Hello, my sweet sweet doves. Taking another break from my series again to let my imagination run free. As always, reviews, comments, song suggestions, and constructive criticism are appreciated.
Also, I've actually set up a twitter account. The handle thingy is AmberwritesWV. It's not terribly SQ-centric, but you can keep up with my original stuffs if you so wish.
Enjoy! Kiss kiss
Song: Ocean by Lauren Aquilina
Act I
It smelled funny.
Even through the windows and the stale cigarette smoke lingering on the man across the aisle who had felt the need to offer parenting advice with his corn dog breath, the metallic tang of fish permeated every molecule of oxygen on the stuffy bus... and Christmas. A fishy Christmas provided by the Balsam Fir trees thick on either side of the road and the ocean somewhere to her right. Green eyes, the color of the sea just before a storm, shifted towards the window at her left, apprehensive of the descending darkness. She'd yearned for wilderness, she hadn't expected this. Storybrooke, Maine, just sounded like a cute, small town with one street running through the entire city limits and a green and white "unincorporated" sign at either side. They'd passed through another smaller town nearly 45 minutes ago, and kept moving. Emma had forgotten the name the instant she realized she'd not reached her destination. She'd hoped to arrive before dusk, find a place to bunk down for the night. Surely, a town like Storybrooke wouldn't have an all-night diner, she was on her own. But… he wouldn't find her here.
No one would find her here.
She sighed and shifted in her seat, trying to find any relief for her aching back. A strand of blonde hair tumbled into her face, and she tucked it back inside the grey hood of the jacket zipped around her swelling belly. A trembling hand touched it, jerked away from the popped belly button. No use showing affection to something she knew never belonged to her, in possession or privilege. The last person on earth who needed a child was her.
"How far are ya?" A gruff female voice asked.
Emma raised her eyes, absorbing the long beige stockings, green wool skirt, and floral print shirt beneath a cream-colored sweater of the grandmotherly figure studying her with intelligent eyes behind thick square glasses and a hard, leathered face. Probably lived in Maine her entire life with skin permanently burned like that from the wind. Emma had stared at the tight bun of grey hair in the seat in front of corn dog breath for almost an hour after leaving the city. She seemed harmless, just a nosy old woman returning from her trip to the city.
"What do you care?" Pulling her shoulder bag over her belly, she fixed her eyes on the dark silhouettes and shadows of firs and maples. The old woman grunted, but nothing further followed. Emma released the stagnant air from her chest slowly. Any attention was bad. She'd made it this far by becoming unnoticeable, unmemorable in every way possible.
A sharp kick from within reminded Emma that everyone noticed her. Pregnant women always attracted unwanted attention. Another shimmy, a foot appeared through her shirt. "What the hell? Are you mutating in there, you freakin' gremlin?"
Her voice cracked, and that desolate forest called her attention again. She knew the problem. The baby hadn't eaten in over 24 hours because she hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. Tree after shadow slipped by, only figures blurred in the darkness, abstract but meaningful to Emma. The trees looked like her soul, and she hated them. The moment something made sense, she moved past it, blurring it into a black, constantly-mutating shape. She closed her eyes and gripped the cold leather handle of the knife inside the front pocket of her bag.
"Girl," that same gruff voice scraped across her ear.
Emma came to life. The woman barely flinched at the sharp metal tip against her round belly. A grey brow raised. Fists punched into a surprisingly slim waist for such a buxom figure. "Storybrooke," the old woman said, chin jutting toward the window. She turned and waddled away before Emma even glanced at the dim lights on a wet street.
She'd fallen asleep.
"If you want a hot meal, come find Granny's Diner." The woman gazed at her over the front seat, two steps off the bus. "It's on Granny."
"Who the fuck is Granny?"
The woman smiled, her wrinkles relaxing into tiny grins across her face, and then disappeared with everyone else who hadn't left themselves vulnerable on a bus full of perfect strangers. Emma tucked the knife away and dropped her head into her hands, blonde hair tangling around shaking fingers. Hunger not fear vibrated in her hands.
"End of the line, sister. I'd like to go home and have dinner with my wife if you don't mind getting the hell off my bus." A man with dark hair and a nasty leer stared at her in the mirror. The name on his dark blue shirt read "Leroy."
"You actually talked a woman into having sex with you more than once?"
"Smart ass, get the hell off my bus before I toss you off."
"Alright, Shorty, chill. Don't pop a freaking limb. God knows you can't afford to lose an inch." The dwarf glared at her but said nothing else as she waddled to the front of the bus. The doors slammed shut and left her with only a puff of warm exhaust as protection against the chill of wet wind whipping off the ocean.
Crickets and peep frogs chirped and chattered noisily. Even the animals behaved funny in Maine. She'd never heard them in the middle of town before, on the small farm where one of her foster families lived but not in Boston. Emma exhaled a stream of white breath and pulled the hood of her thin jacket tighter around her cheeks. Now that she knew where she was, she felt lost. The street yielded nothing, the harsh gusts of frozen air slapping at her hair offered even less. It was exactly as she imagined, a sleepy hamlet with retirees and young families where nothing stayed open after 8pm. A gust of wind blew the hood from her head, burned her eyes with a salty mist. She tucked into a store front and jerked the scraggily protection back into place.
The child in her belly kicked again, raising holy hell in protest of Emma's hunger strike. Her chin quivered, and she wrapped shivering arms thick with goosebumps around the bump and curled her body as best she could. "Please stop, Gremlin. I know, okay. I know you're hungry. I'm freakin' hungry. I'm doing the best I can," she whispered, allowing just one moment of weakness. One lonely, frigid moment in a wet street with icy wind tearing at her cheeks. Who the hell came to Maine in the middle of October without a home? The little life within quieted, and Emma gave her weight to the wall behind her, lightheaded. The red brick scratched her scalp, almost soothing as she tipped her head towards the black clouds above. A preamble of cold droplets spotted her face, hiding the tears and their warmth.
"Okay." Deep breaths puffed and streamed through the dark rain soaking her clothes. She glanced around again, still nothing to indicate what direction she needed. "Okay."
"Are you lost?"
Emma whipped towards the soft, friendly voice. Everyone in this town seemed so damn friendly, all two of them. A young girl, maybe 15, stood beneath a large umbrella. Big, innocent brown eyes gazed up at her. Straight black hair with a bright red stripe fell over thin shoulders covered by a black long sleeve shirt with holes in the wrists for her thumbs and some form of a broken heart in neon green across her barely-there breasts. Black pants with buckles and loops and chains and bright red streaks hugged her waist and nothing else, falling loosely around her thighs and calves. Around her shoulders hung a heavy red cape to match her hair and pants. Goth girl with a big heart.
"You gotta be shitting me," Emma muttered. Could this town be more cliché?
"What?" The girl leaned towards her, and Emma pressed further into the corner, not realizing until then the trap she'd put herself in.
"Granny's?" Emma asked. Her throat constricted with fear. She needed to eat. Maybe the old bag left her money vulnerable.
"Oh! I'm heading there now. I'm trying to get back before Granny's bus comes in." She offered to share her umbrella, and Emma accepted without touching her. The rain pelted one shoulder, but it was better than getting dumped on and touching this brainless assistant in her time of need.
"Just call me Dorothy."
"What?"
"Nothing. You missed the bus, kid, I got off it ten minutes ago."
"Shit," the girl swore and then glanced around as though she'd done something wrong. Emma smirked. She liked the girl, no matter how hard she tried to remain indifferent. Big, doe-eyes raised to hers, blush on her cheeks visible even in the dark. "Granny says I live in the clouds. I'm late for everything. I'm Ruby, by the way. Ruby Lucas."
"Emma."
Ruby slipped her arm through Emma's and tucked in close. She grinned bashfully. She'd probably never had a friend her entire life. Emma empathized and allowed the girl to pretend for just a minute that Emma could ease her loneliness. "Is that why you have red streaks in your hair?"
"Oh, uhh, no." Ruby's face fell. "My dad, they called him The Wolf. He was kind of a big deal around here. He killed my mom five years ago. I got away. No one really talks to me, so I dress up like Little Red Riding Hood." Ruby shifted, tensing to pull away from Emma's arm.
Emma touched her hand to keep her close. "You just dive right in head first without looking, don't you?"
"No point hiding the truth."
"Just don't let it define you," Emma offered her measly life advice she'd learned the hard way in her miserable 19 years of existence.
"It doesn't, but it is the only thing people see when they look at me. Granny says they're all fools, which is why they keep coming back to the diner." Ruby smirked, and Emma never asked what exact retaliation Granny took on their food. She seemed like a lady to take no shit and give no fucks.
"Does everyone call her Granny?"
"Yeah, for the most part, except Mayor Mills, but she's actually my grandmother, my mom's mom. Regina calls her by her name, but I think she likes Granny better."
"Regina?"
"Mayor Mills. She just took office when everything happened with my parents,"Ruby explained, not even flinching at the rush of pain that particular statement yanked from her subconscious and into her already bleeding heart.
Emma shivered, teeth clattering. Ruby dropped her arm and swooped her thick cape over her new friend's shoulder, leaving her hand there. She smelled like cinnamon and fryer grease, an odd combination for a girl of her age. Her touch, however, soaked into Emma's shoulder. The girl carried a gentle energy, unobtrusive and sweet despite her tragedy… maybe in spite of it. It took a strong will to walk around playing the part of Red Riding Hood when she knew everyone associated it with her father's misdeeds. On one hand, Emma admired that. On the other, befriending the little rebel attracted unwanted attention. She needed to lay low until the birth of the gremlin and then get the fuck out of town.
"Thanks," she whispered.
Ruby stopped walking, forcing Emma to stop or leave the warmth of their shared heat. The bump between them rubbed the girl's belly, and Ruby studied it for a long moment before finally turning her eyes up to Emma's again. "Why are you in Storybrooke? Tourist season is over, and you don't look like you're here to see the leaves anyway."
"Some people wear their truths like a cape, and others run like hell until they can't see them anymore." Emma held the gaze. Wind whipped around them, stinging their exposed cheeks.
Ruby ducked her head against the bite of the weather and the weight of Emma's words. "Granny's is just around the corner."
And it was. Ruby shook off her umbrella and tossed it into the porcelain holder at the door. All eyes turned towards the howling wind that swept two shivering girls into the warmth of the diner. Sweet apple pie and cinnamon surrounded Emma, much nicer than the salt and seaweed through a bus window. Ruby's odd scent suddenly made sense. She probably worked here on the weekends.
Disregarding the gawking stares pointed at her and Ruby, Emma absorbed the feeling of the diner. Maroon booths, some sort of grey forest scene with wolves papered the walls – gaudy but somehow appropriate given the information Ruby gave her about her father. They both told the town of Storybrooke to go fuck itself sideways with a banana.
"Ruby Lucas, where the hell you get off to this time?" Granny scratched from the kitchen door.
"The cemetery," Ruby mumbled, finding the grey linoleum extremely fascinating. She pulled the string at her throat and hung the heavy cape on an old brass coat rack. Emma notice then how thin and fragile the younger girl actually was. How had she carried that thick piece of fabric?
"What did I tell you about strays? They might be dangerous." Granny fixed Emma with a glare, and the defiant woman struggled to maintain the eye contact. Yes, okay, she'd technically pulled a knife on her, but wasn't going to hurt anyone unless they hurt her first.
"Thought you brought this one home, Old Woman," Emma snarked, aiming to get a rise. What she got was a collective gasp from the entire room. Apparently no one spoke to Granny Lucas in such a manner. The old woman herself never actually reacted, but an understanding passed between them as Emma stubbornly held the proving stare.
It fell apart when a woman with dark, smoky eyes and ruby red lips leaned around a man in a dark blue suit to study this abrasive stranger. Even at the booth farthest from the door, Emma saw the fire in those dark eyes. She swallowed audibly with no spit to lubricate the action. The woman might have been the most gorgeous creature she ever set her eyes on in this world.
"That's Mayor Mills," Ruby whispered, her shoulder touching Emma's. "Don't say anything, just come with me."
"Why?"
"Long or short version?"
"Short as possible."
"She's a bitch." No embarrassment or blush followed the curse, the first hint of the anger Ruby concealed with sweet smiles and kind words.
Emma held those dark eyes, even as Ruby tugged her towards the bar. They dropped to the speckled pink and gold dots on the otherwise white counter when the girl grabbing at her dropped her arm and made a beeline for the far end. Granny wrapped an arm around her and led her into the kitchen.
"Have you eaten today?" She asked her granddaughter.
"Yes." A pointed look. "Not much." A raised eyebrow. "No."
Granny harrumphed and then looked over her shoulder. "Don't drip on anything. I got your food on the grill."
"What if I'm allergic to it?"
"You got allergies?"
Emma smirked. "No, but I could."
A tiny sliver of a smile quirked the old woman's lips. "Then shut your damn fool mouth," she snapped and disappeared into the kitchen.
Through the round window at the top of the door, Emma watched the two exchange words without hearing them. A waitress bumped through the door with her hips. Granny pulled at the sleeve of Ruby's shirt. Womp. Scrape. Ruby wrenched her hand away. Womp. Scrape. Granny held the girl close with one stout arm as Ruby cried into her shoulder, the other held a bloody, shredded wrist from their clothes. Womp. Scrape. The door lost adequate momentum to show Emma what happened next, but she assumed Granny dealt with this on a regular basis. Why had she left her granddaughter unattended anyway? What could have been that important to leave a mentally ill child alone? Why has she invited her for a hot meal after having a knife poked against her belly?
Emma glanced over her right shoulder, calculating the distance between her and the only known exit. She might have run, but where in a town this small could she possibly have gone? The kitchen always had a door for deliveries and smoke breaks if she needed to bolt. The thought settled her nerves, but the fresh and heady energy of another human being against her left side raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
"Hello, Miss…" A dark, raspy voice slid down her spine and ignited a slow burn in her belly.
Emma swallowed again, instinctively sensing who spoke to her. Only one voice could have that amount of pretention and predation, and it hadn't belonged to the female dockworker still in overalls and rubber boots in the front booth. Excitement flipped and churned in her stomach simultaneous to the apprehension gripping her chest. No one of status or import had ever paid any attention to her, but the goal of avoiding attention fell flat on its face. She'd stepped onto Storybrooke's fishy Christmas street less than half hour prior and already caught the eye of probably the most influential person within its limits. On an exhale, she raised her eyes to the light brown of Mayor Mills. Inhaling, the woman surrounded her – the citrus tang of expensive perfume, beautiful light brown eyes that weren't as dark as she'd originally thought across the room. A dark caramel maybe, buckskin, a wonderful mix of primal and human. She knew those eyes, recognized the hauntings behind them, seen that expression often enough in the mirror in her own greyish green. The mayor obviously wanted people to believe in her persona as Bitch Royale, but that look… Emma wore that look and sold it with scathing insults to keep everything at a distance, including her own emotions.
Everyone noticed actions, no one looked at the eyes.
"What's your name?" The mayor snapped.
"Emma."
"Just Emma, like Cher without any talent or fashion sense? Speak, girl."
"I'm not sure Cher has any fashion sense, either. Have you seen her clothes recently?"
Immaculate fingernails dug into a slim waist covered in a silk shirt. She tried desperately to hide her feminine curves with the blazer pushed back by her forearm. Though appropriately sized for a public figure, the mayor's curvaceous body better suited the image of an actress or a ditsy secretary than a politician. Blood red nails attached to those fingers snapped in Emma's face, slapping her back to reality. She needed to sleep before she completely lost all of her senses. "What is your name?"
"Look, Lady, I'm just trying to eat. Step the fuck off."
Mayor Mills scoffed in disbelief. Emma fought desperately to hide a smirk. The dining room quieted behind them, tongues still while eyes greedily drank from the cup of humiliation Emma served the haughty woman harassing her.
"Storybrooke has strict vagrant laws. If you intend to sleep beneath the docks, save me the hassle of retrieving your corpse from the incoming tides. The last headache I need is the news of a pregnant, homeless child freezing to death in my town."
Emma laughed and finally turned fully towards the mayor, letting her get a good, long look at her bulging belly. "Election year, is it?"
Red crept from beneath the V of her shirt and slowly eclipsed her face. Emma watched in fascination, tripping on the high of getting under the powerful woman's skin. Not many people stood up to her bully tactics, Emma decided, and it thrilled her. What did she care? She'd not be here long.
"Sydney!" The woman scraped, struggling to keep her voice from rising in pitch. Those beautiful eyes darkened with the changing of her emotions, and Emma held them defiantly, not willing to succumb to another bully. Never again would she be a victim. "Call Sheriff Hunter." The man in the dark blue suit slipped a hand into his jacket.
Emma stood. "Fine. I'll go. This place smells funny anyway." If she had to go, she'd damn well do it on her terms. The mayor gave her no ground, forcing her big bump to rub against her flat stomach in order to free herself physically from the situation.
She'd barely slipped from between the stools when a gruff voice stopped her. "You'll do no such thing. Regina, Miss Swan has paid for a room in full until the end of the week." A round plump form pushed between them, forcing the raging woman to step back.
"Swan? Really?"
"Don't much matter what her name is, her money spends the same," Granny berated her for the condescension.
A sliver of defiance and indignity swelled in Emma's chest at being defended. The scent of Bengay and powder soothed it when Mayor Mills took another step back and clasped her elegant fingers in front of her hips. A nervous tick perhaps? Whatever just transpired, Emma understood that two opposing forces fought for dominance in Storybrooke, and she'd managed to fall into the ranks of the blue collar grandma who challenged the oppressive high class. Maybe an ally in the old woman and her mentally unstable granddaughter gave her the break she needed. She didn't mind being a pawn in a power struggle if it got the thing in her belly a good home when it decided to come out.
Mayor Mills smiled sweetly, showing only a few seconds of insecurity before the mask slid into place. She was good, Emma gave her that much. And that smile, damn if that smile ever occurred in a genuine moment of happiness… "Welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Swan. Please enjoy your stay." Emma snapped to focus, reminding herself where she was and what was happening. Regina stepped past Granny in obnoxiously high heels, black stilettoes. Focus Swan.
She touched Granny's arm, leaning close. "If you have to bill the mayor's office, feel free to do so if an extra bar of soap findS its way to Miss Swan's room. Can't have your guests overpowering the scent of your delicious apple pie, can we?" The skin around her eyes tightened with one last glance at the delinquent, fake smile never wavering. "She's your responsibility, Elizabeth. Any impropriety will fall on your house, understand? After the mess your daughter created…"
"Get out of my diner," Granny snapped, losing her temper for the first time since the showdown.
Regina smiled again. This smile looked cruel and ugly despite the perfect teeth and symmetrical features. Ruby appeared at the kitchen door with her gentle energy and surveyed the room, concerned with her grandmother's rarely raised voice. The mayor never noticed the entrance and disappeared into the stormy darkness with her lapdog nipping at her heels. Ruby set a plate of grilled chicken, steamed broccoli, and brown rice in front of Emma. Granny squeezed her shoulder Like she'd known her more than a day and waddled toward the kitchen.
"I came up with your name," Ruby confided, whispering in conspiracy and very proud of her quick thinking. "I hope it's okay." Aaand the insecurity returned with a vengeance. "You just remind me of Odette from The Swan Princess."
"The what?" Her nose wrinkled as she lowered herself back onto the stool. Dinner smelled amazing, and her stomach growled at her hesitance to rip into it.
"It's a movie. You've never seen it?" The girl asked over her shoulder where she filled a mug with steaming water, flabbergasted at the thought. Emma shook her head. Ruby tossed a teabag into the water and placed it at the top right corner of her plate, staring at the swirling steam instead of Emma's face. She fidgeted with her arm where a bump of gauze rose beneath the sleeve. It probably itched and stung from being cleaned.
"Do you want to watch it with me tonight?" She asked, her voice much younger than her teenage years. She already braced for rejection. The tone of the question practically mocked her already tortured soul.
Emma rolled her eyes, more at the fact that she actually felt the urge to help the pathetic creature than at the girl herself. "Sure," Emma agreed before completely considering the ramifications of becoming emotionally entangled with the haunted, lonely girl.
Ruby smiled. Emma almost returned it as she ducked her head and picked up the fork to the left of her plate. Granny grunted by the kitchen door and allowed the moment to happen. If Ruby failed to connect with the defensive, blonde stranger, no one in that backward town stood a chance.