I’m kind of back, for those who care. I finished Grad School with top marks! Yay! But, now summer is upon me and I am finding myself missing rping. Any good groups out there? Doesn’t have to be only OUAT either. I’m open to a lot of other story groups.
"I make it my business to know the people of the town." Rita told the woman while giving her a gentle smile, not wanting to make it seem like an odd statement. The real reason she did so was to make sure she knew who she was stealing from, who had what, who could stand to lose. This women didn’t need to know that though, "It’s a small town so it’s always nice to know who’s in it."
"It’s no problem. I’m happy to share in the wealth and misfortune of others." She smiled for a moment before realizing that was something that she could really only say to someone like Jack or someone that was in the gang. "Wow, sorry that sounded odd, distant relative that I’d never met died a while back, I got some money and a few paintings. Nothing big, but," she paused and shrugged, "everything is helpful these days."
Emma quirked a brow at the other woman's statement about wealth and misfortune, what a weird saying. She had been about to ask what she meant when Rita continued. Something in the quick speech and, well, her special power told her that wasn't exactly the truth.
She tilted her head to the side and studied Rita for a moment, "Sorry for your loss..." She sipped her drink, "Was this relative from Storybrook or out of town?" She let her voice sound nonchalant and relaxed; in all honesty she had no desire to randomly be pulled "on the clock" tonight, but she was curious why the subterfuge.
Chad glared at her and then shoved her playfully. “You’re just too much of a chicken.”
“Am not!” Emma replied shoving him back.
“You want to go to the party don’t you?” Chad said rolling his eyes at her and crossing to the window.
“Yeah, sure, but when I said I was ‘dying to go’ I didn’t actually mean I wanted to die in the process.”
“Well, this is the only way you’re going to get out of the house.” He looked down at the grass below.
“Couldn’t we just sneak out the front door when everyone’s asleep?”
“Trust me. I’ve tried every other way and they have an alarm remember? The ‘guards,’” he made air quotes using their nickname for the foster parents or guardians, “are trying to be good parents to us poor unfortunate souls, remember.”
Emma frowned and then shrugged as she plopped down on the bed, “Yeah…”
“Emma, don’t tell me you’re actually buying into their whole ‘we are your family’ crap.” He made air quotes again around the “we are your family,” Chad liked his air quotes.
“No!” Emma replied quickly then shrugged. “I mean… I’m not, but it’s not so bad here, you know?” She looked around the room—a room the “guards” had decorated for a girl her age.
“Except that you got grounded for cheating on your math test.” She plopped down on the bed beside her as he pointed out the reason for the idea of sneaking out at all.
“I didn’t cheat.” She said defensively.
“Sure. That’s why the lowest girl in our class suddenly set the curve.” He rolled his eyes and lay back resting his arms under his head.
“I didn’t cheat!” She hit him with a pillow and stood up so she was out of his reach for retaliation. “I told you! I studied! Hard!” She threw her arms up in frustration. “Why won’t anyone believe me!”
“That’s my point.” Chad said seeing his opening to convince her of his plan. “They won’t believe you, and like you said, you didn’t do anything wrong, so why deal with the punishment?”
Emma walked back over to the window and pushed it open slightly feeling the soft October breeze on her face; it wasn’t so cold that anyone would wonder why she had left it open. That part would be easy to explain. She looked down again; the drop to the ground loomed even further than reality as her anxiety mounted. “You swear you’ve done this before?”
“Sure. Piece of cake.” He rose and stood next to her. “Ease yourself over the ledge shimmy down the rope and we’re home free.”
Emma nodded, “Alright. 11:00, ok?”
Just then they both heard a call from downstairs for dinner. Exchanging a nod they headed down to eat.
Graham nodded, running to assist people as she checked. He didn’t see any fatalities which was good but some people did seem more than a little worse for wear. Medical assistance at the first possible moment would be preferable. He pulled out his walkie talky… or what was left of it. He must of fallen on it during the quake or hurt it somehow. Either way it was out of commission. His phone was the next option but just like everyone else (he presumed) he wasn’t getting any signal.
In the meantime, the next best way to proceed would be to help the people as best he could. He turned to a young woman, ripping of the corner of his sleeve and offering to her to press to the cut on her forehead and stop the bleeding.
Emma caught him mid-sentence, talking to a young child about the proper way to identify if a shoulder was dislocated or not. He stepped away from the child, turning to look at Emma. “Then we create a new one. We don’t have time to waste.”
Emma couldn't stop scanning the area, the amount of people injured or trapped. "Make an exit?" She studied him for a second and then nodded trying to think, "Ok..." She scanned the room again looking for some kind of option. "If we can find a section of wall that is already weakened... Maybe we could make a gap," she glanced up at the ceiling and sighed stretching her aching shoulder, "but what about the building?"
Gray knew they were uncomfortable too, he’d nearly been arrested enough times over the past few months. It came as a relief when the officer offered to let him wear the cuffs in front of him, and he turned around, proffering his wrists again, hands no longer curling. Better not to show his frustration, it might worry the police officer, and without the rush of a fight he was too tired, mentally, to fight with her. And even though he was strong, he wasn’t sure he’d win, with alcohol addling his mind.
Well, at least that is one gamble that seems to have paid off, she thought as she saw the man seem to relax slightly. Still weary she stepped forward and placed the cuffs around his wrists careful to ensure that they were tight, but not painfully so.
Taking the man by the arm she nodded her head towards the door. "Lets go." Emma kept a firm grip on him partly because it was normal protocol to keep a hand on a prisoner in a crowded space like this, even cuffed he could still do damage, and partly because she got the sense that with the adrenaline fading from his system he had enough alcohol in him to knock out a horse.
She was silent as they crossed the bar, this was her job, sure, but she didn't need throw her weight around by berating the guy in front of everyone. The sooner she handed him over to Graham or Sinclair the sooner she could truly begin her night off. Somehow she knew it wasn't going to start in the bar again--maybe she'd get a bottle of wine and convince Mary Margaret to watch a movie.
"Oh yeah. I thought it was cool. I heard that bad boys get the girls." He laughed. "It was kind of stupid but I think you’re right. We’re all romantic as teenagers. Some of us hold on to the side a little more tightly then others." He nodded his head, listening closely to what Emma was saying.
He knew who she was. She was Emma Sawn, not a day went by in the bar without someone talking about her. She ruffled a lot of feathers, but Remy never really thought he’d meet her. She wasn’t as bad as everyone said. She was pretty nice. Good company.
"I don’t think there’s a wrong way to express it. But what do I know? I’m just a bartender." Remy chuckled. "I have five. There pretty great, and I’m pretty proud of them." Remy put down the rag he was using to clean the counter with and unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it up to just above his elbow. He showed her his forearm, right before his elbow there was a medium sized ship in a bottle. "I like sailing. I consider myself a world class sailor, actually."
Remy went ahead a fixed Emma another drink. Might as well keep them coming, he knew she was good for it, and besides, like she said, she was going to be here a while.
"Sailing?" Emma smirked and then shook her head, "Everyone has their own way of doing things I guess, right?" She nodded towards his arm, "Never really been on a boat, or ship, or whatever you call it. I've been on a few ferries, but I'm guessing those don't count."
She traded him her now-mostly melted ice glass for the fresh one and took a small sip. "Thanks. A few more of these and I might have to arrest myself." She smirked and then realized she wasn't entirely far off. She should probably milk this one for a bit, no need to go stumbling into the apartment. Mary Margaret was great, but Emma doubted she would appreciate her new roommate in a drunken stupor on a school night.
Sinclair worked to restrain her urge to bare her teeth at the shorter blonde, to assert her dominance. However, her prior words were on mark and changing her tune now would destroy any headway the two of them made, however slight it might have been. “Truce,” Sinclair shook the hand of the Deputy, sealing their truce. Wisdom that her grandfather once shared with her were roused: “Trust a man that can shake your hand and look you in the eyes.” And while Emma’s actions reassured her that she could trust the new officer to not betray her word, her own past actions insisted that she remain on guard. After all, Sinclair could easily look into someone’s eyes, shake their hand, and have every intention to betray. This case might have been an exception, as the lieutenant needed the recovery of this child to go smoothly.
“Let’s go push Mr. Cook’s buttons and see what we can turn up about Andy,” Sinclair spoke to Emma as she joined her on the sidewalk leading up to the household where their call originated from.
Once at the front door, Sinclair listened for a moment, taking in the environment. Muffled yelling could be heard from indoors and the officer was at attention. Two firm knocks at the front door silenced the inaudible argument and it was a handful of moments before the front door opened to a tower of a man. First glance might say that Mr. Cook was nothing more than an ordinary man, in his business casual suit and clean-shaven face, but Sinclair searched for the cracks in his façade, absorbing large quantities of impersonal data and forming accurate judgments. First clue was the yelling. The second was the redness of Mr. Cook’s neck and a smile that only engaged his lips. Folded arms served as a barricade between the two officers and the household to which they needed access too.
“Can I help you?” the man, spoke in a low, controlled voice.
“Hello, sir. I’m Lieutenant Officer Sinclair and this is Deputy Swan,” Sinclair made sure to introduce the woman aside her, wondering exactly how Mr. Cook would feel being confronted by two women. “We received a call about a missing child and –” her words were cut off.
“My daughter ran off. She’ll be back later tonight,” The man closed the sentence with a tense jaw, and hands tightening slightly around his biceps. “My wife,” he said the word disdainfully, “gets worked up. Besides, you guys can’t do anything about it for forty-eight hours anyway. Which is what I told my wife before she called.”
“Actually, sir. We can look around and attempt to return Andy to you. The laws are different on children and Deputy Swan is extremely good at finding people.” Sinclair left the air open for Emma to make her own remarks. If there was one thing that this man would not like, it was, not one, but two women telling him how he was wrong.
Emma studied the officer for a moment as they shook, never breaking eye contact, and then as the other woman led the way up the walk to the Cook’s front door she allowed a small smile. Push the guy’s buttons? She and Sinclair may never move beyond veiled dislike for one another, but she had to admit the woman had an entertaining snark to her.
True to her word, Emma let Sinclair take the lead with the clearly bullish father. He reminded Emma of typical overbearing, middle management type. Most likely he was low man on the totem pole at work so he made his proverbial mark at home as the “master of his kingdom” so to speak. Yeah, Emma knew the type—a bully—no the kid had run off.
As Sinclair spoke Emma watched Mr. Cook’s expression change from a disingenuous smile to a stiff line—clearly he didn’t like being told he was wrong. Emma wondered for a moment if it was really an issue of being told of his ignorance or the fact that it was a woman who was informing him.
“If she’s old enough to run off; she’s old enough to find her way home.” Mr. Cook said through clenched teeth. He shifted his stance and for a moment Emma wondered if he was really stupid enough to try anything, but he settled on his feet again and continued the insincere smile back in place. “No one needs to find her, and we certainly don’t need to be bothering the Sheriff’s office with her nonsense.”
Emma glanced at the other woman and then took her look to mean this was Emma’s opening. Copying the man’s smile she took a small step forward keeping her voice level and non-combative though it was hard in the face of such an ass. “The truth is, Mr. Cook, we’re already here and we would really like to help; this is no time of year to be stuck outside at night as I’m sure you know.”
She looked past him and saw a small middle aged woman standing down the hall. This must be Mrs. Cook, Andy’s mother. She shared a glance with Sinclair and then raised her voice to be heard clearly inside the house. “Mrs. Cook? We’re here to help you find your daughter, but we would really like to ask you a few questions.”
Gray’s lips pulled back into a slight snarl when she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. If it weren’t for the fact that he recognized her as a cop, that would have ended very badly for her, but the drunk knew that a fight was enough trouble. He didn’t need to start one with a cop, too. Turning around, he winced slightly when his head suddenly throbbed, the adrenaline rush beginning to wear off, and he waited for her to put the cuffs on. His hands were twitching slightly, curling and uncurling into fists, but there was nothing to be done about that. He wasn’t a threat. Gray knew better. Hopefully.
Emma saw a flash of something when she first spoke, but it seemed he wasn't so stupid drunk that he was going to add resisting arrest to his rap sheet. Still, she approached him wearily once he turned his back to her and held out his hands.
Stepping up behind him she shook her head, "Just turn around and put your hands out? I know first hand that these things are uncomfortable enough with your hands in front of you." She hoped the little bit of trust and freedom the act allowed would convince him to relax and cooperate fully.
He didn’t respond to her words, still unable to, despite her inability to just accept that he wouldn’t be answering and move on. But Topher stopped strumming again when she insisted that she do her song, arms crossing over his chest just enough to look at her. He shook his head at the question. The doctors had said that he didn’t appear to be hurt, that there was nothing wrong with him, physically. And he was pretty sure that that was what the cop was asking over him. So no, he wasn’t hurt. A lot of other things. But not hurt.
Emma was getting a bit frustrated, why the hell didn't he just answer her questions so she could move on with her rounds? It was cold, and she really wanted to get back inside before the temperature dropped any further. Clearly, he wasn't going to talk to her for some reason, but he had nodded, so that was progress wasn't it?
"Ok. Let's try something else. How about yes or no questions? Then you can at least nod your answers." She studied him for a moment. "Do you live near here?"
"And… just… the lights. Don’t they just remind you of fairies dancing above you? Of some sort of magical greeting between the fair folk? I can imagine them flying around me. It must be nice to have wings…" she mused, looking up at the lights strung in lovely designs above them.
At the next, she turned a knowing eye back to miss Swan. “Yeah, might help that nobody new has come by in living memory. You’re a novelty! Everybody wants to see who you are and what you do. If you’re friend or foe!” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Emma was taken back a bit by the kids way of talking; for a moment she could imagine the girl had actually seen fairies flying or dancing or whatever. Henry must be starting to get to her, she smiled at the thought, yeah he definitely was getting to her and surprisingly she didn't mind.
"Friend or foe?" Emma laughed sardonically, "I'm not looking to be anyone's foe that's for sure, and I've never really been a great friend..." She thought about that for a second; that really wasn't exactly her fault considering she rarely stuck around in one place for long. She shrugged, "Never have been one to fit into someone-else's mold, so they'll all just have to keep guessing, right?"
"Okay, so two girls lived with their poor widowed mother. Their names were Snow White and Rose Red because of the rose bushes in front of there cottage. They would wander around the forest and the animals all love and trust them. okay so far?"
Emma smiled as he began the tale, "Sure, kid. Animals love the sisters with weird names, got it." She grinned broader and continued, "Except...don't fairy tales always start with 'once upon a time'?" She held up her hands, "I mean I'm no expert, but..." She shrugged and tried to keep herself from chuckling.
Graham laughed, leaning down over the game and examining pieces. It was a nice day but he was well aware that the chill would set in soon enough so in an effort to preserve one of the last good days he’d headed out to the park and set up a a checkerboard table. “Hmm….” He said, careful in his next step. He picked up the his checker, moving over the other person’s piece. “Checkmate.” He said with a grin, taking their piece off the game board. “So what’s the score now?”
Emma had been a little skeptical when Graham had asked her to play; she had never been one for board games, but she had figured what the hell. Now however, she was kind of wishing she hadn't agreed considering how easily he had beaten her. "0-1 You." She replied with a strong urge to glare at him for his smugness.
"Another game? Unless you're too worried about losing to a girl..." She sipped at her coffee; it had now cooled quite a bit in it's paper cup as they played, and tried to keep her competitive streak in check.
Chelsea grinned in response. “I’m still sorry about that.” She reminded, though she wouldn’t press it further she felt a little bit like an idiot. But that was gone quickly at the mention of bubbles. “Well I could fix that… I just don’t think Granny or Ruby would like that all too much…” She giggled. Imagining the diner filled with bubbles. Floating lazily between the tables.
She wrinkled up her nose. “I have, I don’t think it really does it for me, coffee wise. Pumpkin is a good pie… but not my kind of coffee… the french vanilla though…” She placed a hand over her heart with a happy sigh. “Dream come true. The only thing better are the white chocolate peppermint mochas the coffee shop up the street sells.” Not that she didn’t love Granny’s, they just only had limited space for coffee. And right now that meant plain, decaf and a handful of flavors.
Emma grinned at the idea of bubbles filling the diner, but she had to agree that Granny would probably not appreciate it much.
"White chocolate peppermint mocha... That would be a mouthful to order; I'll have to check it out sometime." Emma replied and then smiled at Ruby as she approached to take their order. "Cocoa with cinnamon for me, thanks." She glanced at Chelsea and nodded.
Most the time this wasn’t really an issue, in her personal life since she just chose to stay away from those situations that would require her to endure the awful stench and choking smoke. However, in her line of work as a bail-bonds-person she had to often go into some seedy places and parts of towns where chain smoking was common enough to fill a room with a visible cloud of putrid smoke. On these occasions she knew it was vital for her to move past the horrible memories the stench invoked and face the situation without flinching.
At thirteen Emma knew she was never going to be adopted, and she accepted that, but it didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. She was done being thrown into one foster home or another in the systems never-ending struggle to just keep her holed up somewhere until she was an adult. Emma, herself, didn’t help the situation by often running off when she didn’t like the situation in which she was placed.
Gritting her teeth Emma watched as Mrs. Hurtz lit another cigarette off the one she had just finished. Shifting slightly Emma rocked the seven-month-old in her arms and tried to get him to accept the bottle she had just warmed for him.
She coughed slightly as the smoke of the new Lucky Strike mingled with the stale smoke of Mrs. Hurtz previous three.
“I told you to cut that cough’n out.” The old hag rasped and then returned her gaze to the television.
Emma gritted her teeth again and glared at the woman who was supposed to be caring for her.
She took a swig of the coke and then frowned at it, “Get me another one of these.”
Emma looked at her incredulously and then back down at the baby in her arms. “Get it yourself.” She said as the infant latched onto the bottle finally.
Emma could feel Mrs. Hurtz glare without seeing it, but she didn’t care. She was sick of this foster home just like the one before. It never failed, when she found a foster family she liked she screwed it up and they got sick of her, and when she didn’t like a place well, she did the leaving.
“Get off your lazy ass and get me a Coke.”
Emma ignored her and sifted the baby in her arms so that she was positioned closer to her trying to shield him from the smoke and the hags glare.
After another moment she heard rather than saw Mrs. Hurtz stand from her chair, and for a second Emma thought maybe she had gotten away with the attitude. But then she was standing over Emma the half burned cigarette in her hand. She leaned over Emma and spoke right in her face.
“Who the hell do you think you are? When I tell you to do somethin’ you damn well better do it!”
Emma glared up at her refusing to cough or react to the smokey breath that assailed her nostrils.
Mrs. Hurtz met her glare a moment longer, but then there was a sharp cry from the infant. Both looked down in shock to at the screaming child.
“Give him to me.” The old hag said before she snatched him out of her arms and thrust the cigarette into Emma’s hand with no care to not burn her.
Emma cried out as the tip of the cigarette bite into her hand with searing heat; yanking her hand away she let the disgusting thing fall to the ground as she stared at her hand.
“Don’t let it burn my rug, damn it!”
Emma stamped hard on the cigarette grinding it into the carpet effectively putting it out and also leaving a satisfying singed mark on the carpet.
“Go to hell.” She said through gritted teeth and shoved past the old hag.
Emma locked the door to the bathroom and ignored the hags screaming and ranting for the better part of an hour. Finally, things quieted down and Emma snuck out to retrieve her things; she found a six pack of coke, some crackers in the kitchen cabinet, and three-hundred dollars in the freezer. She left that night, made a phone call to the social worker’s office to check on the baby and disappeared into the night with every intention of never finding her way back into the system.
"Yes" he smiled back at her. "No, Snow White and Rose Red, a story of two sisters who become friends with a bear who actually turns out to be a cursed prince" he laughed.
Emma looked at him for a moment trying to decide if he was messing with her and then laughed, "Guess I missed that day in story-time. So tell me about it." She nudged him so she could see over his shoulder.
Topher shrugged at the question. No, nothing was alright, he was a mute and there was absolutely no discernible reason for it. But he couldn’t tell her that, he couldn’t tell anyone anything. At all. Strumming a few open chords, his fingers began to dance over the strings again, though he strummed softly, keeping the volume low, so he didn’t upset the cop and drive her to do anything he might regret. He didn’t have his phone on him, and without a voice he wouldn’t have a way to get anyone to bail him out of any trouble she wanted to get him into. But he did just want her to go away. It wasn’t fair that she could talk. He hated it.
Emma studied the guy for a moment longer as he played. He really was a bit of an odd one--why wouldn't he answer her? Although, even without a response to her question she could tell something wasn't right here. "Look... It's pretty obvious that something isn't ok, or you wouldn't be out here in the cold, right?" She waited for a moment to see if he would respond and then continued, "Since you don't seem like much of a talker how about we try nods. I kind of have to do my job, alright? Are you hurt?"