An enigmatic whatchamacallit that no one’s quite sure what it’s supposed to be. One thing’s for sure though, touch its «hair» and you’ll be gassed into an epileptic trance for roughly 26 Hours, 13 Minutes and 4 Milliseconds with a slight chance of losing nose hairs in the process.
This is pure, unadulterated, pointless fluff for my beautiful BK (bemusedbicycle), who not only planted this image in my brain, but earned a very well-deserved promotion at work. You’re the best, homeskillet.
It’s a few weeks after they return from their adventures in the Enchanted Forest when a storm knocks out whatever qualifies as the grid in Storybrooke.
Most of the town has gathered at the Town Hall where generators are warming the building and residents are huddled, hunch-shouldered among cots and sleeping pads. She’s grateful for the relatively seamless process, Killian and David assisting her in going door to door while she insures that the hospital’s generators are in working order.
It doesn’t sit quite right with her, this sudden winter, of course, but also the ease with which this whole situation has come under her control - with only minimal griping from Grumpy.
That is, until Killian walks into the crowded auditorium with a shivering, black lab puppy tucked under his leather jacket.