ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ ɪs ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ.

[dreamcatcher]

WHO: Emma Swan and Mr. Gold
WHERE: Gold's Shop
WHEN: shortly after this conversation, so basically, backdated.
WHAT: Emma finally owns up to the fact she has the same curse and bites her tongue enough to ask for some help.
WARNINGS: none that i can think of right now.

Emma isn't sure that Rumpelstiltskin is the best person to get advice from. There's a voice in her head — a voice she misses a lot, by the way — that insists she'll do herself no favors by listening to the Crocodile. And even her pirate aside, Gold wasn't exactly a great example of what to do with a Dark One curse, considering she'd had to take it on because it would have killed him.

Still, someone that understands, someone that has some kind of guidance, even if it's more or less what not to do? It's better than nothing. And Emma is so entranced by the idea of sleeping again, she's a lost cause. All the rest of it would be easier if she could sleep again. So, true to her word, she slinks up to his shop not a minute after it opens; probably because she was lingering at a diner not too far away waiting for it to open. Not sleeping allows her plenty of time to waste, after all.

She's struck by the sensation of the shop when she walks into it, sort of like walking into a snuggie. It's not what she was expecting to feel upon walking into the shop, to say the least. She's been on edge all day. It only strikes her a little late that there's probably a reason for that, as the bell chimes above her head to signal her arrival. "Gold?" She calls, lifting her voice only a little. She's sure he's not far, after all.

Comments

[cantwalkwithoutit]

Each broom on display, each unique, colorful, some far too pretty to be used sweeping floors, had magic in them. To do magic with a specific purpose in mind was a very simple but powerful thing, a process that took concentration and cleared the mind. Home and hearth lay at the heart of what a broom symbolized, and that was what lay in each one -- and there were over a hundred completed brooms in the front room, excluding the ones on the worktables, each in various stages of assembly. The smell of lacquer and cinnamon filled the air, and Mr. Gold stood at one of the worktables, carefully weaving and braiding the bristles into one, which included not only strands of gold but also heather.

On the table next to him was the unassembled parts of what would become a cinnamon broom, as well as a simple basket.

The bell rang, and he glanced up only briefly to ascertain who it was. Recognizing her, he didn't feel the terrible need to let his eye follow her as she moved about or approached, not while there was still work to be done.

"Good evening, Miss Swan."

[dreamcatcher]

She'd never actually seen him at work, though theoretically she had to guess he was capable of spinning straw into gold. Seeing him work on a broom was a little odd. She was so used to him lingering in the Pawn Shop with no obvious work at hand... except, of course, when he'd been working with highly flammable lye to stage a fire at Town Hall to rig an election in her favor.

Emma grimaces at the memory, but pushes through the doorway to head in his direction.

"Something like that," Emma said in turn. Good was really pushing it, even if it was a turn of phrase. "Gotta say, I didn't expect these to be hand-made." He's capable of ridiculous amounts of magic; she'd know, since she is, too. Why put every single broom together himself when he could snap and have it done with? The impatience in her doesn't understand it.

[cantwalkwithoutit]

"I try to do all handcrafts from scratch," he admitted. "Whether it's making a basket, knitting a blanket, or cooking breakfast. There's a certain integrity in effort and attention to detail." Hence why, along with potentially magical items, the things in his pawn shop that he seemed to use the most care in displaying were the little objects -- things someone clearly took a lot of time making.

All the while his hands worked, moving at a steady pace, bindings and braiding falling into place in a smooth rhythm.

"But that's not why I wanted you to see this."

Gold used a quick little enchantment to keep the broom in place, so nothing would fall apart once he let it be for a while. The shift in atmosphere would have been difficult for even most wizards to detect. Coming around to the other unfinished pieces and supplies he'd laid out, he beckoned her closer.

[dreamcatcher]

Emma is a modern creature. She doesn't even make most of her dinners by perfect scratch, not when there's a cheat boxed method at her disposal. Why make something when you can buy it? It's a mindset she hasn't really considered before, though begrudgingly she is trying to keep an open mind. Anything that would make her curse easier was worth a try, and not just for her own sake.

She edged closer at his request, crossing her arms and trying to push down her discomfort. It wasn't really the fault of her company, this was just an uncomfortable subject for her. "You don't have me here to make brooms for you, do you? Because let me tell you, I don't think you'll get full price for mine."

[cantwalkwithoutit]

"Just watch what I'm doing and pay attention." Gold brought out another basket he'd been working on -- wicker, from twigs and branches he'd gathered, rather than wooden slats like one of the projects sitting in front of her. The process itself was simple, weaving the pieces between the prongs to form its round, completed shape, was almost dancerly, rhythmic in its own way.

He didn't need her to become a master craftsman in a day, though having Dark One magic in you did help you acclimate to things a lot faster than normal. He just needed her to see how and why it worked.

"There's a story from American Literature -- I don't know if it still exists in this universe, but my cursed memories contain a good deal of nonsense coming with several university degrees. Anyway. 'The Big Two-Hearted River.' Describes a soldier returning from war and how numb it has left him."

As he spoke, gentle, steady, his hands seemed to follow the tempo of his conversation.

"He has trouble relating to the people around him, even to himself, feeling. Much of the story focuses on the simple tasks he completes as he sets up camp, because that is an easy way to distract oneself from intrusive thinking, from unhappy impulses, the like. His mind is focused on each little process, and the narration we read is actually what is running through his head -- each little step, because that is all his damaged mind can focus on without hurting. Controlling magic, undistracting yourself, is much the same way. Your hands work, and you have something simple to focus on, something soothing -- like listening to the waves on a beach, or rain on a metal roof. That thought that's lodged itself in your mind and won't go away is left hanging, left in your hands, and as your hands keep working, you see -- it finds somewhere else to go..."

Without any climatic shimmer, as though reality beyond magic just allowed it, the branches and pieces he was handling began to turn from wood to gold, the metal's gleaming spreading to each part of it like a blush.

[dreamcatcher]

Emma sighed, hedging forward enough to lean on the counter and give him the best of her attention, with elbows poised on the counter. It was always uncanny to hear about the curse, the idea that for twenty-eight years people had lived completely different lives. That the cursed identity of Gold had multiple degrees didn't surprise her, he'd always seemed to have his fingers in too many pots. Figured he had plenty of cursed education to back it up.

The savior frowns, trying to keep any other expression from reaching her face. She'd never read the book he'd spoken of, though that didn't mean it didn't exist here or anywhere else. She doesn't want to admit how much his words make sense, though shouldn't she? If anyone could possibly understand what Emma is going through right about now, it's the man that's carried it for centuries.

It forces her to let her hackles down. Try to accept that he just might be trying to help her, even if she's not used to anyone trying to. When she sees the familiar sheen of gold and feels the familiar pull of magic, her green eyes widen. "That's how you do it?" The idea of giving her poisonous thoughts another place to go was entirely too tempting, whether she was granted the midas touch for the effort or not. she gingerly reaches out to touch the braiding, head tilted and expression curious. "How long did it take you, to learn to do it?"

[cantwalkwithoutit]

"It's one way to do it. Another is to focus on a single thought or desire or feeling directly, but that doesn't necessarily put it out of you, and this is easier."

Before them, the basket he was making was simply a basket, albeit a golden one. The other ways were great for instilling a certain type of magic in an object -- like he did with the brooms. There were once baubles and bits of currency floating around the remains of Cora's domain filled with her feelings of ambition and avarice, and he -- well, he stopped giving his pain away as payment when he started hiring Jefferson.

"Since I was a little boy I've always sat at the spinning wheel to calm my nerves. The first time I lost B--" His eyes unfocused for a moment. "After the first time, I think that was when I started to do it to focus my magic away. My use of it was very erratic and unchecked before then. And it's been my way of soothing myself until -- " He took his hands off the wicker. " -- Well, until Zelena made that nearly impossible."

[dreamcatcher]

Emma had only known him as Neal, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know what that stumble would have been. Baelfire. She's still not recovered enough from the loss to keep the slight wince from her expression. She knows the feeling, needing to have something but loss and unhappiness to focus on. Honestly, she's never thought about putting it into making something, though she's often diverted her energy into working too hard or pushing herself too far.

"So you don't spin anymore?" After being held hostage by Zelena, Emma can't say she blames him. He's clearly found something else that works for him, though, and while Emma isn't sure basket weaving will work for her, that doesn't mean she can't find something. "I guess it's worth a try. I've never... done anything like this before." She's not creative, she doesn't work much with her hands; it'll be a change for her, but likely a good one, especially if it can help her focus her thoughts.

[cantwalkwithoutit]

"Only when I need to." Because the thread was still easier to move and sell than this. "It just doesn't relax me."

Her hesitation -- it touched very old memories and reminded him of Milah when he first knew her. While he as a young man had every multitude of anxieties and feelings of inadequacy, she asked him to teach her to sew -- in retrospect, perhaps it was to build his confidence. It was something she said she'd never been any good at. He was patient, even with mistakes -- in his eyes, she could do anything, and it was so unusual to see her at a loss in any sense. It made him feel needed, and she was so happy when she started to catch on.

"It might be worth looking into something that you can do with your hands without thinking about it. A lot of people knit or crochet, play cat's cradle. Anything repetitive or simple once you know how."

[dreamcatcher]

It was not something she'd have chosen to do under ideal circumstances, likely. Emma Swan wasn't a patient soul, crafting would not have been the first hobby to occur to her. Still, anything that could help with the infernal press of magic, the endless awareness that was getting to her more than any of the rest... if a bit of cross stitch would help, then she'd do it.

Begrudgingly, maybe, but she'd do it.

"I'll give it a try. See if it helps." She was uncomfortable and uncertain, yet there was nothing like giving Emma something to be determined about. "Is there anything else? Any advice for dealing with... all of this?" She should have asked him a long time ago, and even Emma knew that. All the excuses as to why she'd kept silent turned to ash in her mouth now that she reflected on them.

[cantwalkwithoutit]

"Think of Henry."

It was blunt, but it was the most honest answer he could give her.

"The Blue Fairy may have been a micromanaging little hypocrite, but she was right about one thing. If you want to survive, you have to keep a light burning."

He didn't think Zoso had one. That man was ready for oblivion well before those soldiers got hold of the dagger, but knowing now the terror that such a thing held, he didn't fault him for deciding thatwas the last straw.

"If you keep something in front of you, you keep yourself."

[dreamcatcher]

"That one is easier than turning into Holly Hobby overnight." They've gone long enough without her self-deprecating humor, clearly it had to make a resurgence before the visit was over. Thinking of Henry is as easy as breathing. And she thinks of more than just her son, she's got parents and a boyfriend she loves, no matter how much those three connections come with complications.

She breathes out, and manages to look him in the eye. "I'll give it a try. I suppose you'll know if it didn't work and the city turns into a smoking crater, or something." Or she'll come back and ask for more advice, but that's harder to say out loud.