[ if belle was less accustomed to waking up without knowing exactly where she was she might have panicked a little more - the only thing that had really caused her real concern was the feeling of discomfort down her throat and the twisting nausea in her stomach. dropping to the floor, it takes her a moment to gather herself enough to actually lift her head and look around, to take in her surroundings -
because this isn't storybrooke.
she might not have adventured far, but she knows enough that this, all of this, cannot be part of the place she'd read and learned about, which had to mean she was elsewhere, surely? looking around her doesn't really give her any answers, either; the faces are strange and she can't see anyone - or anything - familiar. the discomforting feeling of being lost and alone creeps over her again, a weighted pressure on her shoulders, and she forces herself to stand and start to find a means out of this place: she had to be brave.
it's then that she notes the numbers on her arm and she touches them, curious - no pain, and they're not rubbing off no matter how hard she tries. doing her best to ignore the people around her, belle stumbles out to the lockers and follows the numbers. the logical conclusion is that the number, mysteriously appeared on her arm, must link to these boxes, surely? so she tries it and finds, inside, something that actually makes her smile amidst all this confusion.
anyone stumbling across belle, still looking tired and a little lost from falling out of her pod, will see her touching the rip of a chipped teacup fondly, a soft smile on her lips. ]
belle french ; lockers ; ota
because this isn't storybrooke.
she might not have adventured far, but she knows enough that this, all of this, cannot be part of the place she'd read and learned about, which had to mean she was elsewhere, surely? looking around her doesn't really give her any answers, either; the faces are strange and she can't see anyone - or anything - familiar. the discomforting feeling of being lost and alone creeps over her again, a weighted pressure on her shoulders, and she forces herself to stand and start to find a means out of this place: she had to be brave.
it's then that she notes the numbers on her arm and she touches them, curious - no pain, and they're not rubbing off no matter how hard she tries. doing her best to ignore the people around her, belle stumbles out to the lockers and follows the numbers. the logical conclusion is that the number, mysteriously appeared on her arm, must link to these boxes, surely? so she tries it and finds, inside, something that actually makes her smile amidst all this confusion.
anyone stumbling across belle, still looking tired and a little lost from falling out of her pod, will see her touching the rip of a chipped teacup fondly, a soft smile on her lips. ]