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May. 16th, 2012 08:38 pm Night patrols aren't really so bad. Besides, with luck, Mary Margaret won't be home tonight anyway, at least not for a while, so Emma might as well be doing something useful instead of hanging around at home waiting to see how it went, right?
And there's something sort of relaxing about driving around Storybrooke at night in the cruiser. It's quieter, more powerful than her little Bug, and it turns smoothly through the streets as she makes her way around and through town.
Gold's pawnshop: nothing going on there, though there's a light on in the back. She wonders, briefly, whether the guy ever goes home, and, if he does, what he goes home to. She seriously doubts there's a Mrs. Gold around to put up with his cryptic riddles.
The residences and businesses are all shut up for the night, warm yellow lights glowing behind some windows, but it's late, and plenty of people are already asleep, probably, or getting ready for bed and work and school tomorrow.
The Mayor's house takes up practically it's own street: a graceful New England version of a mansion, built square and simple with a high hedge around it for privacy. The windows are all dark as she drives slowly by, but she looks over anyway, wondering if Henry's up.
Maybe he'd give her a wave or something if he saw the cruiser.
But it's not Henry she sees when she looks towards the house: it's a tall shape, jumping lightly out of a window and landing on the lawn below with hardly a thump. Heart racing, she pulls over, gets out of the cruiser and shuts the door as quietly as she can, nightstick at the ready as she tiptoes on silent boots to wait by the edge of the driveway.
When he comes out, she's ready for him, with a swing right to the gut.
And there's something sort of relaxing about driving around Storybrooke at night in the cruiser. It's quieter, more powerful than her little Bug, and it turns smoothly through the streets as she makes her way around and through town.
Gold's pawnshop: nothing going on there, though there's a light on in the back. She wonders, briefly, whether the guy ever goes home, and, if he does, what he goes home to. She seriously doubts there's a Mrs. Gold around to put up with his cryptic riddles.
The residences and businesses are all shut up for the night, warm yellow lights glowing behind some windows, but it's late, and plenty of people are already asleep, probably, or getting ready for bed and work and school tomorrow.
The Mayor's house takes up practically it's own street: a graceful New England version of a mansion, built square and simple with a high hedge around it for privacy. The windows are all dark as she drives slowly by, but she looks over anyway, wondering if Henry's up.
Maybe he'd give her a wave or something if he saw the cruiser.
But it's not Henry she sees when she looks towards the house: it's a tall shape, jumping lightly out of a window and landing on the lawn below with hardly a thump. Heart racing, she pulls over, gets out of the cruiser and shuts the door as quietly as she can, nightstick at the ready as she tiptoes on silent boots to wait by the edge of the driveway.
When he comes out, she's ready for him, with a swing right to the gut.