"Saviour, be reasonable now..."
The Queen croaks, aware that her request is ludicrous given the events that have landed them in this mess, but not sure what else to say. She is still somewhat thrown, as only moments ago she had believed she'd been gaining back her winning hand as she'd met the blonde's demands with open scorn and a refusal to comply.
"Show me."
Emma had ordered, wishing to know more about her one-time foe's true opinion of her.
Hoping for more sordid details.
And, the Queen had been tempted, although she'd taken great care to keep this fact to herself. The thought of repaying the younger woman's heated admissions made at the mercy of the veritae serum forced upon her had been in some ways delicious.
Especially if applying her own little twist to the game.
After all, she has known Emma long enough to be certain that in spite of the blonde's current dominant and demanding exterior, she's helplessly uncomfortable when it comes to emotion.
You want to know what Regina thinks of you? My dear, I'm sure that was simply a request for heated compliments and the divulgence of sinful desires. I doubt you'd be so keen to discuss the rest, though? To discuss our pathetic Mayor's confusion when faced with you recently. To discuss how you've slipped into the role left open by Robin with an ease neither of you has dared think too much about... Only, now and then she would think about it- about you- for a moment or two; about the evolution of your relationship. About just how much you mean to her... About just what you mean to her; what you are to her, because to call it simple friendship would be a blatant lie, and the amusing little remarks each of you once made to tease one another about your shared parental role and the absurdity of your relationship now fall a little flat, because while you continue to laugh and assure each other "not in that way" when things get a little too cosy, do either of you still actually mean it?
Speaking for Regina, I don't believe she does.
I believe where once there was wry humour behind the implications raised by the two of you sharing Henry, now there's an uneasy wistfulness that perhaps those connotations might become reality.
Oh, I'm sure you'd like to know more about the few occasions Madame Mayor allowed her thoughts the freedom to run a little wild before reigning them in, but I doubt you'd be smirking at me quite so smugly if I were to spill Regina's closely-guarded secret of just how much you mean to her.
How much having you in her life matters.
If I were to divulge not just the heat, but the incomprehensible sweetness with which she'd like to taste you.
And the Queen had started to do just that; meeting the blonde's sly smile with a smirk of her own as she'd informed her in a purposefully gentle tone
"She adores you."
"...What?"
Emma had frowned down at her; this answer not at all of the vulgar variety she'd been trying to bait out of the woman lying shackled beneath her.
"She masks it by keeping her mannerisms as they once were; bickering with you and bullying you. Sometimes she takes the latter too far, but not like she used to, and you know it. When she does, she apologises, and if she thinks of any way at all to make you happy, she'll try her best to do so, although she'd never admit it."
"That's not what I-"
"-Not what you meant, dear?"
The Queen had teased, and she'd been pleased to note that her kind words had left the younger woman visibly distressed as the blonde had flashed her teeth angrily.
"I meant it how you meant it when you asked me."
Emma had growled, earning herself a serene smirk that had only raised her hackles further.
"I know."
The brunette had replied simply, relishing the irritation her sweet admission had instilled in her rival- only you would find being doted on so frightfully unsavoury, my dear!- before the younger woman had pushed herself up to stand astride her hips with her arms crossed over the soft swell of her chest. For a moment, the Queen had feared the blonde might reach for the mallet after all, but Emma had simply glowered at her for a moment longer before stalking away.
"What's wrong, Princess? Are you shocked I'm not playing by your rules?"
She'd called after the younger woman sweetly; so sure she'd been winning- if only a minor hand- as the blonde had flipped her the bird and mounted the stone steps as though she'd meant to leave the court and the woman pinned helplessly to its centre. This had caused the darker woman a touch of disquiet, but all in all, she'd felt pleasantly smug, even with the light drizzle of rain lending her skin a curious gleam.
Yes, moments ago she'd been under the impression she'd been mildly victorious.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Not as her dark eyes track the glistening scales of the serpent that slides lazily through the grass.
"Another little trick?"
She accuses her captor, but she's unable to keep the tone of doubt from her voice.
Somehow, she doesn't believe the viper is a trick at all; not like the unknown beast that had pounced at her- through her- in the dark. The snake looks dangerously real as it approaches, its tongue flickering from its blunt snout, tasting the air. She doesn't bother asking the blonde whether the serpent is poisonous. She knows.
"Is this really how you want our time together to end?"
She demands of the blonde who now crouches low on the crumbling steps; hands clasped between her knees like a child watching insects brawl in the dust.
"Saviour?"
The Queen tries again for an answer, appealing to the side of the blonde that had so vexed her- vexed Regina- in the past with her insistence on aiding those around her who in no way deserved it.
There's no use hoping for such reprieve now. Not after your little exploration into her memories... You dislodged something; you loosened the fastenings on several proverbial boxes she's kept locked shut. You indulged yourself with a trip where you didn't belong- an exotic nightmare world- and now you've come back not with a sickness, not with a bug, but rather a good case of rage trained wholely on yourself.
The snake is real. Its venom is real... As is its intent.
"Go on then, Miss Swan. If you refuse to answer me, then I presume we're done here. Make your move."
The Queen snaps with a great deal more conviction than she feels, but the way that the blonde watches on silently is eerie, and she has never been one to take her medicine without a fuss.
"It's not my call. She'll strike when she's ready."
Emma shrugs, green eyes tracking the snake's movements curiously as though simply watching a nature documentary. Her response instils new fear in the brunette as there is something inexplicably more terrible in knowing that the serpent moves of its own free will and may do as it pleases. It could strike at any time... And it could not strike at all.
She finds no comfort in this realisation.
She feels like a rat in a trap; overseen not by a tyrant- a disposition she knows all too well- but by a calm voyeur happy to observe the queer tableaux of their own making without backing either the hound or the rabbit.
"Saviour..."
The Queen breathes as the snake slithers closer, and oh god, she can hear it; the curiously dry hiss of its belly parting the grass. It veers suddenly to the left with a new burst of speed and she shrieks; eyes wide as the viper lifts its spade-like face inches from her own and samples her scent with its tongue.
"What are you-"
But the Queen stills in her demand to know what the blonde plans to do once her beast has buried its teeth into her flesh; meaning to at least force Emma, the Saviour, Storybrooke's Hope into admitting that she means to sit and watch her slow death without so much as lifting a finger.
"What was that?"
She asks instead, her eyes never leaving those of the snake, but she's nevertheless aware of the fact that the blonde has moved from her voyeur's perch on the steps, and now stands surveying their surroundings on full alert.
"What do you mean to do now?"
The Queen snaps, but it would appear the low creak carried by the morning mist is not part of the younger woman's game as she frowns in open confusion with her hands opening and closing into fists at her sides.
"Did you do that? How?"
Emma demands of her finally, trying to feel for a breach in her hold over the brunette's magic, but coming up empty.
"Not me, Saviour..."
The darker woman mutters, her attention now divided between the serpent creating a figure of eight little more than a foot away from her left hand, and the blonde who takes an uncertain step back onto the croquet court.
"What are you-"
But again, the brunette falls silent, this time with her dark eyes meeting green as an uncertain voice is carried on the still air from the direction of the rose garden.
"Emma?"