entranceway | [ text ] No more carols to sing

I. ACTION

[ Well, this is Wonderland. This, specifically, is Wonderland's beach, and, more specifically its ocean, which reaches up to Philip's knees. So much for a smooth landing, huh? He lets the icy water lap at his feet for a bit, because it makes a nice change from-- uh, hours? Days? Weeks? It makes a nice change from burning in hell, period.

He wades onto semi-dry land, eventually. So this was... what? An event? Another magical accident from the corner of unsupervised Storybrooke maniacs? Or, third. Christ, third. Neither the water nor the offensively picturesque snow landscape run down his back as coldly as that thought. That he might've actually gone home.

He lets that sink in, and sink down, until it doesn't paralyse him anymore. Then he takes out his phone, and heads back into the mansion. ]

[[ PRIVATE TEXT, TO EVELYN O'CONNELL ]] Hey, can you spare a second? Because I'm a bit weirded out, and not entirely sure what just happened to me. [ He waits. Gets impatient. Types the second part right away: ] Was I gone?

II. TEXT

[ First, he wants to pretend that the last few- days? did not just happen. Second, he picked up the words "sleep deprivation" and "other Wonderland", and still doesn't get the whole picture from the network. Which, all in all, leads to third, a controlled mess in the kitchen, and the following message: ]

Apparently I just blinked and missed Christmas, so I'm stooping to bakery to make up for it.

[ A helpful visual of some crunchy chocolate toffee squares with macadamia nuts comes attached. ]

First three batches ready for pick-up in the kitchen. Fourth batch in the works, I'll trade you for some good stories about the event I missed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Huh. So he's back, and messages aren't bouncing from his phone anymore. Interesting.]

Nice of you to give back.
What'd you make?
If any of it's got chocolate, I'm in.

[ Their last conversation could have ended worse, sure, but the room for improvement sours his mood. Only ignoring that particular message wouldn't do, would it? ]

Not sure how much I'm really giving in a place where you can get an assorted bakery from the closets, but it kills time well enough. Got chocolate, toffee, nut sprinkles. The whole package.

[She just wants to be sure he knows where they stand.

And where they stand is, she's got her eye on him.]

Makes sense.
I'll take some for some friends if you're offering though.
Got some kids who I know would appreciate fresh chocolate.

All yours. Give me ten minutes, I'll make it a fancy gift basket.

[ Not that kids are much for presentation, but with the missed event mainly sussed out it's not like he's got a busy afternoon ahead. ]

Alright, sweet.
See you soon.

[She gives him 15, just so he doesn't think she's chomping at the bit to see him or anything, but it's all the same in the end. She makes a casual entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe when she arrives.]

Where'd you learn to bake like this?

[ Fifteen whole minutes? Well, that just leaves him all the more time to go all out, basket and paper and pretty red bow on top. ]

What, a fifteen minute recipe you could probably grab off of a pack of butter during Christmas season? [ Accusing him of being a malicious double agent is one thing, but THAT is just offensive. ] Come on, ask me again when I've cooked up something challenging.

Hey, you're talkin' to the woman who tried to make cupcake batter last month and nearly blew up the kitchen. We all have our weaknesses.

[Hers is baking. And despite her personal wariness with the man, he sure does make quite a show.]

So how's it feel going home for a bit? Assuming that's what you meant by blinking and missing Christmas.

Good to know. Next time we've got some creature danger roaming the halls I'll call on you to make them pie.

[ Or into pie, which he suspects comes closer to the outcome. ]

That is what I meant, yes. And it felt--

[ He frowns. There is no home. There hasn't been for years. But that's a story she doesn't get to hear in detail. ]

About as exciting as you'd expect, when you're already dead.

[Oops. Wrong thing to say. She's always off on the wrong foot with this guy.

Then again, she's also pretty damn certain he's spying for the Queen, still, despite the end results of their last altercation. It's the same reason she's here. Most people who've done (or will do) bad things are spurred on by some kind of tragedy. A form of hope for their survival in a cruel world. She remembers the sympathy she felt even for Saren in their last battle- a desperate man driven only by the urge to do what he honestly thought was best.

It was too late for her to save him. It was too late for her to do anything but take him out.

She's hoping the man in front of her won't have to be the same.]

I'm sorry. I kind of know the feeling.

[It's pretty disorienting to die and wake up, after all.]

But it sounds like you did actually leave. I recall someone mentioning to me that if someone really wanted to hide they could make it seem like they left.

[Y'know, just. Segway that in there. It's not malicious, just a prod in the direction she wants this conversation to go.]

[ text ] No more carols to sing

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