The idea came to him as he watched Rapunzel. There was no denying that the girl was unusual: she had unnecessarily long hair; a chameleon for a pet; and suspicious secrecy surrounding her time in that tower. Her private life didn't concern him, though; once he had his satchel back he would disappear – far from her, his thieving companions and the kingdom altogether.
Traces of teasing and amusement lied in his expression. He was somewhat fond of her jumpy nature, albeit the endeavour was already becoming tedious. He needed a quicker alternative to obtaining his satchel. Judging by her naivety, there was still a possibility of renegotiating their deal.
His knowledge of her response towards anything potentially 'scary' brought to mind a particular bunch who gathered in a very unsuspecting bar. Undoubtedly the locals there would put her off ever leaving her tower again.
"Are you hungry?" Flynn asked suddenly, his words oozing with enthusiasm. "I know a great place for lunch." He crouched down to her level, somewhat condescendingly, and rested his hands on his hips. Trying to avoid Pascal's distrusting look, he plastered an animated grin on his face.
Rapunzel laughed bemusedly. "Where?"
"Oh don't you worry," he said, grabbing onto the edge of her frying pan. "You'll know it when you smell it!"
As Flynn dragged her along behind him, his greedy mind contemplated the possibilities available to him once he had possession of his satchel and its contents again. Whilst Rapunzel made foolish dreams about lanterns, he would be escaping from the kingdom and, above all, his past. With thanks to the stolen crown, his glorified looks and natural charm, he had no doubt that delicious fame would eventually be his. In solitude he would live in his own castle on his own island. If he were quite honest, he could already smell his success. Admittedly it smelt like deceit, yet success nonetheless. No guilt, no regrets.
Born alone, Flynn intended to live and die this way, claiming all his victory as his own. Success was achieved through selfish acts; only fools put their trust in others.
Rapunzel's voice broke him from his reverie.
"Come again?" He asked, coming to a sudden halt and turning around to face her.
"Hazelnut soup," Rapunzel repeated. "I wondered if they might have any." She blinked at him with such innocence and naivety that Flynn almost felt guilty for lying to her.
"Do they have any hazelnut soup?" He asked back to her incredulously. "The question is, do they ever not have hazelnut soup? Their recipe is the best around." The lies poured freely past his lips but they tasted sour in his mouth. For good measure he truthfully added, "Hazelnut soup is actually a favourite of mine." He let go of her frying pan but continued along their path.
"Really?" Rapunzel asked, a joyful skip in her step. Her excitement over their shared food preference was undeniable in her voice.
Amused by this, Flynn returned her infectious smile. "Really. I asked for hazelnut soup every year on my birthday. That's not to say I got it every year, but I always asked."
"Would your mother make you something better instead?" Her eyes widened as if she couldn't believe anything to be better than her favourite dish.
Unease trickled over Flynn's body which he immediately shook off - a reflex response. "Tell me more about your mother," he responded coolly. The falter in her smile indicated it was the wrong request to make. "On second thoughts, enlighten me on the subject of your hair. Now I get that its "special", but why does that stop you from cutting it? I mean, once you've cut it, you could hide it, say, in that secret spot you hid my satchel. You know, that one that no one will ever be able to find?"
Rapunzel bit her lip and looked away. He noticed that whilst her free hand carefully stroked the golden curtain draped over her ear, the other had gripped tighter on the handle of her frying pan.
"Word at the moment is that cutting your hair makes it grow longer. So, logically, you would end up with more hair if you cut it on a regular basis."
Rapunzel crossed her arms and lifted her nose in the air. She breathed out slowly. "Neither myself nor anyone else is cutting my hair. I just want to see the lanterns, and then I want to go home." She peeked at Flynn uncertainly. "Maybe."
"Was that a maybe about the lanterns?" Flynn asked hopefully. "Or a maybe about returning home? Because we will be going back to that tower to get my satchel."
"I know." Both Rapunzel and Pascal looked at him firmly - Pascal seemed perhaps a little too stern. "A promise is a promise."
Rapunzel's reminder of her constant honesty brought back Flynn's secret guilt of his plot to terminate the expedition.
Every man for himself, he thought bitterly. Pushing the negativity to the back of his mind, he strode ahead.
"Good to hear, Blondie," he called over his shoulder. "And would you tell your frog to stop with the really evil looks?"
"Pascal," Rapunzel scolded lightly. Rolling her eyes over to the chameleon, she smirked at his defiant posture. "Flynn is finding somewhere for us to eat, and then he will take us see the lanterns -"
"And you have my satchel!"
"And we have his precious satchel," Rapunzel confirmed. "So we are to be nice to him, okay?"
Pascal croaked a reluctant agreement.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Flynn declared. "Now…" They came to a fork in the path, filled with melodic tunes from the birds overhead. "I know it's around here somewhere…" Flynn murmured, looking from right to left.
Locating it at last, he gestured widely to it. "Ah! There it is: the Snuggly Duckling. Don't worry, very quaint place," he reassured, tapping Rapunzel on her shoulder. "Perfect for you. Don't want you scaring and giving up on this whole endeavour now, do we?" He rested his hands on his hips, smug with the ease of how his plan had unfolded.
"Well," said Rapunzel, hugging her frying pan to her chest. "I do like ducklings."
"Yay!" Flynn squealed with bunched, eager fists; excessive amounts of sarcasm and the widest grin he had ever pulled.
Oblivious to his mockery, Rapunzel and Pascal returned the enthusiastic expression.
In one swift movement, Flynn guided Rapunzel down the pathway to the pub's entrance. With his hand behind her waist, he used his other arm to throw the door open.
"Garcon!" Flynn called boldly. "Your finest table please."
The smell of ruffians, thugs and Rapunzel's fear hit him before he heard her let out a gasp of utmost terror.