A/N: Happy (almost) Halloween! I really didn't think I would have time to write anything this year, and I am currently supposed to be packing and setting off for a week staying with my best mate for all the horror, spooky mazes, tattoos and gore-themed cocktails (woo!) but, I'm just going to have to be late! Sorry this is a little on the short side. I've been taking part in Inktober which has eaten up all of my time (if anyone wanted to be super supportive and go check out spookshowillustrations on Instagram, that would be awesomely appreciated!), and it's for this same reason THESE DARK PATHS has been waiting for an update for so long.
Due to the time restraint and knowing I would only be able to get a one-shot in, I did admittedly struggle with this one as I've sort of used most of my SQ Halloween settings in previous shorts, and most of my other ideas required more set-up, so this ended up just being an experiment in sitting down and seeing what came out! I hope it's enjoyable to read :) Comments/ reviews would make my day, and I really hope you like this little fic :).
Entering the diner, Regina casts a bemused glance at the synthetic cobwebs tacked up around the room like grizzly streamers peppered with plastic spiders and unlikely purple sequins.
Should have just made coffee at home...
She muses as she makes her way up to the counter; eyeing the cardboard skeleton that has been hung up on the wall beside the service window; its arms and legs held together with plastic zip-ties that have been pulled just a little too tight, lending the bony fiend a bizarrely jaunty pose.
"Madame Mayor."
Ruby greets her as she slips behind the counter and swaps a dishrag for her notebook.
"What can I get for you?"
"Cappucino."
"Is that all?"
The waitress asks, causing the Mayor to frown as her order has remained unchanged for the best part of thirty years, and, while she will sometimes indulge in ordering something to eat when she has Henry in tow, her eleven o'clock coffee has always been a solo venture.
"All?"
She asks uncertainly, and Ruby nods, pointing to two large glass domes on the far side of the counter that Granny must have pulled out of storage or purchased recently, as the darker woman has no recollection of seeing them before. Inside, a selection of baked goods has been appetisingly stacked, but far from tempting the Mayor, she finds her brow furrowing further.
Miniature versions of the skeleton hung on the wall have been carefully piped onto the bodies of gingerbread men. Iced buns have been purposefully messily glazed and given chocolate-drop eyes to resemble mummies. Marshmallows have been defaced with neat dots of black frosting; turning them into fat, fluffy ghosts.
What a waste of time... What was wrong with simple muffins and pastries? Why go to the effort of extra work for the sake of one, miserable day? Certainly, it seems utterly... Ridiculous...
"...Are those supposed to look appealing?"
She curls her lip, pointing to a selection of cookies that have been decorated to resemble witches. Hags.
"Uh... Well, they're supposed to be fun."
Ruby shrugs a little awkwardly as Regina continues to glare at the offering as though she's actually piled a bunch of bones and rotting flesh beneath the glass.
"That explains Madame Mayor's confusion."
A voice chips in, and Regina glances over her shoulder to spy the Sheriff stood waiting behind her with a poorly hidden smirk. Looking back at Ruby who tries much harder to hide her amusement but is ultimately no more successful than the blonde, the Mayor rolls her eyes and repeats irritably
"Just the cappuccino, please."
"Sure."
The waitress nods, prepping the coffee machine and addressing Emma with a smile.
"And you?"
"Oh, I think the witches look plenty appealing. I'll have one to go."
The blonde replies with her attention trained solely on Regina who offers her a withering look; somehow certain that the younger woman is to blame for the new additions to the menu.
Of course she is...
She seethes as she helps herself to a seat to save waiting around next to the woman in question. She has no doubt at all that the garish decorations and spooky vibe are Emma's doing, as never before has she been accosted with such eyesores and trivial frivolity. True, through the real-world knowledge that she has allowed to trickle in to blend with the old-realm lore of Storybrooke, the town's inhabitants recognise the term Halloween and the date on which it falls, but she has never known it to be celebrated before. Not with such poor taste as seems to be the case this year. Ordinarily, Granny will decorate the front steps with pumpkins and gourds, allowing nature to do the rest as cheerful yellow and vibrant red leaves get caught in the hedge outside like festive bunting. And she may add the option of apple cider or pumpkin pie to the menu, but never anything ghoulish or ghastly.
Still... I'm not surprised.
Not at all. She has learned a lot of things about the Saviour since the younger woman gatecrashed her town, and one of the lessons that had proved hardest and fastest is that the blonde is nothing short of a virus; an infection when it comes to the people of Storybrooke. For all of her years of hard work and careful management, Emma has come in like some ill-tempered, terribly-dressed whirlwind and seems hellbent on messing it all up. Not just her relationship with Henry, not just the longstanding balance of power encapsulating the town, but all of it. Everything.
"Every damned thing."
Regina mutters through gritted teeth, watching as Ruby giggles at something the blonde says before bristling when she feels the others looking over in her direction. Knowing what she knows; knowing that Henry has shared his theories with the Sheriff about who they all might be, she refuses to believe that Emma hadn't said something to Ruby to get her to decorate those horrible cookies in the way she had done. Just as she refuses to believe that it hadn't been Emma to pester Mary Margaret into hosting the ghastly costume contest scheduled to take place today at school.
"Did Henry get his outfit sorted?"
The blonde asks now, turning away from the counter with a to-go cup and paper bag holding her sugary treat.
"He did."
Regina agrees, sighing when the younger woman sits down opposite her without invitation and takes a sip of her coffee. Her expression soon suggests she might have been wise to wait a little while, and the Mayor watches on cooly as Emma presses her fingers to her mouth with a pained grimace.
"Did he decide to go as a vampire or a zombie in the end?"
The Sheriff asks finally, apparently undeterred by the blatant lack of appreciation for her company.
But then, what's new?
"A vampire... You do realise, before you came along, he had little clue what either of the two things was and therefore slept much better at night?"
"I mean, you know that's weird, right?"
"That my son's birth mother finds delight in scaring him? Yes. That does seem weird."
"I do not. He asked and I answered. I meant that it's weird that the kid's ten years old and knows nothing about ghouls and goblins and all that other crap kids love. Apart from the fairytale stuff, I mean."
"Fairytale stuff?"
Regina asks silkily.
"Well... You know."
Emma replies awkwardly, never sure just how much of Henry's wild schpiel about the intricacies of Storybrooke he actually shares with his mother; the woman he claims to be the cause of all of their problems. Any other day, she might feel inclined to probe a little deeper, but she's been looking forward to Halloween and its unemotional sentiments, and she refuses to spend the morning arguing with the brunette over pure insanity.
"Do I?"
The Mayor demands quietly, and there's a weight to her tone that causes the blonde to shift in her seat, but she refuses to crumble. Playing her own hand, Emma dips her fingers into the paper bag and pulls out the cookie decorated to resemble a witch, although Regina can't remember the last time she'd seen a witch adorned with a crown, and she narrows her eyes as she watches the blonde take a bite.
"Is that even nice with all that frosting on it?"
She asks coldly, and the Sheriff chews contemplatively as she studies the brunette intently before glancing back down at the rest of the cookie in her hand.
"It might be nicer without all the unnecessary embellishments and drama, but it's still appealing."
Emma replies eventually, and Regina frowns, unsure what exactly might be considered 'dramatic' about a cookie, and she meets Ruby's interruption to hand her her drink with a mild sense of relief as her stomach has started doing that weird, churning thing it sometimes does when dealing with the Sheriff and her rather odd turns of phrase. When they'd first become begrudgingly acquainted, she'd merely considered the blonde's peculiar way of wording things as a sign of ineloquence and low intelligence. She has since come to accept - just as begrudgingly! - that this isn't the case, and that Emma seemingly chooses to sound the way she does and to speak just as poorly as she behaves, but that she's perfectly adept at playing with her words with an aptitude to match her opponent without breaking a sweat.
She knows exactly what she's doing most of the time...
Which just makes her occasional queer statements all the more confusing and troublesome.
After all, Regina emphatically refuses to believe that she might be missing something or not quite getting the apparent punchline.
As if she would ever best me in that way or any other way!
Lately though... Lately, she's a little concerned that she might just be able to read between the lines of Emma's strange quips just fine.
"Well, I better get going if I'm going to get my paperwork done in time."
The Sheriff sighs, pushing herself up from her seat and pocketing the remainder of her cookie.
"In time for what?"
Regina frowns, doubting the younger woman has much on her plate given that she hasn't provided the town with a serving of disruption or chaos this week.
"I said I'd take Henry trick-or-treating after school."
The blonde explains.
"I never agreed to that..."
"No, I did."
Emma shrugs, and the brunette narrows her eyes as she reminds the Sheriff coolly of her place.
"Well, that was rather foolish of you, as now he'll be disappointed."
"I just-"
"-Miss Swan, you never 'just' do anything. If you wish to make plans with Henry, you need to run them by me, as I have told you time and time again. You can call him your son until you're blue in the face, but I am his mother and have spent the last ten years acting as such, so a little humility wouldn't go amiss."
"I-"
"-I have made how I feel about all of this nonsense perfectly clear. I don't want my son knocking on people's doors, bothering the inhabitants of my town to demand they feed him candy in exchange for a fright. It's not how we've ever done things in Storybrooke, and I'm very unamused that you've pushed the idea onto all who will listen to you now."
"But-"
"-Enough. I caved this morning and dressed Henry in a ghastly concoction of corn syrup and old clothes as you made it necessary to do so to avoid a complete meltdown on the way to school. I never once mentioned any further antics once home, and I certainly never permitted you to play any part in them."
"Regina, it's Halloween! It's what kids do! There's nothing malicious behind it, it's just a bit of fun. He's excited! Why can't you just-"
"-Alright. I will."
"You... Huh?"
Emma frowns, and Regina offers her a thin smile.
"I will take Henry trick-or-treating. There. You got your wish."
"But-"
"-What? You think I'm incapable? Odd, as I've far surpassed you in any other aspect of mothering."
"That's... That's not fair. It's not even fucking mothering, it's something I told the kid we'd do, and-"
"-And, next time, maybe you'll remember to ask me for permission first."
The Mayor draws a line under the fact primly, and she basks in the blonde's fury, counting in her head how long it takes for the younger woman to storm off. When Emma simply remains stood with her hands on her hips and a wounded expression she makes a mental note of for later revelry, Regina splays her palms in a bid to draw out any further bickering so that she might drink her cappuccino in peace.
"Do you even want to go?"
Emma asks finally, meeting dark coals unhappily.
"I don't, I told you as much."
"But, then-"
"-Henry does, as you keep insisting... That said, I believe we have little further to discuss. Run along now, dear. Go and get your work done without the pressure of meeting a deadline."
"Oh, that is just... You know what, fuck you!"
The blonde leans forward as she hisses angrily in the darker woman's face, and Regina blinks; momentarily thrown by the raw anger in the Sheriff's tone. She meets the younger woman's glower with her own, breathing in the soft note of her perfume with a bitter taste in her mouth as she appreciates that subtle scent. Similarly, she tells herself to focus on the blonde's rage and not the earthy tone of her eyeliner; softer than the black she often favours. Pretty.
"Very nice, dear."
She scolds waspishly, snatching the last word in a bid for a fleeting sense of victory to combat that other, uncomfortable sensation low in her gut as green eyes stare her down venomously.
Swallowing when Emma turns heel without another word, she lets out a low sigh that promptly catches in her throat when the waitress calls out after the blonde uneasily
"I'll see you later at the party at the Rabbit, doll, right?"
Clearly aware that tense words have been shared.
"Yeah, I'll be free earlier than I thought, so come by ours beforehand if you want."
Emma replies, shrugging woodenly as though these changes to her plans are of little interest, and Regina watches as Ruby grins widely and teases
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Would it matter?"
The blonde scoffs breezily, returning the waitress's smirk with her own as she brushes off her irritation and heads for the door, and the Mayor watches on silently feeling none of the vindication and glee she would have liked.
"Make sure you wash the blood from under your chin."
Regina warns as she ushers Henry upstairs and into the bathroom. Making her way back into the kitchen, she looks down at the pillowcase she'd given him to collect his trick-or-treat spoils; his haul admirable to say the least and spilling out onto the tabletop. Taking a seat with a sigh, she peeks inside the sack and helps herself to a Butterfinger.
As much as it pains her to admit it, she'd had fun taking Henry around to show off his gruesome costume. He'd been in high spirits, almost hyper, but in an enjoyable, infectious way.
She'd had less fun standing back and waiting for him to knock on the doors of her people amongst his peers, offering some of the other parents with younger children a chilly, polite smile while avoiding small talk, dressed in a pair of dark slacks and her neat, winter coat. She knows Emma would have taken the opportunity to don a splash or two of fake blood herself should she have been the one to help Henry into his costume. Knows she would have had weird and ultimately unsuitable things to relay unto their son about vampires, ghouls, ghosts, and much more besides.
She knows she'd hurt the blonde's feelings earlier.
Not her ego, not her pride, but her feelings.
She knows all three of them would have preferred their evening had it gone to the Sheriff's original plan, and she sniffs and she struggles to swallow the last mouthful of the fun-sized Butterfinger, the chocolate sickly and cloying on her tongue.
She doesn't feel anywhere near as satisfied as she'd hoped she would.
Looking up at the grotesque items still piled on the kitchen counter, she considers them wearily. A zombie mask and a few old shirts she'd provided as alternative options for Henry's chosen vampire attire. She'd bought the mask last week; in no way supportive of Emma's seemingly endless barrage of fictitious information, but understanding beneath her irritation that Henry had been lapping up each and every word, and taking note of where his interests had seemed to lie.
Of course, she'd merely professed to purchase two costume options at random when he'd asked her, making sure that her disdain was evident in her tone.
Next to the zombie mask lies another. One Henry had swiftly vetoed but had later suggested keenly that she wear whilst accompanying him.
She's not altogether sure why she'd refused to do so.
Probably just so as not to play the same part as she imagines the blonde might have played tonight.
Pushing herself up from the table, she pads over to the counter and studies the mask pensively. She'd brought it up from her vault earlier while Henry was at school and had suffered a peculiar mix of emotions when he'd come home and she'd shown it to him. Wondering for a moment if he might sense the truth she has worked so hard to deny him sewn and painted into the fabric.
The mask had been hers.
Given to her by her father for a whimsical event they'd been invited to when she'd been only a few years older than Henry is now. It hosts none of the ghastly horror that seems in keeping with the day, but she'd suggested it regardless without much hope. Its shape is such that it covers the face fully with a thin black guise designed to encompass one's features. Delicate layers of lace and scarlet have been laid over the cheeks, fanning out from the eye sockets to add volume and drama, allowing only the wearer's eyes to peek out from the mask's shadows. It's a beautiful item; hand made, and she'd felt wonderfully elusive and mysterious wearing it at that long-ago gala with her father holding her hand.
Fingering ancient lace now, she looks up as Henry's footsteps sound above her head, and she leans against the counter as the gnawing feeling of unease won't leave her gut.
You can't honestly be feeling bad for how things ended with Emma earlier...
She scolds herself, and she lets out a derisive expulsion of breath through her nose at the very idea.
No. She doesn't feel bad, but nor does she feel especially good. She'd been thrown by the blonde's strange words when she'd buried her teeth- pretty and sharp- into the witch-themed cookie; recognising the baiting glitter dancing in the younger woman's eyes and in her tone.
She's given up telling herself that she hates it when the blonde looks at her the way she had been doing as she's no longer able to buy into her own certainty.
She's grown to secretly relish the ill-mannered teasing so close beneath the surface of the Sheriff's sly quips at her expense. Grown to find it exhilarating. Grown to bait it; to tease it out.
But she has yet to perfect finding that hair-thin line between playing along and twisting the knife.
It exists, she is sure. She doesn't have to like or respect the younger woman to know it exists; that line. That line where she might play Emma at her own game and neither win nor lose to her, but rather spar with her as the blonde seems to will of her more and more.
Shaking her head as she recalls the delicate scent of sweet perfume and the amused tug to pale lips as the Sheriff had considered the cookie they both know had been suggested merely to irk her, she sighs. Looking back down at the mask, she plays back Ruby's parting words as the blonde had taken her leave; mentioning the party she has seen countless flyers for posted around town.
The costume party at the Rabbit Hole.
Nipping the sharp point of her tongue as the churning in her stomach only intensifies, she picks her phone up from the table and messages Sydney before heading upstairs to inform Henry of her sudden change of plans.
The music blaring from the wall-mounted speakers has been turned up to full volume, and Regina finds herself thankful for the hood that covers her ears. Ordinarily, the black hooded cape she's fashioned from a velvet shawl wouldn't be to her taste, but coupled with the figure-hugging cut of her dress and the anonymity of her mask, her full look is one of darkness and mystery that she'd spent a moment studying favourably before leaving her mansion with the instruction that Henry go to bed once he'd finished reading his chapter and leave Sydney in peace.
Now, stalking up to the bar in her favourite pair of heels, she catches the attention of the barmaid and simply points to a sign listing the meagre selection of wine the Rabbit has to offer; selecting a dubiously branded merlot and holding up one finger in request. Waiting for her drink, she scans her surroundings curiously; her range of vision slightly altered by the cut of her mask. It doesn't take her long to spy the Sheriff sat in the corner of the bar in spite of the fact that Emma has donned her own costume for the evening.
At least, the Mayor presumes that's the case; Emma dressed in black jeans, a black leather jacket zipped up to provide a sleek silhouette, and a strange headpiece covering the upper half of her face and lending her the impression of cat ears above messy curls. She sits at a tall table with Mary Margaret who looks as though she's received a good punch to both of her eyes as she sips from a glass of gin before she pulls the white caul around her shoulders back into place; once more dressed up as a ghost, and Ruby, recognisable only by the scant cut of her outfit; her face covered by a grotesque mask resembling the snout of a wolf.
But how would she-
The uneasy train of her thought gets cut off as the barmaid hands her a glass of wine and takes her money, and Regina takes a seat on one of the stools at the side of the bar and lifts her mask just enough to take a sip with a grimace.
Taking advantage of the voyeurism her disguise grants her, she sits for a while and watches as the others talk and laugh and chat to several passers-by that stop at their table to share in pleasantries and comment on each other's outfits.
She watches as Mary Margaret removes the sheet from over her head once again and drinks deeply while the blonde murmurs in her ear.
She watches as Ruby points to the remainder of her drink and then to Emma's and pulls a couple of bills out of the pocket of her skirt.
Watches as the blonde says something in response while tapping the brunette's offering aside that causes the waitress to squeeze her arm and tug playfully on soft curls to earn herself a glimpse of the blonde's middle finger.
She wonders what the hell she's doing here.
Watching as Emma makes her way up to the bar, she notes that the Sheriff grins at the barmaid and a young couple to her right. She tries to remember if Emma has ever grinned at her and can't recall a time when the expression hadn't been one of mockery. Of sarcasm.
She tells herself she wouldn't have it any other way.
So then, what are you doing here?
She doesn't know.
She just knows her spine prickles as she watches the blonde offer all-but strangers a flash of her teeth beneath moulded leather and curls.
She just-
She stills as her eyes meet Emma's from behind the shadow of her mask, holding the younger woman's gaze as she stares her down before the Sheriff cocks her head as though she's uncertain. Confused.
Waiting as the blonde places her drinks order, she takes in a sharp breath when, rather than return to her table, Emma walks over and perches on the stool beside her, studying her openly.
"That's a cool mask."
The blonde imparts finally, and Regina simply nods, maintaining her silence.
"Do you want a drink?"
The younger woman asks, and the brunette stiffens, looking down at her wine glass full of liquid vinegar before once more meeting cool green. She tries to read what lies behind the glass, but she struggles. She has no idea what Emma sees looking back at her.
Do you know who I am?
And if you do, why offer me a drink?
Why sit by me?
But if you don't, why offer me a drink? Why sit by me?
Unable to answer any of these questions, she looks back down at her wine before turning her attention to the vodka over ice handed to the blonde.
"Do you want one?"
Emma asks again, and Regina hesitates for a moment longer, before offering a curt nod while reaching forward for a straw from the jar on the side of bar; imagining that with its help, she might be able to keep her face covered.
And then what?!
She doesn't know, and so she accepts the drink the blonde passes her silently, stirring the ice with her straw before slipping it beneath the cover of her disguise.
She's not sure whether to find it unsettling or simply in character that the Sheriff appears entirely at ease sipping in silence. Chancing another study of her companion given the sly opportunity offered by the mask, she's fairly sure she recognises the younger woman's guise from some of Henry's comic books and suffers a stab of irritation she attempts to blame cruelly on the blonde without much luck as she's fully aware she's just being vindictive.
Being a bitch, as Emma sometimes puts it.
"Do you come here often?"
The blonde leans over to ask her, and Regina smirks beneath her cover as she's a little surprised by this cliched line.
Is it a line? Or is she just asking if you, the Mayor, frequent this hell hole on occasion?
She would find herself rather insulted should it be the latter, and rather confused should Emma merely be flirting with her; her features hidden, but the cut of her dress undoubtedly feminine.
Would you, though?
No, she supposes not, and she takes another sip of her drink before she can take that thought any further.
She's not from around here, and beyond the town line, things are different. Emma is different... Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
Choking on her vodka as this notion assaults her as if from nowhere, she rolls her eyes when the blonde seems openly amused by the peril of an unknown strange; asking her calmly
"Are you dying?"
Shaking her head, Regina pulls the sleeves of her dress down over her hands. It's not something she would usually condone- neither the stretching of the fabric, nor the implied unease in doing so- but she wonders whether the blonde might use them to recognise her, and while she remains uncertain if she's been marked or not, there's something exhilarating in playing into the game.
Do you really believe Miss Swan might know you so well as to recognise your fingers?!
She tells herself such overfamiliarity is both ludicrous and a highly unsavoury thought, but when she turns the tables and tries to tell herself that it's not as though she'd be able to suss out the blonde so easily, she knows for a fact she's lying to herself.
You know her well, better than most. Just as she knows you.
"Would you tell me if you were?"
Emma interrupts her private discomfort, and she cocks her head in a parody of confusion.
"Dying."
The Sheriff elaborates, chuckling as she teases
"Or does that go against the whole silent thing you have going on? It's pretty eerie with the mask. It's a nice touch."
Smiling herself beneath her disguise, Regina shakes her head once again, playing into her air of mystique with a sense of enjoyment that surprises her.
From the far corner, Ruby calls out to them over the music, causing several heads to turn.
"Hey, Swan, are you coming back at any point?! I thought you were getting us drinks!"
"Oops."
Emma replies, holding up her own drink with a smirk and the waitress sighs, removing her mask and slipping down from her stool to stalk over and investigate.
"Did you make a friend?"
She asks, offering the Mayor a kittenish smile which the darker woman fails to reciprocate beneath her mask.
"I don't know, maybe?"
The blonde shrugs, looking over at her cloaked acquaintance as though waiting for an answer, and Regina swallows uneasily, not sure how to respond and so opting to simply maintain her silence.
Do you know who I am? Do either of you know?
"Are you coming back?"
Ruby asks when it seems the woman sat beside the blonde has no intention of making small talk - or any talk at all! Weird! - and Emma looks back over her shoulder at Mary Margaret who chats animatedly with one of her fellow teachers from beneath her bedsheet before once more shrugging her shoulders.
"In a bit, maybe."
She replies, and Ruby raises a brow, offering the blonde a small smile that incites an uncomfortably warm feeling in the pit of the Mayor's stomach, before she orders herself a drink and heads back to her table.
Watching the younger woman silently as she tries to figure out just where each of them stand, Emma appears to catch on to the fact that she has an audience after a moment and takes a sip of her drink before explaining simply
"I'll go back over in a bit, but to be honest, we've hit that point in drinking where we're having the same conversation we always have, so I'm not really missing anything other than well-meaning but very unwanted matchmaking on behalf of my roommate; the ghost over there."
She rolls her eyes, and Regina smirks to herself as she wonders how intently the schoolteacher might try pairing the blonde off were she aware of the truth of their relationship.
Well, she'd certainly come running to drag you back to your seat and out of my clutches, dear.
She muses, before suffering a hidden blush as the implication under the current context strikes her belatedly as rather odd.
As does Emma's decision to further elaborate on the identity of the woman beneath the sheet.
Maybe she really doesn't know who I am...
The notion fills her with a sense of excitement she finds both troubling and exhilarating.
Pointing to the blonde's near-empty glass, she simply holds her gaze until the younger woman catches on to her meaning.
"Sure. Thanks."
Emma smiles, watching curiously as the masked woman holds up her hand in a bid for attention from the barmaid and points to their glasses before holding up two fingers.
"Vodka. Doubles."
The Sheriff helps out, grinning as she's fully aware that her companion's gesture had been an indication of wanting two fresh glasses and not double the amount of alcohol. Shrugging when she feels the woman's masked stare boring into her, she reasons lightly
"It will get busy once the restaurants close and the movie showing at the theatre finishes. I'm just being practical and making good use of Maddie's time."
Emma nods at the barmaid in question as the young redhead slides them their drinks and accepts the money the hooded woman holds out to her.
It's on the tip of the Mayor's tongue to offer a remark on several aspects of the blonde's statement - both her apparent chumminess with the bar staff, and her sly thinking in amending their drinks order- but she maintains her silence and simply touches her glass against the Sheriff's before slipping the straw back beneath her mask.
Before long, the younger woman's warning comes to fruition as a steady crowd filters in through the door; some in costume, some simply dressed to impress. The noise level increases accordingly with chattered voices and raucous laughter which would make it hard to converse if that was what they were trying to do.
As it is, as she drinks from her glass and feels her cheeks and chest flush beneath her disguise, Regina simply matches the blonde's curious glances; reaching out at one point to fix pale curls beneath the pull of her mask with her breath catching in her throat as she considers the act just a little too late; her fingers caught in soft gold before she remembers herself and pulls away.
What on earth are you doing?!
She doesn't know. She just knows that the younger woman had made no move to pull away, and, when Emma leans over much closer than necessary to speak into the shawl covering her ears, she repays in kind.
"Another?"
The blonde murmurs, and Regina swallows, wondering if this is a good idea as she studies her companion uneasily; all of her irritation and distaste still present, still toxic, but muted beneath another feeling she can't quite place. She just notes that it comes with a unique sensation - a sense of dangerous urgency - and she nods her head before pointing towards the corner where a narrow hallway leads to the bathrooms; needing a moment to gather herself before things get out of hand.
Emma watches her leave before turning back to the bar and calling Maddie over.
"What can I get you?"
The redhead asks, casting a bemused look to her right as a couple of men from the cannery embark on a loud conversation about her cleavage.
"The same. Do you want me to say something to them?"
The Sheriff asks, pulling her badge out of her back pocket and placing it pointedly on the bar.
"It wouldn't do any good, and it's nothing I haven't heard before."
Maddie sighs, grinning as the blonde's move does seem momentarily successful, but she shakes her head as she mutters
"Just you wait to see how long it takes for them to start back up."
"I give it ten seconds."
"I give it five. I have nice cleavage."
Maddie shrugs, smiling at the blonde as the latter laughs at this, before asking curiously
"Has your friend in the mask said anything since she sat down?"
"Nope."
"Huh... That's weird."
"A little. But I like it better that way."
Emma replies cryptically, knocking back her shot before doing the same to the second one she'd ordered, shooting the barmaid a loaded look as Maddie watches this progression curiously.
"Careful, Sheriff."
Is all she says as the blonde pushes herself up from her seat and slips her badge back into her pocket.
"Not really my style."
Emma admits, heading in the direction of the bathrooms and fire exit with a swift glance over at Mary Margaret and Ruby, but the two sit deep in conversation and pay her no mind.
"Swan."
Billy greets her in surprise as he exits the hallway back into the bar, and she nods at him politely before slipping around the corner.
In the bathroom, Regina takes advantage of finding herself alone and removes her mask to study herself warily in the mirror; noting the delicate flush to her cheeks and unable to say whether the vodka or the peculiar situation she's found herself in is to blame.
What are you doing here?
She asks herself again; unsure what she's hoping to gain playing the strange game she's started playing, just knowing that she's enjoying herself.
For the first time in a long time, she's enjoying herself. It's exciting. It's-
Catching the sound of footsteps outside the door, she pulls her mask hastily back into place and neatens the pull of the shawl to cover her hair and shoulders; just a black silhouette. A shadow.
Go. Accept the drink she's ordered for you and call it a night. Call a cab and head home before you do something stupid.
Sighing resolutely, she makes up her mind; not appreciating the notion that she might be capable of stupidity, yet supposing history speaks for itself on that front.
Not that she'd ever admit it.
Making her way back out into the bar, Regina stands for a moment in the arch of the hallway as a frown finds her face beneath her disguise. Spying the empty stools where she'd been sat beside the Sheriff, she looks over towards the table the blonde had occupied upon her arrival but sees no sign of her.
Maybe she left. That's just the sort of flaky behaviour one would expect after all.
She tells herself that the feeling in her gut isn't disappointment.
That she should be relieved to be shot of the-
"Ah!"
Her gasp of surprise is muffled beneath her disguise, and she stumbles slightly as she receives another hard yank to her wrist.
Her heart racing wildly, she manages to find her feet for just a moment before she's pulled past the bathrooms and shoved none too gently against the door of the fire escape.
"What the hell are you-"
She hisses, before her world goes dark; her mask pushed up to uncover the lower half of her face, and she stiffens in utter shock as soft lips brush against her own.
Fairly sure she can hear her heartbeat in her ears, she reaches up blindly and plunges her hands into messy curls, opening her mouth and permitting entrance as she kisses the blonde hungrily; relishing the feel of the Sheriff's weight pressing her up against the door.
Finally, Emma pulls back; retreating a couple of steps so that she stands with her shoulders resting against the wall with her hand going up to her mouth and touching her lips.
"I'd always wondered what that would be like."
She admits in a queerly conversational tone, and the Mayor pulls her mask back into place, simply staring at the blonde; stunned.
"Come on, Regina, the silent thing is getting kind of old..."
Emma grumbles when she's offered no response, and the brunette struggles to find her words before finally choking on them in her surprise.
"You knew it was me?!"
"Of course."
"How?!"
"I don't know. I just did. I know you."
The blonde shrugs, reiterating Regina's previous thought on the matter as though it should be obvious, with none of the concern lacing her tone that the Mayor had felt when pondering over such things.
"But then... Why?... Why did you do that?"
"Kiss you?"
"Yes!"
"I mean... One of us had to finally do it."