Our Darling
Cheshire
Twitching. He couldn't stop twitching.
Incessant people, they drove him near madness. Or maybe he'd already hit that wall. What lay beyond madness?
Smiling came easy to already outstretched lips. So easy, in fact, that the smoldering look he gave each passerby came across as nothing more than a simper. A simmer of a smile that twitched and twitched. Caving in so easily, he hadn't noticed that before—it remained a mystery, one he'd solve later. Right now, Cory's attention curved swiftly to the right and then behind him and then out of sight. The chatter of teeth behind him filtered out of existence the quicker his steps took him across the corridor. A small chance he would make it back to where he started turned into an inevitability, one he writ across with a scowl that quickly washed away in relief at the vacancy of his desk.
Cheshire's eyes flit across the room before falling upon another vacant desk. With furrowed brows, he approached almost cautiously, vaguely aware that some desks bite back. Odd that a man sat here one moment, then up and vanished the next. Cheshire pondered the thought with the rhythmic tap of a finger to his chin, eyes searching the crowd of workers until they fell on a particular kind. A pair of aces made a full house. Maybe. Another look around the room stretched a frown across his lips. So just a three of a kind, he supposed.
Minds like his, they didn't bother knocking. Cheshire skipped the pleasantries in favor of watching the two of them work. Or perhaps, something different. Keen eyes caught many a stray fish—a harpoon of blue and green. The thought furthered his grin and Cheshire positioned himself between the two, butt to desk. Quite satisfied with himself, wasn't he.
A few moments to study the interior—shabby decorating and awful carpet management—and Cheshire took in what information he could. Another moment to sort the useful from the simply pleasurable and he looked ready as ever. Maybe not quite what Ursula hoped, nor Hook for that matter, with his furrowed brows and those lines on his face. He'd do good with a slap to brighten his features. Cheshire would provide, but he had yet to be insulted; slaps rearing from offended hands provided the best results.
"
Fairytale agents are elusive for a reason, dearest," he purred, sparing Ursula a glance, "
Some would dare say illusive; I wouldn't. I think I determine well enough what they are and aren't."
Cheshire circled around, plopping down beside Ursula. "
We have a lot in common you and I," he gave her a smile as he spoke, "
I don't know if they qualify it as murder if the simple act of snitching escorted them to the gallows. But a hanged man never truly tells his tales, right? Not even if he wears his crown correctly." A quiet hum broke his lips, vibrating his throat as he pondered over the data she'd gathered. The face blowing up on the screen before them. "
Hm, like I said," he threw his glance toward Hook, "
right under your nose. That's where your shadow hides. Sometimes in twos. Sometimes in fours. But never below a one. And occasionally flying."
In but a moment, Cheshire found himself sitting beside Ursula once more, his hands making themselves home clicking the keys of her keyboard. His eyes flashed toward the screen, now displaying a window of pure, unadulterated coding. They flew through the screen in letters and numbers, slashes and dots acting as guides to a world only the two of them likely knew. If anyone could keep up with the Cheshire, it had to be Ursula, even if she listed among those that couldn't understand a word he spoke. Coding, math, science, at least those languages tended to act as universal. He basically gave her his wedding vows, plastered on the LED of her TV screen. Of course, he'd reject any notion of marriage to a lady, but at least this could be their little secret.
"
There you are," he hummed again, "
mopped, dusted, broomed—the spring cleaning of a century. Now, tell me, dearest Octopus, what happens to the fox upon meeting the hound? I'll give you a hint: orange to red." He made a show of pointing to the TV before continuing, "
You have the blood. We have the hound. Now we just need our fox."
"
To the King's court!" Cheshire shouted, jolting up to stand at attention.
interactions: @Autumn_Burns_Red, @Poisoned Rose
can't get it outta my head: 'At words poetic I'm so pathetic/That I always have found it best/Instead of getting it off my chest/To let 'em rest unexpressed' by Cole Porter from Anything Goes 'You're the Top'
