A Curse Upon Thee 2-29B

Perfect strokes. Okay, but they had to be perfect, that was the rule.  Perfect. The horse brush was heavy in his hands, bristles scratching against the mare’s spotted back as he kept going. Strokes. Ten-year-old Henry Mills kept his red sneakers planted completely flat on the center of the wobbly stool, lower lip tucked tight…

“Lancelot?” Mary Margaret’s gasp echoed off cracked stone walls, voice echoing back in the ruined room. “Lancelot, what’s going on?” The armored knight didn’t blink, eyes locked dead on Finn. Even with a weapon aimed right at him, his gauntlets sat at his sides, a smile still calm on his face. “You know, I figured…

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Both sets of eyes remained on the crane in the near-silence of the half-empty diner, the perfectly-made piece of origami pristine atop the formica. Finn blinked slow as he stared at it, looking down at his fingers for a second with a frown as deep as any he’d ever worn still on his face. Now…

Alright. Enough. Chad O’Donaghue frowned as the bell to Granny’s diner chimed loud above his head, the young man pushing his way past the glass. The door swung shut, the chill of the Maine dawn left behind and his eyes took in the empty diner; the air missing the distinct smell of fresh-brewed crude oil…

“The hell was that?” Finn blinked down at her as Emma screamed the words back up at him, his boss’s voice sharp, frantic, and edged deep with way more confusion than anything close to actual panic.  Which — honestly — was fair enough.  My fault, boss lady. Considering he literally just Batman-ed his way out…