knightsoflegend | CLOSED ♔ THIS AIN'T A FAIRYTALE

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CLOSED ♔ THIS AIN'T A FAIRYTALE

WHO || Emma Swan, some NPC bitches [closed]
WHAT || Where the fuck is Storybrooke.
WHERE || Not-Storybrooke, Middle of the Fucking Woods, Maine
WHEN || January 26th, 2013
HOW || However the fuck Arden wants

This is a story all about how the savior's life got flipped, turned upside down. And let's take a moment and just sit right here and hear about how she stumbled upon NOT FUCKING STORYBROOKE.

She'd come out of the Veil in Canada - Vancouver, to be exact. And not gracefully. She'd staggered out of the portal, compass in hand, and found herself in the middle of the city - a city she didn't remember.

A city she was fairly certain wasn't the Vancouver she'd left behind, either.

The Shadowkind references were hard to avoid, and as Emma navigated her way from bus stop to bus stop, and finally a rental car shop, it became exceedingly clear that something had changed - and she couldn't help but make the assumption that it had something to do with the fact that magic had been brought back to Storybrooke. Just who else had come back from other worlds?

It only made her more eager to get back to it and her family. Mary-Margaret was going through the portal with her, she should be there - and she should be rescuing David from his sleeping curse. But, when Emma pulled the car off the road at the part of the highway where the exit for Storybrooke was supposed to be, she found that there was no exit. She found that there was no sign for Storybrooke.

It was possible, of course, that they'd torn them down. That the magic had spread and that something had changed. She took to hoofing it, out into the woodlands of Maine, snow jacket belted tightly around her, rubber boots on over her jeans, and beanie pulled low to cover her ears. Each heavy exhale from the hike in the snowy, wooded area caused a puff of chilled air to be visible in front of her face.

Mostly, she was just hoping she'd be able to find the road.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Somehow they both scored nat 20 spot checks, and their eyes rivet to that badge.

"You're the sheriff?" Butch's tone is layered in chauvinistic disbelief that's easy to detect even with a crit failed sense motive. "Huh." Another piece of spittle goes sailing into the snow bank. "Surprised you haven't heard about this thing yet, then. Supposedly it ripped up a hiker something good. Didn't leave much left."

~~It's got fangs. Razor sharp ones.~~

"And that news made you boys decide it was time for a hike." It was no accident that her disbelief in their abilities rang about as clear as the chauvinism offered to her. Her eyebrows arched, lips pursed, and then she just allowed herself a placating smile and nodded. "You tracked it this way?" She glances down the way they appeared to be hiking.

"This isn't a hike, missy," Tom Selleck-chan argues immediately, ignoring her more relevant question. "The authorities won't do a damned thing, claim it's just a rumor. That there's no evidence to support hunting the thing down. We're taking things into our own hands."

His buddy at least seems to recognize that that's a stupid thing to say to a sheriff, most likely, and steps up to add: "We just don't want anyone to get hurt, that's all. There's some kind of Shadow beast lurkin' around, well, we're gonna defend our people." He nods in the direction she indicated. "Rumors of sightings say it's nearby."

It was a good thing his buddy hopped in to help out, because Emma was opening her mouth to ready a retort - and not a polite one, due to his classy use of missy to address a sheriff. But, she waited out his better explanation and opted to just nod, lips pursed with dissatisfaction all the same.

She'd figured a few things out between Vancouver and Maine. The most important was the terminology - 'shadow.' Shadowkind, shadow worlds, shadows all over the place, and she seemed to be getting what it meant: magical.

"Then, let's go."

Emma wasn't entirely signed on to kill this thing on sight like these guys seemed to hope - more, she wanted to see what it was and maybe what it wanted. But, if it was no different from the ogres she'd faced, hopefully they could do some quality damage and keep it from hassling the nearby towns. But, fairytale mindset told her that not every beast was just a beast.

She began to hike down in the direction indicated.

They marched along in silence for some time, a certain tension permeating the air that felt a lot like mistrust on the hunters' part, although whether it was suspicion of emma's actual authority or a fear that she might not be as willing to take the necessary measures as they were went undiscussed.

"Haven't seen a damn track since we got out here," Butch eventually complained, keeping an eye on the snow. "Ain't no way that thing wouldn't leave a mark."

A short distance off, a little cabin became visible just beyond a hill. Tom Selleck jerked his head that way. "Maybe we should see if they've noticed anything." Without waiting, he headed in that direction, stalking towards the cabin with a determined, unfriendly set to his jaw.

Outside the cabin, despite the snow, a young man with no winterwear - merely a leather jacket - leans, smoking a cigarette.

The cabin distracted Emma from the snide remark that she was building about their tracking skills, and instead she gave it her full attention. As it came into view, she changed course to beeline for it, hiking up the hill with solid determination.

"I don't think he'd still be sitting on his porch if a beast had come charging by looking for townspeople to eat." There was disbelief in her tone, like the appearance of this man was leading her to believe maybe there wasn't really a monster at all. She holstered her gun as she drew closer to the cabin. There was a speediness in her step, a hurry that had a pretty obvious intent of wanting to beat him there so that she could do the talking.

They either didn't notice or wanted to hang back to talk without her for a moment, because she beat them by a considerable margin as they leisurely approach behind, still scoping out the scene.

The guy with the cigarette finishes his drag and drops it into the snowbank, watching it extinguish in the cold, before turning to her.

"Evening."

((Spot check por favor!!))

Emma takes a moment to consider the man, sizing him up and scrutinizing him, as if examining for any signs of something other than safety by being near him, as well as the cabin he's hovering near (spot 27). She concludes it's okay to engage, and responds.

"Hey." Articulate as ever. She gives a brief cringe at that, but soldiers on. People are supposed to be what she's good at. "This your place?" She nods to the cabin.

It's interesting, indeed, that she concludes him 'safe to engage', considering that with her spot check, she's able to distinguish what looks remarkably like the edges of small, devilish looking horns buried in his nest of seventies hair. Not to mention the bulge in his jacket that betrays what definitely seems to be a weapon beneath. But his posture is nonthreatening, his eyes cautious but curious, and her appearance doesn't cause him to tense in any noticeable way.

"Yep," he says simply (bluff 29). "Sorry if you were looking to squat."

(Sense motive 18, she ain't got any idea he's lying.)

"Not exactly. You been out here a while?" She didn't wait for an answer, just glanced over her shoulder at the other boys that had tailed along and then back at this stranger. "Just trying to follow up on some reports about the area. Have you seen anything unusual? Out of the ordinary?"

He follows her gaze, and then affixes her with a probing look. "Just a bunch of people walking around with rifles in the off season."

There's a short, plastered smile that's full of annoyance with the local color. It drops quickly enough, and she gives a quick and dirty explanation.

"Just some people who live nearby. Heard some nasty news about something out here attacking people. Might be a good idea for you to keep inside until we find out if there's any weight to it."

"Seems a bit reactionary to me, if it's just rumors. Anyone actually seen a body yet? People gone missing? Photographs? What kind of something are we talking about here?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

She ignores the other questions, though she marks that he's asking them. It warrants a shifty look, but no more than that for now. But, she'll - at the very least - confirm that they don't know what it is.

"Afraid I can't help you, then. Haven't seen squat, personally. Wouldn't be surprised if somebody got worked up over nothing." A listen check of 14 or higher would catch a banging noise inside the cabin. He glances back that way, completely casual and unconcerned.

Well, since Emma's got a listen check of 25, she's glancing that way too. It's not casual or unconcerned. In fact, it's very concerned. Her brow furrows, and she turns her gaze back towards Max, scrutinizing him, all unspoken accusation.

"Haven't seen squat, huh?" She doesn't ask his permission, just steps up onto the deck of the house and moves for the front door. Emma Swan don't got time for your polite society.

Holy nat twenty reflex save, Batman. Despite his chill demeanor seconds ago, when she moves for the door, his arm abruptly lashes out and slams against it in front of her face, cigarette flying into a snowbank. His face is serious now, as he stares her down (intimidate check 34 - vs. her will save), eyes abruptly narrowed, voice hard.

"I haven't seen a warrant." There's something behind his gaze that was effectively trapped behind the blase demeanor moments before. Something inhuman, something inherently violent.

With her amazing will save of

20

she's going to let that intimidation get under her skin. It rattles her. She takes a step back, drawing her hand away from the door, but she's too damn stubborn to let it put her down entirely, and far too stubborn to show how deeply it gets to her.

"Noise like that, I don't need one. What the hell's going on in there?" Her hand goes to rest on the holster of her gun as discreetly as she can (hide 21), an instinctive defensive maneuver in the face of that look in his eyes.

"Babysitting my brother's kids," he says, tone harsh still, but only an edge more than that of someone having his privacy violated, rather than the disturbing countenance presented seconds ago. "They're probably knocking some stuff over. Last thing they need is to see some weapons and get freaked."

"No weapons." She moves her hand from her gun, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender. But, she doesn't back down. Instead, she steps closer to him. Emma watches him, eyes flickering from his face to the door. It's not hard to tell that he's lying (sense motive 24), but it is hard to figure out how to best persuade him. "There's something you should know about me. I'm pretty hard to lie to. Now, I don't know what's in that house, but I know it's not your brothers' kids, and I'd like for you to let me find out. I'm here to help." (diplomacy 22.)

His eyes search her face for a long moment, as he seems to weigh how much he believes her or not. He seems to come to some kind of resolution but shrugs in the direction of the two guys back down the hill.

"Yeah, maybe you are. But are they?"

She glanced behind her, over her shoulder at the two down the hill. Then, she looked back at the stranger in front of her.

"They're not coming with."

She didn't care to explain that she'd picked them up along the way and learned about it from them, but taken her own interest. Nor did she care to explain the ease with which she could cut them loose. Her family and the safety of the people in this area were both more important than sentiment or these guys getting some monster head to stuff and mount.

"You're talking to me, not them."

His lip pulled askew as he considered, but then he nodded, as if against his better judgment, wiping a hand against his mouth. "Fine," he said testily, but then pointed to her with a warning finger. "But just you." With that, he moved to the handle of the door, and started to pull, when one of the men shouted out: "Hey! Where you going?"

Emma's shoulder hunched as the men behind her shouted, and she ground her teeth, refusing to glance over at them. Irritation was clear for Max to see in her expression, and she wasn't thrilled with the notion of showing that to the source of the frustration.

"Police business," her shout was dismissive, and she nodded for them to continue into the house. Her voice lowered, and she agreed. "Just me."

After all, that was how it'd always been.

Max shot them another suspicious look, but then cranked the handle open and held it for Emma, gesturing for her to go on in.

"Yeah, alright," he said, obviously still on edge. Within, there were all the trappings of a small cabin living room: wood walls, an old musty rug, a crappy old TV on a bent up metal stand on wheels in one corner, open bags of chips on a musty sofa, and the smell of lingering smoke in the air.

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