#wtscprompt6

[lostlittlegrace]

There's Nothing Left to Say Now ~ Prompt # 6

Who knows how long I've been awake now? The shadows on my wall don't sleep They keep calling me, beckoning. Who knows what's right? The lines keep getting thinner.

She was asleep. The dream was familiar by now. She was wearing her cloak- the weight was familiar on her shoulders. She'd worn it before- but whether 'before' was just an endless history of repeated dreams or something more tangible, she didn't know. She was in a small cottage in the woods, sitting at a wooden table with a tea set. Paige knew that beyond that door to her left was an expanse of forest- she had traveled it before, though she never got too far before she lost her concentration and found herself again at the tea table. She could go places, wander around the little house, explore the forest, but only for so long before the pull of teatime brought her back to where she began.

He was late for tea.

She didn't know who he was, or how she knew he was late, but she knew that he should be here. 

This was the dream. To sit, to wait, to wonder why the man was late for tea when she didn't even know his name, only that the more time that passed, the more the little girl panicked until she woke up thinking that she might die of it. It didn't matter that she had had this dream more times than she could remember. Every time, she expected him to be there, and every time... he didn't come.

Why didn't he come? He promised.

Trying to smother the familiar panic rising in her chest, Paige wondered if she would explore the forest again. Maybe it would postpone the breakdown, or avoid it altogether. That had happened a couple times. Some sound woke her via her physical ears, and the child was spared the ending of her nightmare.

At just that moment, she heard a sound.

Paige spun in her chair to see a man. He wore a dark coat and a purple scarf that hung down, untied to expose an angry scar across his throat. She felt... she felt as if she should recognize him. Wait, yes. He was Jefferson. He was Jefferson, her sad Hatter. And he didn't belong here.

"Jefferson?" she asked, standing and crossing the small space. "What are you doing here?"

"Princess," he said, his tone broken. "I've... I've come for tea." 

Paige frowned, looking dubiously back at her tea set. "I don't have a setting for you. Perhaps I could find one..." This was a definite breach of protocol. She'd never had a visitor in this dream before. Especially not one who wanted to drink her tardy guest's tea.

"No, Princess, it's alright. Spare yourself the trouble." He looked pained, though Paige didn't understand why. Her heart hurt.

"Then... what do you want to do?" Why are you here?

Jefferson swallowed, one hand stroking the scar across his neck. "I- I don't know. I'm late for-"

"We could dance." Paige interrupted, speaking right as the idea occurred to her, a smile touching her lips. She loved to dance.

As if on command, her dream cottage supplied music. Jefferson looked hesitant, but Paige, ever the adventurous one, grabbed his hands and started stepping in time. Jefferson took a shuddering inhale, eye closing, and Paige's heart clenched as he did. Why was he always so sad?

And why did she always feel like it was her fault?

"Jefferson?" she asked, tone barely loud enough to be heard above the music.She didn't know how to phrase her question, or even if he would understand it, but this was her dream and he was in it when he wasn't supposed to be, so she'd decided that she deserved to know why he was crying and why she wasn't panicking anymore, even if she might forget it all as soon as she awoke. She deserved to know.

"Yes, Princess?"

"..... Are you... late for tea?"

Silence. For several moments, all that could be heard was the gentle thrumming of the music from nowhere and the sound of Grace's heartbeat, beating a much quicker tempo.

"Yes."

Paige wanted to cry. He was the one she'd been waiting for. He was the one that she should remember, and knowing that he was late for tea should have fixed everything and made all of the puzzle pieces fit together... but it didn't. She still didn't understand. Something was still missing.

"Jefferson?" she repeated, looking up at her dance partner with tear-filled eyes. She dreaded his answer, but she had to ask.

"Yes?"

"Why do you call me Princess?"

It was a long time before he answered her, and he refused to meet her eyes as he thought. "For the same reason that you call me Jefferson." He looked at her then, his eyes as teary as hers, and she understood.

"I used to call you something different." 

"Yes... Princess."

"What did I call you?" He shuddered again, and Paige could feel it shaking her bones as if he were a part of her. "Princess, that is one question I cannot answer. I... I wish... I can't!" Jefferson cried out, a sound of unimaginable anguish, and Paige embraced him, knowing somehow that if she let go, he would fly into a million pieces. He would break if she didn't hold him together. She couldn't let go.

But she was waking up. The edges of the cottage were becoming hazy, and the music had faded to aching silence. "No!" she cried, for she remembered now. He called her Grace. He called her Grace. He called her Grace.

And he was Papa.

"PAPA!" Grace screamed. She couldn't let go! She was losing him. He would break without her! He needed her!

"PAPA!"

Paige sat up, eyes snapping open. She heard sounds down the hallway, her parents running. And then her father was there, arms wrapped around her. But they were the wrong arms. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

And she'd already forgotten why.

[graygisbourne]

Remember? - Prompt #6

Time: 5:03pm, March 15th, 1992

Location: Gisbourne Residence - Storybrooke, Maine

Take my hand, I'll teach you to dance. I'll spin you around, won't let you fall down. Would you let me lead? You can step on my feet. Give it a try, it'll be alright.

"Gray! Open up!" Isabella was knocking on his bedroom door again, just like she did everyday when they got home from school. Most of the time he ignored her, knowing he'd never get his homework and get to soccer practice if he let her in and agreed to play. But today something in the tone of her voice made him get off his bed, and he opened the door, horrified to see his little sister in tears, hand poised to knock again, "I-I fell asleep and I had a dream. About Mama."

"Mama..." he meant to ask it as a question, but it came out as a sad sigh, and he pulled his sister into their room, knowing that they couldn't let their father overhear this. He led his sister to the bed, sitting down and patting the spot beside him. Isabella hesitantly crawled on, and he hugged her, playing with her hair, "What was it about?" he asked her quietly, trying not to let his mind wander. He tried not to think about their mother too often. It hadn't even been a year since she died, and it still hurt as if it has happened that morning.

"She was teaching us to dance, remember?" the seven year old asked, and Gray nodded slightly, "Last year she taught us t-to waltz." He saw a tear slide down his sister's cheek, and carefully wiped it away, letting her keep talking, "You and Mama were always so good and I fell a lot and stepped on your feet. But you always asked me to dance anyways, when Papa wasn't home."

"I remember..." he murmured, biting his lip to keep himself from crying, "She always promised us that if we were good she would teach us how to salsa..." She had never gotten the chance too. His Mama had died soon after she taught them. If he had known, he would have skipped that soccer game, asked her for one last dance. But now it was too late. They would never get a final waltz.

"Come here," he stood, suddenly pulling away from Isabella, offering her his hand. She reluctantly took it, and he pulled her onto her feet, moving her hand to rest on his shoulder. "One, two, three. One, two, three," he began to count putting his hand on her waist before taking the other in his, moving them in a slow waltz.

"Down, up, up," Isabella began to mutter over the numbers, biting her lip and looking down at their feet. He knew she was trying not to cry, or step on him. Gray smiled softly and began humming the song their mother would always sing when she pulled one of them into a dance. He didn't remember the words, but he would never forget the melody.

Isabella began to hum along with him, looking up at her big brother before resting her head on his shoulder. He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, but he just pulled her closer, wishing he could do something so she'd feel better. He would take on her pain too, if it meant one of them could be happy. "Mama's still here, you know," he told his sister, ending the waltz and standing before her. He took her hand and placed it over her heart, offering her a weak smile, "she won't dance with us, but she's here to protect us. As long as we keep dancing, remember her. She won't ever leave. I promise."

[captainxkillianjones-blog]

Will I know you - Prompt #6

Time: Unknown

Location: Unknown/Jolly Roger

"I'll give you one more time We'll give you one more fight Said one more line Be a riot, cause I know you"

The view was blur. He could feel all the lights hurting his eyes. All the candles. But there was nobody in the unknown room. Killian was all by himself. His head was aching as if last night he had been drowning his feels on alcohol. But there was no memory of last night. Actually there was no memory of anything. Just a face.

A body moving somewhere in the darkness. Way behind the candles that were overshadowing his light blue eyes. He took a step and his head pounded. He knelt with the pain. His hands looked for something he couldn't find on the floor.

He attempted to stand up. Failed, hitting his knees on the floor. He tried again. Killian took one, two, three steps. The headache was disappearing and he was finally able to open his eyes completely. 

The body he saw minutes ago. The blurred face on his mind. There was a shadow. And stairs. He blinked twice. His eyes haven't figured out it yet. But the familiar face was walking in his direction. A soft hand held his hand and a soft familiar voice whispered on his ear.

"So long, Killian."

That was too familiar. Still he didn't reply. Killian just stood looking at the figure that revealed in front of him. His lips were parted and his eyes wide open. She pulled him by his hand. Suddenly a calm song started playing on the background and the big room wasn't blurred anymore. 

Her right hand was on his shoulder and her other hand was still holding his hand. His left hand went to her waist.

"Lets dance one last time, Killian?"

That was too cruel. Someone was definitively trying to play with his feelings and he didn't know who or why. He wanted to speak but he didn't had the strength to. He wanted to hold her and run away but his body was too weak. Why was fate so cruel that after taking that woman from him brought her back for one last dance just when he was finally trying to get over it?

Was that real?

"You need to get over it, Killian." Her soft voice echoed all over the room. "You have to... let it go." They were dancing. Slowly dancing. Their bodies glued to each other and he couldn't stop looking at her. His face frowned and his tongue speechless. 

"You have to let it go." And with that she pushed him away, taking a step back. Another shadow appeared. Killian's breath got heavier and heavier. His knees hit the floor again. The laugh was so familiar. The feeling of vengeance was flowing trough his veins. His hands couldn't stop shaking. It was happening again.

The crocodile was taking Milah, holding her hand, pulling her with him. A door opened out of nowhere. The crocodile kept pulling her with him. 

He screamed her name. Or at least he wanted to. But he wasn't capable to speak. Like if his mouth was sealed. Sealed forever. One minute and he hit his head on the floor. He was alone again. He tried to scream. But nobody was there to hear his anger, his pain, to hear his body aching for mercy. Mercy on his broken heart that was shattering into pieces, falling on the floor with an awful sound.

The song in the background got heavier. And suddenly the room got full of unknown people with unknown faces. Ugly masks and ugly dresses. Lovely couples just dancing around. And Killian in the middle laying on the floor still trying to scream his feelings out.

Such a cruel feeling love was. Repeating itself all over again. Let it go. Get over it. Over. It's over. 

And then there was sweat all over his naked torso. "Milah. Milah." He called. Killian was finally able to scream and shout. His screams echoed all over the Jolly Roger. His hands covered his face. After all it was just a nightmare. A sweet, cruel nightmare. And there was Killian laying on his bed with his leather pants on and the vague memory of Milah on his mind.

[he-who-wants-a-castle]

Dancing Mothers In Dreams - Prompt #6

Time: May 3rd, 5:26 am

Location: The smallest apartment in a generic apartment building.

And what do you think you'd understand?  I'm a boy, no, I'm a man  You can't take me and throw me away 

A man stumbled into the smallest room in the building. He took a deep breath and sat down onthe edge of his simple single bed. Eugene never liked that place. It felt, and was, empty and not personal at all. Like a small motel room, except it had belonged to him for several years. He removed his clothing and laid down without much thought, other than the frustrating rage that had built up in result of a day gone wrong.

Then he wasn't there. Eugene wasn't a man in the smallest room of the cheapest street in town. He was on his own, in a blank, no, a pitch black room. It wasn't really even a room. It was probably a place that had to feel familiar to the boy, but it had long since faded from memory, anyway.

And so had the woman. She was standing in front of him, and felt as if she was made of light. She didn't have a face, or any features whatsoever, but she didn't feel incomplete. Eugene was blinded by whatever came from her, because he just couldn't notice, or he had forgotten. Truth is, she never had a face for him anyway. But for some reason, he didn't care at that moment.

The one that stood in front of him extended her hand. It was a light movement, as if she did that every day. Out of instinct, Eugene took it. He wasn't sure about why, or if he even wanted to, but he did. The two began to dance to gorgeous music that couldn't really be heard.

For the first time in ages, Flynn was Eugene and not Flynn. He was a kid and danced with his Mother. He didn't know her but he didn't care, because they were dancing and being together.

Except they weren't. Because Eugene didn't want to dance with her in truth, and only did it because of that strange instinctive motive. He wasn't happy with this person. He wanted to talk and yell at her, and tell ehr what she did to him. But truth is, Flynn wasn't Flynn at that moment, and he was just a kid. So he could just keep dancing. Little Eugene was afraid of the truth, the woman whispered. Or maybe Flynn did, inside Eugene's head. 

The dance finished and Eugene realized he wasn't truly a boy. He let go of the woman's hand, who wasn't really a woman but just a hint of light, or maybe darkness, that Eugene didn't really care about. But that was because Eugene wasn't Eugene. He was Flynn and he liked it, and no one could tell him otherwise. Mother wasn't more than a word and a dance in dreams and a song that didn't exist.

And he didn't care, because he'd wake up and go on with his life, and not even mind that little dance the rest of his life.

[whenthesmokeclears-rpg]

Writing Prompt - May 2014

Hello all, it’s time for the writing prompt of the month, at least one of your characters is required to do this. It’ll help with character development and getting to know how you play your character.

If your character could share one last dance with someone from their past. Who would it be and why?

You can interpret this prompt however you like! Write it in whatever manner you like.

Please Remember to Tag With:

wtscprompt

wtscprompt6

The Layout for prompts is:

Obviously the time and location are subjective to which prompt you’re writing. The lyrics are optional but I find them fun. And place the drabble under a read more so it doesn’t clog the dash or the tag with a long post.