welcome to storybrooke ❧ network community

Well, this town is certainly quaint.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Angel? Have you worked out how to use your phone yet?

So, okay. We have a big block party coming up. Help a girl out - who's single? Who's cute?

And who is basically not even/would be evil if they were not bored?

This is not what I expected. I think.

Well, that didn't work out like I thought it would.

At least I didn't hit a car. That would not have been fun.

Screw this bullshit. I don't care WHAT that stupid stuck up bitch said. If this is some mindfuck by the Capitol, I'm GOING TO FIND YOU AND RIP YOUR ARMS OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM.

There are movies-

There are movies about my life and

people watch them. For fun.

I really don't understand this place.

Crowley.

Are you quite finished yet?

This is getting terribly bothersome.

And don't even pretend it isn't you, serpent.

I'm not really certain how we're meant to celebrate Thanksgiving this year. Assuming you believe in concepts like years and celebrations and certainty. There's no Brownstone Spire for us to grovel on our bloody knees after crawling through the desert and give thanks for all it has done and not done and hope it accepts our words so we can carry on with our lives. Is there a great, looming spire anywhere that you all use as a substitute?

It's funny. Or not funny, really.

I think I miss Dana more than I did when she was trapped in the Dog Park and then in a house that didn't actually exist and then possibly not existing herself. Maybe because then I'd gotten used to her being gone but knowing she was okay. And now I'd gotten used to her being back and she's gone again and I'm not used to it any more and I don't know if she's okay. I hope she's okay.

Who knows. Maybe she's back in Night Vale and once again existing in the correct alignment of space and time. Or maybe she died horribly. I suppose anything is possible.

So that's what he meant about being too smart to dress up for Halloween.

Being someone else for a few days was pretty interesting. I don't think I actually managed to injure anyone, but if I did I apologize. I was not quite myself.

People are acting quite strange recently.

...is this normal for Storybrooke?

I would like to remind everyone to be careful tonight. I wouldn't put it past this place to decide to try something funny. Halloween + magic would result in a lot of things probably best left unmentioned. And I'm not going to clear up a pile of dead bodies tomorrow morning.

This might be an odd question but.. am I dead?

Should have posted this much sooner, but the time got away from me. For anyone who doesn't know, Thursday night at the hospital there's going to be a Halloween Fundraiser. There'll be refreshments and games and all that. Everyone is welcome to come in costume too.

Werewolves. Vampires. Witches. A man who turns into a green monster.

I'm not sure how I am going to handle all of this.

Magic. Right. I'm just going to go ahead and call bullshit on this one. It's either the angels screwing with me again or one of their pissed off big brothers.

How'd you Michael to shut up?

You know, I thought I would miss people being amazed that they get to meet me. But I don't.

At all.

I'm glad that I'm blending in and no one even knows who I am.

A number of years ago, in a place much like this in some ways, and much different in others, there was a boy who lived alone in a city full of people. Young he was, and frightened of many things. He had no shoes, no clothes except what he wore, and the only food he had to eat was the food that he managed to steal. He lived like a rat, scrambling across the rooftops in his bare feet, living in a small place where the rooftops met that offered him some small shelter from the rain. The boy had very little except his many sorrows, but still he lived. And in living, he learned many things, and he grew taller, and stronger, and wiser.

But one thing he never grew was bored. For there were always things to do; always things that had to be done. And in the doing, his time passed quickly. In the small amounts of time he had for himself, his mind wandered, and he dreamed. Dreams of Home that once was that made him sad. Dreams of a future that likely now could never be. Dreams of hope, and dreams of sorrow, dreams of despair and dreams of joy. But never did he understand this feeling of boredom that came from having nothing at all to dream about. As he grew, he would watch from afar as the rich walked by, in their fancy clothes and fancy hair, their stomachs full from their latest meal. He wondered if boredom came from that - from having too much, from never having to work for the things you wanted. Or if boredom came from minds that had never had to entertain themselves, having enough money and means to always have someone else to do the onerous task.

And in time, he came to pity them. For who, who truly knows the world, could be bored by it? Who, who loves the trees and the sky, could cease to be entertained by the songs they sing? Boredom, he decided, was an illness that affected those who had closed their eyes to all things around them, and made them feel that doing was more important than seeing or living...

There needs to be more to do here. Either that, or I need to be elsewhere.

Is there anything to do in this wretched place?

Oh my. This is quite unsettling.

I must say, in six millennia, I have never had something quite like this happen.

Well, this is a little unexpected. Usually you have to fill out paperwork for this kind of thing, or at least receive some kind of advanced notice.

I'm reminded of high school. We were encouraged to swap bodies with classmates of the opposite gender to promote better understanding of one another. It was very successful. Maybe that's what's going on here.

( Carlos )

This won't be inconvenient, will it, my darling Carlos? I know that you didn't sign up for dating a woman, or rather someone currently possessing a female body and the things that entails, but I like to think our relationship is more about what's on the inside. And I really feel that my internal organs are largely similar to how they were before. Especially my heart, which is - as always - yours. We really should talk about trading them so you can keep mine. I know it's a big step, but I really feel like we have something special Now probably isn't the time for that kind of discussion

( Dana )

Can I borrow some clothes? Also, can we go shopping?

All right, 'nuff's enough. Some of you may know me, and others not so much. The name's Malcolm, but you can call me Mal. I used to be the Captain of a transport ship, once upon a time and, well, seein' as there ain't n space travel, money's runnin' low and as I got a powerful need to eat, I gotta find myself some kind of workin' to get to. Seein' as it's gotta be honestI don't have the most varied set of trades in the whole wide world, lets keep this real simple.

I'm a fine courier, takin' things from point A to point B is kinda what I do and, while I understand that there's a post office in town, if you can't be bothered to make the run and just need somethin' delivered real quick, you just go ahead and give a shout. We'll figure out payment and then you can consider the job good and done. That bein' said, of the fine eateries in town are in need of deliverin' folk, that works too.

( Filtered away from all legal types and law enforcement. )

Lookin' forward to workin' for you fine and colorful folk real soon.

Maine. It reminds me of Sheffield. That isn't a compliment.

Though there's something to be said for this device. I'd love to see the warranty agreement.

Is there a tragically misguided do-gooding sort with an overly complicated name in residence? Or, barring that, a reality-altering teenager? The latter would explain a few things.