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CHARACTERS: Mr. Gold (

gilding) and OPEN
LOCATION: The Oxygen Gardens
WARNINGS: None I can think of at the moment.
SUMMARY: An unfortunate weakness of Gold's came with him onto the ship, so he hides it the best way he knows.

[The dagger has always been both a boon and a problem. Feels often like a chain, a weight slung around his ankles with his name marked on the shackles, but that was the way of curses. Its presence in Storybrooke had been no surprise, the accumulation of other items washed through from the Enchanted Forest like flotsam on a beach, but here, in the distant reaches of space, Gold is only reminded all too sharply of how inextricably he is bound to it. Finding it in his assigned locker, amongst clothes and personal items and nothing else - no wooden puppets or potion bottles, no straw, no spinning wheel, no chipped cup - it stands alone as a mark of his power. And of his weakness.

The latter is never something he's been able to allow, but here, in such strange surroundings and unknown circumstances - but with Regina still a presence - he will have to guard against it all the more.

So it is, after a couple of weeks on board the ship, still doubting the supposed security of the room and locker assigned to him, he finds his way to the gardens he's heard word of, and takes a shovel from one of the equipment sheds he finds on the lower level. The greenery in the upper levels is not like the Enchanted Forest, nor is it like the forest surrounding two sides of Storybrooke, but it offers a familiarity he finds somewhat comforting against the echoing, vaulted corridors and stark lighting of the rest of the ship. He makes his way as deep into the overgrown mess as he possibly can without losing his way, and sets about the motions - familiar themselves, now, for the times he's done it - of burying the dagger.

When he's done, he takes a moment to best memorise the surroundings, covering his tracks as he makes his way back out onto the path. His walk back towards the lifts to the lower level is casual and relaxed, but he's still carrying the shovel, clearly recently used.]

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[He's coming up to sit in the gardens because there are parts that remind him of Guatemala, if only from the smell, thick and earthy and green, and John needs that more and more lately.

He's afraid and he won't discuss it, think about it, or even admit it to himself. Why should he? Fear is not his friend, not his ally, and not even his great motivator.

He sees the man coming down the path with this shovel, and frowns a little.]

Burying the communicators doesn't really accomplish anything.

[He says it, and it's partially a joke.]

[Gold pauses at the comment, aware that his appearance might draw attention from anyone he happens to cross paths with, but that particular image seems bizarre. But then, burying a magical knife with his name engraved on it could be seen as equally bizarre, really.]

And here I was, hoping it might grow a tree. [One raised eyebrow expression bemused.] They don't appear to be accomplishing much as they are, but I can't say I've fallen to such attempts.

[It didn't really bother him, after all. He had no experience of what the network was like when the communications system was working.]

You'll have more luck with a communicator seed.

[See, he can joke too. John definitely doesn't seem overly curious, though.]

I don't know what's going on with them. They're normally pretty reliable.

Clearly my knowledge of cultivating communicators isn't quite up to scratch.

[A slight smile, an incline of his head. He considers a warning that there might be some who would believe the joke to be truth, but that would hint at a life he had decided was best kept to himself (and Regina), for now.]

Perhaps we can take this as warning that relying is a poor course of action.

[It's more of a general comment than the focus on word choice makes it seem; he doesn't necessarily assume the young man's made himself overly comfortable here. Prefers not to make assumptions at all.]

Though I would have thought the abrupt abduction as introduction would cement that.

[John shrugs]

Technology's a bitch.

[In more ways than one. Technology can be blamed for everything wrong in John's life, but also for the few things that are right with it.]

Yeah, but there's nothing we can do about abduction, unless you have a degree in astrophysics and the ability to break into where they keep the Jump controls.

[Technology's a bitch. Gold doesn't think he's quite heard that before, but then, even in Storybrooke there hadn't exactly been much emphasis on the new and groundbreaking. As surrounded as he was by it now, maybe he should make attempts to correct that.

The rest catches his attention more, though, more specific than anything he's heard from any other so-called passengers.]

Is that what you consider necessary to right our little predicament? I would have thought we'd have enough of that in the crew, if not the rest of us.

[He shrugs, closing off for a moment, but he's also thinking. There are solutions to the problem of being trapped, solutions that John has mulled over before.]

We'd need access to the Jump drive. Whatever brought us here, you can bet it's attached to that.

Could call that putting all your eggs in one basket, lad. Especially where it's in relation to a device you haven't even seen.

[Not that Gold was surprised to find people set in their ways of thinking, their choice of where to direct the blame. That wasn't something unique to the Tranquility. It was just a case of trying to find out if any of them had it right.]

[John's eyebrows move up slightly, the most expressive he's been yet.]

And what would you do?

[Called lad, well, that's never happened]

I'm keeping an open mind.

[Learning what he could of the ship and the people on it. Finding his feet. He knew from experience that rushing things only ever found him on the losing side.]

Now, if I'd been here as long as you, who could say? Perhaps I'd be just as certain.

There are a lot of opinions around here.

[John shrugs, casually, although the movement is prescriptive and not at all instinct. He wonders, occasionally, if he has any kind of body language that's real, but dismisses that]

There always are.

[It's said very dryly, though not quite cynical. You could always rely on people to talk.]

Did you choose to listen to them? Or did you make your own?

I heard them.

[He tips his head to just look over at the man.]

But no one's saying anything I agree with yet.

[Now that's a far more interesting response, and something in Gold's smile says as much before he continues.]

How long have you been here?

Six, seven jumps.

[John hasn't kept perfect track - for that he would need to ask Cameron - but even more than that, considering the coma, he isn't sure if he missed a jump and no one let him know.]

And you're still putting a 'yet' on the end of that statement.

[If jumps really equate to months, like Gold has been given to believe, then it's a long time to be waiting on someone to agree with.]

What can I say?

[There is a patience about him, an air of someone who has seen a great deal and knows he will see more.]

I take my time.

[Patience was a skill that Gold definitely knew the worth of, and couldn't truly say he'd found it in too many others over the years. But there was a difference between patience and idleness, especially in the young, and he wondered which one would come as true for this boy. For now, all he does is give a slight tilt of his head, almost a nod.]

What's your name, lad?

John Reese. And you?

[A lie, but seamless one, one that is almost truth.]

Mr. Gold.

[It's not precisely a lie, true enough for thirty years, but there's another, truer name tucked away - he keeps it to himself.]

Right.

Good luck with the shovel.

[Desmond all but lives in this corner of the oxygen garden now that Jaye's pointed it out to him, although he does his best not to venture too far into it. He doesn't believe for a moment that he'd get lost in it, but the civilization aspect of the ship is so appealing, he's concerned if he wanders too far away from it, it'll all go away and he'll be back on the island again and as bad as the ship is, the island is worse. Foolish notion though it may be, it keeps him on the periphery, doing very little but peeling some fruit he picked with a kitchen knife while leaning against one of the trees near the exit to the other floors. It's comforting, if nothing else.]

If you're interested in gardening, brotha. The lower levels are a bit more hospitable.

[The forest around Storybrooke had its fair share of visitors, and perhaps it was even less surprising that people on this spaceship would come here. A touch of something natural, and Gold wasn't the only one that would find it familiar or comforting against the environment offered by the rest of the ship. And as much as he knew his activity was likely to look suspicious, trying to hide it was only going to exacerbate that effect.]

As fascinating as the water system they seem to be using down there is, I find I rather prefer soil.

[The dagger would have been quite easy to find if he'd just thrown it into one of the water beds, after all - and possibly washed away.]

Edited (tmw you read a word and bounce it back at someone without thinking and then get fussy at yourself) 2013-01-03 20:07 (UTC)

It is a bit much, isn't it? [He accepts that answer and it's hard to miss the way he perks a bit at the sound of Gold's accent. It's at least a little comforting to hear another Scot (TOO BAD ONLY HIS ACCENT IS SCOTTISH, DES- you tried).]

Which, unfortunately, applies to the entire ship. Not that I'm complaining. It just makes me wonder how such a ship this size came to only be populated by two individuals and ourselves.

[Gold gives a small smile, an incline of his head. Doesn't miss the reaction, but isn't quite sure, yet, what's caused it. Or even if he wants to pursue it.]

Something tragic, no doubt. You do hear stories about that kind of thing. [Huge populations of people just vanishing. Not that Gold had ever heard a story about it until he'd had it happen. He looks away, back at the greenery he'd just walked through, the wild mess of it.] Perhaps we've had the luck to find ourselves on a ghost ship.

[The greatest disappointment in his life is no one shares his love of Celtic. It's a tragedy.

He goes back to slicing his apple, grinning a bit.] You've an odd definition of luck, brotha. [But yeah, he's also heard stories about that, so he can't even argue.] But there's always some greater tragedy in every story. This ship's bitter history is no different. Whether it's our tragedy or not is the real question.

I've an odd definition of many things.

[And maybe there was a part of him, under the riled rage about being plucked up here at all, that found the matter truly lucky. It had been a very long time since he'd seen something really new, after all. He just wanted to have control over when he'd stop seeing it.]

That I'd consider more of a choice to avoid, rather than the real question.

[That just gets Desmond to snort- all of it, really. Once, he used to believe that destiny was something to avoid and now, even being sick of hearing it, even wanting to believe nothing mattered, he was constantly forced to believe it. Now he's just accepted it.]

That's the funny thing about destiny. The more you avoid it, the worse it inevitably gets and then it catches up to you anyway. You do what you're meant to do and then maybe you get the chance to enjoy whatever's left of your life. [He looks up.] What's your excuse then?

[For avoiding it. He knows a lot about avoidance. It takes a long time to break a man this effectively.]

Edited (FORGETS A SENTENCE THAT TIED A RAMBLE TOGETHER. I AM SO GOOD AT THIS.) 2013-01-08 22:39 (UTC)

[A long time ago, a little speech like that might have had Gold give out a high-pitched giggle in absolute amusement. Not an act particularly fitting with current self, though the wide smile might convey it just as well - if not quite so unsettling.]

My excuse might be that I don't believe in destiny. [A pause, and a small tilt of his head, a tiny drop of allowance.] Not in grand gestures like this, anyway.

[That gets an acerbic, broken chuckle.] I certainly didn't choose to believe in destiny, brotha. It just crept up on me one day and wouldn't let me veer off the path. [Another chuckle.] By utilizing grand gestures like this, so I might be biased.

[That sounds less like a force like destiny and more like an individual pulling strings and placing pieces - and Gold would consider himself something of an expert on the difference between the two. But that isn't necessarily information he's looking to share.]

Then perhaps your arrival here has ripped you free from that particular problem. This is a different world, after all.

[And different worlds have different rules.]

[Desmond stands, using the tree as leverage.] That would be all well and good if there weren't a girl involved, yeah? I'd take the other world and everything it gives me because it's got her in it. And I made a promise to her. So I hope you're wrong, honestly. I hope I've got a reason for being here, because once I've fulfilled that purpose... I get to go back to her.

[In theory...]

[Of course there's a girl involved, and Gold gives a dry smile, looking away. He doesn't linger too much over how some of the words ring true to himself - he doesn't need hope or purpose in order to know he'll find a way back to Belle. Simply the certain knowledge and the determination that he will.]

Then you've no concern over whether I'm wrong or not. Love... that will trump destiny at every turn.

[Whether it worked with it or against it - there was no stronger magic, no stronger power.]

[Desmond's relatively impressed by that. He's used to being scoffed at for being a romantic, so the fact that's not happening gives him slight pause, but then he just breaks out into a smile that says he genuinely appreciates the comment. When the people who peddle destiny at you seem to believe pushing buttons and abandoning his love can be devastating. Hearing the opposite for once is lovely.]

And what about you then, brotha? Is there someone waiting for you? [He assumes a lot, but that's always been his nature. He knew Jack's problems were romantic from the moment the two tried to chase each other down. The funny thing about love is that the people who least believe it are the ones who usually have the most troubles surrounding it.]

[It's not really a topic Gold wants turned on himself. Belle lingers in his thoughts, just as she always does, twenty-eight years and longer without her (with her locked away from him). But he knows things the other way aren't the same, shouldn't be the same. She doesn't need him, would be better off without him, as much as he has reached out to her, standing honest, trying to build things again. He tips his head away, tone light against the weight truly hiding behind it.]

Waiting might be a strong term.

[He's concerned for her, determined to get back, but Belle's strong. Stronger than him, in many ways.]

More the type to look, is she then? [At least that's what Desmond takes out of that. It was Penny's lot in life. Penny didn't wait.

He goes wistful again. One of his most fatal flaws is that he's always been too open- regarding some things. Others he keeps closely guarded, but Penny? Penny is the most important thing in the world to him. She drives his every motivation.] Penelope- Penny- she didn't wait, either. Wasted a small fortune trying to find me again after I ran away from her.

[For someone still so new to the ship- and more keen on exploring it herself than to read any sort of pamphlet or be told what is what, Torunn finds herself nearing the Gardens. They're familiar too. Not only surrounded by the air tight seals of machinery and ship walls, both inside and out, but the luscious greenery only serves to remind her of her own home.

The only home she'd known growing up, living tucked away in a faux world, just for the sake of protection. Not that she'd truly known it's extent at the time. So to find someone wandering about, having clearly just gone for a dig... Well. She could even smell the manufactured soil on his shoes, the trowel.]

Pardon sir. Are you a gardener? The tender, here?

[It would be easy to say yes and cover up his activity that way, but that might lead to more questions that he'd be unable to answer. So Gold shakes his head slightly, answering,]

I'm afraid not, no. [Which did beg the question why he had a shovel, but he doesn't try to skirt around the issue. Indicates it directly, in fact, lifting the shovel a little in gesture.] If you're looking for staff, though, I found this on the lower level, so I'd imagine they must pass through there at some point.

[ There's a funny thing about the Oxygen Garden and how Ric goes there every so often to check on his own plants and to just relax in the jungle so it's not an odd thing for him to see anyone walking toward the lifts with a shovel in their hands. What is odd is to see someone who looks like Gold doing it.

It takes him a moment once Gold actually enters the lift to say anything but when he does, he does sound just a bit interested. ]

Planting something?

[People on the Tranquility seemed to like to talk. People always seemed to like to talk, though, and Gold could hardly expect being transferred unwillingly onto a spaceship to change that. He'd given the other man in the lift a polite incline of his head as he'd entered, but had wondered how long it might take for him to say anything. Maybe he should have counted.]

Just a spot of gardening. [It's not a direct answer, but it's not dishonest, either.] I find it helps... clear my mind.

[Truth in twofold: the dagger being safely hidden left him free to deal with matters more clearly, and he did have the real feeling that a lack of things to do with his hands (no spinning wheel had come with him) would begin to weigh on him, given time.]

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YOU KNEW IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN ONE DAY.

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