[That was one hell of a rude awakening. Emma's been wandering the halls ever since she landed in her room, overdressed for this place and rightfully pissed off about it. These things just happen to her and her family, whether she's trying to protect Regina from a wraith or excusing herself after a first date. It proves what she said before; that's there's always something to keep her from being able to enjoy herself. She's the savior all day every day, and in the moments when she tries to be anything else, she always ends up paying for it.
So here she is, in the middle of nowhere, looking for a door out or something she can break through. She's also keeping her eyes open, expecting that if this happened to her, it had to happen to some of the others, too. It's never just one of them, although if whoever is behind this was looking for the savior, maybe it's just her. Maybe this is some kind of trap, because Emma doesn't know what to think of it. She's been in some crappy hotels in her time, but they never made her feel as on-edge as this hellhole.
She's already tense when she rounds the corner, heels muffled against worn carpet as she heads for the front desk. Being close enough to hear him doesn't exactly help in making her acknowledge his presence, because she's heard Neal's voice plenty of times since he died. It's never real, so it doesn't matter. It's just a reminder, Emma thinks, that he's not as far as he feels most of the time. The world's different now that he's no longer in it; now that him being out there somewhere involves a broader definition of the word than like places Tallahassee, or Canada. She's had enough time to understand that she'll never stop missing him, and that hearing his voice is just a part of having to live without him.
Which means he's not there, no matter how much she wants him to be.
And when the desk does come into view, and she stops dead in her tracks to stare at the man leaning against it, the first thing Emma has to tell herself is that it isn't real. ...It just feels like it is, and that's a feeling she can't seem to shake this time.]
front desk
So here she is, in the middle of nowhere, looking for a door out or something she can break through. She's also keeping her eyes open, expecting that if this happened to her, it had to happen to some of the others, too. It's never just one of them, although if whoever is behind this was looking for the savior, maybe it's just her. Maybe this is some kind of trap, because Emma doesn't know what to think of it. She's been in some crappy hotels in her time, but they never made her feel as on-edge as this hellhole.
She's already tense when she rounds the corner, heels muffled against worn carpet as she heads for the front desk. Being close enough to hear him doesn't exactly help in making her acknowledge his presence, because she's heard Neal's voice plenty of times since he died. It's never real, so it doesn't matter. It's just a reminder, Emma thinks, that he's not as far as he feels most of the time. The world's different now that he's no longer in it; now that him being out there somewhere involves a broader definition of the word than like places Tallahassee, or Canada. She's had enough time to understand that she'll never stop missing him, and that hearing his voice is just a part of having to live without him.
Which means he's not there, no matter how much she wants him to be.
And when the desk does come into view, and she stops dead in her tracks to stare at the man leaning against it, the first thing Emma has to tell herself is that it isn't real. ...It just feels like it is, and that's a feeling she can't seem to shake this time.]
Neal?