangerously.
"Alright, Madame Mayor. Game on."