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alias: Twin
age in ##: 200+
story: Beauty and the Beast/Peter Pan
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Last Seen: Aug 3 2018, 09:44 AM
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Enchanted Forest

My Content
May 12 2018, 02:04 PM
Rumple wasn’t feeling well. He hadn’t been feeling well for a very long time. But, somehow, that didn’t mean he was willing to just lie back and do nothing while he knew the people around him might be in trouble. He was concerned that all the craziness that had been happening lately had been hurting a lot of the people he was connected to. That included those he hadn’t really spoken to in a long time, like Milah.

His ex-wife who had left him and their son for a pirate. He had killed her for it. Twice. But, thanks to the portals and the Horned King’s magic mixed with his own when they made their escape, a lot of people had been given second chances from the Underworld, even though who had fallen into the river of souls. His father was already running around again. Why not his ex-wife, too?

It was a pain, but at least Milah wasn’t powerful enough to be a threat to him if she was holding a grudge. Actually, he wasn’t even sure why he was so interested in checking up on her in the first place. She had betrayed him, he had murdered her in cold blood, then in the Underworld he had betrayed her in her attempt to reconcile with him. He hardly deserved to be worried about her now, just because she happened to be alive again.

But he was indeed concerned. So there he was, at her door, hesitating to knock. Belle was with the kids so they had time to talk. He just hoped he wouldn’t pass out while he was there. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

It would be so embarrassing.

Taking a breath, he finally reached for the door, giving it a light knock. “Milah?” He offered, so she wasn’t surprised to see him when she opened the door, “It’s... It’s Rumple.” He cleared his throat, feeling very awkward indeed.

They had so much to talk about, but he wasn’t even certain she would let him through the door at this point. Not after everything that had happened between them.

Milah Allen
Apr 5 2018, 12:34 PM
Now this was a part of the job that he actually liked. Granted, it wasn’t officially part of the job, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it any less. He was standing behind a building with a young man who had been well known as a drug seller in the neighborhood. He sold all sorts of drugs, from pot to things much, much stronger. Of course he knew a lot about what was going on with the criminal activity in the city. That was what made him so interesting to Weaver. He liked to have a chat with all the local lowlifes who happened to pop up. Whenever there was a new one, he liked to get to them before anyone had a chance to mention him and his ways.

Though, to be honest, he liked when they mentioned him, too. The look of fear when someone realized who they were talking to was usually pretty fulfilling. Stupid thugs.

They deserved to be afraid of him.

He had managed to catch the man off-guard, pulling him down behind a building and pressing him against the wall of the building, his arm at the man’s neck to hold him there. Though Weaver was small, he was strong and full of eager determination. Like a bulldog, really. His height had never stopped him from becoming a cop feared throughout Hyperion Heights.

The man struggled against him, proclaiming that he didn’t know anything and that he was just a simple weed seller, but it didn’t take long for Weaver to dig around in one of his pockets and produce several packets of carefully weighed cocaine. He smiled at the thug, tossing the packets to the side before reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a few larger bags, easily bumping the possession charge up to a felony that could land the dealer in prison for a very long time.

Of course, the man was quick to point out that the drugs weren’t his and Weaver was playing him, but Weaver didn’t seem too interested in that, pulling him from the wall just long enough to slam his head against the stone while pinning him back again. No one was going to listen to some drug dealer over a respected police officer.

If he didn’t agree to cooperate, then he was going to be in a lot of trouble. The dealer weakly relented, and Weaver finally freed him, letting the man take off down the street. Weaver watched him go, though he paused, having a look around.

He couldn’t help feeling as though he wasn’t alone there.

Apr 5 2018, 11:58 AM
Sometimes Weaver wondered why he was a detective in the first place.

It wasn’t like he cared about the people of Hyperion Heights. He lost no sleep knowing another one had been murdered. He wasn’t a cop to solve cases and put minds at ease, or bring people to justice. Most of the time he just felt like he was a detective for his own ends, to use the system as he pleased to accomplish his own gains. Still, there must have been more to it at one point, right? Some actually devotion to helping people or some nonsense like that.

So why couldn’t he think of anything when he considered it?

Sighing heavily, the somewhat bored detective finished up his questioning with one of the local business owners, sending them on their way with the usual line- that he’d keep in touch if he needed anything else from them. It was always the same, wasn’t it? Someone got murdered, and he had to run around pretending to be a nice guy to gather information from everyone in the area about what they did, or didn’t see. Of course no one had anything significant to add. Their evidence would come from examining the body and the crime scene. Material witnesses were so useless, he wondered why they bothered with them at all. Unless someone had happened to be there to watch the guy get plugged in the back of the head, they wouldn’t have much to offer. Usually, anyway.

But it was because things sometimes weren’t usual that he needed to ask. Just in case someone had seen something. The murder had taken place in the middle of the night, that much was obvious, and the body had been deposited between two stores, in a small dumpster. Naturally that didn’t mean he had been killed in that side street, but the chances were good the body hadn’t been taken far from where it had happened. Normally discarding a body was quick and messy, especially if the murder had been a heat of the moment kind of thing.

He had just finished asking one store owner about what they might have seen that day, and now he was on his way to question one of the others- the one who owned the business next to the crime scene on the other side of the back street.

The man wandered into the flower shop, scrunching his nose at the irritating smell that immediately attacked his senses. Just perfect- a happy little flower shop. He approached the counter, ringing a small bell on the table to try and gain the attention of the shop owner.

Boy he hoped this would be worth something. Something about seeing all these roses around him made him very irritated.

Apr 5 2018, 11:25 AM
Weaver wasn’t really known for being a caring or kind man, that much was true, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his connections in Hyperion Heights. And not just the people he used for favors or because he had dirt on them and could make them do what he wanted. He had people he cared about, however fleetingly. Tilly was one, but she wasn’t the only. When he had been a younger man, a newer cop on the force, there had been a cop he’d grown close to. Someone who had always helped him out when he was in trouble, and someone he had offered the same for in return. They had been friends and partners and he had cared a great deal about him.

Unfortunately, like most things he cared about in his life, it didn’t last. His friend had died, and though he’d had nothing to do with it, he’d always held a certain amount of guilty, mostly because he knew he had always been something of a dirty cop, where his dead friend had always played by the book. If something had happened because of his shadier ways, and his friend had simply gotten caught up in it, what was he going to do?

The cop had left someone he loved behind- a woman who had been equally innocent in everything. Whatever might have happened, neither of them were likely to have deserved it, and that ‘what if’ guilt extended to her, too.

So he made some time every once in a while to visit her, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do. She probably didn’t consider him a friend, maybe even hated him for being alive when someone more worthy of life had perished. Still... He couldn’t just leave her alone.

He did his best to help her, even if it meant stopping in to check on her and nothing more than that. Today, he had brought with him a brown paper grocery bag, with some various food items he thought she might need. It wasn’t much, just enough to show that he was still thinking about her, even after all this time had passed.

Maybe it would never be enough to alleviate the guilt in his heart, but it was something, right?

He knocked on the door to her place, waiting patiently to see if she would let him in or not. It probably looked shady to anyone who was walking by to have a detective of his reputation at her door, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He would just have to hope no one would think she was in some kind of trouble.

Or that she was another one of his contacts.

Mar 7 2018, 11:08 AM
Weaver reclined at his desk, musing thoughtfully to himself as he considered the small pill bottle in his hand. It was time to take his medications- two pills that would last him twelve hours. Simple enough. Anyone could manage that kind of schedule. It wasn’t taking the pills he was thinking about, rather, why he had to take them. He was suffering from what the doctors called an extremely rare and virtually unknown illness. Something no one had ever seen in anyone else. Of all the things to be lucky about, an illness was not one that Weaver wanted. He felt like one of those characters in a movie, with an illness that’s not really ever described on screen. You know someone is dying, but they never tell you of what or how so they don’t have to get that medical about it.

He frowned at the bottle, popping out two pills and swallowing them with a drink of water. Well, as long as the medicine helped, he supposed it didn’t really matter what he had. He wanted to be cured of it. That was what he was paying the doctors for.

So far, it just felt like he had been given some bandaids and sent on his way.

Slowly, he picked himself up from his desk, pocketing the pills and grabbing a brown paper bag that had been, until that moment, just hanging out forgotten on his desk while he didn’t do his paperwork. He grabbed his coat off his chair, flinging it over one shoulder as he ventured away from the desk and moved to leave the precinct. Pondering his disease would have to wait- he had someone that he needed to meet.

And feed, as was often the case.

He left the police station and ventured out across the street, moving to sit himself down on a bench that wasn’t too far from the station, but still far enough not to be easily spied on from the offices. Not that he was doing anything shady... This time around. Just checking in with one of his contacts. The people in the station often wondered why he kept close to someone like Tilly. A young girl who, usually, seemed about as helpful as a candle in a rainstorm. There was something off about her, and a lot of people wanted nothing to do with her.

Weaver didn’t feel that way, though. In contrast, he felt drawn to her. Like he needed to try and be there for her, even if he wasn’t really good at that sort of thing. A sandwich for some information was the least he could offer.

Assuming she showed up this time, of course.

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