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muses

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permanent open rp post.

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[ the shell dies. the lie dies, the lie that said, you're an ordinary man, no more, no less and the core lived. the core, the heart, the truth, that's what wakes gasping for breath in the morgue, shuddering and shaking and clutching at his chest. i remember, he'd said, and it's still true. he still does. he remembers everything he was and everything he still is. he remembers the before and the after, the lies and the truth and emma.

there's a wolf waiting for him outside, when graham finally emerges in ill-fitting, borrrowed clothes. this doesn't surprise him. it's like seeing an old friend, one forgotten for too long. when it falls into step behind him, he doesn't question it. it's natural. it's right. it's what he should be, instead of what the strangeness of this world made him into. and maybe he should run and hide. maybe he should vanish into the woods and wait for things to set themselves to rights again, for emma's coming means they must go back to the way they should soon enough.

but he doesn't.

he goes to look for her. it's dark and he's better at staying unseen now, now that he's shed his former role. but she isn't at home, and she isn't at the diner, and so there's only one other place.

( unless she's gone, somewhere graham can't follow, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. )

she's at his desk, face buried in her arms and stands in the doorway and just looks for a moment, taking her in, taking the room in. and then he inhales a long, steadying breath before he drags up the words to speak. ]

The job's not as bad as all that.

[ emma's not a real big believer in anything. the world sucks and it rolls on. but henry, a child who hasn't even begun living, has taught her more life lessons than experience has. her past has hardened her to the point where she sometimes wonders if she's pinocchio in his book of tales, wishing for a better life that isn't so wooden and confining; but henry has softened her to the point where she thinks she's a real person.

hearing a voice with a touch of that irish accent she never thought would set her on fire is one of the many things emma does not believe in. the dead stay dead. when someone dies in your arms, heart completely still within their chest, they're long past saving.

the grip in her hair is tight as she really thinks she's gone insane. this entire town is insane. she's not a hero, or the coming of whatever is going to save this town from understanding how to fix broken clocks. it's hard for her to believe in something that only seems to steal the people she cares about away from her. for her, it's someone who isn't graham standing in her office, seeing what a poor excuse of a sheriff this town now has. ]

Yeah? Clearly you haven't met the Mayor - [ she decides to look up then, figuring she's hearing voices. she doesn't know graham as well as she wants to (because she never tried to) and sometimes she wonders what he'd say if he saw how corrupt this town really was. what would graham do? is a regular thing she asks herself.

and what would he do in this situation? apparently rise up from the dead and stand before her in his office. emma might as well be bambi; she impersonates the character well enough with her wide eyes and mouth open. she begins to shake her head, gripping the desk tightly. ]

You're - No. No. I'm seeing things. This town has officially driven me insane.

[ her knuckles are white. graham isn't sure why that's what he notices first, but he does. and emma isn't...no, like him isn't the term he's looking for, not really. she's not like them, the people trapped in this little town. in fairy tales, everything turns out alright in the end. in fairy tales, dead princes rise up to claim their princesses. and maybe he's not prince and but emma, emma's a princess, and she'd kissed him, right here in this office. ]

You're not crazy.

[ his voice is quiet, and he doesn't approach, just turns his hands up, palms out, as if to show he isn't a threat. it's how he'd approach a skittish animal, all soft, soothing tones and slow motions. ]

I don't know how, but I'm here. I'm still here.

This has to be a dream. [ emma's stubborn, even when it comes to henry trying to push ideas into her head. it's much easier being stubborn. by believing that the man before her is a part of some illusion. there are times where she so desperately wants to see him that she does so out of the corner of her eye.

emma stands up, though she wonders where she gets the strength to push out her chair and herself up. sitting down doesn't make them equal at all. and she figures any sudden movement on her part might snap her out of this.

emma doesn't like to be vulnerable, physically or even in secret, but it shows, clear as day on her face, that this is a slice through the heart that she can't quite hide from. losing graham was like losing a good portion of her hope for this town. she'd given herself the okay to open up and risk losing some part of herself for him to have him disappear the moment she allowed her own heart to start beating again. her eyes are red, but she ignores the fact that she's crying. ]

You died. Here. In my arms. There's no coming back from that.

[ then again, she forgets she lives in a town where the unbelievable is believable. it's a fairytale after all. ]

[ and graham, graham's shaking his head, but how can he prove otherwise? he's risen from the dead, and that's a hard thing to swallow even without the rest of it, with the tale of who he really is, what he really is, what she really is, all of it's a hard thing to unload upon someone who never believed in the first place. it would be too much all at once, and graham isn't sure how to deal with it, if its best to let it all alone, leave it for tomorrow.

he isn't even sure he'll have a tomorrow, when regina finds out that he's risen so effortlessly from the dead. ]

I did. But I did come back, Emma. Touch me, I'm here. I'm real.

[ or as real as a fairy tale could ever be.

he holds out his hands, offering them to her. flesh and bone and blood and the beat of pulse, it's all there for her inspection. ]

↠ free for all.

DEPRESSING TEXT WALLS ARE MY FAVORITE

UGH I AM JUST GOING TO GIVE YOU MY HEART FOR GIVING ME THIS.

REST ASSURED I WILL TAKE SUCH GOOD CARE OF IT.

;; YOU'RE TOO GOOD TO ME.

I TRY BABY I TRY.