InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "The cake is a lie!"

ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs,
@ 2016-01-15 07:54:00

Entry tags:

!complete, killian jones (captain hook), regina mills (evil queen)

Who: Hooker Queen ~~Hooker is not a typo~~
What: Killian's gone to New York for work, and Regina came with him to take care of some business too - which includes paying a visit to her mother the Queen of Hearts
When: Thursdayish
Where: Cora's house, NYC
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low - threats, Killian has sticky fingers, Cora gets her heart ripped out (literally)
Status: Complete

Nerves weren’t really Regina’s thing. Well, correction: anxious nerves weren’t really Regina’s thing. This reigning queen of evil (because the three stooges in cheap costumes all together couldn’t even match up to her reputation) had plenty of nerve to do plenty of things to strike someone else’s nerve - and quite proudly too - but Cora was a different beast.

Cora would always be a different beast. Didn’t matter which world she was in, but she could appreciate this version of the Queen of Hearts who didn’t stick around to unintentionally ruin her life all while delusionally convinced she was ‘saving her.’ Regina was also content appreciating the indirect favor her mother had done for her at a distance; a distance that spanned the entire goddamn country, where she didn’t have to worry about the woman ‘accidentally’ driving around and crossing the state line on a grocery trip.

That unspoken rule of ‘I’ll stay on my side if you stay on yours’ had been broken, all in the form of elegant scrawl on stationery with intent on visiting. Now that she knew Regina’s personal address it had become a potential reality and it didn’t matter what the hell the woman’s intentions were (likely rotten and manipulative), there wouldn’t be a chance in all of hell’s flaming circles she’d allow her to step into a place where people dreamt of an alternate life that gave them magic. Love was weakness to Cora, but power was everything - power endured, love didn’t, and it was a lesson she had hammered into her head over and over until Regina had believed it.

“You’re sure I’m not…interrupting your work, or whatever the hell it is you’re doing?” Don’t take too much offense to the snap in her tone, pirate, it was just the anxiety of it all. Anxiety that came with standing beneath dreary skies with snowfall, right before an antique house that looked more like a dark castle nestled in New York suburbs. A wealthy area. She was dressed in black everything; from the boots to the ankle-length sweater dress, the leather jacket to the scarf and gloves. “There’s not some client you need to meet up with or money to collect?”

To be quite honest, Killian would have found it odd if Regina didn’t snap at him (on the regular, as the internet-savvy children say), so he wasn’t likely to take offence. Especially when they were standing right by Cora’s makeshift medieval castle - only thing that would have made more sense would be gargoyles out front, but the ambiance and the weather both contributed to putting a rather unsettling feeling in the spongy marrow of his bones. But no matter.

He’d even worn his hook - don’t ask how he got it through security on the flight over. Persuasion and subterfuge, two of his many skills. Not to mention a degree in the art of smuggling; Killian was a Rembrandt in that world.

As it turns out, that grotesque appendage was meant just for today, for their visit to Cora, and he was not about to back down. “I’ve been finding success with my work here, so you’re not interrupting,” he assured. It was true - he’d managed to finagle a few ‘business meetings’ with contacts and get a location for Carol, when it came to her former lover’s whereabouts, and also more detail on the lack of arrests in the whole mess. The rest of the job would come when he was through with this.

“Let’s see what happens, shall we?” They’d do it together.

It was something right out of Storybrooke, wasn’t it? Him with his token hook, her in all black and modern clothing (not the queenly dresses with birds for a collar). Both of them not exactly up to any good. It’s not like they’d strut in for tea and crumpets with mother dearest and discuss politics and this crap weather - it wouldn’t be that kind of family reunion, not now, not ever.

“I suppose we…” Regina exhaled, hot breath visible in the cold air, and cast her eyes towards the door. “Knock.” How oddly mundane, to think that’s how they’d approach the fucking Queen of Hearts. To look into the face of a woman she never met here but who had ruined everything for her in some other world. It didn’t seem real. Not yet. It probably wouldn’t feel that way until they were in the same room.

Up those set of snowy steps then, so she could grab the ornate door knocker that was bigger than her hands - it was definitely her mother’s choice of decor - and made their presence known with brass hitting wood, multiple times. Seconds later the door cracked to reveal not Cora, but a man. Older, much older, and Regina recognized him from the documents Killian had gotten to her that Halloween night.

It was her mother’s husband. Technically stepfather. And he looked utterly delighted (sarcasm) to see them - more like he just drank poison mixed with lemon juice for that obviously sour face.

Oh, to hell with the idea of manners. She didn’t owe anything to anyone, and as if an inner bitch switch was suddenly flipped from ‘Regina Mills’ to ‘Evil Queen,’ she stretched her hand out with a flick of her wrist. It was a telekinetic blast that slammed the door wide open, that blew her stepfather across the room and into the wall. “Not here for you,” scowled, lips curled, and the force behind it was enough to render him unconscious the moment he hit the surface.

That ought to get her mother’s attention soon.

Killian chuckled, lifting an eyebrow at the display. He pulled his black leather coat a bit tighter around him (it was the promise of rain, of a storm, he could feel it churning within and nearly tangible, heavy in the air around them) as he stepped into the house now that Regina had paved the way. “Lovely place,” he spoke, taking a glance around.

Indeed, it was. Very classic. It also screamed ‘old money.’ Stepfather dearest on the floor was from a prominent banking family, and he - the likely philandering stockbroker - had a couple of decades on Cora. She’d obviously married for a few reasons not having to do with love (which was apparently a weakness), most notably a lovely cash flow and connections, not to mention access to a stellar life insurance policy. It was a wonder the fellow was still kicking, when Cora stood to profit from his death.

Being that, well, pirate - that also meant Killian was poking around for a bauble or two, as souvenirs. “This looks expensive,” he noted, and plucked and pocketed a beautiful crystal from a lamp that was no doubt an antique. Could make something pretty from it later, why not?

“I do hope we didn’t come at a bad time?” Oh, wait, no. Nevermind. Not like either of them cared.

Magic that came from rage - it was thrilling, it was addictive, and coursed through her veins like adrenaline. It was a magic she hadn’t exercised in a long time and in the crevices of that almost entirely black heart, she had missed it. “Here I half-expected the ‘help’ to answer,” Regina scoffed, tightening the stylish gloves over her hands more. “Knowing my mother, they’re the same. Take whatever you feel like. It’s not as if she has good taste.”

If there was anyway to describe the interior furnishings, she’d go with an attempted modern Victorian with vomit on the walls. It screamed ‘wealthy conservative family,’ the chandelier hanging in the center of the living room was likely enough to pay off Killian’s hospital bills and leave a little extra money for gas. A painting of the ‘happily’ married couple - complete with an obnoxious frame - rested above the mantle, Cora’s lips stained in that iconic red (like mother, like daughter), hair done up like a queen’s.

It’d look lovelier lit ablaze, but the thought had been cut short by a voice at the top of the stairs.

“A highly doubt either of you have a good reason as to why I shouldn’t call the authorities,” Cora announced calmly, wrapped in a silk robe with a phone in her hand. And clearly not so choked up about the unconscious husband on the ground who was likely going to suffer from a concussion, but could anyone expect any less? “Thugs that dress well. How charming.”

Charming indeed, mostly how she sounded as condescending in person as she did in the dreams. Regina’s fingers bent, so tense they audibly cracked, and she spun around from facing the portrait to look at the real thing, flesh and blood. “Not thugs, mother,” she sighed, smiled, and walked to Hook’s side with her hands clasped before her. “Just a daughter who’s brought a man home for dinner - is that going to be a problem?”

You don’t show weakness to Cora. You don’t let her smell it on you, either. Even if she didn’t have the magic that made her so dangerous, she had one card to play: motherhood. And she had ripped Regina apart with it in another life.

A few things were taken, yes. Here and there - items he could fit into the deep pockets of his coat, grabbed from a desk or an end table. But speaking of paying off hospital bills, those earrings Cora was wearing, not to mention that ring? Killian needed both. The baubles called to him, shiny tickets to a highway of freedom, to not being in debt for the rest of his wretched life - and if he had to bludgeon Cora with his hook and knock her into next Tuesday, he was going to take that jewelry. Come hell or high water.

Sure, he had made a promise to himself that he would ease into less illegal jobs, sort of descending that particular career ladder and stepping away. He wanted his own legitimate PI business, wanted Kenzi with him as co-captain of that ship, but it couldn’t go anywhere - would just be wheels spinning in dirt - unless he got out of debt a little first. Later on, Cora could consider it a present, a donation for the good of her daughter and the man she brought home for dinner. And a last hurrah of criminality for Killian.

However, he wouldn’t whack her now. Bad form. Besides, this was mostly Regina’s show - he was here to ensure she didn’t outright murder her mother.

“We would have brought wine but we didn’t know what was on the menu,” he apologised, those chilly blue eyes ticking over the woman’s form, clad in her silk robe. Taking her in, measuring, comparing her to the dream version he had worked so closely with. “Quite lovely to meet the mum Regina’s spoke so highly of though. You don’t look a thing alike.” Thank god.

Recognition. It flashed in Cora’s eyes, so much she didn’t take a moment to properly process that biting sarcasm. A mother never forgot a daughter’s face, you see. Over the years she’d seen some pictures, not recent, but it all clicked together in the most curious of scenarios. “Regina, is it?” It wasn’t a social call. Nor was it some grand family reunion, not with the unconscious moneybag of a husband down for the count. A smile, then. A small one that didn’t show teeth. “Not quite the man I’d personally approve of. Considering I did see him put some things of mine in his pocket - is that what my lack of presence has encouraged you to go for? Petty thieves?”

The phone was still in her hand, the numbers 911 already in with her thumb just hovering over the ‘call’ button.

“You disapprove? Hm. Must mean I’m doing something right,” Regina chuckled. Ah, she would say that, wouldn’t she? Mother knew best after all; it was why Cora had done her a ‘favor’ by killing Daniel, because he wasn’t good enough for royalty. Love wasn’t worth it. But this was going splendidly, because it just proved there wasn’t anything redeemable about the estranged woman who shared her DNA - just everything she had ever expected her to be, and behind the razors of teeth revealed with by that grin, it broke her heart just a bit. “And you certainly won’t be needing to call anyone. It’ll just be the three of us for a nice talk.”

In a puff of purple smoke (one that almost sent the darling host down the stairs in shock), the mobile phone vanished from her mother’s hands and into her own. All for the purpose of letting it hit the floor, break a little, and ultimately get crushed beneath designer brand boots.

Kleptomania, something like that - he was in therapy for it. Or not, but it wasn’t like Killian made it a huge secret that he was ripping off bits and pieces of Cora’s ugly furniture. “We’ve only just met, I’d hate for us to get off on the wrong foot,” he spoke, dripping with false apologetics. “Here, now - “ Dipping into his pocket, he placed one of the lamp crystals back down. “You can have it, then. I sort of think that style flew off the radar in the early 80s, but I’m not the expert.”

No, that role was reserved for the magic-wielding practitioner of witchcraft, who razzled and dazzled with her purple smoke. It was difficult for her, he assumed, facing down someone you very much wanted to have faith in - but nothing had changed when it came to Cora; history would repeat itself. He watched with a certain look of amused satisfaction as the mobile phone was crushed - but he had to hand it to Cora, she showed no fear even when they were merely prowlers as opposed to a daughter and the man she brought home. Despite being without her own magic (that she had yet to remember from another world, and that was a good thing) she was dangerous - how else would she have set up shop at this cosy manor?

“But yes, about that talk. Shall we sit?” He dragged his index finger over the curve of his hook, the point of which had been recently sharpened.

A violet puff of what seemed like magic (an odd word to ever consider seriously, but the options were limited), a curved weapon for a hand - even if robbers barged in armed, those were things they weren’t likely to have. Cora wasn’t stupid, nor was she under a wilful haze of denial. Her approach had always been pragmatic, calculating, observant. Knowing when and where to pick her battles, and for now, the mirthless smile widened so much her eyes squinted.

“I suppose you give me little choice,” she calmly replied, and down the steps she came with a graceful glide. A snobby embodiment of sophistication, of someone who was too good for others. It annoyed the living piss out of her darling offspring. “I’d typically be hospitable enough to ask if you two would care for a drink, but considering you’ve assaulted my husband, attempted theft, destroyed my property and continue with your intention to threaten me…” Well, they’d hopefully understand why she didn’t have the urge to play host! Cora, in all her perfect posture, sat on the couch with her hands resting on her lap. “What is the point of this, exactly? To prove something? Angry that I left you, so you bring your thug to throw a tantrum with?”

It should have been a refreshing imbalance of power for once, with them having the upperhand, dealing with a version of her mother that couldn’t hurt hair on their head. Sorcery wasn’t readily available on the tip of Cora’s fingers, but there was always something about her words that could cut. Still, Regina remained seemingly fearless - and she even had to laugh. “Wow. Aren’t we full of rude accusations and pompous assumptions? I think she wants to a closer look at what you’ve got there for a hand, pirate, why don’t you show her?”

Bleed the fear out of her for once. It’d be fun, wouldn’t it? Wipe that smug expression off her face, let the terror of what they were truly capable of cripple her.

Blood on the furniture, wouldn’t that really get under Cora’s skin? Killian smiled, an oil can grin (I’m gonna get you, and your little dog too, oh wait, wrong family member) and he wasn’t even going to give the old bag the satisfaction of taking offence to a descriptor like thug. No, not at all, because that was a descriptor that was beneath him - he was more than just some petty brawler, or a desperate thief pick-pocketing wallets and candy bars from convenience stores. He would pillage and plunder and rifle and loot; he would, and did snuff out the life from fine sailors for reasons that would suggest he needed anger management counseling - maybe he was dark, devilish, turned toward bloodthirsty cravings, caught in a twisted cycle of vengeance and hate, empty eyes, but not so far gone, was he? That he couldn’t show a bit of mercy?

Not murdering Mummy Dearest was showing mercy. She was truly vile.

“This didn’t work before - “ Cryptic, yes, but the potion (given to him by Regina for this very purpose, in fact) he had once poured over his hook glimmered and shone - it was the key to everything, “...however, I’ve a feeling it’s different now.”

Oh, it was. Hook (literally), line, and sinker - the Queen of Hearts had her namesake snagged, right from the confines of her chest. Once it was pulled out, it became enchanted - that was how it worked, for them, and a person could live without their heart. It probably wasn’t even the actual heart, more like some mysterious part of the soul (no one had done a study on it), but what he had glowed dimly and pulsed - it was also tainted with black, far too stained to be much of anything besides a squishy lump of coal.

He glanced at Regina, putting the ball in her court. It wasn’t everyday you said you held someone’s heart in your hand, and meant it.

Well then. It wasn’t as if she gave him specifics. The request was open for interpretation and Killian didn’t fail to deliver something that would be seared into Cora’s mind for years and years to come; seeing and feeling her pulsing black organ out of her body and right before her eyes. Fright was a surprisingly good look to her, nothing but pained breath from her lips instead of her vomit of condescending bullshit. Tables have turned, Queen of Hearts, and for once she truly was at their mercy.

How strangely bittersweet, wasn’t it? Regina knew she wouldn’t feel complete satisfaction, but the sight left her oddly hollow. It was her mother, the one woman she wanted to meet and get to know as a little girl and she wasn’t there - yet it was the kindest thing she could have down for her daughter. Her best chance wasn’t with her, but without her. “You wanted a family reunion, didn’t you? Consider it your first, your last, and your only, mother,” she said, menacingly. “This so-called thug is your salvation. He’s here to make sure I don’t crush your heart.”

A couple short strides brought her closer. In some eccentric gesture of what could almost be considered affection, she took Cora’s hand into hers. Even squeezed it, and not once did Regina break eye contact. From a daughter with fierce intent to a mother that couldn’t even speak from shock; she would make sure every word was annunciated with certainty. “But I promise you, if you come near me and mine, if you even so step over the goddamn California state line, he won’t be there. And you will see your heart outside of your body, and you will see me crushing it.”

Perhaps the Regina that existed over there, the once bearer of the Evil Queen title couldn’t kill Cora. But this one would. This one wouldn’t skip a beat, if it meant protecting her family from someone who had every potential of ruining it. This Regina had a better grasp at differentiating monster from mother, and it was best to convince herself that she’d always be the monster she knew.

There was actually a lot of trust, belief in Regina present here - she could so very easily crush Cora’s heart right now, like it was nothing more than a clod of dirt, the same thing Cora had done to the heart of Her Majesty’s stable boy. The same thing Rumpelstiltskin had done to Milah, the mother of his son. But Killian was certain that she wouldn’t do it - and they both knew why. Oh, it was tempting, a delightful siren song that sounded like funeral bells - and yet once it all ended, and the dust settled, you couldn’t take it back.

He understood it more deeply than he ever wanted to. He’d dreamed of it, listened to his father’s pleadings, his insistences that he was a changed man, different from the bastard who sold his sons into slavery to escape a prison sentence - and he’d gutted his own parent anyway. Brennan Jones was dead in this life too, but his son hadn’t been the one to snuff out the flame. That had been caused by the drink - liver failure, probably, who even really cared.

“She wouldn’t,” he spoke, referring to Cora’s desire to cross the state line over into sunny California. Any desire she had to do so was likely squelched now - which was the whole point of this excursion. “Not after she spent so long creating all this,” he motioned around them, to the house in general. “I hope it was worth leaving your daughter.” Killian didn’t think it was, but what did he know. He was just a thug.

You would have been enough. Cora’s last words back in Storybrooke, right before she had died in Regina’s arms. There was love there. Somewhere, underneath that insane quest of power - her plan to take the Dark One’s power onto herself - but the realization had come too late. Here, the separation was the best thing for the both of them. Live their lives separately, because she didn’t want to be tangled up in whatever schemes her mother conjured for whatever fucking gold-digging purpose that filled the emptiness of that tar-black heart. Cora would never be happy; she gave up her daughter’s love for this, after all.

“Both your daughters, actually,” Regina added after Killian, because who could forget the firstborn that had the unfortunate shit end of the stick? Didn’t expect them to know about her, did you, Cora? No, of course not - the subtle widening of her mother’s eyes said it all. “Give it back to her.” A hand gently grabbed his arm, nodding towards the enchanted organ. “And make sure it hurts a little.”

Regina didn’t want to stay here anymore. The message was received. And that silk robe that cost a couple hundreds was probably soiled from their macabre display of heart-ripping.

As the lady wished. Killian certainly wasn’t gentle about it, pushing Cora’s heart back into her chest - probably felt a little jarring, but no matter. It was returned to where it belonged, the mutated lump of coal it was. “Let’s go,” he said, because there really wasn’t a need to stay and linger. They wouldn’t actually be invited to dinner, what a shame.

He’d snagged that jewelry, however. The Captain had quick hands (well, just one), thieving hands, like lightning, and while Cora was still adjusting to the shock and sensation of having her internal organs righted, Killian was nestling the plunder into his pocket. This ought to be good - he could pawn the ring especially. The diamond and rubies looked to be worth their weight in blood money.

Then he took Regina’s hand and opened the door for them with his hook, stepping back outside into the chilly winter which, here in New York, reminded him of ones in Britain. So much frigid rain that washed broken glass along the gutters of the pubs back in Belfast - even breathing in the crisp air made him feel at home. They had to walk a few blocks to hail a cab, and he realised he still hadn’t let go of her hand. But maybe she needed the support, or something similar.

“Alright?” he asked a bit curiously. “I suppose it’s somewhat comforting, in a dark way, how some things just never change.”

There wasn’t any ‘last glance’ sentimentalities between mother and daughter, no goodbyes or well-wishes. The concept of reality had been ripped to shreds the moment someone had shoved a hook into her chest, yet she somehow survived. Cora tried to wrap her mind around everything, all while paralyzed by the sheer sensation of a vital organ being reintroduced back into her body - but it didn’t matter. Regina had regarded her with very little importance, no fire and all ice, and had walked out of her life just like she walked out of hers.

Hand in hand with the the thug, though it didn’t seem like she had intention of letting go. It took two people to keep their hands interlocked like theirs were, and she squeezed tight through the dry, harsh winds of winter, down the blocks. For a minute the cold was almost welcomed - it’d gotten too hot in that dungeon of a house - but it eventually brought a rosiness to her cheeks and made her ears numb.

“I’m fine,” she eventually replied - unconvincingly. Well. Regina wasn’t a wreck. Furrowed brow meant that she was in a state of confusion; unsure if it was even appropriate to feel so miserably sad about all of it. Killian was right. Some things never changed. Cora deserved all of that, maybe even more. It didn’t make her feel much better about the situation. “It’s just -”

Sigh. Nevermind. There wasn’t a point in attempting turn her discombobulated thoughts into words, especially when she wasn’t sure what her thoughts were.

After a minute, she looked at him. “Thank you. For coming. I don’t...really know what would have happened if you weren’t there.” It was sincere, the gratitude. Extremely sincere.

“It’s alright.” There was no need to explain, at least not to Killian. Not right now. People were all about talking, and how good it was for you, but sometimes you just needed to let things settle first before you could find the words. Besides, he understood regardless - those conflicting feelings of wanting to carve yourself free from parental influence, to pretend like you had a whole new set or had been birthed via stars colliding or something similar, and then at the same time wishing that they had actually given a shit. Your parents were supposed to be two people who loved you unconditionally - when they didn’t, what hope was there for it ever to happen again when it was so rare to begin with?

Regina had her father, at least. That was a good thing, he thought, for her sake.

“Though it’s better as we left it, about her being left alive. I sort of knew you would,” he added, referencing the belief he’d held onto. “But either way, I’m...glad I came.”

It wasn’t as if he would have been able to not. Whatever cracked remnants of his soul were left, they pulled him here. To her. With her. The strangest thing.

“We’ll catch a cab and leave all this, pick up dinner and bring it back to the room?” The rest of his work could wait until tomorrow.

Ah, right. The room. That they shared. With one bed. It wasn’t too awful. Actually, it brought a little smirk to her face, with a bit of that trademark eyeroll - and look, she even sort of swung their intertwined hands like she was bringing the fact to his attention. Were they just going to keep like this? Would Killian let go? Regina hadn’t. Their hands fit together strangely well.

“It’s not a terrible idea, assuming you let me pick the channel this time,” she chuckled, tucking windswept hair behind her ear. A cab flashed its headlights their way and slowed to a stop. But before they opened the door to slide in… “You surprised me, by the way. With that hook of yours,” she brought up, using that not-held-hand to not-so innocently adjust the top of his coat. “You’re almost attractive when you threaten so boldly.”

Killian didn’t let go, even during the purposeful hand swing - like they were walking through a field of daisies and roses, hmmmph. But it wasn’t like he minded, not at all - even if it was highly possible that the cab driver who pulled up near them thought they were an actual (and sweet) linked duo seeing the sights. If ‘the sights’ included a manor belonging to an old stockbroker with limp dick and his harpy wife.

“Perhaps I will, whatever channel you happen to settle on,” he smirked, followed by a rough chuckle; it was very nearly a curl of smoke, the way it sounded. “Be careful, Your Majesty. I might start to think you were trying to flatter me.”

The door was opened for her, because ladies first. Then he slid in after, eager to leave all this dreariness, all these devils, behind.