Making a mental note of where she's parked her car, Regina makes her way hesitantly down the crowded street with a dismissive frown cast at the decorations adorning shop windows. Personally, she's never had much time for Halloween; a holiday that hadn't existed in the Enchanted Forest, where festivities predominately focused on those worthy of celebrating (ie, her). Of course, the same goes for Christmas, but, as she had tried to explain to the Saviour last fall when they'd discussed her displeasure- 'grumpiness', Miss Swan phrased it, and isn't that just a little rich!?- surrounding the spooky season, she has grown to appreciate Christmas for the closeness it brings her with Henry; a vastly different sentiment to bothering strangers and demanding candy while attempting to scare them for good measure!
Most distasteful.
She muses irritably, recalling how her annoyance had been very much a solo venture as Emma had sat rocked back in her chair grinning at her in the way the Sheriff has a habit of doing when she's enjoying watching the Queen get herself wound up over trivial matters.
"I don't know what you're suddenly so happy about, dear. It's not as though you're one to enjoy the happiness and harmony of most holidays."
She'd snapped at the younger woman.
"Most of my holidays haven't been happy and harmonious."
The Sheriff had replied simply, before elaborating with a shrug
"I like Halloween. It doesn't involve the same pressure to get close and cuddly with those around you. It involves candy, gory movies, pumpkins and dressing up."
"You never dress up."
"Not here, no, but I used to. It's fun."
"Hmm... I suppose I shouldn't find myself surprised that you're in favour of a holiday centred around showing up on people's doorsteps uninvited to give them a fright."
She'd muttered under her breath.
Quite loudly under her breath.
In retaliation, Emma had simply told her she was flattered to have made such an impression, willingly submitting to their familiar bickering.
Bickering that, in all honesty, the Mayor has missed ever so slightly.
Ever so slightly!
She's had to make do with sparring with Snow since returning to Storybrooke and ridding themselves of danger; a practice that's sweetly nostalgic, but the school teacher doesn't bite back at her the way Emma does, and Mary Margaret rarely dares to toe the line so precariously as her daughter; much less while staring her down and flashing her a grin.
It's a sad sign of the times that I would choose to welcome such audacity back into my life.
Isn't it just? As, while she's assured the others vehemently and often that bringing Emma back to Storybrooke is simply part and parcel of her imminent reunion with Henry, she's forced to admit- only to herself, mind- that a small part of her is looking forward to bullying the Sheriff relentlessly when she comes back in hopes of receiving a reaction and that vexingly irritating, mildly amusing, utterly uncouth little grin.
If she agrees to come back.
She frowns as she mulls over her recent jab at Snow's expense. She supposes there's not really any 'if' about it. Once he remembers who she is and his home in Storybrooke, Henry will want to come back, of that she's certain, and if the boy wants to head back to Maine, then his mother- his other mother- will follow in his wake.
Possibly not willingly, though...
No, and she supposes the reason she takes issue with this is very different to that of the blonde's parents. In truth- and it is a truth Rumple has pointed out to her twice now- it should suit her if the Saviour decides she doesn't want to stick around, but there is a part of her that can't help but feel a little jealous. Emma has always been the odd one out in their little town; she comes from elsewhere, and, unlike the rest of them who have no option to go back to where they hailed from originally, the blonde has always had the means to pull back. To take a break. To spend some time in this other world that confuses the rest of them.
"Hey, watch it, lady!"
A gruff voice warns as a man hurries past with an inflatable skeleton clutched in one meaty fist and the small hand of a toddler clutched in the other. The little boy in question almost has to run to keep up; the bobble on his hat jiggling comically.
"Rude..."
Regina hisses irritably, the man's dismissive tone and brash remark only serving to support her inner musing as to the foreign nature of this world.
I was the Queen!
She finds herself bristling furiously, although, if she's going to base the mannerisms of those that hail from beyond Storybrooke's borders on the person she knows best from this side of the line, she really shouldn't find herself so shocked at the audacity of their behaviour.
A small smirk at this at Emma's expense, and she steps sensibly to the side to avoid being growled at by any further strangers and checks her phone. A small pin studs the maps application Belle had finally managed to figure out and help her with- all the while offering the Queen uneasy side-glances and playing nervously with her hair- and she marvels at this land's version of magic as that red pin decreases in size as she takes a couple of steps further down the street; the phone vibrating gently in her hand and telling her to turn around and go the other way.
Accepting orders from the device in a way she never would a person, she turns back on herself and heads up the street before eventually taking a right. A small park with a meagerly populated playground greets her on her left as Belle had said it would when poring over the map back in Storybrooke; turning the grey shapes and streets over to what she'd called 'street view', and Regina spies the attractive redbrick building a little further up that the young beauty had managed to track the Saviour to.
How are you going to do this?
She asks herself, still not certain how best to go about her task, but if there's one thing she has come to learn when dealing with Emma, it's that planning for things to go a certain way is generally a waste of time.
Impossible woman.
Supposing the first step should be checking that Belle's information can be trusted, she makes her way over the road, towards the building and climbs the five stone steps leading to the front door. A column of buzzers lines the brick to her side, and she raises a brow as she reads down the list of names, hoping she's right in thinking that E.S. stands for Emma Swan. She would imagine it does, as this is the only buzzer where neither a first or last name has been added to help with identification, and that seems about right given the younger woman's evasive tendencies.
Well, if she's gone back to doing bail bonds work, it's perhaps a wise decision...
Perhaps, but she really doesn't feel like crediting Emma with such an indulgent understanding of her reasoning, and so she frowns down at the mysteriously labelled buzzer indecisively.
"Henry!"
A young voice calls shrilly, causing her to turn around with a start, and she watches as a slim girl with flaming orange hair runs down the street; streaking past her and skidding to a halt at the intersection less than ten feet away. The girl waves amiably at the boy who approaches with a grin, and Regina feels her heart leap into her throat as her stomach flips.
Henry...
She clenches her teeth hard as she suffers the overwhelming urge to either cry or break into laughter, and retreats back down the steps before her son wonders what on earth some strange- and devilishly well-dressed!- woman might be doing hovering around the front door to his apartment building.
"Hey, Freya."
Henry greets, paying no attention to the brunette who takes her chances and closes the distance between them by a couple of steps; drinking in the subtle changes to her son's appearance.
How could you have grown so much taller in such a short amount of time?
She marvels, although, in reality, a year has felt like a hellishly long amount of time with Henry missing. His hair is longer and messier than she likes for it to get, but it looks oddly handsome paired with the dark green sweater he wears and dark brown boots. She doesn't recognise either of these items, nor his jeans or scarf, but finds herself surprised that she doesn't disapprove of them either.
An opinion that soon changes when Henry turns around to show Freya the skeleton prancing on the back of his sweater.
"Cool!"
Freya giggles- her delight not shared by Regina in the slightest- and she holds up her gloved hands to show him the cartoon ghosts that haunt her fingers.
"Those are great."
Henry grins, beckoning the young redhead along as he strolls obliviously past his mother.
"I thought you were helping your mom with her work thing?"
Freya frowns as she falls into step beside the brunet and follows him to his front door.
"I am, but she forgot to grab the wristband things they're using so I said I'd pick them up on my way to Boxer's. I'm going to get changed, too."
He grins, waggling his eyebrows, and for a moment, Regina finds herself struggling to resist the urge to march over and tell him he was raised better than that- at least, by her, he was- before it dawns on her that the boy isn't insinuating anything untoward at all, and is likely referring to wanting to change into a Halloween costume.
As though that's much better!?
But, it is. She's just suffering the brunt of a strange situation and she knows it. She's happy that Henry seems happy.
Even if he insists on wearing some ghastly disguise.
She rolls her eyes and feigns interest in her phone as she worries she's perhaps been standing around aimlessly for too long, and she jabs at the volume keys hastily when a tinned voice starts to tell her she's reached her destination.
Hush, you accursed thing!
The kids pay her no attention as Freya gestures to her backpack and explains she's off to her sister's to change and that she'll meet him there.
Wherever 'there' is...
"Come up and change at mine, otherwise? Mom's taken some of the paints and stuff, but I think there's still a bunch of makeup and blood in the bathroom. Cupcakes, too."
He offers the girl a winning smile and she reciprocates as she accepts his invitation.
Paints? Blood? Wristbands?
Regina tries to wrap her head around fractured information as the children slip from view and enter the building. She supposes she has at least managed to deduce that Henry is home while Emma is out somewhere doing god knows what with paints and minus some wristbands, but this isn't as fortuitous as she'd like now that Henry has company. She can't think of a scenario where offering the boy candy in front of his friend without any pretext will go down well, and so she chooses for the moment to bide her time.
After all, what's a couple of minutes when I've missed you for months?
Honing in on one detail that might be of use, she brings up her cell's search bar and types in 'Boxers NY'. A couple of articles come up that don't appear to be of any relevance, but she notes that when she clicks under the maps subheading, the first hit is for Boxer Park which claims to be seven minutes walk away. Hesitating as she tries to decide on the best course of action, she decides to believe the odds will play to her favour and begins making her way across town following the map's instructions, the first trick-or-treaters passing her by with their costumes on and candy-sacks clenched in their fists.