A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for all of your reviews and comments! I also thank you for being patient with me - I really only have weekend time to write extensively, and I really hope that it's paying off. I hope you all like this installment and I am going to try and get the next part out soon (especially with Thanksgiving time). Thanks again! Enjoy!
Belle barely slept that night.
After going home, she contemplated what she had said and realized how crazy it actually was. She was going to be meeting him at the very place everyone who wanted to destroy her congregated in one place. But, it wouldn't seem strange for them to speak under the circumstances of the Playboy Club. That was what she thought, wasn't it?
But, as she twisted and turned in her bed, Belle couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was her turn to be a coward. Had she picked the Club for its practical purposes of avoiding wandering eyes, or did she use it as a way to avoid confrontation and protect him and herself? It was around two in the morning that she decided it would have to be a bit of both. She resented thinking of herself as a coward, but couldn't help but entertain the honesty of it.
She was scared. She was more scared than she had ever been, not only for herself, but for everyone. She had always been willing to throw herself to the wolves if it meant protecting those she loved. Her family, friends, and even one-time lover were all under her umbrella of protection now. By agreeing to meet with Gold, by making that choice, she was putting them all in danger.
Belle could only hope that it was worth it.
Remembering the way Gold treated her, listening to her, taking care of her, paying attention to her – instead of just using her as an accessory to his life (thankfully he had no option of doing so), she enjoyed that. She liked spending time with him. Even if they argued quite a bit, even if she threw her pictures in his face, he told her she was better than that – was vehemently aware of it. No one with power, with a place in life, had ever told Belle she had the capacity to make her own place.
He believed in her, and when he said it, Belle trusted him, which meant more than any old little encouragement from anybody else. She had grown accustomed to his face, to his mannerisms, and even the taste of cigarettes and whiskey after a long, deep kiss. All of it had become something that, when she realized the anticipation of, her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she would find herself smiling in the stupidest ways.
It wasn't as though she was in love with him, no – she didn't know him well enough for that, but she could have been. Had things been different, she could have. She certainly loved little things about him – like the whiskey taste and sardonic humor.
Those thoughts delayed sleep for another two hours, and only when Belle's eyelids were actually too heavy to keep open did she finally fall into a restless sleep.
Waking up couldn't have been any harder, after turning all night and having nightmares she couldn't remember, all of which shook her from the confines of sleep and sent her once flying out of the bed and the second time smacking her hand on the night table in a desperate attempt to find the alarm clock, groaning as it read 6:15 AM. It wasn't slotted to go off for another hour.
Belle had turned over in her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and let out a muffled scream into the downy folds, her fingers clutched around the fabric pillowcase. It wasn't even worth trying to get the extra hour. She pushed herself out of bed and started to prepare herself. It was going to be a very long day.
Everything had to be perfect. Belle would settle for nothing less, and she knew if she came in less than her best there would be questions. She'd already been gone for several days. It wouldn't do her any favors to look out of sorts upon return. So, Belle attended to herself with the care and attention to detail that she didn't even normally give herself.
She showered and primped, hours spent moving between her hair and her make-up, seamlessly drying and curling, painting and polishing. Belle had impressions to make and people to impress. Regina would be watching, the other girls would be watching, the outfit would have their eyes glued to her. Gold would be watching.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, goose pimples puckering every inch of her skin. He'd be staring so intently – she'd feel his eyes on her wherever she went, on her back, following her footfalls, the extension of her arm as she placed any and every drink she served on a table. She'd noticed it before, but the thought of it had never weighed quite so heavily on her as it did in this instance. She had to remind herself to breathe to keep her hands steady as she applied her eye make-up, rimming her icy blue eyes with dark black, wings edging out to the sides as was the style.
She only stopped herself to pick at some toast, and even then, she had no stomach for it, returning to her preparatory work with the hands of an artist but the nervous, twisting stomach of a schoolgirl on the eve of a life defining test. If only if were that easy, Belle had to laugh to herself, putting the final touches on her entire look.
It didn't matter what dress she wore, it wouldn't make its way to the floor, but that didn't stop her from picking her best – a yellow dress, not quite buttercup, just a little darker, fitted at the waist with a grey sash to tie. It might not have been glamorous like any of Regina's wiggle dresses, the kinds that hugged in all of the right places and didn't hide a thing from view, but it was something Belle treasured.
She slipped it on with her stockings and her flat shoes, grabbing her coat as well. She would be just a little bit early, but it was better to be early than late. Regina might actually be happy to have her there early – if only to use her as a whipping post before the others. She knew she could not have been anyone's favorite at the moment. It didn't matter though, she was going.
Leaving the apartment behind, the door locked, Belle scurried out of the building without hesitation. It was time to be swift, decisive, and without fear. Belle was surprisingly good at rising to the occasion. Her feet clicked on the sidewalk, she carried her chin high, and anyone who seemed to be paying her mind received a smile of greeting. It was brisk, but not unbearable, and Belle could almost forget that she was walking to a place like the Playboy Club. She could have if she hadn't arrived so quickly.
The building stood tall in front of her, stark against the rest of the city. She took a deep breath, her pace faltering only for a couple of steps. Though it had only been two days, it seemed like an eternity since she had stepped through its doors. An eternity's worth of life had happened in that span of time, leaving Belle at this moment, so close to this place but so very removed from it at the same time.
She stopped in front of the doors for a moment, looking upward toward the higher floors, wondering just what would become of this place – and would it be standing long after she no longer could? She guessed yes, what was hidden inside was timeless, a fantasy that stretched as far back as the earliest civilizations and didn't seem to be going away. Belle was just a little piece of it, and the Playboy Club was too.
With that bit of thought behind her, Belle pushed open the doors and walked in, slinking up the stairs. All the lights were up still, the chairs were resting on table tops – it looked more like a restaurant than the Club. No one seemed to be around, at least not on the floor, and Belle slowly crept through the space, her eyes darting back and forth as she did. She hoped she might make it to the dressing room without encountering Regina – or anyone else for that matter.
She slipped through the tables and chairs, toward the entrance to backstage, the light dimming as the usually unattended (by patrons, anyhow) corner was in sight. She changed her path, making a straight line toward it.
She slipped through the door, through the hallway with the payphones, and past the kitchen door – a host of bustling activity going on inside – that must have been the source of the lights on in the rest of the club. The dressing room was completely empty, however.
The entire room was dark. Through the pinch of light coming in from the tinted windows, Belle could see each of the stations was clean and clear. It was silent, not even whispered conversations and rustling fabric. Belle stood completely alone in the doorway, sidling sideways to turn on the light with a heavy sigh. She would be ready first, she supposed.
All the suits were hung up in a neat order, Yaga's alphabetical system, and Belle easily flipped to French. Her gold suit was pressed and ready to go – perhaps a cruel reminded put forth by Regina, she could see that being her course of action. The woman might not know what was going on in its entirety, but she wasn't stupid. Belle just had to figure she knew something – and if she had any part in this…
Taking the suit off the hanger, Belle shook her head. She was being paranoid. If Regina knew anything she wouldn't still have this job. She'd be out and desperate, probably without some of the pressing problems in her life right now. She doubted homelessness or moving in with her family in Omaha would be situations she'd like any more than this one.
Belle peeled off her dress, neatly folding it to put on the hanger – she'd exchange her clothes back at the end of the night – and tugged on her suit. The fabric strained and Belle grunted rather indelicately, tugging hard against its opposing force. "For God's sake," she muttered to herself, breathing deeply, sucking in as much air as she could to hold her breath before she sucked her stomach in, attempting to pull again – cursing her hips in the process.
She exhaled taking a break from the pull and wondered what was different about these darn costumes. She hadn't ever had trouble before. She was about to start pulling again when she heard a voice from behind, "Here, let me help."
"Ruby," Belle sighed in relief as her heart thumped in her chest. She would have panicked if she didn't realize that it was Ruby's voice. She had anticipated Regina, to be honest. "You practically gave me a heart attack."
Her friend laughed slightly as she took the corners of the corset from her and tugged at what would have felt like opposing angles to Belle, but the whole thing went up in a flash. "Regina had some alterations done yesterday," she explained after the initial tug – Belle already feeling the extra boning in the rib cage. "Where have you been?" the zipper went up quickly, and pinched Belle unexpectedly.
When she turned around to thank Ruby, she was not smiling. The taller young woman was not amused at all. Belle's voice faltered, shrinking under the hurt and disappointment in Ruby's face. She wasn't mad, Belle could see that, but it didn't make it any easier to search the back of her mind and remind herself what she actually told Regina. "I was sick."
Ruby balked at her. Belle sudden felt her cheeks erupt in heat and her eyes darted away from her. "You don't have to lie to me," Ruby asserted, "I trusted you with my secret. What is going on? You had me – M&M, Ashley – even Tia – worried sick."
Guilt washed over her in one thick wave. She hadn't really thought much of the girls or what they would think. "I thought Regina would have told you," her excuse was a lame one, she knew it, but it was the best she had with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders.
"Oh, she told us," Ruby countered, a sharper edge to her already agitated voice, "but if you thinking for a moment that I actually believed it, you're crazy." Ruby had that uncanny ability to see right through things, and Belle was helpless against the accusations. Her shoulders dropped – and she would have totally slumped if not for the corset keeping her back straight – a blessing and a curse rolled into satin fabric. "You can trust me, Belle. I'm great with secrets – obviously. And, more importantly, you're my friend. If something is wrong, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."
This was not something Belle wanted to share though, and if she did, she'd just be putting Ruby in the line of fire: literally or figuratively, it didn't matter. "It's nothing, Ruby." She implored her with a baleful expression.
Silence passed between them, and Ruby looked more hurt than she did before. Belle didn't like that, but she didn't mean to hurt her friend. "When you decide you want to tell me, you can. Until then, Belle, I really hope whatever is going on is something you can handle by yourself."
For the first time Belle ever witnessed, Ruby walked past her and with a silent sort of dignity raised her chin. Belle felt wretched. She sat down at her station and pulled out her make-up to do a bit of a touch up. Though, honestly, she didn't need it. She just needed something to occupy her hands.
Turned out it worked, poking and prodding at her eyeliner, re-applying lipstick, inane tasks to complete as the bunnies started to file in. Of course, each girl gave their greeting to Belle – the ones she did not care so much about a passing hello and glad she is better. But her friends, they embraced her; wished her well, and told her how scared they were that she didn't call. Each one drove the wedge a little deeper into her heart.
Ruby did her best to keep herself calm, but Belle could see every time one of the girls came up to her, every time Belle clung to her lie a little tighter, she shook her head just a little more. Belle didn't like disappointing her, but it seemed inevitable.
The chattering continued around her, the room filling. People tugging on their costumes, laughing as they turned on a radio and Ike and Tina Turner filled the room. They had performed at the club themselves – if Belle weren't in such a mood she might have been tickled that they were on the radio when she had served drinks only feet from them. But, Belle was something of an actress, and she pretended with the rest of them, even venturing to stand and dance a little, laughing without really feeling it.
It was easier to pretend than explain away, and sick seemed to work for most. Belle just had to hope it would hold out – that she could carry herself through the evening, and she even feigned fatigue during a commercial break! It was going to work.
They seemed to be doing everything right, at least until Regina entered the room. Everyone's stocking'd feet stopped dancing and all heads turned to face the entry way. Regina had never looked more sinister. Belle had never seen her in a dress the color of red wine with black lace draped all over it. Her hair piece had a small, black mesh veil that partially obscured her eyes, and her make-up was stark – black eyes and big, blood red lips. She looked absolutely deadly.
"Ladies, aren't we glad to have Bunny Belle back?" she smiled, her words slithered out of her mouth like an oily snack. It made shivers run down her spine as a series of ascent laden mutters permeated the room. "Now, tonight – like any other night – is going to be busy. Let's support our fellow bunnies. And," her venom smile widened, "remind ourselves of a couple of rules, shall we?"
The girls looked between each other, confused and Regina clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Oh Ladies," false sympathy colored each word, "No gum chewing – no drinking on the floor, no eating either for that matter." She cast a pointed look at Tia, who sniffed indignantly at the assertion. "Also, remember our rules for breaks – you get one every four hours – fifteen minutes each. Ice your feet, rest." This time she turned her eyes on Belle, and she was powerless to do anything but swallow. "And perhaps most importantly, let's remember to pay all our patrons the same attention. They do so often get jealous – and we wouldn't want to spoil the illusion."
The silence hung in the air between them, each girl very discreetly looking at the others, trying to figure out who was the one that required these reminders. Was it something she had done? Belle could only imagine which of her sins were being counted here, and if she was just being paranoid earlier, when she thought Regina couldn't possibly know anything. "Have a good evening, Bunnies. And as always, we'll be watching."
It seemed every pair of eyes in the room searched each other – wondering what on Earth Regina was talking about. Naturally, her smile grew wicked, and she laughed briskly. "Oh, did I not mention? Heff is coming into the club tonight. Enjoy!"
The chatter after Regina left the room was almost deafening. Every single bunny had something to say about it – except, well, Belle. She was happy though, with everyone worrying about Mr. Heffner they would have less time to worry about what she was doing.
Belle managed to look her peppiest, comforted by this fact to some degree, and the energy in the room helped a bit too. With everyone else's anxious excitement she was less able to dwell on her own feelings of dread about what the night had to bring and she could look at the positives, like the rest of the girls who dreamed of what this night might mean for them. Some were talking about becoming spread girls, photographed like glamorous models, or being spotted and dragged around the world as some sort of arm piece. Belle knew girls had dreams, but honestly, she didn't know if she could hinge her whole life on being seen by one person. That one person couldn't control her life – she wanted to control it herself.
The first step was to get back on the floor and avoid the scrutinizing eyes of her bunny mother, the head of Playboy itself, and the eyes of the mob. No big deal, she snorted to herself, not as though it was going to be a veritable sea of people who wanted something out of her on the floor; nothing like that, of course.
Taking a pause before she picked up her drink tray, Belle let out a deep breath. She just needed to do it. She needed to get out on the floor and be the living fantasy and herself. Bunny Belle needed to do her job.
She rolled her shoulders and readjusted the tray before she pushed through the doors. The lights were down, the boys must have put down all the chairs while the girls got ready, and there was music playing. It wasn't packed yet – it wouldn't be for a couple hours yet, but there were some people milling about – the early crowd – usually came for dinner after business hours were over. Belle was accustomed to the crowd, rather enjoyed the early evening set who actually decided they had better things to do than make passes at the Bunnies left and right.
The floor was relatively quiet; she was taking orders and going back and forth between Sean and the patrons. He was in a surprisingly good mood, and when Belle inquired, he grinned stupidly – muttering something about Ashley and a date she wouldn't forget, and Belle giggled. It didn't seem that Ashley knew anything about it yet, but when she did – she hoped she would be around to hear about it.
Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to ask for more details – the club was rapidly starting to fill up, once it got past seven there was always a line outside and the steady stream wouldn't end until much, much later in the evening.
Belle kept an eye out though – she was taking in every single person. Heff wouldn't be around until almost nine, so she couldn't get away until then, but she didn't necessarily care about that one either. All of the other bunnies were on their best behavior, walking with exaggerated swaying hips, whiplash smiles, and chests out – they were all the eyes she needed for him. She noticed Marco and his crew in their normal place, in her section, and she silently grumbled to herself, having to wait on them.
Plastering on her false smile, the bunny made her way over. She was in costume, it was a mask, and they were customers, even if Marco's father had threatened her very life. Even if the men sitting around him were watching for any mistake. "Bunny Belle!" Marco greeted as she neared, an almost feral grin on his face, "So glad to see you back -and healthy as a horse too, Regina had us worried, ain't that right boys?"
They all laughed, elbowing each other and leering at her. Belle gulped, not wanting to give them any reason to talk to Regina. She would fire her, she was certain, and these boys would have no qualms with ruining her life – hell, they were already trying to do that. "I'm glad to be back," she lied with a smile, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the other. "So what can I get for you gentlemen this evening?"
The word gentlemen left a sour taste on her tongue, but she pushed past the bile to look as excited as she could. "Let's start with a round of scotch," Marco ordered, and one of his friends, a portlier sort with a scrappy beard leaned over and whispered something to him. Marco chuckled and the man sat back. "Willy here, well, he don't talk much," Belle raised her eyebrows, wondering where this was going. "But he offered to show you a good time." Marco lifted his hands and adjusted his cuffs, thoughtfully and slowly, letting Belle linger on the thought.
Belle laughed lightly, trying to hide her anxiety in a breathy giggle. "Oh, how sweet," she placated as she wrote down an entire order of scotches for the table, distracting herself from expectant gazes. "But, Bunnies aren't allowed to see club guests after hours," she offered, "Just so I'm clear, the usual scotch, correct?"
The table erupted into an explosion of laughter, "Sweetheart," Marco piped up, "We ain't just any old club guests." His voice cut through her. He meant business, that was for certain, and if Belle meant to stay employed – and alive – she was going to have to do what he said, the look on his face told her as much. She licked her lips and nodded.
"That maybe so," she conceded, having very little else to go on, "But rules are rules." Marco smiled, followed by the rest, and she turned away quickly, trying to suppress her shudder until she was out of sight.
"You'll see, Sweetheart," Marco's voice carried after her, sending a shiver running down her spine. He had a point. They were not ordinary guests: they didn't answer to anyone about anything, and Belle was particularly vulnerable, given her place with them.
Omaha became more and more appealing every time she glanced in their direction.
But she couldn't do that. She wouldn't. Belle wanted to face what needed to be faced, and as she approached the bar, her heart about stopped. Leaning against the polished stone, cane in one hand, a glass in the other, was Mr. Gold. She felt the weight lift off her shoulders, and actually found herself smiling genuinely that he was there – something safe to do here, she had to smile at everyone. No one had to know, however, that this was the only true one.
He looked concerned, but Belle could not approach. She had to do her job. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Belle nodded her head at him, and he nodded back – understanding that they could not speak yet. It didn't mean, however, when Belle slipped the order to Sean, she didn't take a cocktail napkin from the stack and use her pen to scribble a quick note.
She had to write quickly, her normally looped and neat handwriting scrawled over the napkin that ripped in places from the pressure of her pen. She only hoped her simple message was conveyed: Outside, Alley, 9:30 PM.
Her stomach knotted as she tried to catch his eye, twisting the napkin in her hands. She knew he was watching her, but he didn't seem to want to make eye contact, perhaps out of consideration for who might be watching but she wanted to make sure he saw what she was doing, so she ducked her head, shifted on her feet, and tried every possible almost natural looking standing position to catch his eye directly.
Several awkward head tilts later, Belle was finally able to catch his questioning gaze and she dipped her chin toward her hands, nails freshly painted a pale pink, stark against the whitness of the napkin with the little black bunny logo so carefully pressed in the corner. Immedaitely, a sense of recognition seemed to float between them and Belle slid the napkin across the bar as stealthily as she could manage.
Sean, bless him, did not seem to notice as he put the glasses on the tray with the fresh bottle that was opened and prepped for their guests. Gold, with a lightning fast hand grabbed the napkin up and stuffed it in his pocket. Belle sighed in relief, glad for his quickness and good sense. At Sean, she flashed a pleasant smile, which he returned, and she very carefully slid the tray off the counter and balanced it in her hand, trying her best not to teeter. It was heavy, but she'd been trained, she reminded herself.
Even if dread bubbled up in her chest when she returned the table, she had to keep her training in mind – always smile, always be polite, always say yes (within reason). It was taxing, but it was the job. Now that she had a time set, she just had to survive until then. And Heff would be arriving, she reminded herself, another way to sneak out of sight without notice. Even these men would be distracted.
Thankfully, they didn't have much original material as she placed each glass in front of them and started to pour. The typical comments were lacking in imagination, and Belle found those easier to ignore than the pointed directions to be at the mansion after her shift. Most girls didn't mind going – they craved invitations and reasons to go. Belle was clearly not typical in any regard, she mused as she reached across the table to pour for one of the taller young men she hadn't met before.
A yelp escaped her when her hands faltered, a sharp pain on her upper thigh that lasted for a brief moment – like a bee sting, stopped her in her tracks. The bottle of scotch missed its target entirely and a healthy sized splash found its way onto the man's pants. Belle, embarrassed beyond reason, stammered as she tried to correct her mistake, lifting the bottle and putting it on the table while also scanning for napkins. The laughter at the table from every other soul was not helping.
Standing upright, grabbing all of the napkins she could, Belle's cheeks were bright red. She caught sight of something green passing between hands and Belle balked. "What was that?" her voice squeaked out an octave higher than usual, which only increased the laughter at the table twofold.
"Harmless fun, Sweetheart," Marco interjected with a smirk. "Don't you worry your pretty little tail about it."
Belle glanced around – her eyes scanning the room, noticing that the bar was no longer occupied by Gold, and she gulped, trying to push her anger down. She wasn't anyone's to manhandle as they pleased, and certainly no one at this table had that privilege. "I won't – if you keep your paws to yourself," she scowled, damn the rules in this moment.
There was a low murmur at the table, perhaps surprised at her words, and definitely a little amused at her. There was that tone of ah 'ooo' that a group of men shared when they perceived a young woman had the audacity to stick up for herself. Marco reached up and straightened his tie, glaring daggers at her, despite his smirk. "Now, now Bunny. That doesn't sound very hospitable. Wouldn't want to have to tell the management, now would we?"
Belle had to hope that Regina would see reason if these men decided they were going to report her, but she could only walk on a rope so thin. If she took one step in the wrong direction, she'd have fallen. "Is there a problem here?" an accented voice inserted itself into the conversation.
Belle felt her cheeks lighting up with embarrassment and anxiety. Marco seemed to be enjoying this very much, and looking at her, and Gold, who seemed quite cross, he was going to have his bit of fun. "No trouble at all, Gold! The bunny here was just apologizing for being a clumsy oaf – guess they don't make 'em like they used to, eh?" he smirked.
Gold's hand tightened around his cane and he looked from the boys to Belle, her face still lit up like a boulevard during Christmas season. "See to it that you fetch more scotch, Bunny," he dismissed her in a way that made Belle feel much more comfortable about what was going on. She nodded enthusiastically, adding that she would bring back some napkins for them, and left practically running on her toes towards the bar.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Gold seated himself with the rambunctious crowd and she breathed with relief for a moment. She couldn't be too relaxed – they were now connected, and they knew if they interacted. They'd notice him leaving, and they might even notice her leaving too. She'd have to wait on their table right before nine thirty.
Thankfully, the return to the table was not quite so painful as the first, a new bottle procured (on the house, Belle lied – they'd never notice, they'd be drunk enough at the end of the night to just pay it off). She was able to escape relatively unscathed, the pinched bit of flesh still throbbing as a reminder that the men at that table weren't to be trusted (as if she didn't know that already).
Despite the smarting of her mark, Belle couldn't stop doing her job, she continued around the floor with determination and an actress' face that could have rivaled Judy Garland. The clock was tick tocking along and time passed breezily when Belle could focus on something that wasn't how closely their eyes watched her when she was near or how Gold's eyes burned into her, and occasionally into the young men who stared so intently.
Even passing some of the girls on the floor, she was able to smile at them, ask if they needed anything, and even offered to switch a station with Sue if she needed it. Of course, Sue didn't want to switch when it was the big guess that Heff would be in her section – part of her cover victory, Belle was sure, and that was just as well. She didn't want that kind of attention tonight.
No, she wanted to slip out as easily as she could, and as nine thirty approached, Belle came back to her least favorite group of rowdy young men, surprised to find Gold gone. They were chatting about sudden and urgent business, and Belle pretended to be none the wiser, just checking in on their progress with the bottle and a half of scotch that was still on the table. She breathed easily, knowing it would be some hours before she was needed for anything other than an arm's length away check on the table.
And Mr. Heffner showed up right on time to help her. She had to be thankful for his appearance, and the sudden surge of girls working the floor. They wanted to be seen, they wanted to be part of it, and that meant Belle would be lost in the whole thing. She didn't even bother to join the gawking crowd in welcoming him or catching a glimpse, instead, she made a straight line toward the backstage.
Pushing through the crowd heading in the opposite direction, Belle handed off her tray to the blonde in the cotton candy pink bunny suit, Charlotte. "Break!" Belle explained at the young woman's befuddled expression and she darted into the back room, some girls sitting with their toes already in ice, some with their zippers loosened and at their stations.
Belle merely slipped off her heels in favor of her flat shoes and grabbed her coat. "Are you okay?" Mary Margaret asked, halting the application of her apple red lipstick in favor of looking at Belle with the most motherly expression she had ever seen.
"I need a bit of fresh air," she explained easily, "I'm feeling a bit flushed and it's so packed out there… Mr. Heffner arrived," This seemed to placate Mary Margaret, who nodded in understand, a sympathetic smile on her face – she really did buy the whole sick thing, trusting girl, and went back to her make-up.
Belle slinked to the back stair case that led out toward the alley. She skipped stairs, trying to go as quickly as possible, but also not thunk down the stairs either. If she were too loud someone was going to pick up on it, and that couldn't happen. The stakes were too high for that.
She tugged her coat tighter around herself and braced herself for the burst of cold air as she entered the alley way. A gust of wind whistled and blew her hair around her head, her coat flapping against her legs and Belle hissed at the sudden burst of cold. Reaching up with her free hand, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and scanned the alleyway, searching for a sign of anyone else. Her eyes jumped from shadow to shadow, attempting to discern if it was a person, an object, or an animal. Every sound made her jump.
It appeared, however, the only source of life in this alleyway was a stray cat that yowled and hissed rather horrifically when Belle took another step toward the area with the dumpster. Though she was glad for that, she felt the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. Gold was supposed to be here. She knew she left to go downstairs at exactly 9:30. She only had fifteen minutes.
Every second was precious – and ticking down.
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped harder and harder onto her coat, even biting the inside of her cheek until her mouth tasted of iron. "Where are you?" she muttered to herself, rocking on her feet, trying to keep the cold out and away from her very scantily clad body.