PLAYER INFO:
Name: Amanda
Age: 35
Current Characters: Audrey Parker
Reserved: MM/Snow's Reserve

CHARACTER INFO:
NAME: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
CANON: Once Upon A Time
CANON POINT: Season One
AGE: 55ish (but more like 27)

HISTORY:
Once Upon a Time Wiki: Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White

I am your mother
And I'm so glad you're here
You have a father
Who loves you, oh so dear


She knows this song. She has known it as long as she has known breath and life. It is her own, and it is her mothers. Same as the voice which sings it softly, is her mother's voice. Warmly soft and always peaceful, setting off a spangled set of bright fireworks in her muzzy head and her quiet heart.

There is nothing like these words, nothing like this voice, nothing like the absolutely ordinary nights that are filled with them. Not of the balls, or plays, or dinners, or the palaces. This is her very most favorite.


We call you baby
'Cause we don't know how to say
That you are love
That's come to live
At our house today

She could no more forget these words were written on the very fabric of her heart than she could forget the stars she courtesies goodnight to as her father laughs his deep belly chuckle of merry amusement before catching her up in his arms, and tucking her into her new big girl bed of the heaviest blankets and fhc thinnest sheets, of which she must learn to care for.

They are the sun and the moon of her sky, they dictate her walk through this great Enchanted Forest. There is no darkness in the sky, in her way, when she hears these words, like every holy candle they brighten her heart, and surround her in down. She knows them as well as she know - oh, yes - the fingers that start at her temple, brushing down the shell of her ear and her back, following her curls.


La, la, loo
La, la, loo
Oh my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you

Of course. She isn't in her bed. She must have fallen asleep. She's here, laying with her head in her mother's lap. Like always. Sleep filling up her eyes the way the great waters and proud trees fill the horizon. The safest place in all the realms. Where no ogre or wolf would dare find her. Where if she is asleep, she will be rolled up, like a small snowy mouse and taken to her swaying bed. But if she can blink and be awake, she might yet get sung to all over again. Her mother smiling, and tapping her nose, before stroking her hair through it all over again.

“Are you sleeping, Snow?” The voice broke in, echoing, soft as a birds' wing.


La, la, loo,
La, la, loo
Little soft, fluffy sleeper
Here comes a pink cloud for you


Snow rubbed her cheek on her mother's skirt, warm and silken under her skin. Trying to rouse her eyelids, but they felt like they had grown heavier than even the kitchen doors and the brick walls combined.

She mumbled, one hand moving from the skirt to rub at her eyes. "'M not sleepy. Just once more, please?"

“You must listen close, for our time is short, little one.” Her Mother continued, soft and even. With only that smallest edge of pressure. Like when she left her shoes in the grand hall. Or the guests had stayed too long. “There is much coming for you, and you must be strong.”


La, la, loo
La, la, loo
Little wandering angel
Fold up your wings
Close your eyes


"I can be brave," Snow said through a yawn, her fingers tightening against her Mother's knee. Like the heroes in all the stories they read her, and in all the stories that traveled to her.

“I know you can.” There was a soft laugh as the fingers continued to card her curls so very delicately. “But you must carry so much more with you than that. Trust, and Friendship, to light the darkest of places. Duty and Honor, when they might be forgotten. Honesty and Forgiveness, when it might be most needed and least expected."

“And always, always, Snow.” The fingers moved from her curls to stroke her cheek, so very slowly, as though to make it last. “You will always have the two things that nothing can ever truly take from you, or be stood against: Hope and Love.”


La, la, loo
La, la, loo
And may love be your keeper


"I love you, Mother," Snow said, fiercely, even as it was a whisper into a winter's gale. Struggling, but unable to open her eyes, as though she was falling. Slowly, further and further away. Like the fireflies of evening, and the stars that slept at the call of dawn. Something was changing, and she could not wake herself to change it.

Felt it settling deep in her stomach. Deep and known. Like a promise, a spell, a choice, that could not be undone. That could not be unwished even when wished every night for as long as eyes could stay open on the second star to the right, as far until sleep might claim you.

But it didn't trouble her Mother, at all. No, it didn't seem it. She could feel the gentle brush of her mother lips so close to her ears, the breath on her skin, the warmth that came with her voice. With her rich, deep, true, “Do not fret, my little star keeper. You will always be loved. So very dearly and deeply loved.”

La, la, loo
La, la, loo
La, la, loo

She was waiting. She could hardly hold still.

The whole world seemed full of colors she'd never seen before.
She could hardly remember ever feeling this happy, this free, before.





Even that he's, Mary Margaret checked her watch again, twenty-two minutes late can't touch it.

"Rough day?"

Dr. Whale's voice invaded her careful study of the Peridot ring on her finger. Not that she was actually looking at it. She rarely did. She was looking at it and turning it, because it helped her feel less like she was going to break into pieces that couldn't hold steady on the bar stool.

She'd been such a fool. To hope. To believe. That David, of all people.

And then to have him show up here, while she was like this?

( Read more... )

Her last hour had been entirely too confusing.

First Dr. Whale assuming that she'd resigned from the hospital due to their atrocious date and his lack of reaching out after. Then Mayor Mills threatening and then outright stating that she'd single handedly wrecked Kathryn Nolan's marriage. Only to end up in Milliways, by way of the school, with the greater conundrum of Michael, and whatever newest even more awkward event that had happened between him and Emma.

Leaving her with a clue further to her roommate who had been avoiding The Door and the whole topic, one red jacket and a very stuffed envelope. The last of which, unmarked, she kept turning over in hand. She'd even picked up the letter opener from her desk. But she was staring at both without the ability to move her hands closer together. She wanted to know, but Emma wasn't someone to get to through force.

A point she was beginning to note Michael had yet to see, and hoped he might before causing a third even greater space between them. Even if Emma wasn't and hadn't confided the happenstance of the second. Maybe that was part of not forcing someone to do anything. It was letting them have the space to not choose you and not choose to talk, too. To let them set their own boundaries, their own pace, their own comforts.

Conflicted, Mary Margaret set down the thick closed envelope and picked up a piece of her own mail, slicing through the top of it with a fast flick of her wrist, using a small golden sword letter opener, and taking some frustrated relish in the sound of the slicing paper that rent the silence of her classroom.

As you'll have noticed, Snow White & Princes Charming are not at all surprised by the sudden appearance of an other-worldly bar appearing where some part of their soon to be shared castle should be. While their Storybrooke counterparts Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, who arrived in episode 1.05 (That Still Small Voice) and 1.06 (The Shepherd), will continue to move forward only in chronological order, this will not hold true for their Fairy Tale Land counterparts.

( Or at least for Snow White.  )

Mary Margaret's never been so glad to see her door. Yesterday, maybe, but not as much as this second. Because that time was a day behind her now. It had been one foot and then the other, and just turning the steering wheel. Taking the stairs. Not stopping to pick anything up, because she bought groceries not too long ago.

So that she can close the door behind her. Put the whole morning somewhere that isn't the entire space inside her chest that it keeps refusing to leave. Then, remember with some awkward surprise (and was that something like relief, too?) that she isn't alone here, when there's a blonde woman on her couch.



Even when she isn't sure she doesn't just want to be alone, Mary Margaret managed to find somehow a teasing tone for her voice. "Is this how my tax dollars are put to work? I thought it must be far more illustriously spent."