DO NOT GO FURTHER IF YOU BEGAN READING THIS STORY BEFORE 12/31/13! I added and changed some things to all previous chapters! I'm really sorry for the inconvenience, but upon reading it again, I realized it was not the best job I could do. Thank you for putting up with my bullshit.
Chapter Five: ...Odd
Emma was annoyed. She was annoyed at Killian Jones. She was annoyed at the forever-perky Ms. Belle French for smiling so much (who does that?). She was annoyed at Mr. Booth for forcing her to 'tutor' said Killian Jones. And she was annoyed at herself for being annoyed, and even more annoyed that she wasn't as annoyed as she ought to be. I mean, come on!, she thought to herself. Who could possibly be that arrogant and condescending? And flirty, don't forget flirty. That part was the worst of all. Emma didn't know why it was so bad, but it was. She just chalked it up to Neal. Most of the problems she had in her life were because of him. If what had happened hadn't happened, she wouldn't even be in Storybrooke. She'd be back on the beaches of Tallahassee soaking up the sun.
The sun didn't come out much in Maine. Ruby said it was because Regina Mills had cast a cloud of doom over the town with her mega-bitchiness. And if one counted silliness in the factoring of that situation, (provided logic wasn't used in the equation) it would be a highly viable explanation. Case en pointe: Mary Margaret Blanchard. Regina, while Emma was walking across the parking lot, had 'coincidentally' come across Mary Margaret as she was unchaining her bike. Mary Margaret's short, dark hair flipped in the wind, and her green eyes stared up in horror as the shadow of Regina Mills loomed over her. There was an almost audible shiver that ran down Mary Margaret's spine. She gulped.
Regina smiled coyly. "Cat got your tongue?" she managed to ask both innocently and maliciously.
Regina waited for a response, but knew she wouldn't get one. "You can tell me anything, you know. I don't mind if it's a silly little crush. After all, if I went after every girl who daydreamed about David, well, there wouldn't be any girls left in this school."
Still no response.
"Well," Regina began, dropping her masquerade of kindness, "it's lucky for me, you're no ordinary girl, Mary Margaret. You see you're different," she began pacing around Mary Margaret's bicycle. "You've already managed to humiliate me once. It's only natural instinct that I prevent you from doing it again."
Mary Margaret looked confused.
"Don't pretend to be clueless. We both know what you did. We both know what you're doing now. I see the way you look at him when you think no one's looking. It's pathetic. Do you really think you have a chance with him?" She paused, giving Mary Margaret another opportunity to speak. Her offer remained unanswered. ''I didn't think so," Regina surmised.
And with that, Regina disappeared. Not literally, but Mary Margaret was so lost within herself at this point, that David Nolan could have proposed marriage and she wouldn't have even noticed he was there. Sure, Regina liked having a theatric flair when threatening people, and it really sounded as if she had gone insane most of the time, but Regina Mills did indeed have a heart, and it wasn't as dark as she'd like to make it seem. Daniel and Mary Margaret kissed in the seventh grade. Just a little kiss playing spin the bottle. It shouldn't have bothered Regina that much, but it did. Daniel said he loved her that week. Like, L-O-V-E, love. And although she still couldn't get the image of Mary Margaret and Daniel out of her head, Regina said she loved him back. All was swell. That is, until she told her mother.
"Daniel?" Regina's mother, Cora, exclaimed incredulously. "His father runs the horse stables," Cora scoffed. "You cannot be seen with him. Powerful Mills women do not fraternize with the lower class."
"This isn't sixteenth century Europe, mother," Regina replied. "I'm twelve. All the other girls have boyfriends. All I want is someone to hold my hand a lunch, and send me flowers on my birthday. Is that too much to ask?"
"There are plenty of other boys, Regina. Why not David Nolan? Or that Eric boy, son of the councilman? Kind belongs with kind. You are above Daniel's kind. That Blanchard girl, Mary Margaret. That's the kind of girl who belongs with Daniel. A girl with no future. " Cora persisted.
"Because I love Daniel," Regina pleaded, the image of Mary Margaret again searing itself into her brain.
"Love," Cora tilted her head back and cackled. "And what do you know about love? You aren't even out of middle school yet!"
"I know plenty!" Regina argued.
Cora was furious at her daughters open defiance. "Do not raise your voice with me, young lady! To your room! And no more talk of this Daniel. I forbid you to associate yourself with him in such a manner, do you understand?"
There were tears brimming in her deep brown eyes as she scurried off to her room. This is all Mary Margaret's fault, she lied to herself.
And so the saga began.
Mary Margaret fumbled for the lock chaining her bike to the rack. She got the combination wrong at least four times, but she managed to slump onto the seat and slowly pedal out of the parking lot, nearly getting hit by several cars on her way home.
Emma, meanwhile, was still fuming for the sake of fuming. She'd gone to get her car, only to remember her wench of a foster mother had taken it. Ga-reeeat. She stormed away, stomping out the gates and looking forward to a long walk home. She'd managed to spot David Nolan (without Evil Puppet Master in tow - gasp!) in the middle of a heated argument with someone who looked to be in his early-mid fifties. The man's salt and pepper hair looked grainy in the clouded over sun, and the furrow in his brow suggested he was not happy. Emma was able to gather bits and pieces of their conversation:
"... You know our situation! UCLA won't accept you if..." the man dipped his voice lower, as if he could sense Emma listening intently. Correction. She was not listening intently or eavesdropping; she just so happened to overhear things. She could be broken, but she would always be female.
"... I know, I know, Al. It's just..." David sounded more even tempered than Al, the man with the salt and pepper hair, but Emma could tell he was scared. Maybe not everything was as picture-perfect as it seemed in Storybrooke (excluding Regina making everyone miserable).
At this point, Emma simply lost interest. Jocks. They were all the same. She didn't know what Mary Margaret saw in him, let alone what the rest of the town saw. She tucked a blond curl behind her ear and walked through the back gates as if nothing had ever happened. For the first mile or so, she held her head high with pride and determination, but soon her enthusiasm began to fade. When she was a little ways into the fifth mile, she began to ponder the idea of hitchhiking, and as she grew wearier and the sky grew darker, the notion was looking more and more favorable. She itched to take off her heavy leather jacket, as the evening was strangely warmer than high-noon, but she didn't want to deal with carrying it along with her heavy backpack. She was almost at mile seven when she sat on the curb and stuck her thumb out for passing cars. All I need now is hobo bindle and overalls, she thought. She entertained the idea for a moment, the landscape in front of her eluding her usually attentive mind, and the vivid picture of a train and railway replacing it seamlessly. She could almost hear the horn now -
"Lady!" a boy with curly brown hair and eyeliner called from open window of the car looming over her. It actually was a horn. "You want a ride or not? Or are you just fake hitchhiking to fool chumps like me?" He grinned cheekily. He seemed... odd. Not the psycho serial killer kind of odd, but... odd. The peculiar kind of odd that always needs a thoughtful pause before it... odd. (Seriously? Who says 'chumps' nowadays, anyway.) Emma looked up at him, a puzzled look washing over her face. This only made him grin wider.
"Get in the car." He seemed friendly enough, and Emma's feet were aching, so she did what any other tired, lonely person would do: she got in the goddamn car.
"What's your name?" he asked as he drove away.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "What's yours?"
"Nuh-uh-uh," he sang. "That's not the way it works. I asked first. You tell me first. Then, and only then, will I tell you my name."
No response.
"I bet it's Emma," he said shrewdly. "You do look quite like an Emma."
Emma's eyes widened.
"Shock!" he exclaimed. "Excellent! She can register emotion!"
Though Emma was dumbfounded and even more curious, she still said nothing.
"I bet it's eating you alive, isn't it? There's probably a few strings of cleverly formed profanities running through your pretty little head. Don't worry, I'll save you the tedious task of asking: I go to Stroybrooke High. I'm nineteen, got held back a year back in the good ol' days of middle school. Did you know going to class is required to pass? Who ever knew?"
He took in another breath to continue his ramblings, but Emma cut him short: "What's your name, and what do you want with me?"
"Anxiety! Yes, your on pins and needles to find what it is I know about you, Miss Swan - yes, I know your last name too, don't fret - but sadly, all cannot be revealed at this time, you know, for the sake of the narrative. But I can tell you my name. It's Jefferson. Jay-ee-double 'f'-er-es-oh-en. Jefferson," Jefferson slapped on an old purple top hat, and tilted it. "How do you do?"
"Where are you taking me?" Emma pushed in her most commanding tone, ignoring his attempt at banter.
"Why, Emma! I'm taking you home! Do not think dishonorably of me, for I swear I am not a dishonorable man. I am simply here as a catalyst. Now, unless you do not wish to go home, that is where I shall be taking you."
Jefferson was dot, dot, dot odd. He still wasn't psycho. He hadn't taken a chainsaw too her limbs when she got in his car, at least. But Jefferson was the kind of odd that normal people can almost begin to comprehend, but can't, making the... odds not quite insane, but mostly... odd. As if... odd was meant as a question.
As Emma was pondering exactly to what level of lunacy Jefferson belonged, the words he last spoke suddenly hit her. "Don't take me home," she pleaded, the first sign of emotion in her voice other than annoyance.
"Then where to?" Jefferson inquired with faux sophistication. Emma was tempted to play along, but thought better of it.
"Drop me off at Granny's," she commanded. Surely even the obscure Jefferson knew where Granny's was; it was a hub for most residing in Storybrooke, young and old alike. Penny had been sure to point out the picturesque diner while giving Emma a quick tour of Storybrooke the weekend before. Ruby's grandmother (the infamous lunch lady) was the chef and owner there, and surprisingly enough, according to the snippets Emma had heard around town, the food Granny served there was supreme compared to most other restaurants, and absolute salvation for anyone who had been victim to a helping of meatloaf that was on the lunch menu.
"Granny's it is, milady," he grinned, still ever cheeky despite the downcast attitude Emma was showing toward him.
I am not your lady, Emma said only in her mind. Best not to be confrontational when one isn't sure if a previously mentioned chainsaw is indeed handy, and is also unaware of its alleged whereabouts.
"Yes, I'm sure a nice quip is just searing on the tip of your tongue. But not to worry, I'm a pretty good mind reader, so you don't have to say the words aloud, but I am still trying to decide whether or not you think a machete is hidden somewhere in this vehicle, or an axe."
"Chainsaw," Emma blurted before she could stop herself.
"Ah!" It was as if Jefferson had a sudden revelation. "I didn't pin you to be the motor-powered type. I thought you might have preferred a more hands-on approach." The comment would have sounded somewhat sexual if it had not been coming from someone... odd like Jefferson. Like maybe if it had come from Killian Jones.
"You're special, Emma," Jefferson cooed. "You're here to save us."
Maybe he really was off his rocker. But Mr. Booth had said the same thing at the beginning of the day. Well, he must be crazy, too, Emma decided in her head. This whole town is insane. And the way Jefferson knew exactly what was on her mind was just plain darn creepy. Scratch that it was... odd. And it has already been established that Jefferson was the embodiment of... odd. And what is with that purple hat?
"All will be explained in due time, dearest Emma" he assured her vaguely enough, almost as if he were a normal person saying normal things.
"And when is 'due time', exactly?" yet another thing Emma let slip through the thorough filters of her mind. She scolded herself mentally, and almost missed Jefferson saying:
"Due time is due time, my friend. There is no further explanation that can be given to clarify. Not because I simply won't, but because there isn't, because as any sensible individual knows - and I believe you are a very sensible individual, Emma - due time is not a concept of how long, but of when, and since when is derived from how long, it simply stands to reason that due time is simply a way of saying it will happen, nothing more and nothing less."
Emma didn't want to understand, but she did. To some degree. He's being cryptic and he has no idea he's nuts.
"No, Emma," Jefferson said exasperatedly, "I have not gone mad. Again, I am simply a catalyst. According to the mono-myth I am the herald, here only to set you out on this truly spectacular journey of yours, you, of course, being the hero. This request of adventure on my part is usually refused, and I expect you will do the same. But the truth is, you will bring Storybrooke out of this desolate wasteland and turn into something positively enchanted."
"Is this some twisted part of Gold's plan? How did you find me?" Emma questioned, not letting a drop of malice fade from her voice.
"Everything's part of Gold's plan, there isn't anything you or I can do about that. And as for us meeting this way? Well, that was blind luck. But we would have eventually encountered anyway. After all, I've got to keep up my end of the bargain, heraldry and setting you off on a marvelous adventure and all that," the... odd little bugger grinned once more as they turned onto the street on which Granny's was located. Emma let out of a sigh of relief. At last, she could get out of the car. Jefferson pulled up to the curb and unlocked the door.
Emma was wary. "What? You aren't going to keep me hostage."
"I'm not usually a man of great action. I prefer nuances and subtlety, the smaller, trickier pieces of the puzzle. This car ride has been quite a significant nuance. I've done my part in the game... for now. So no, Emma, I am not going to hold you against your will. But do know this: there is much, much more to come, and you haven't seen the last of me."
Emma quickly hopped out of the car and away from Jefferson. She began to walk away
"Emma!" Jefferson called from the rolled down window. Emma didn't want to look back, but if she didn't respond, there was a good chance Jefferson might follow her inside.
"What," she demanded, ready to for him to leave so she could pretend that none of this had ever happened.
"There are no weapons in this car, I swear to you. So if you should ever need a ride.." he trailed off, driving away, leaving Emma to clue in the rest.
No way in Hell am I ever getting in that car again.
I just love Jefferson! This was supposed be somewhat similar to the episode in the first season where the very... odd Jefferson encounters Emma for the first time.