— the-prince-philip started following you
"Good evening! I um-I hadn’t you there. My name is Belle, and you are…?"
"Good evening! I um-I hadn’t you there. My name is Belle, and you are…?"
“Why hello! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss…?”
Gold recoiled a fraction of an inch at the attack, and he returned his attention back to her with a mixed look of incredulity and utter amusement. He would never cease to find the fun in the games of rhetoric with her. The challenge was also rather enjoyable and refreshing in and of itself. “Not long enough,” he answered, reflecting her playful smirk. A moment later he returned his attention to the albums once more, still wearing the same expression. “If you’re so fond of them, you’re free to consider them your own, if you’d like.”
Amelia’s cheeks burned with a new shade of red at his comment. Yet her expression remained as playful…and cheeky as ever. A chuckle escaped her as he spoke. “Is that so?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise as she pulled the records a little closer to her chest. “Well that is a shame now, isn’t it? We’d best remedy that sooner rather than later…”
At his next statement, however, her smile became far more genuine. “Are you sure?” she asked, glancing down briefly at the records in her arms. “You won’t mind the noise?” Amelia knew how highly he prized his peace and quiet — after all, the kitchen appliances and his alarm clock were the only items that made any sort of noise that he tolerated…and even then it was begrudgingly. The corners of her lips turned upward once again into a devlish smirk. “…Or perhaps you are more interested in what these might bring about?”
♥ - I suppose reinforcing Belle’s role as a caregiver and giving her stronger maternal instincts. I believe those traits were already there, but when I began playing her it only seemed natural to play them up since I am the resident maternal figure to everyone I know (my own mother included.)
♠ - Belle’s ability to speak her mind openly and freely. I may seem outspoken, but more often than not I shy away from confrontation because I fear the results. I can’t stand hurting anyone or disappointing them. Belle runs head first into these situations and always manages to stick to her guns. Of course her goal is never to hurt anyone or herself, but she always gets her point across.
Put a character and a symbol in my askbox and I’ll tell you…
♥ A trait of my own that I put into the character
♦ A headcanon or fanon I believe in
♣ An AU I would like to create, starring them
♠ A trait the character has but I do not
§ A pairing that interests me involving them (and why)
♪ A song that reminds me of them
▲ My favourite cracky idea for them
“Ah, yeah, that much I gathered,” he replied, no longer capable of concealing the teasing smirk as he hazard a step towards her. He paused, though, as her face darkened in color, his own expression dimming just the slightest bit. It was nigh impossible how the simplest of things she did could be this endearing, and it never failed to cause the rather annoyingly painful constriction in his chest.
He then brought his attention to the cardboard jackets as she addressed them, resuming the short journey to her side. Truth be told, he wasn’t aware he even possessed those things, and the lack of recognition manifested in furrowed brows. As she spoke again, he slowly tore his attention away from the cardboard in her hands, taking a moment to fully register what it was he had just been accused. When it did he feigned innocence, a small smile creeping along his features. “I only arrived right on time, as you said,” he dodged, returning his attention back to the jackets to further deflect. “I take it you enjoyed them, then?”
She met him half way, taking only a few steps toward him to do so. She cradled the records in her arms in the same fashion as her most treasured of books. Already she seemed quite attached to them. However, as she moved closer, she quirked a brow at him, watching him with the same playfully suspicious look. Then, almost out of the the blue, one hand slipped away from the records in her arms and with one quick flick of the wrist, she gave his upper arm a playful slap with the back of her hand. “Now don’t you start that with me, Robert Gold. There will be no changing the subject until I get my answer,” she said, wagging an accusatory finger in his direction. As her hand recoiled a smug smile pulled itself across her lips. “How long were you standing there, watching me?” It was a source of pride knowing that her antics were not particularly frowned upon…but enjoyed.
“Hello, I’m Henry. What’s your name?”
The young woman blinked, almost startled by the sudden voice. “…Why hello there!” She said, offering him a gentle smile. She paused then, studying his features closely before recognition seemed to set in. “Henry…? You’re the mayor’s son, aren’t you? And in Ms. Blanchard’s homeroom if memory serves. It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Henry. My name is Amelia, or you can call me Aimee if you like.”
He paid little heed to appearances as he continued to watch, and remained largely unaware of anything else until he absently leaned into the doorway. The sudden contact of wood on shoulder nearly startled him and he pulled back almost immediately. As he retracted, though, it seemed as if he had finally gone noticed. No need to stop on my behalf, he thought to say, wanted to say, but the words caught and all he could manage was a teasing raised-brow look of expectancy. He did actually look forward to whatever explanation she could conjure up for this instance.
However, as she did finally begin to speak, he furrowed his brows in feigned confusion. “So right on time?” he repeated after a brief moment, watching her expression closely as he did his best to suppress a teasing smile. “Is this how you go about cleaning everyday, then?” he asked another short moment later. If so, he might actually have it in mind to make a conscious effort to return earlier than intended.
Amelia offered him a timid, guilty smile as she nodded. “I uh…hadn’t been expecting you,” she admitted, reaching up to run her fingers through her mass of cestnut curls. “I suppose the afternoon got a bit away from me.” However, at his next statement, the color blooming within her cheeks darkened considerably. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen her so…under dressed before. After all, they did share a bed. Yet she was always very — controled in those situations. She prided herself on being able to keep her sensibilities about her (most of the time, that is), even if their relationship had shifted into the relm of lovers. In this case, she had not even been aware that he had been watching her. She could only imagine how foolish she must have looked, parading around the parlor in her skivvies.
"Well no, not every day," she admitted, trying to stifle her own embrassment. "I just — I found these upstairs," she said as she made her way over to the coffee table and took hold of several of the colorful cardboard album jackets. "I had no idea what they were meant for. I’ve had them for a few weeks now…and I um, just discovered they played music," she explained, feeling the color in her cheeks grow even further. It was then that a thought struck her. She glanced back up toward him, narrowing her eyes with a playfully suspsicious look. "And just how long have you been standing there?" She asked as the corners of her lips turned upward into a smirk. "You were watching me, weren’t you?” said asked, her tone was playful and yet accusitory.
Ever since the discovery of an unfortunate soul with little memories, Gold found he would often return home to the unexpected. At first it was to find another inhabitant — that there was no cruel trick of the subconscious — and soon after it was the lack of another inhabitant. Next were the clean floors and shelves and before long, the unexpected became the expected. He expected to return to a house inhospitable to dust and for once in a very long time, it felt as if there was no bad history between them; as if there were never any rash actions to regret. It was intoxicating, really, and he found he could forget in her lack of memories.
However, he was not expecting to hear the muffled blare of music as he approached the front door that particular day. What had she gotten into this time? He hesitated by the door a moment, listening for any signs of life through the noise lest his overly cynical imagination get the better of him. Instead of listening in, though, he decided to investigate first hand few short moments later, taking hold of the doorknob and pushing it open. The jump in decibels from the music was almost staggering. He quickly stepped inside and made sure the door was shut behind him before venturing off further inside to find the culprit.
It wasn’t long before Gold found her, and the immediate moment he had he stopped in his tracks. The combination of her movements, attire, and generalized demeanor was what had made that particular moment…indescribable. Gold watched her silently from the doorway, grip slackening just slightly on his cane as he leaned into it. He hardly seemed aware of himself, let alone the small smile that slowly crept across his features.
Now I’ll never dance with another, since I saw her sanding there.
As the music dived right in to the instrumental bridge, her odd dusting-dancing routine became faster and even more intense than it had before. What was truly remarkable was that she seemed to be doing a fairly decent job dusting despite all the distractions. She bobed and weaved her way through the furnature and made her way to the grand fireplace in the center of the room. She began to swipe her feather duster over the mantle (which had been emptied earlier the day) with several long and pointed strokes before following with several smaller, circular strokes.
And then she glanced upward and found her gaze fastened on the mirror above the mantle…and the figure standing in the doorway. She whirled around in an instant, looking more like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming car than a woman. How on earth was he always able to sneak up on her in such a manner — and always at the most inopportune moment, at that. She stood there for several long moments simply staring back at him before she managed to raise one arm to pluck the needle off of the record player that sat only a foot or so away. She cringed at the sound of the record screech, but pushed through it and gingerly set the needle back in it’s proper place before turning the device completely off.
She offered him a small, awkward smile as she attempted to hide the sudden rush of color that invaded her cheeks and began to speak. “Robert! W-What are you doing home so…” she paused casting a sideways glance at a nearby clock. “-Right on time,” she said as her expression sank just a fraction. Apparently the afternoon had gotten a little more away from her than she had previously assumed.
Amelia had settled into her new home quite nicely after the first few months. She seemed to be even more comfortable since the evening Mr. Robert Gold had taken her on a midnight walk through the sleeping town of Storybrooke. The one drawback to this was one simple fact; With something to look forward to every night, the day that preceded it seemed even more agonizingly long. To try and occupy herself, she began to explore the nooks and crannies of the house that she had otherwise overlooked — the attic, the basement, even the garage. This weeks findings had sent her into a relative tizzy! She had found a rather large box in the attic of strange black disks, all housed in colorful cardboard cases. She was utterly and completely fascinated by them. After all, she had never seen anything like them before! She removed the box from the dusty attic and placed it under her bed. This was a mystery she was intent on solving alone.
That afternoon, she finally found her answer in the large, antique record player that stood in the living room/parlor area. She was delighted to find that they all played different types of music — music she had never heard before. She found herself playing one particular ‘album’ over and over again as she began her daily cleaning routine; Meet the Beatles! . By the time the late afternoon rolled around, she could recite the lyrics of side one back to you nearly verbatim.
Well we danced through the night, and we held each other tight,
She was currently flitting around the parlor, bouncing and bopping along to the music (which was turned up as loud as she could possibly manage) with a feather duster in one hand and a rag in the other.
And before to long I fell in love with her.
Her chosen attire for the day made the image all the more out of place. She wore little more than a tank-top and a pair of shorts she generally used for sleeping — and they left very little to the imagination. Yet Amelia hardly seemed to notice how strange she must look…or what hour it was…