Even as Emma keeps her distance, she refuses to admit to herself that Hook is steadily on her way to successfully climb up those walls and find her way inside. It scares Emma, for herself and for the other, unsure she wants to risk another blow like the ones before. She’d never been the greatest believer in things such as fate, but since coming to Storybrooke and breaking a curse she believed to be only in Henry’s head, Emma’s mind had opened. And to think that it might be fate that those who got close to her so quickly found their demise— It’s a lot. And every single time she thinks about it, every single time she catches sight of Graham’s shoelace around her wrist, another brick is added to her wall.
There are times when thinking about it too much brings her to the conclusion that she’s being silly. There are other times, when Hook steps a little bit too close and Emma can feel her WARMTH and the scent of the sea with a hint of rum, when Emma’s almost ready to knock the walls down herself. Damn her, damn those beautiful eyes and that cocky grin, and the way Kilia sometimes softens when talking to Emma, the way her voice drops and that grin shifts into something different. And damn Emma herself, for noticing all these little things that make her heart beat fast.
“STARING is a bit of a stretch,” She shoots back with a roll of her eyes, pretending like the way the fabric hugs Hook’s curves doesn’t affect her even a little bit. “You’re not exactly discreet.”
Emma fights the urge to lick her lips or even let her eyes wander down to watch Kilia’s mouth curl around the words, around that same tone of voice that makes Emma almost forget her reservations. She catches herself, offers a smile that could rival Hook’s own in terms of cockiness and flair. “You would,” And Emma knows it’s for her own sanity that she takes Hook’s words in the lightest tone, that she responds as she has since they first crossed paths— As if her heart is completely unaffected, and as if she believes Kilia’s is, too. And then she steps right into the FIRE (and it’s only a little bit because her lips tingle when she remembers the kiss they’ve shared before). “It does take more than a couple of swigs of rum to sway me. Think you’re up to the task?”
Since the moment she held a dagger to her throat and demanded the truth, Kilia’s known the blonde as a force to be reckoned with. Fighting and protecting with a ferocity that could rival even the most brutal of sailors, and yet loving with a gentleness and hesitant vulnerability that makes even HER darkened heart ache. She’s found that the Savior is both an open book and an enigma, a myriad of traits that somehow come together to form a larger, more breathtaking picture.
And of course, it’s a bit maddening, too-- just how enamored she’s become in such a short amount of time. How the acts of a single woman have willed her to give up the revenge she sought after for so long. Kilia’s not been celibate in the slightest, and yet a single kiss nearly brought her to her knees. She’s spent a fair portion of her life avoiding magic when possible, detesting it-- and yet she runs right toward a woman brimming with power. Emma is everything Kilia never thought she’d find herself loving-- and yet, she finds herself hopelessly drawn to every part of what the other woman has to offer.
(She doesn’t regret it in the slightest.)
“Well, I’ve certainly got no REASON to be, do I?” She grins wide, teeth flashing shamelessly as she glances down at the vest in question. Hook is well aware she’s attractive, and has no shame in making it known. That being said, it does stir something inside her, the very thought that Emma might’ve taken notice of her... well, assets.
Her eyebrows raise slightly at the sudden, unabashed confidence in Emma’s response. She admires that in the blonde, as well— her refusal to back down, the way she matches every challenge thrown at her without missing a beat. “Oh, I think you’ll find I have far more pleasurable methods of persuasion, beautiful.” Kilia is well aware she’s heading into dangerous waters now-- but ever the Captain, she can’t find it in her to resist. She traces her tongue over her teeth, gaze flitting between Emma’s lovely mouth and even lovelier eyes, yet she doesn’t dare to close that final distance between them. As forward as Hook may be with her feelings, she gives Emma the liberty to make that ultimate decision, to choose whatever she most desires-- whether it be to run, or stay. “--Would you like me to prove it?”
