& straight on 'til morning

*: ･ﾟ∙ * When a person makes light of a situation, it’s supposed to put the other at ease. Not raise every hair on the back of their neck. And even though Tinsley would fight everyone who didn’t believe she was tough enough – twice, she could really, really, really have done without Peter’s visit tonight. The only thing worse than his timing, was his sense of adventure after all. “Left it at the police station. Like seriously, what do you even want me to say to that?” With the lingering line of questioning still on her mind, Tins was rather exhausted from biting back the most interesting story about her all day. So she had no problem speaking her mind now to the scamp she couldn’t even match heights with when hoisting herself up, on the kitchen countertop. 

When Peter dismissed her idea to share lunch as quickly as he did, she even had a hard time remembering any motives for their endeavours together beyond money for art school. Twisted loyalty? Delusional memories? The unforgivingly good feeling of safety and protection that came with trailing behind this town’s apex predator in spe? Pathetic, really. In a huff, she turned her back towards him for the first time since she’d walked through the door, and busied herself rummaging through her backpack in search of a snack.

Perhaps pride mingled itself amongst her motives as well. There was nothing quite as satisfying as hearing her product was high in demand. Her idea was a success, more so than most other ideas. There was no fuzzier feeling than that. 

Shoving the bag aside, she bend herself over her notepad, “Alright, let me work some magic on the numbers…” Some scribbles for current inventory were followed by some scribbles for the shopping list, and some slipped her lips as she quietly calculated the biggest profit margin, “corn starch in bulk… adds 90 per bag for half the price…” There was a slight pause. Her ears turned slightly warm and red. As Peter mentions Winnie’s disappearance, Tins barely manages to keep her face still. “Yes, it does seem to weirdly hold everyone’s attention…” Many questions lay in her raised eyebrows but she knew better than to test his whims with only half her focus. “…no more lemon juice… saves 15%,” She clears her throat, “Okay, how does an estimated 8% increase in supply sound if I can get it to you by the very end of this week? Actually, it could be up to fourteen, but then I’ll want a favour.”

⌜ ✧ °˖ ╾ ⌟  

The station, of course. Authority had been running amok for days, gathering evidence and questioning any witnesses they could find. They were overturning the town, better than Pan could ever dream of, and all for one silly old woman. It was a remarkable prospect, one he didn’t quite understand. What value did the baker really have? Sure, she made some mean pie, and she’d fed some of his lost boys when they were on the verge of starvation, but other than that Peter couldn’t find much use for her. She was, at best, dispensable. What could she have possibly done to warrent such loyalty? Regardless of their motives, it was an enjoyable spectacle to watch. The way they dug through grim streets, desperate to find a shred of a clue, a sign of life. He wondered when he’d be summoned for questioning. He knew they would eventually come crawling. They appeared to think anyone in town could be linked and he did have a reputation. He looked forward to answering their queries.

“A boring, dreadful place.” Pan accedes, impassive. Watching the girl rummage with a rather intent contemplation; There aren’t many people that dare to turn their back on him, at least not as carelessly as Tinsley Bell, and he has a grudging respect for her callousness. He supposes that’s why he likes her; She isn’t quick to shy away from him, not too scared to defy him. “What’s wrong? Did they not believe your innocence?” Peter taunts. He can see the tension in her bones, feel the apprehension she emanates. It’s almost too easy of a target. “What could a tiny, little girl possibly do to a harmless old lady? --If only they knew who you really are.” He steps across the old planks, dabbling the ceramic doll in his hands. “I wonder what they’d do. I mean, besides locking you up of course. Stripping away the only chance you have at a life, a home. --I guess we’ll have to wait to find out.” There’s a connotation laced within the impassive way he speaks. A clear reminder of the power he holds, of Tinsley’s place in this elaborate game he’s playing.

He waits for her to finish her calculations, quietly. She’s good with investments, he knows. Tins could be messy, at times, but when it came to her business she ran it quite adequately. She has a sharp mind and an easy incentive for motivation. Why she bothers with notepads he couldn’t be sure. He only ever keeps account of things he knows need to be imprinted. Anything else is trivial or a way to compromise his plans. Her unease is palpable and he grins. She’s wary. Good. He relies on her distrust. It’s part of what makes her so useful.

The conclusion draws his attention, eyebrow rising. He’d already done the calculations in his head. She is holding back. Ready to bargain, demand what he’s owed, Pan stops in time for her own barter to grace the air. The worm had teeth. How interesting. “What could you possibly want from me?”

It had been a long day. Granted it was only noon but every lie that had left Tinsley’s lips in the A.M. seemed to have dragged another hour out of her lifespan. It wasn’t easy trying to keep track of them all, you know? She had begun to think she needed to write a few things down. Though jotting down her own alibis and excuses on a notepad certainly would’ve raised an air of suspicion around her at the police station. Reaching her floor, she beelined to the second apartment on her right and took a moment to shake off all the dread of the day. She’d put down an excellent performance, besides she had nothing to do with the baker’s disappearance so what was there to worry about, right?

“Oh my gosh,” She said with a hand on her heart and her other sticking out her house key out of reflex - as if she could transform it into a weapon if only she believed enough. It’s not as if this was his first surprise visit but the jumpiness of being brought in for interrogation earlier still hadn’t worn off properly, apparently. “Gee, you know, there’s this amazing invention called doors? And didn’t I offer you a key to mine?” She dropped her bag by the door, her eyes all the while on Peter. Not that she didn’t trust him around her fragile ceramics. No, not at all. (He knew they were meant to be broken to reveal their insides, after all). It was the boy’s presence and its habit of taking up the whole room in her eyes. “You know, I gotta ask, are you here for pizza or money?”

⌜ ✧ °˖ ╾ ⌟

The rattling of the lock tips him off, a clang of metal against iron. The sound scrapes against the hollow walls of the apartment and he’s reminded just how shitty these suites are; The floorboards creak under the lightest weight, dry wallpaper flakes down from grim, grey stone, and the air permeates a damp and musty smell. The Hangman’s Tree isn’t much better, but at least it’s warm. The manor had been abandoned when he’d first encountered it. It stood tall and proud in a forgotten glory on the east side of the harbor. Close enough to Hook’s territory to provoke the man, but far enough to give his crew the liberty they needed. He’d quite managed to appreciate the run-down house. The brick work had been coated in charcoal black, the windows had gaps wide enough to let the wind and rain in, and the gabled roof had collapsed in on itself at the far west end but it had been sufficient. And these days, it served as home. A place where his lost boys could hole up and find exemption; A hot meal or respite when you were wounded.

Turning to the door, Pan leans back against the window sill, one of Tinsley’s ceramics dolls still in his hands. He’d found the baubles derivative, but in a town where everything was a poor imitation of something greater, he supposed it befitting. At least as a way to keep anonymity. Tinsy’s little display of an entrance is nothing short of entertaining and Peter cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. He can always count on the fairy to amuse him. “There’s no fun in that. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Pan retorts, pushing away from his leisured position against the window to move closer. His strides are firm but light, imposing, as if he owns the place. “Business. When have I ever come to you for pleasure?” Derision. He would have gone to his bird if he wanted something more stimulating than business transactions. “I’m in need for more of your --wares. They’re in high demand these days, and I don’t like disappointing customers. ‘Specially not now their favourite baker is gone.”

it was chaotic. whispers piercing their way through the crevice of walls and thinly coated naivity of the small town, rumors spreading with a rapidity that appeared untraceable and wary glances finding their target with narrow suspicion. it was amusing what one little disappearance could cause. frankly, peter found his entertainment within watching the charade play out before him. there, without any meaning to, facades crumbled for the eyes of every perceptive person. that little layer of innocence that the town founded its reputation on slowly falling apart. and for what ? one silly, old woman. remarkable, but enjoyable all the same. a little game changer in his big scheme. yes, pan revelled in the revealing of true nature.

ironically, the police, as incompetent as they were, seemed more interested in their little baker than any other illegal crime. so while the town continued to run in its chaotic course, cracking with every little question, the threat of true exposure to authority remained unlikely. and the lost boys had more free rein than ever. and despite running most errands for their leader, there was one he preferred to handle himself. little tinsley bell and her ‘pixie dust’ was one of the most profitable business deals pan had. it was amusing just what one little girl could accomplish with the right motivation. awaiting within the privacy of her own shared flat - which he had promptly broken into. - he played with some of the scattered trinkets around.