checkingout | reap what you sow

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reap what you sow

Who: Regina and you
Where: Anywhere; her room, the lobby, the hallway
When: March 14-28th
What: Regina has a literal shit ton of ghosts.

Her room, March 14th-16th

She doesn't know if she ever expected the odd haunting to stay confined to that of a little girl. Regina supposes other shoes dropped all the time, and the girl ghost, or mass hallucination, or whatever she was, truly had been just the tip of the iceberg. The next time Regina wakes, she reaches for the glass of water on her nightstand and sees his face, just a glimpse in the glass, and it's enough to make her shout in alarm, sitting straight up in bed. Reaching for the light, she flips it on and there's no one. But she'd been so sure, just as she'd been positive in her car in Storybrooke, staring out into the rain and seeing him reflected in lightening.

Daniel.

Her last memory of him, of them together, had his hand around her throat and her being forced to kill him. She'd killed him, after getting him back, after having him there again. It wasn't him, it wasn't her Daniel, and she's trying to shake it off, to clear her mind and slow the racing of her heart. But before she can sleep again she sees him once more, this time in the corner of the room, there and gone. She doesn't sleep. In fact, for a solid twenty-four hours, she doesn't close her eyes until she has to, her body too exhausted. Her dreams are filled with Daniel, imagining she was the one to take his heart, or hearing him tell her that even if he were back, she'd been too evil, had committed too many crimes. He tells her things that would never fall from his lips, she hopes. When she wakes again he's there, a quick reflection in her mirror, and she yells at him to go, throws a glass which shatters against the wall and he disappears. He isn't hers. She stays in her room, but when he doesn't come back she finally dresses, just in a pant suit (no gowns), to go downstairs and eat.

Hallway/Lobby, 17-23rd

She can't tell one peasant from the other. She doesn't even know that they're from her world until she keeps seeing them. Farmers and millers, standing in corners and staring at her, watching her until she looks back for too long and they disappear. It takes time for her to realize what's happening, for her to understand. Four or five of them appear together, just looking at her, staring. She begins seeing them in clusters, as she rounds corners and stops short, gasping. She tries to get away, to block them out, but they're always there, more and more of them. The villages she'd burned to the ground, the people she'd killed as the Evil Queen. So many of them that were they solid they could get their revenge. As it is, she thinks she's losing her mind. She refuses to be confined to her room, refuses to let this make her cower, but she finds that sitting with her eyes closed helps. They may be there, but she can't see them. And so she sits in the lobby, eyes closed tightly as she tries to push it away, tries to stop thinking.

Lobby, 24-last day of event

Her mother is the first to speak to her. Not a complete sentence, and certainly nothing loving. It's a sneer. You. Regina's heart bottoms out and she stands, frozen in place in the lobby of the hotel. She is not a woman who has ever appeared frightened willingly in front of others, but she looks terrified now. Even dead, even a ghost, the knowledge of everything her mother has done and what she's capable of is enough to propel Regina into panic.

"You're dead, mother!" Because she'd put the cursed heart back into her chest, and Cora sneers, lunging forward and then disappearing. Regina's eyes close tightly, and when she opens them, the one person who always comforted her after Cora's wrath is there, bleeding from the knife wound she'd inflicted.

"...Daddy?" Her voice is soft, broken, a tear tracking down her face. But there's no smile of reassurance, he's stoic, and Regina lets out a choked sob, turning and making her way blindly through the lobby, yelling at someone to get out of her way; if she had magic, she would have flung them to the side to aid in her trying to escape. And then she's stumbling back, eyes wide as ghosts appear around her, led by her mother, by her father, surrounding her and closing in. No one can see the horror she's inflicted outside of Regina, but she backs into a corner, not sure what's real and what isn't, sure that the day she has to pay for everything has finally arrived. Sinking down, she presses her face in her hands and closes her eyes, just wanting it to be over.

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He's startled out of his own revere by a woman screaming at him to get out of her way - thrown to the side by the motion. Christian holds no terror for him, not anymore, not after discovering that Skye was here and whatever the circumstances she could very well kill him again and everyone in the hotel and...and...

He keeps turning corners to find John there, covered in blood, maniacal after achieving everything he'd ever wanted. The only father he'd ever really known.

Any distraction.

Please god any distraction from the notion that his life was just one long parade of poor decisions and ghosts. The woman's a good enough distraction. He'll follow her, eyes hollow and staggering looking half like a ghost himself hovering just there, not moving forward.

"They're not real."

John and Christian would differ in that assumption. They are very real but ward's voice is hard and cold.

"Just keep telling yourself that. They're not real."

There was nothing worse then the well. Nothing worse then that vein of anger running through you that meant you did not give in to emotion, did not give into weakness. You survived no matter what.

Regina hates this, hates that she seems weak, looks weak, looks like the scared shell of herself that ran from Cora or gave into her. She looks at the man in front of her, has no idea who he is, but she chooses to focus on his words. At least for now.

"There are too many. I..." Her eyes dart over his shoulder, and there's Graham, silent and pale, and she remembers crushing his heart to dust, eyes slamming shut again. And she's angry, not just terrified, so she yells through the constant whispering.

"What in the hell is this?"

"I don't know." He kneels. Reach out? touch? No, screw that she'd stab him in the chest or kill him, "But if you tell yourself they're not real, if you really truly believe it then it...it'll give you something to do."

It doesn't help.

"Nothing helps."

Wait, that's not right, "They can't hurt you. Sometimes...sometimes survival's all we have."

Nothing helps. Fantastic, thanks.

But she looks at him anyway, looks at his eyes. And he's right about one thing, she realizes. None of the ghosts, or whatever the hell, had reached out to touch her. They couldn't. They tried, but disappeared. They couldn't touch her.

Regina's eyes didn't leave his, her voice shaking a little as she just looked at him.

"They aren't real."

Ward's focus might be a little scary to most - more then a little intent. He's haggard and drawn and his army - well it's nowhere near as big as hers but some would call it a lot more significant. Especially for others that are here.

What he does do is breathe deep and meet her gaze, "...The secret to conquering fear, is to decide to smile at your enemies because they can't hurt you, any worse then you can hurt yourself."

That first part was Garrett. You make yourself strong and they can't touch you. That second part, that's Grant Ward.

"...Keep saying that to yourself. I think it's this place."

Grant's focus isn no scarier than the Dark One's. Or Cora's, honestly. But she can see the wear on him, even if she can't see what's haunting him.

Smile at your enemies. These ghosts couldn't hurt her at all. Cora couldn't hurt her again. Never again.

"It's this place. It's this damned place."

Maybe they're all in hell. Maybe that's what this is. But then she remembers Emma is here, and no, this can't be hell because she's the savior.

"I'm going to get my magic back, and then I am going to burn a hole in the doors," she mutters through clenched teeth.

"I'll help you light the match." It's creepy, for a brief moment. Burn a hole through the doors it's something he'd do.

He's haggard and hanging and unsure of what to do now. Comfort?

He pulls a hand across his hair.

"Nothing we can do but try and fight against it I think." He looks up, "...Water. You want Water?"

Regina looks at him and nods a little. No match necessary, but whatever. She doesn't feel like explaining her magic to him right now.

"I want a drink. But I'm guessing there's none of that so, yes. Water, please," she replied.

"Perhaps..." she doesn't know him, not even a little, but maybe it's good that he found her. "It might be better for two people to stay together. It...helps. Somehow."

Ward hesitates, looking back at her and thinking solely of 33. I don't know what to do. There's a lingering sense of responsibility - wherever she is she has no one at all and this...

He offers her a hand, "...Perhaps. I mean temporarily."

Admitting weakness in a scenario like this is death, his features rigid for a moment, "...I think it'd be important."

Silence from him for a good five minutes, then, "...Grant Ward."

Regina takes another deep breath and nods, taking his hand for a moment. She doesn't know what else to do, but he's distracting enough, and with him close, it seems as if the ghosts stay back and keep their distance.

His silence gives her time to compose herself, pushing her hands through her hair. "Regina Mills," she responds after him. She would never, ever admit weakness in any situation, but she knows she'd been close to not being able to pull herself off of the ground.

It does seem to be enough for a moment, two people facing an army of ghosts. It's also enough to make him curious about the woman and want to know just what had her backed into a corner like that before he remembers -

He remembers that women can be terrifying too.

Lowering his gaze he frowns at his feet before looking back at her and fishing a half eaten snickers bar out of his pocket.

"Chocolate helps."

There's a pause, "that's what my grandmother used to say."

This is an alliance of convenience. Nothing more.

There's a half smirk on her lips as she takes the candy and stares at it for a moment before looking back up at him.

"My mother would say this fear makes me weak."

She never talks about Cora, and in fact, since her death only had to out of necessity. It's ironic that she'd been a ghost then too, hell bent on attacking her for some reason Regina hasn't figured out. Never good enough for the woman without a heart. It's all she can figure.

"...My father used to say the same thing."

Both fathers in the end. He can see Garrett laughing and he raises a hand to his face, "...It's a weakness. And the only way to fix it is to man the fuck up Grant."

He shakes his head.

"...Mothers though."

He twitches, "...I hated mine."

Edited 2015-03-17 06:12 (UTC)

"Your father and my mother would be quite the pair."

There's no love for Cora in her eyes, not right now. Regina has her moments, when she thinks of her mother in the split second she had her heart back and smiled at her. Smiled and gave Regina hope that was instantly crushed. But her ghost doesn't seem to have that heart. Neither time Regina's seen it.

"I tried to have mine killed." Cora's ghost is looking right at her over Grant's shoulder, and Regina's eyes flick up, then close for three seconds. It isn't real.

Ward's parents haven't put in an appearance. Just his brother. Tried to have yours killed?

"...I can understand that." Christian is smirking at him. He raises a hand, heedless of anything around him to brush him to the side, "Whatever the circumstances. family is hell."

The hotel truly get more and more like Neverland every day.

Seeing her face again, well, even with the ghost girl running around, seeing her wasn't a surprise. She would likely always haunt him. Seeing her was usually in nightmares, or dreams that turned into nightmares by the end. Seeing her in his actual life, well. . . that did happen when he didn't sleep properly. He tried to ignore it, the flash of her in his peripherals, the way she lingered just out of eyesight and the second he turned she was gone.

She wasn't there. He knew that. It just made him think about her, and while he'd never stopped, it'd been a very long time since it'd been so oppressive. Where she lingered on his thoughts like a sickness he couldn't escape. It was tempting to lose himself to it, but he couldn't afford that. Pushing down to breakfast was a distinct challenge, because he couldn't say he was remotely hungry, yet he had to give it a go (and steal a few bits for dinner, to boot).

He only has an orange when he spots the stiff spine of Regina Mills, and it's not like him to seek kinship in the queen but perhaps breakfast wouldn't be so bloody terrible. Just to shake him free of his thoughts. "A queen and a pirate eat breakfast. Sounds like the start of a joke." Don't ask him the punchline, he doesn't know. He frowns as he sits and actually catches her expression, but he isn't sure whether to ask.

Regina's jaw is clenched so tightly that her teeth hurt and she glances up at him, her breakfast actually untouched so far. But, she makes herself relax, finally picking up her cup of (actually terrible) coffee and taking a sip.

Eyes catching his, she has no witty retort for his comment, opening her mouth and then closing it again promptly. It takes her a moment, but she finally speaks. "The food here is terrible. I'd hardly call this breakfast." Her voice is tight, like she's talking forcefully, and she is a little, trying to make everything seem just fine.

All right, well. He was expecting a bit of ribbing, some kind of comment on his appearance or fondness for leather, and instead she just opens her mouth and closes it. That's . . . new? If only he'd realized he could so easily disarm her with not-humorous jokes!

Except he doesn't have to be a mind reader to know something is bothering her. He doesn't even need to know her terribly well when she makes it so obvious. "Suitable to me," he says about the breakfast, but pirates do tend to be easy to please. Fresh, not hardtack or overly salted? Could be worse. "Are you going to tell me what is bothering you or not? You're about five times as tense as usual, and I didn't realize such a thing was possible."

Admitting weakness isn't something she's keen on doing. But as she glances Daniel in a glass reflection, her eyes widen, jaw clenching.

Pushing at her food, Regina's silent for a long minute, debating on whether or not she wanted to be vulnerable in front of him, and whether or not he'd genuinely care. But a part of her is curious too, if she's the only one or if he'll have a similar story.

"I think the ghost girl is the least of our problems, now."

Hook and Regina aren't exactly keen confidants, but it's obvious that something is bothering her. And they all need to work together to find a way out of this place, and that means yes, he does care. He just isn't likely to be able to help, considering his luck at being helpful in the hotel.

He frowns at her wording, watching her with a slightly reluctant expression. He wished he could feign ignorance, yet the glimmer of a shadow makes it difficult.

"Stings a bit more when it's personal, doesn't it?" He doesn't need to say who he's seeing to relate.

Emma might not have as many ghosts chasing after her, but there's one in particular who gets her every time. A curtain shifts from the movement of her rushing past it, and for a moment she's sure she sees him. Graham isn't there; she knows he isn't, but for a fraction of a second and a passing glance, he appears to her the way he did on his last day.

Emma reaches for the string around her wrist as she moves faster, tugging on it while she tries to shut those thoughts away. No matter how many times she tells herself that he'd want her to remember him the way he was when he was alive, the hurt she felt when she held him in her arms never completely goes away. Things would have been different if he'd lived, better, and no matter how many times people remind her that he died of natural causes, a guy dying that young feels anything but natural to her.

She's so lost in her own head that she almost misses Regina as she stumbles into the lobby, trying to get away from the thoughts that haunt her and finally taking notice of the woman sitting there when she glances up to see if there's anyone in the room. Emma isn't sure if she's welcome in the seat beside Regina, but she claims it anyway, taking a deep breath as she notices that the woman beside her is struggling with something too. "Hey, whats wrong?"

At the sound of Emma's voice, Regina takes a deep, controlled breath and lets it out, opening her eyes. For now, everything is gone. There are no ghosts piling closer to her, so she looks at Emma, appraising her, trying to decide if she wants to let her in on what's happening. She assumes the last person she'd receive sympathy from (not that she wants it), is someone who once told her she'd never be anything but evil.

(They've gotten past that, maybe, but Regina isn't always convinced that when it's convenient, her past won't be brought up.)

"This place, that's what's wrong. I'm not a fan of its sense of humor."

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reap what you sow

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