Emma sits on the soft threadbare throw that covers her bed, the worn fabric brushing the bare skin of her thighs and ass comfortably. She wears nothing but a simple black thong, and sits with her head cocked at a peculiar angle; trying to avoid mixing up the hair she has already tamed into sleek, golden waves from the tangles still to be attacked with her curling iron.
"Ah! Shit!"
She sucks a burnt finger into her mouth regretfully, guessing there may be some truth to the whole 'beauty is pain' proverb. She soldiers on, teasing her hair with a little more caution until she's left with soft curls that tumble gracefully over her shoulders.
"Not too bad, Swan."
She pulls a face at herself in the mirror, feeling a little like a character in a Pre-Raphaelite artwork as her blonde tresses cover her breasts demurely. She hunts around in the wooden chest at the foot of her bed; shoving aside the accumulated crap that needs to be sorted - at some point - until she finds what she's looking for. Twisting the top off of a small black jar, she lifts it to her nose and inhales appreciatively. The moisturiser inside smells not just good, but expensive, and while she remembers being given it by a perp a few months before coming to Storybrooke, she can't recall his face.
Not that it matters.
What matters is that the buttery cream smells of cinnamon, vanilla and a hint of black pepper, and she rubs it lightly into the pale skin of her legs, relishing their freshly waxed feel. She moves up to cover her arms and breasts, before walking over to a black bag in the doorway with mixed feelings of apprehension and excitement.
The bag comes from a store in Portland, and she has never been more inclined to wish Henry correct in his theory that the inhabitants of Storybrooke are doomed never to leave.
It gives her an edge.
She had driven out of town this afternoon, and after almost an hour of passing nothing but woodland and then industrial parks, she had finally found herself nearing the city. It had been oddly therapeutic to find herself in an environment other than Storybrooke - even if just for the afternoon - and she'd sat for a while in Starbucks, nursing a latte, before making her way to the shopping district. Most of the names emblazoned on awnings and windows had been well known, but she'd sternly forbidden herself from being drawn to the comfort of familiarity. Instead, she'd carried on searching until she'd come across a small, darkened boutique tucked between a pompous little tea house and a jewellery store.
Regina would have loved it...
It's not an experience she would wish to repeat; the impossibly thin shopping assistant eyeing her up and down so brazenly she'd felt the colour flush to her cheeks. The price tags pinned to clothes hung on artistically curved hangers had seemed ridiculously extortionate, but again, she'd scolded herself for falling into old habits. Deciding that black would be the safest option, she'd searched her way through the luxurious array of dresses and suits in hopes of finding the least unappealing option.
Pulling delicate material carefully from the bag now, she loathes admitting that with a great price comes exceptional quality. She pulls the dark fabric over her head - taking care not to ruffle her curls - and studies herself in the mirror shrewdly. The black silk clings to her body unforgivingly, falling softly a few inches above her knee. The straps of the dress - if that's what you'd call them - are an elaborate concoction of twists and curves that create delicate, shapely lines that play over her collarbones and shoulders. She's not usually a 'fussy' girl, but she has to admit the design of the garment is stunning.
And it doesn't look half bad on me, either...
A dull thud sounds from downstairs has her ripping her attention away from her foreign reflection and padding lightly down iron steps on bare feet.
"Who is it?"
She calls, making her way hesitantly towards the door with her heart hammering a little faster than she'd like; dreading running into Mary Margaret having forgotten her keys, as she doesn't think she could handle the resultant wave of exclamations over her current state of dress.
"Me! Now let me in, or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll-"
"-Hey, Ruby."
"Emma!"
The waitress takes in the blonde's attire with a comically dropped jaw, and Emma blushes but gives an awkward spin to show off her outfit. The brunette extends a hand to hold her in place when the Sheriff shows off the back; pulling up the narrow zipper that had been gaping open in a curious V all the way down to the divots just above her buttocks.
"Hey! Not so tight!"
The blonde wiggles to get accustomed to the restrictive pull of the material, causing the waitress to giggle.
"That's not tight! You wanna see tight, you should have borrowed something out of my wardrobe!"
Ruby grins at her own expense as her eyes roam appreciatively over the Sheriff's uncharacteristically flattering attire.
"Which I was going to suggest that you do anyway, but-... Wow! I mean-... Holy shit!... You're hot!"
Emma blushes furiously, giving an awkward little shrug before beckoning the waitress up to her bedroom, closing the door quickly behind them.
"So, you're really still not gonna tell me who you're going out to see?"
"No."
"Tease."
"Maybe."
"Why not? I won't tell anyone!"
"Uhuh... Still no."
"Emm-aaa..."
"Yes?"
"Please!"
"Nope."
Ruby pouts as she holds the blonde's chin with two fingers; turning her head to the side so that she has better access to a high cheekbone. She blows softly on the brush she has loaded with blusher - having been instructed to keep everything minimal - and strokes at the dip above the blonde's jaw to exaggerate natural hollows with a hint of cherry blossom.
"Nevermind. I'll just ask you tomorrow."
"And what makes you think I'm going to tell you tomorrow?"
"You'll be in too good a mood not to!"
"Oh?"
"You go out looking like this, and you are gonna get laid. Hence, you'll be all warm and fuzzy with afterglow and you'll tell me all the juicy details!"
Ruby nods gravely, widening her eyes as though she speaks of a predicament the blonde can in no way avoid. Emma snorts amiably, closing her eyes as dusky shadow is applied to her lids while waving her hand around blindly until she finds the waitress's knee; giving it a hard flick.
"I don't do warm and fuzzy."
She warns.
"Mhmm, I didn't think you did dresses either, but look who's suddenly come over all fancy. Seriously, you look like you should be hanging out with the Mayor!... Oh my god..."
"... What?"
Emma opens her eyes abruptly, her stomach clenching as her heart jumps into her throat.
Please no, please no, please no, please no...
"Your date!"
"What about it?"
"It's not-... It's not Gold, is it?"
"What?! No!"
The Sheriff glares at the young brunette incredulously and Ruby grins apologetically and goes back to lining the blonde's eyes with expertly smudged kohl along her lashline.
"Sorry... Just because of the dress..."
"Great. Now I want to change."
"You will not! Forget I said anything! You look amazing... Ridiculously classy, but amazing... I'd definitely fuck you."
"Ruby!"
"I'm just saying!"
"Thanks... I think?"
"Welcome. All done."
Ruby screws her mascara back up and places it in the small, pink makeup bag she'd bought over with her. Emma blinks her eyes a few times before standing up to study herself in the mirror. It is an incredibly odd sensation. She recognises the shapes and features of her face and body; the light freckles just visible at her nose, the small scar above her eye, the darker freckles on her shoulders, green eyes flecked grey, and the soft peaks and planes of her body...But it's as if a stranger has adopted these traits. Her hair shines prettily - begging to be touched - and her features are exaggerated in a way that is so openly sexual it's a little unnerving; Ruby's makeup smoking prettily around her eyes - darkening them - while her dress hints salaciously at her curves beneath.
"Damn..."
"I'll say!"
She turns to face the brunette with a small grin that the waitress reciprocates fondly. Ruby fusses momentarily over a few stray strands of hair; wetting her finger and setting them about the Sheriff's face so that they sit just right. With this accomplished, she takes a step back and admires the finished product before reaching back into her bag and pulling out a pair of very simple but very high black heels.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay in these?"
She asks dubiously, and Emma offers her a coy wink as she slips the shoes on easily; thanking any deities interested on behalf of her credit card that the waitress is the same shoe size as she is.
"I'm fine."
She assures, and she supposes the fact that she's spent the past few years dolling herself up as part of the job is another point in her favour. While her attire for such operations had been vastly different to the beautiful dress she wears now, heels - the sort that make a woman's butt look positively divine, incidentally - are something she is well practised in... And she would happily bet just about anything that the Mayor is under the impression that she'd be hard put to walk in them without falling flat on her face.
Ruby offers a saucy wolf whistle, standing a good inch shorter than the blonde now as she pulls on her coat.
"Well, whoever he is... He's in for a treat."
"... Thanks."
"Any time. Good luck, doll."
Regina reclines serenely in the deep, claw-foot tub. Apple-cinnamon-scented candles flicker gently on the windowsill, and she breathes in their heavenly aroma appreciatively. Her hair is slicked back wetly from her face; glistening in the dancing light of the flames. The warm, lavender-scented water is topped with a sumptuous lather, riding sensually just beneath her breasts.
A minute frown crosses her brow as she imagines she hears a door down below open and shut, but she had checked on Henry before running her bath, and the boy is sleeping soundly down the hall.
The house is old. Sometimes noises go unexplained.
Eventually, the water begins to cool, and she climbs gracefully from the tub; droplets streaming down her flesh in freshets. She reaches for the fluffy white towel that hangs on the bar hooked at the back of the door and dries herself off methodically, leaving her hair to air dry.
She hangs the towel back in its place; her ensuite requiring no need for the dampened fabric, and pads into her room to change. As she passes the bedroom door, she notices a soft glow emanating from the gap between the wood and the carpet. Odd, as she had turned off all the lights downstairs and in the hallway upon retiring for her bath.
Feeling her chest tighten uneasily, she dons the silk robe that hangs on the back of her door; pulling the material protectively over her bare form. Tying the sash around her waist, she pads cautiously out into the hallway, hesitating for a moment at the top of the stairs, before tip-toeing stealthily down.
The light comes from her drawing room, and she frowns, suddenly sure she hears soft music creeping from behind the door. Padding quickly over to the kitchen, she pulls a large carving knife from the top drawer of the cabinet before bracing herself against the wall beside the entrance to the drawing room. Plucking up her courage, she pushes the door open with a bang; the knife held out in front of her protectively.
She isn't sure what she had been expecting...
Whatever it was, the scene she takes in upon entering the room is one she isn't prepared for. Dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, she remains stood in the doorway with her mouth open in disbelief.
"Good evening, Madame Mayor."