#wtscdrabble
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Smoking
Time: Time Unknown
Location: Storybrooke, Maine
Prompt
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.
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That's What Brothers Do || Prompt
Time: Three years ago (according to Hanson's memory)
Location: Isles Household
Prompt
"You're wrong."
Those small words were enough to make his skin crawl, fingers tightening on the pen. He had to look up, because in all honesty twelve voices tend to meld in with one another. This one. This brother.. Ah, yes, know-it-all that takes great pleasure in his outstanding knowledge, and made sure to let everyone know. Was one of father's favourites. This one was one of the few to acknowledge Hanson's existence, but only because he could flaunt his knowledge. Like an overcompensating peacock, flashing his colours to exert dominance.
"I know," he replied coolly, looking back down at his work and flicking through the pages, "I'm trying to find it."
"You wont," his brother retorted, rounding him and watching him. Those eyes, ever condescending and judging. No wonder father loved him oh so much.
Hanson steadied his jaw, flicking through pages to ignore the praying eyes. There were others, half his brothers with noses stuck in their books praying to be graced with 'daddy's' graces. None of them paid mind. All would forget his name if asked, he was certain of it. Some he hadn't even spoken to past curt exchanges.
This one wasn't like the others. One of the eldest, therefore one of the three leaders. Like a shark. Certainly his father's son.
"Why are you here?" Hanson asked, flipping through once more. The words were blending together, a flash of black on white. Sleep deprived and exhausted, he'd worked days on this paper. He'd moved out years ago. This one.. what was his name? He never cared to know.
Why should he?
They never did.
"I'm here to see dad," he replied offhandedly, irking Hanson further. 'Dad'. Like they had some family bond.
"He's not here," he replied sharply, closing his paper. "Clearly," the last was hissed under his breath, hand running through his hair in exhaustion.
"What was that?" It was challenging, predator eyes on him.
"Nothing," Hanson replied simply, standing to his feet taking the paper with him. "It was nothing."
His brother watched him for a moment, those judging eyes.. Always watching. Waiting for a slip.
Hanson wouldn't challenge. The consequences weren't worth the glory. Hanson walked on, and his brother wouldn't give chase. Hanson wasn't worth it, after all. The youngest. Worthless. Digging his claws in to cling to the slightest shred of dignity thrown his way.
Walking on, another brother barged into him, Hanson stumbling to the side and glaring after them. They didn't look back. Didn't acknowledge.
Hanson moved on, brothers brushing past him in their haste of study, not even sparing him a glance. Only another obstacle in the way. It was suffocating, the sheer amount of people in this study, all eager to try and please their father while stepping over one another, stabbing each other in the back to gain some ground.
Escaping the study, cool air calmed him, eyes on the ceiling. He'd be out of this Godforsaken house one day. Someday..
The doors opened, crashing into Hanson's side. Snapping, he hissed, "Watch it!" His brother only passed him. Didn't acknowledge. Didn't see him. They never did.
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Love is Sacrifice || Prompt #3
Time: 1994, 19 years ago
Location: Storybrooke, The Rabbit Hole
Love is war.
It's the need to dominate and possess. To feel the other tremble beneath you, wonder and fear flashing in their eyes as you stand over them. As you break them. Bring out an inner beast. Love is a fight.
It was the first lesson she learned from Saxon. She loved him. The way he stood tall. The conniving glint in his eyes. They way he could be tender and gentle, then bold and brash the next. He was unpredictable, and Zyra learnt to crave it. To be in his presence, it was a true adrenaline rush. He was cruel.
Oh so cruel.
Oh so perfect.
A quick snip, and the camera's died out.
It was war. It was pain. It was death. That was love, what she'd do for him. She adored him to such an extent, she'd help him kill. It was the ultimate test. Zyra could hear them, Saxon. Her Saxon. The brilliant tyrant who deserved it all. And his brother. She'd help him kill, if only to prove herself. Once the voices died out, Zyra continued her way out. There would be no witnesses. No evidence. Nothing, but her sacrifice for Saxon's career. For his rightful place.
It had worked. Murdock was dead, and Zyra was pregnant with the new heir.
A son.
But not to standard. He wasn't right. He wasn't... perfect. He wasn't what Saxon desired.
She saw it in his eye the day he met Nigel. The disappointment. She failed.
Another came, and another failure. Victoria.. she wasn't enough. She wasn't male.
They tried.
And tried.
And something wasn't quiet right.
Love is a power struggle. Glasses thrown across rooms as biting words scarred the other. Teeth and nails. Fists and bruises. And still, she loved him. Because the fighting brought out something she tried to hide away. A beast, hungry for pain. To scar. To kill. It was satisfying, and it always ended the same. A bite turned into a kiss. Scratches turned to red markings down his back.
And still.. it didn't work.
She didn't fall this time.
No matter how many fights she weathered. How many bites she left on his throat. She never bore him another child. Sooner or later, he'd move on. She was replaceable. But he wasn't. She loved him. She loved him..
As the storm whipped, Zyra ducked into a pub, retreating to the heat. It was quiet, and barely a sole in sight. But someone took pity on her, a glass of beer set in front of her. When she inquired about it, the bartender pointed her in the direction of a stranger. He was.. handsome. There were similarities between him and Saxon. He wasn't the same, he didn't have the presence of Saxon. He wasn't intimidating. He wasn't brash. He wasn't.. desirable. He didn't make her blood run cold and boil it all in one. He wasn't Saxon.
But maybe.. maybe he'd do.
Love is sacrifice.
It's putting the needs of one over the other.
It's killing when the other needed.
It's following orders when the other commanded.
It's baring a child, when the other needed an heir.
Taking the drink, she slid in the chair across the man, offering a sultry smile. "Hello."
She's sacrifice everything for him.
Because that was love.
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My End Of The Bargain || Drabble || Jefferson & Hanson
Who: Jefferson Hightopp, Hanson Isles
Where: Storybrooke, Maine, Sidestreets
When: 17th January, 21:00
Info: As both Jefferson and Hanson are played by the same mun, the thread will be done as a drabble, instead of some strange solo roleplaying... man, that would be weird. Would that count as Godmodding? Anyway, Hanson proposed to Anna, and Jefferson has a plan to break their happy little romance for Elisa in exchange for his little Gold problem.
Hanson Isles had been on his way home, a ring hanging heavily in his pocket. He was feeling pretty well of himself. Anna had accepted his proposal, and Elisa would more than likely cut her off. Hanson didn't believe it would stick. She was paranoid someone would use Anna for her money. Well... she wasn't wrong, but that was beside the point. Hanson had planned it out. He'd stay with Anna, money or no money. Elisa would see she was wrong when Hanson didn't run away. She'd give Anna back the money, if only to repair their relationship. He had no doubt.
In his stride, Hanson noticed a rather confused looking man. Jefferson Hightopp stood in the middle of the paths, his phone open to a map. He stared at it for a moment, scratching his head in confusion. He'd look up, and take a step in one direction, before changing his mind and looking the other, then down to his phone.
Raising a brow at the man, Hanson decided to offer his assistance. "Are you alright?"
Jefferson turned, startled, as if he hadn't known exactly where Hanson was heading, or that he'd be in his way. He gave an embarrassed laugh, looking down at his phone again, before to the prince. "Phones. What can you do? Actually," pocketing the phone, Jefferson walked up to the man, "I'm looking for the tavern. You wouldn't happen to know which way it is, would you?"
Ever the gentleman, Hanson was happy to help. "Of course. I can take you, if you like?"
"Well I wouldn't want to impose."
"You're not. Don't worry." Smiling to the lost man, Hanson slung an arm around the man. Jefferson didn't pull away, instead smiled to the man and fell in step. "I didn't catch your name."
"No, you didn't."
Hanson looked at the man puzzled, but brushed it off. He lead the other, the walk was relatively short. It didn't take long to lead Jefferson to his destination. He stopped short, gesturing, "Here you are." Letting the man go, he gave a parting nod. "I'll see you around then."
Jefferson watched him walk off for a moment, smirking to himself. "Why don't I buy you a drink?" Hanson stopped, looking back to the man, "It's the least I could do. I feel like celebrating."
Hanson paused. He really shouldn't. But then again... he had something to celebrate too. "Why not?" Walking back to the man, they shared a pleasant smile, before heading in together.
Hanson parted to find them a table, while Jefferson ordered a beer and apple juice. Jefferson couldn't be anything less than clear of mind, but it passed for beer by appearance. It would be enough not to rouse suspicion. Taking the drinks, he headed to the chairs Hanson had chosen. "Cheers," Jefferson offered Hanson his drink, which he accepted easily.
"So tell me," Hanson started as Jefferson took a seat in front of him, "What are you celebrating?"
Jefferson laughed, looking down grinning, "You would hate me if you knew."
Hanson's brow rose, watching him with renewed interest. "Try me."
Looking up, he glanced away for a moment, before back to Hanson. Slowly, she smiled, looking down again. "It's stupid, really. I'm.. a lawyer."
Hanson's eyes widened, sitting back as he crossed his arms. "Really?"
"Yeah, I know, the scumbags of the Earth. And I'm particularly hated." When Jefferson didn't get a reply, he took it as a signal to continue, "I deal with divorces. Spliting the money equally between parties. Unequally.. sometimes. The shares. Everything that was owned. It's.. kinda messy. But, I won my case, so," he gestured with his arms around them, "celebrating."
"Really?" Hanson asked, the clogs in his mind ticking. The Isles had their own lawyers, sure, but none that specialised in divorce. If he could convince Elisa to give Anna back her share, manage to get Elisa out of the way, and divorce her.. Well, he would no longer have to play Anna's little prince and still have his money. "What a coincidence."
Jefferson paused, his smile dropping a little, before tilting his head, "What is?"
Hanson watched Jefferson for a moment, studying him. But Jefferson knew his kind. Though Jefferson's intent was far more honourable than Prince Hans', Jefferson knew a smart man who could trust no one. After all, he was the same. In a way, at least. But he wouldn't be as soulless as to stoop to his level for something so pathetic as money. Jefferson knew what signs to look out for, to know who was trustworthy and who was not. And he knew how to avoid the signs.
Jefferson appeared innocent, completely unbiased, and it was enough to fool Hanson at least a little. Enough to trap him. Clicking the recorder in his pocket, he listened as Hanson spoke carefully.
"See.. I might be needing your services one day."
"Oh? Problem in your marriage?"
"No no! Nothing like that. See.. I'm engaged."
"Congratulations," Jefferson spoke in confusion, as if he couldn't see the connection.
"Well, it's just.. I don't know if I can trust her. I'm sitting on a fortune and I want to make sure she.."
"Doesn't take all the money?"
Hanson sat back, folding his arms, "Basically."
"Then why not sign a prenup?"
Hanson gave a breathless laugh, head hung down, "I don't want her to think I don't trust her. I wouldn't want to make a fuss out of nothing."
"How much are we talking?" Jefferson asked, looking the man dead in the eye.
Hanson looked back at him, pausing for a few second. "All of it."
Leaning back, Jefferson smiled to the man, "I think I can help." He held his glass out in front of him.
Hanson took his own, clinking them together, "Cheers."
"Cheers," Jefferson agreed, turning the little recorder off.
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Drabble: Then out came the baby photos…
Time: Thursday, Early Evening
Location: Mary Margaret's Apartment
Prompt: Then out came the baby photos...
Emma was exhausted as she trudged up the stairs to the apartment she now shared with Mary Margaret. No one could be more surprised by just how tired than she was. Who would have thought that being a Deputy in such a small town as Storybrooke would be so busy? Of course, it wasn’t the same as tracking a bail jumper across counties, or searching for some low-life in a seedy bar, but the more mundane issues of the townsfolk definitely held a certain appeal.
Unlocking the door she walked in to find Mary Margaret sitting at the kitchen table a cup of tea in her hands. A stack of school papers sat at her elbow while an open photo album rested in front of her.
“Hey.” Emma said as she took off her coat, and hung it on the back of the other kitchen chair, barely registering the album as she crossed into the kitchen to get herself a cup.
“There’s hot water in the kettle.” Mary Margaret said without looking up.
Emma had to grin at the way her life had changed so drastically since meeting Henry. Never in a million years would she have thought she would live with a school teacher, hell anyone really. Crossing back to the table she sat down across from her friend and then for the first time noticed with the other woman was looking at—it was her photo album—the only one she owned actually.
Irritation spiked through her at the invasion of privacy, but then she sighed as she realized the thing hadn’t really been hidden or anything. She had left it sitting out on her bed after sticking a few new photos in the back last night. One was actually of Mary Margaret and she on the day Emma moved in officially. Besides, it wasn’t like any of it was extremely personal—Emma wasn’t typically a sentimental person—but the few possessions she had managed to hang on to over the years were kind of important to her and this album was one of the oldest.
Emma had first made the album when she was seven years old and living with one of the few foster families she had truly cared for—an older couple with three grown children of their own had taken her and two other kids in for a little over a year. They lived in a large house with a few acres of land that was home to some chickens, two dogs, several cats and a few other small farm animals. Emma had loved going out to watch the dogs chase the chickens early in the morning, which would usually wake everyone else up with all the barking and squawking.
During the summer break they had encouraged the kids to create memory books as a way of chronicling their lives. They had gotten each one of them an album, stickers, and plenty of glue as well as a disposable camera each. Emma still remembered how fun it had been to tramp around the farm with the other two kids; taking random pictures of each other and the animals, playing games, and generally just being kids for once in their lives.
Just then Mary Margaret glanced up from the page she had been studying; it was one of the later pages and contained the few baby pictures Emma had scrounged up a few years back. As the other woman met her eyes she seemed to register exactly what she was doing and blushed, “Emma! I’m so sorry. I took some clothes from the dryer up to your room and saw the book and I was curious.” She closed it quickly, clearly embarrassed.
Emma grinned faintly, all irritation at the invasion of her privacy dissipated as she looked at the woman who had so easily managed to become her best friend. “Hey. It’s fine. If I didn’t want you to see it then I shouldn’t have left it on my bed; besides there isn’t much in it.” She shrugged and took a sip of her tea.
Mary Margaret frowned a little, and then she opened the book to the page she had just been studying. She stared at the page for a moment and Emma glanced over it as well, leaning forward so she could see the two small glossy photos of her baby self. “Is this you?” Mary Margaret finally asked.
Emma nodded, “Yeah.” She pointed at one of the pictures where she was wrapped in the same blanket that she knew now was folded at the foot of her bed. “That was, uh, from the day they found me.” She shrugged, “Like an intake picture, I guess.” Then she pointed at another one, the blanket was still in the picture, but her baby self was now crawling and there were blond curls just beginning to show. “That’s from my first foster home.”
Emma paused then realizing just how strange it was to be sharing this with someone. She had never shared these pictures with anyone—had never even thought she ever was. She was struck with how many things had changed since her 28th birthday—maybe wishes were real.
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My Kind Of Fun || Zyra Drabble
Where: Storybrooke, Maine. Mr. Gold's 'client's' house
When: 4:30pm, December 22nd, 2013
We live in a cold dark world with venom in it's fangs.
You can spit it in my face but I know I'll be okay
It's on the attack. It's a war, It's a game.
A ball and chain chew my arm off to get away
Don't fight, or it deny it, invite it cause when it ..
Feels like a kick in the teeth, I can take it.
Slipping the rubber band around the wad of cash, Zyra neatly wrote down the client's name, as to not mix it with the others she had collected. In one day, Zyra had handled more money that she'd probably see in a year. It felt empowering holding the money, though she was simply a middleman, and it would go straight to Mr. Gold. That didn't deter the satisfaction it brought.
So far, Zyra's little 'black list' had been.. accommodating. Some were sceptical at first, but Zyra could talk her way around it. They were starting to catch on. At first, they seemed relieved it was no longer Mr. Gold himself knocking on their doors. She had made a quick stop to that. When it was obvious she wasn't lenient, they seemed to hate her, and fear her, as they should have. Maybe they didn't fear her as much as Mr. Gold, but what fear he brought by sheer presence, Zyra was accomplishing through brutality. She didn't need to get too brutal, oh no. A wise person knew when to play under a charade. If she just went straight to 'brute' at first greet, well she'd be no better than the scum she hated. No, Zyra dug her claws in deep with threats that would cause shivers down their spines.
That didn't mean she couldn't deliver on her promises..
With still a few more to go, Zyra pulled up to her latest address. It looked.. up beat. Well cared for. Posh even. It was obvious from first glimpse that they were well off. So why were they behind on months of rent?
Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she got out of the car and walked up to the door. Putting on a pleasant facade, she smiled gently as she knocked on the door. There were footsteps, and a voice. They weren't speaking to her though. Maybe a telephone? Not that it mattered. The door opened, and as she had guessed a young man stood opposite her, a phone pressed to his ear.
"Good afternoon. I'm here to follow up on your ren-"
She couldn't finish, as a loud 'BANG' rattled the air in front of her when the door slammed in her face.
"Huh," she tilted her head, smile still in place. "Playing it that way, are we?"
Turning on her heel, Zyra went back to her car. Maybe today would be fun after all. Popping the trunk of the car, she pulled out a crowbar. Closing it, her smile had turned from that of friendliness to that of a twisted amusement. The bar hung heavily by her side as she crossed the yard, heading towards a window.
Rich people were so naive, and not to mention stupid. The first window Zyra found wasn't locked, and it slid open with ease. Creeping in, she heard the voice down the other end of the house. With confidence and grace, she explored the house until she found the entertainment area. At the front of the room was a widescreen tv. The kind that were outrageous and far too over sized. She gave a low whistle in 'appreciation', her crowbar hooking around the chord and pulling it out of the socket.
She collapsed onto the coach, slung over it as if it were her own. From there, she just waited. It took about five minutes, but eventually there was the sounds of a telephone hanging up, and foot steps heading her way. He didn't see her, walking straight past her. Grabbing the remote, he clicked it 'on', pausing in confusion when it didn't turn on. She watched in amusement as he continued to press it, as if pressing it harder would fix the problem.
She chuckled, which caught his attention. "What the fuck!?"
Zyra pressed her forefinger to her lips, hushing him. "There are ladies present."
He went straight for the phone, and so did Zyra. Standing to her feet, Zyra swung the bar, a sweet thud as the phone scattered across the room. "What the hell!? That was my phone you freak!"
Zyra ignored him, waltzing up to the television, "What a lovely television. It must have cost you dearly." Looking over her shoulder, she could see the utter shock on his face. "As I was saying before I was.. rudely interrupted, I'm here for your rent."
"On Christmas week!?"
"Oh, please, a child hasn't seen a glimpse of this house. Not a single smudge or stain. Who do you have to buy for?"
"I don't have your money, you psycho bitch!"
Clucking her tongue, she turned her attention back to the television. "Pity." Using the butt end of the bar, she pushed it off it's cabinet, a thunderous crash echoing through the house. He screamed as the glass shattered, and Zyra shuttered at the delightful sound. She purred, a delightful smile on her face. "About your rent-"
Suddenly he was swinging at her, and she didn't try to dodge. She took the blunt of the hit, the pain only set her off. And God did she love it.
Swinging her arm, her elbow made contact with his face, a glorious crack vibrating through her bones. His nose was broken, that was for sure. He fell, a heap stunned on the ground. Setting a foot on his chest, she pressed the crowbar to his throat. She could taste blood. And by the looks of him, he certainly could too. Small droplet of their blood were scattered around him, and Zyra couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, there's the stains."
He tried to get up, and she dug her heel into his chest. "I will not hesitate to use you as golf practice! I've been told my swing is a little off."
Swinging the bar back, he called out, "I don't have it!"
Swinging it forward, she purposely missed him, instead it crashed into a small table beside them, the pictures and knick-knacks shattering as they were thrown across the room. "Missed," she hissed, still smiling down at him. "Again, shall we?"
Readying it again, he threw his hands up, "Alright! Please! I-I'll get it for you! Please!"
Disappointed, her smile fell to a sneer, "Good boy."
Taking her foot off him, he staggered to his feet, hand on his nose. "You broke it, you bitch!"
Swigging her fist, it came in contact with his stomach, as he toppled onto his knees. "The. Money." She hissed through clenched teeth.
This time he ran, and Zyra calmly followed behind, though she was thirsty for pain at this point. Leaning against a door frame, she watched as he found a safe. Looking at her, he hissed, "do you mind?"
"No, I don't." She replied deadpan, not taking her eyes off him. When it was obvious she wasn't going to look away, he reluctantly put in the code, opening it for her. Shaking whilest sorting through the money, he finally handed it to her, though kept as much distance as he could.
Taking it, she looked down bored, counting it herself. Satisfied, she snapped a rubber band around it and pocketed it. "Lovely. Now, next months rent will be paid on time. Unless you'd like to see more of me," she smiled sweetly to him, and he shuttered. "Lets make a few things clear here. Mr. Gold comes first. Before your precious Christmas. Before your little phone. And before your new television. If I find out you have another and go one day late with Mr. Gold, well, television two will take a stage dive just like your other."
Turning, Zyra headed towards the front door this time. "Oh, and one more thing." She inched him forward as she stood on the other side of the door. Reluctantly, he came close, "don't close the door on a lady." Reaching forward, she grabbed the door knob, slamming the door against his head. He staggered back, gasping his head. "Good day."
Turning, Zyra made her way back to the car. As she got in, the took out the money, writing his name on the slip of paper and sticking it under the band. She pulled down the mirror, noticing visible blood down her chin from where he had hit. Spitting the blood out the window, she rubbed her chin in satisfaction. Now that was what she called fun. Grinning a blood red smile, Zyra took off. She'd have to make a pit-stop home to clean up, but she'd have to say this job was turning out more fun than first expected.
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