Note: GUEST reviewers, please have the courtesy to at least make up a name, will you? Just using "Guest" is lazy as fuck.

PART II

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

MAGICAL HAIR CARE FOR DUMMIES

Emma was not having a good day. Her former best friend almost murdered her parents and then destroyed the Sheriff's Station in a blaze of dragon fire.

Well, the destruction of the station didn't actually bother her, other than her keepsake box was now a pile of black charcoal, because dragon fire burned like rocket fuel, apparently.

Plus, the Bug.

Neal was pretty mad about that.

It seemed like, so far, her rather more literal attempt at a "rebirth" was going just as badly as her last one when she put away all her "childish things" and decided to live in the moment of assholery with her dick boyfriend, treating her family and friends like crap.

At least Maleficent had called Lily off, but now her parents were back in the hospital being treated for dragon burns that magic couldn't heal... and maybe they kinda deserved it for the mass murder, maybe, but it was probably all still her fault for sucking in her Savior role.

Which was why Emma found herself, somewhat reluctantly, entering the camp of the nameless Shaman who'd treated her family for pixie dust poisoning a week ago.

"Sheriff Swan," the bead-festooned man greeted her. "I hope you are feeling better, purged of that green poison."

"I don't know about better," Emma replied. "My life has been on a pretty shitty downward spiral since I got to this town. It's hard to tell."

"Then let me attempt to inquire of the Scalp Spirits. Perhaps they can discern why our life has been going so poorly."

"Maybe because I'm an asshole," Emma grumbled.

"Well, yes, there is that, but why are you an asshole?"

"Genetics?" she snorted.

"You're still skeptical of the Scalp Spirits," said Not Chief.

"A bit, yeah."

"And yet you are here," he countered. "But I already know some, Sheriff Swan. I communed with the Spirits using that tangled mess in the sweaty scrunchie you left behind, and I can say that you have very powerful hair, hair made of true love. Of course that love brought this unnatural, abhorrent magic to this world with which it is so incompatible, most-likely because the spell your parents cast on you before birth had an adverse effect on the nature of your follicular magic that clashed with the untainted true love of the potion that utilized your parents' hair before they became selfish pricks."

"Well, I won't deny the 'selfish prick' part," said Emma.

"And as such, as it was with your father and uncle who abused and corrupt their powerful follicular magic, it -"

"Came with a price?" Emma finished with a snort.

"Actually, I was going to say 'came back to bite you in the ass when used selfishly, as all white men and the majority of white women, particularly the stupid blonde ones, also do."

"Okay, that's totally racist and... hair color-ist! Just because I am blonde does not make me dumb!"

"Of course not," conceded Not Chief, "as you have not been a truly natural blonde since shortly after your son was born. Giving him away in your fake act of selflessness diminished your magic and so the luster of your once enviable honey blonde curls began to dull and go limp and with it the good magic that was naturally yours and not that dragon girl's began to fade. Of course, there was also the incessant use of a straight iron from the age of thirteen or so that combined with your dorky glasses you hoped would keep your pervert foster brothers from raping you damaged your hair irreversibly."

"My hair isn't dull or limp," Emma grumbled, feeling like she'd had this conversation before... and lost.

"It is in its natural state, which you have corrupted with your chemical products and curling iron and those very expensive natural hair extensions."

"I am not wearing-"

"OWE!" Emma shrieked as someone behind her yanked out her rather substantial hair extension.

"This cheap-ass weave?" Pocahontas gave her a smirking look.

"It was not cheap!" Emma huffed. "Give it back!"

"Don't think so, hair hoe!" the Native American (or Native Mistahven or something) princess smirked. "These dumb white folk might buy your luxurious locks, but we know pixie dust acerbates puberty, not hair growth. The Evil Queen may have the potions required to lengthen her hair on a whim - which, quite frankly, both diminishes her power and looks ridiculous, because her facial shape really is better suited to short hair to convey authority and beauty. Now she just looks like one of those froo-froo dogs that got a blow-out at the groomer."

"Sheriff," Not Chief said, looking in dismay at the extension, "I will not be swayed by any of your threats."

"I didn't threaten you!" Emma exclaimed.

"After studying the sweaty glob of your actual hair, I see you are a woman of rather distasteful contradiction," he continued. "You came to this town, a woman who arrested your best and only friend for suspected murder because all of the evidence pointed to her being guilty, even though your yourself believed your friend is innocent. And yet, I saw you, in this other timeline you speak of, completely ignoring the pirate literally admitting to attempted murder right in front you and making a joke of it, no less. Plus, there was the time you witnessed him commit cold-blooded murder just for fun and then covered it up for him by taking everyone's memories and breaking your son's heart which inspired him to become a pimp at age thirteen and get crabs from that Camelot harlot following some demented make-out competition between him and his aforementioned skank and you and your syphilitic fuckboy pirate kin."

"That... wasn't my best moment," muttered Emma.

"I remember hearing how you admitted to the fire you rescued Regina from being a hoax, because you didn't want to become sheriff through dishonest means," said Not Chief. "But the Scalp Spirits showed me that you soon became a devious and amoral person with only superficial regard for family and hair care. I saw what you did to your hair as the Dark One. While Zoso didn't have the best hygiene, even he did not flock his greasy mullet with cement dust and Vagisil."

"I did not use-"

"Oh, please," scoffed Pocahontas, "you wore the same tight leather outfit and didn't bath for weeks. Even the Dark One does not have the power to fumigate a stinky vag."

"I did not have BV and I did not put Vagisil in my hair!" Emma screetched.

"Anyway," Not Chief continued, "I heard how you cut down Regina's prized tree, and absolutely refused to bow down to threats and bullying. And yet I saw you meekly accept all the vitriol and insults the pirate, your proclaimed true love, sent your way and didn't defend herself."

Not Chief clicked his tongue disdainfully and Emma grimaced.

"How you have fallen, Emma Swan! Everyone spoke of how you were about finding your family and that your one true love was your son above all else... and yet you could not live without a man you had been dating for three months, ignored your family, abused your son in this murder cover-up."

The Shaman shook his head and told her, "The woman who came to this town was miserable and closed off, and lonely. But she was a bad ass, with integrity, honesty and kindness. Disconnected from your soul, controlled by lust and pride, you became a witless pod person. And that is why your baby daddy is disinclined to knock boots with you."

Emma startled, then frowned. "How the hell do you know any of this!?"

"The Scalp Spirits know all. You have seen amazing and terrifying magical things and yet you cannot believe in this?" Pocahontas challenged. "Why? Because it doesn't require magic wands, potions, and fancy incantations? Stop being racist!"

"I'm not being racist!"

"No, just toward your hair," said Not Chief.

"That's not a thing!"

"It is a thing that you get chemical highlights to maintain that princessly honey blonde glow, which is the real reason you did not want to disrobe and let out your big secret that the carpet does not match the curtains - and that sort of hair abuse and deception, along with this piece of trash," he pointed to the weave, "is just insulting to the Scalp Spirits!"

"I just want to look pretty!" Emma defended, fighting tears. "I spent my childhood trying not to look pretty so I wouldn't end up an orphaned pregnant loser-"

"And yet you ended up exactly that," Pocahontas snorted, "by trying not to be. That's sad. And kind of pathetic. And now you think trying to be pretty on the outside will mask how ugly you are on the inside. You think Lasik surgery, shiny blonde curls, and dressing up like Sandra Dee will make you into some wholesome doe-eyed girl-next-door. But, lady, you're still just that emotionally immature freak in a prison cell who cries herself to sleep at night because nobody loves her."

"That will be fifty-nine ninety-five," Not Chief concluded, holding out a hand.

"Are you kidding me!?" Emma exclaimed, puffy-eyed and sniffling. "You two insult me, you made crude comments about my vagina, and you expect me to pay you!?"

"I did not insult your vagina, only your pubic hair," Not Chief huffed. "But that was a juxtaposition to impress my insult of your other hair. That region of hair magic is not my clan's practice."

Emma stared at the crazy shaman in disbelief. "There's a form of indigenous magic based on pubic hair?"

"Of course. It is very powerful," Pocahontas interjected. "Also, it is a mark of affection and possession for a woman to adorn her lover's buttons with her most powerful magic talisman. A man's greatest hair power may be on his head, but a woman's is between her thighs. I feel sorry for those fools who wax themselves bald down there. They are dooming themselves to misfortune in love as well as stupid children."

"Fifty-nine ninety five," Not Chief repeated. "I provided a service. And my niece has given you valuable advice to keep from repeating past future reproductive mistakes. Or are you intending to reprise your corrupt law enforcement ways from the other life you lived?"

Grumbling, Emma pulled money from her wallet and handed it over.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Sheriff Swan," said Not Chief, amending, "Also, you should really consider therapy. Seriously, the Scalp Spirits say you are one emotionally damaged ex of a motherfucker."

The Shaman let out a little laugh at his concluding pun, to which Emma just walked away, clearly building up to a sobbing fit, leaving Not Chief back to checking his blog on his phone.

"Sometimes I think white women are even dumber and weepier than white men," Pocahontas snorted. "And they don't all have concussions and syphilis and shaved pussies to blame it on."

"No, just the princesses with the required non-royal rake ancestor inserted into the family tree by the Dark One to facilitate a hazy and uncertain future genetic landscape which provided him with the means to cast his Dark Curse," said Not Chief, amending, "You returned her diary? You didn't trust the fairy with it did you?"

"Of course not. She's good for stealing, but I wouldn't trust her to actually return property," the raven-haired princess responded. "Granny needed a new maid, anyway, seeing as once Cinderella realized she'd married into royalty, she turned back into a stuck-up bon-bon eating bimbo. Of course, the girl has the IQ of meat because her mother was balder than a baby seal. Honestly, with what a buffoon her husband is, I worry their little magic-mushroom growth-retarded and gender-swapped baby will die of some unfortunate dumb accident before she-he can grow up to be a transvestite night janitor."

"No doubt that brat is permanently brain damaged," agreed Not Chief. "Perhaps it will marry Philip and Aurora's former monkey baby child."

"That'd be something to see," snorted Pocahontas, tossing Emma's weave into the campfire. "So... who's next on the client list?"

"Archebald Hopper."

"You're poaching the doctor you're poaching clients from?"

Not Chief looked insulted. "There are more than enough crazies in this town for both of us... enough that he needs to come to me to cleanse his mind, body, and soul of all the filth his patients are putting into him. Well, that and I suspect he feels guilty about the whole thing with killing Geppetto's parents and enabling him to create Pinocchio, causing him to betray Snow White and Prince Charming which lead to Emma growing up alone and being separated from her true love whom she let die while endangering her family to save his scummy stepfather for which he now is disgusted by the mere thought of sexual relations with her. Plus, there's the receding hairline. I don't think the Rogain Dr. Whale gave him has been working."

"Well, with stress like that, how could it?"

Just then Archie arrived, looking desperate. "You have to help me! I can't take dealing with these assholes anymore! My hair is falling out in clumps!"

It literally was. He held out an auburn clump of curly fuzz and burst into tears.

Pocahontas patted him on the back. "There there, you poor asexual white man, we will make you better."

"Though no promises on curing the asexual thing," said Not Chief. "You got cursed by the Blue Fairy with that one, and she's one crazy cunt with magic you don't want to mess with."

Sniffling, Archie wondered, "But then how come whenever we need her help in some magical mishap her magic isn't strong enough to really do anything?"

"Why did she send a boy down a magic bean hole to a world pillaged by a child abuser who mysteriously found a prophesy made by an unknown clairvoyant person and then get a ship of fools sent to Neverland so that she would die and be reborn in the process of an unfortunate exile who was set up to fail using a darkly enchanted wand to destroy the creation of an ancient nemesis of hers?" Not Chief countered. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was even pulling that closeted gay wizard's strings and was in cahoots with whichever one of Satan's minions tricked Merlin into drinking from that cursed goblet and bringing dark magic and evil into our anthology."

"Anthology?"

"Oh, yes, we're not real," said Not Chief.

"Not real?" repeated Archie, confused.

"We're just characters in a badly written story," explained Not Chief, "that were brought to life through the accidental thought of an omniscient deity who lost interest in our intentionally stereotypical existence despite Satan's meddling to make our lives suck even further, because all of the magical worlds written out of time, our free will, even our souls are made up and don't matter."

"You sound like Tinkerbell," sniffed Archie.

"After all those years in Neverland, that fairy was bound to end up with a few screws lose enough to see beyond the veil of lies we live in."

AN: I took the 'only crazy people' thing from Buffy; only people in an insane asylum could see that Dawn wasn't real. Tinkerbell has an inkling of what's going on, which is how Ruby got the theory she proposed to The Charmings.

Next up: Emma and Grandpa Hook have a chat. Cruella has a cameo.