Gold hisses through his teeth as a sharp elbow jabs viciously into his side, growling furiously into the blonde's hair as she stamps down on his foot. She wears only her ridiculously innocent woolen tights however, and, despite her irritable height advantage and surprising strength, she is slight, and her struggling is quickly dampened as the cloying concoction that wets the handkerchief he holds over her mouth and nose takes effect.
Catching her easily at the waist as she slumps backwards into his arms, the old pawnbroker lowers her carefully to the floor before standing up straight and massaging his ribs; sure that the Sheriff's brief surge of retaliation will leave a colorful bruise.
"Bad girl, Emma."
He inspects her curiously as she lies unconscious on the hard wood floor, smirking at her uncharacteristic attire in a not wholly unfriendly manner; enjoying the way her oversized cardigan and childish tights make her look much younger- much more vulnerable- than he is used to seeing her. This, coupled with the soft white dress and the girlish pull of her hair, makes this all seem so much easier somehow. She is his little girl to toy with, to conduct- he has always thought of her this way, long before meeting the grown up, contrary young woman she has become- and her current attire is simply a pleasing visual depiction to her role.
"Charming, lovey."
He grins gleefully at the irony of his words before snooping briefly about her kitchen in mere curiosity. Opening the fridge, he raises an eyebrow at the large chocolate cake that takes pride of place amongst various other groceries. The words 'Happy Birthday, Henry' have been painstakingly iced in blue on top, and he marvels at the blonde's handwriting. The way others write has always been somewhat of a private fascination; having come to the conclusion that the way his clients signed their names back in that other land was greatly telling to their character. The Sheriff's writing is spiky and complicated, not easily legible, but with a subtle hint of delicacy to the way she finishes off her 'y's and an unusual curve to the tail of her 'd' which is curiously hyper-feminine.
"Happy birthday indeed."
He murmurs quietly as he takes the cake and deposits it reluctantly into the trash. To do so is a necessity, and as he goes about pulling down various streamers and balloons, he mutters to himself that doing this is the same also. He doesn't think what he feels as he pops the balloons in his hands is strong enough to be called remorse, but he is aware that whatever the feeling may be, it is a negative one. If it were possible to do this in another way and allow the boy his one day with the blonde, he would do so, but alas, it must happen like this.
For it is today that will most likely garner the brunette's attention should she imagine the Sheriff to be missing.
He needs the boy's reaction to be one of anger or pain to allow him the time to sort out the finalities of his plan. Should Henry arrive at the apartment and think something to be worrisome about the blonde's absence despite her clear effort to decorate and celebrate, he is unsure he would have time to get her located where he needs her; Henry likely to call upon the waitress, the schoolteacher, or his mother in fear that something has happened to the Sheriff. He needs the boy to believe Emma has simply stood him up, hopefully causing him to hang about in case she shows up, before heading home or to the Diner on foot and refraining from prematurely alerting any of the troublesome women who may get in the way.
He imagines the Mayor's initial reaction when finding her son in what will presumably be a rather fragile state will be anger at the Sheriff, but he is relying on her coming to the conclusion at some point over the next few days that something is amiss. He hopes it will be sooner rather than later, not just because of his yearning ache to get things started, but also because he doesn't much like the idea of keeping Emma subdued for a long period of time.
"What will be, will be."
He confides companionably to the young woman at his feet, before bending down to pull her up. He tugs at her hands so that she rises into a seated position; her head hung back to expose her throat vulnerably as her long hair ghosts over the uneven floorboards. Struggling to maneuver her into a more compliant position, Gold eventually manages to hoist her over his shoulder with a grunt of exertion, his weak leg trembling warningly.
"Thank goodness you're a fairly small lass, eh, dearie?"
Shifting the blonde's dead weight until he is sure he has her held securely, he moves towards the door; his hand up beneath her dress resting on soft wool as he cups her ass to keep her in place.
"Sorry, Sheriff."
Creeping slowly out into the hallway, he listens intently for any signs of life before determining it safe to journey downstairs. He moves carefully, aware that it would be easier to simply drag the young woman along by the hands, but not wanting to batter her about unnecessarily.
After all, this is strictly business.
Reaching the front door to the apartment building, he hesitates, peering through the dirty glass pane to check the street, before exiting swiftly to his car which waits directly in front of the door despite multiple signs banning the act. Pulling open the passenger side door, he deposits the Sheriff limply into the seat- taking the time to buckle her in as the street remains deserted- before limping around to the driver's side. Starting the engine, he speeds off; his right hand gently keeping the blonde's head from lolling due to various bumps and potholes as he goes.
"Miss Swan?!"
Regina knocks on battered wood loudly, despite the fact that the door still wavers flimsily in its frame. Garnering no response, she promptly slams the door open and storms into the apartment angrily. Dark eyes flashing about her surroundings, she knows immediately that the blonde isn't home, but she marches swiftly over to the wrought iron staircase nevertheless.
Entering Emma's bedroom, she sighs irritably as it sits- predictably- empty. She frowns as she spies several discarded items of clothing strewn atop the blonde's narrow bed, before leaning over the Sheriff's messy nightstand to inspect a number of discarded balls of paper. Plucking one up curiously, she unfurls it to realize that it is cut to form an envelope, but a jagged rip to one side suggests why it has ended up forlorn on the bedside table. There are five such crumpled items in total, each possessing a simple, minor flaw, and each branded with her son's name. Raising an eyebrow pensively, the brunette makes her way back downstairs.
She snoops about the apartment curiously, unable to shake the feeling that something feels decidedly off about the Sheriff's absence. Opening several of the cupboards, before randomly peering inside the fridge, her brow creases at a curiously empty space within, around which groceries and cans have been purposefully shoved to the side.
"One or two beers last night, dear?"
It is a plausible explanation, but somehow doesn't feel right. Turning for the door, she frowns as she spots a flash of green from behind the sofa. Moving over, she bends down to pick up a rather sorry looking balloon; half deflated and forgotten as its rubber surface appears punctured on one side.
"... What on earth?"
She stares at the gaudy green decoration for what feels like a decidedly long time. Squeezing it irritably so as to deflate it fully- a high pitched whistle piercing her ears- she stalks over to deposit useless rubber in the trash.
"What..."
She freezes as she gazes down at the schizophrenic haze of color that busies the inside of the younger woman's trash can; the discarded decorations soiled messily with what is instantly recognizable as chocolate frosting. Picking delicately at a few ruined streamers, the Mayor takes in a harsh gasp as she uncovers pale blue icing; painstakingly piped and meaning so much more than just the destroyed words glaring back up at her.
"Why? Why would you do that...?"
But she finds she's having a hard time believing Emma to be the one behind this. She knows the Sheriff is a profoundly awkward character- and not at all a fan of emotional occasions- but if the blonde had harbored doubt as to celebrating the boy's birthday, the Mayor is sure she would have backed out long before toiling over a cake and decorating the apartment.
Eyes widening fearfully, she shakes her head as her eyes dart around the empty apartment fretfully.
"What the hell happened, Emma!?"