#author: tangerine monkeytoes

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Author: Tangerine Monkeytoes

Prompts: Rain, ruin, roses. No spoilers please. “Can I help you?”

Group: D

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The Intrusion

The clocks around Gold’s shop quietly counted out the seconds of his solitude. Each sound was a breath taken by time. While the rain poured down outside and the world moved on around him, he remained a fixed point, locked away in this dimly lit dungeon of his own making. Most people would find it a miserable existence, but he wasn’t most people. The darkness suited him just fine, as did being alone. When one lived in a small town of gossips, busybodies, and newsmongers, one learned what a treasure isolation could be.

The work wasn’t bad either, though he didn’t necessarily have an affinity for antiques. It was taking other people’s things that filled his stone of a heart with unspeakable pleasure. Restoring them was a peaceful enough pursuit, almost meditative, but the true reward was the satisfaction of claiming each little treasure as his own. Every item in the building was acquired through a deal that ensured the object would become his, to do with as he pleased. And what pleased him the most was to sell those items in front of the customers who had been so desperate to give them up. His window displays changed daily, not to advertise what he had, but to remind those passing of all the things they would no longer possess.

They deserved it. Everyone was always sneering in his direction as he passed on the street or glaring at him over the shop’s counters with narrowed gazes. Gold knew how the people of this town thought of him, but he didn’t care to do a thing about it. He was a bastard and that reputation along with his wealth gave him power, more than even the mayor believed she held. His influence radiated out from this building like a spider’s web, touching other nearby structures and catching their occupants in the sticky strings of his control.

Being a landlord to more than half of Storybrooke as well as being the pawn shop’s owner meant payments could be paid in money or family heirlooms. This provided him with a multitude of ways to pour salt into the wounds of those who caused his misery. Today he was reupholstering a chair. Tomorrow he would be restoring a book that held a family’s lineage on the inside cover, written in various flowing scripts. Occasionally items he sold returned to be offered up again as rent by another poor soul. He always accepted them, of course. Why remind only one family of their loss when the same item would hold equal pain for two? The chair he was working on now had been through three families. All he had to do today was reupholster it before it was ready to be sold to the fourth.

In the front of the shop, the bell announced an unwanted customer. Gold sighed and put down his tools, then reached for his cane. “There had better be a good reason for this disruption, Dearie,” he called out. No answer followed his complaint, so he moved to the curtain dividing his workshop from the display room. “This fabric is too difficult to work with for-”

Gold brushed the barrier aside with the sweep of an arm and the sight revealed to him made his throat seize. He had expected to find an ordinary citizen hovering nervously at the threshold of his space, caught in the trap of their desperation. Instead, he found a woman leaning casually on the counter, gazing down at a collection of items locked behind the immaculate glass. She wasn’t tall, but she somehow filled the room with her presence and he found himself judging her instantly. She wore a simple blouse and short skirt with dark hose underneath and tried to make herself look taller with impossibly high heels. Each of the items had been adorned with expensive-looking details. A ring, a scarf, a bracelet, and a belt hid the plainness below while a large, embroidered hand purse tried to announce its wealth. Its uneven shape gave away that lie. There was no currency there, only random items shoved in at awkward angles. It was the possession of someone who wanted money but couldn’t quite keep hold of it. This could be fun.

“I’m sorry,” she said before turning to look up at him with bright, blue eyes. Light from the dim bulbs in the room hit the dark waves of her hair, giving them the spark of hidden flame. “Was I disturbing you? The sign said ‘Open.’ I thought…”

“Miss French.” Her name came past Gold’s lips as something on the border between disgust and pure pleasure. “Can I help you?”

Belle French cast off his words with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “No. Just wanted shelter from the storm.”

Of course, she would exaggerate her disinterest in what he had to offer. Gold held quite the rivalry with her father, Moe. Once powerful, the family had fallen into ruin, thanks in part to Gold’s attentions. Moe blamed Gold for even his own mistakes and spent his miserable existence slandering Gold’s name from his measly florist’s shop down the street. He called him a monster and a demon, all because Gold stole from him once, long ago. It wasn’t an object he had taken though. Gold had snatched away a person from the French family, and Moe would never let him forget what he’d done. Not that Gold cared. He reveled in the notion that someone the florist cared for was his no longer.

“Yes, well, since I’m busy-” Knowing that she was not here to purchase anything, Gold tried to brush Belle off, but she wouldn’t have it.

“Oh. I didn’t mean for you to stop whatever you were doing.”  She looked genuinely surprised that she might be intruding, then tucked her lip into her teeth and held it there with worry.

“I was restoring things sold to me,” Gold sneered. “It is a pawn shop.”

“Do you let customers into your workroom?” Belle tipped her head and craned her neck as if the new angle would give her a view through the walls.

Gold snorted. “What purpose would that serve? What I have on offer is here, on display. If you don’t see something in this room to your liking, perhaps you should search elsewhere.” He spun on his heel with intentions to return to work, but her next words froze him into place.

“I’d like to see,” the woman half begged. “I think restoring things is something almost like magic. Don’t you?”

“Magical because you don’t know how to do it or magical because it makes you appear to have more money than you do?” He looked back over his shoulder at her, eyebrow raised. Gold wanted the jab to go straight through her, into her father’s heart. Instead, it brought a scowl to her face.

“You shouldn’t judge me by my father’s actions.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” she huffed before storming toward him with sudden speed. “I’m not responsible for his decisions.”

Belle stormed past him on her way to the curtain, but Gold grabbed her arm before she could reach the barrier. “That’s my space,” he snarled, showing his teeth in the process. “Just like your father’s shop. And his home. And that van he so desperately needed to make his deliveries.”

“So you’re going to take those things away just because I asked to see what you keep hidden from view?”

Gold leaned close enough that their noses were almost touching. “They’re. My. Things.” He emphasized every word as his grip on her arm tightened.

“And since you love to show off to everyone, I’m sure you won’t mind letting me take a peek.” Belle yanked herself free and stepped just out of his reach. “What were you restoring in there anyway?”

Stunned by the woman’s strength, Gold was left with his mouth agape, staring at her back as she marched away.

“Actually, don’t tell me,” she said before turning to flash a wicked grin over her shoulder. “I want it to be a surprise.”

He rushed after her, hoping to catch her again before it was too late, but his cane slowed him. By the time he arrived in the workroom, Belle was already caressing the red fabric on the chair’s padded seat. “I told you not to come back here,” he threatened, closing the distance between them with determined strides. It was his cane that now tapped out the seconds before her undoing, punctuating each step as he neared her.

Instead of doing as she was asked, Belle continued to caress one of the darker red shapes in the fabric’s pattern. “I love roses,” she whispered, eyes gazing longingly over the design.

Gold froze, suddenly overcome with inspiration. Perhaps he could turn this intrusion to his advantage after all…

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