Stay With Me

Ivy Rivers always felt like she broke the mould, being one of the only fellow membership of her little town in Maine to not fulfil trends. But what if she -literally- was never meant to have lived on Storybrooke?
Her job as a waitress is only temporary, until she can move on, however she's been stuck cleaning down tabletop for 28 years. That is, until a yellow bug pulls up I'm town and begins to temp fate, leading each individual making rather sudden realizations about their past. Ivy's is a little more unique than the others, giving her an option as to whether acknowledge it or lose all she knows to be true.


1. Welcome Aboard

******* represents a change in location, e.g. from Real World to Enchanted Forest

The dull ringing tone of my alarm forced me awake and out of bed, towards the murky grey outside the window. The clouds hung in great clumps, one barely separate from the other, covering up the most pale shade of cornflower blue physically possible. Rain seemed like a great possibility, though I didn't let it give me more reason to not leave the house. 
Without further hesitation, I changed into the Granny's Diner uniform, paired it with a messy top knot to hold back my chocolate brown hair, slipped into my white converse, snatched up my black leather jacket and sprinted out the door, pulling the collar over the back of my head to protect as much of myself as I could from the oncoming storm. 
"Morning Ruby," the light twinkle of the door bell welcomed me inside, soon accompanied by the smell of brewing coffee and smoked bacon. 
"Hey Ivy!" Ruby bounded towards me, a tray of food in one hand and her left in the front pocket of her apron. "How was last night?" 
"Don't even ask; he barely knew how to hold a conversation and not in a cute way!" I chuckled, beginning to clear some of the tables. 
Ruby laughed sympathetically, "Well, it was worth a try. Doctor Whale seems nice enough on the exterior anyway." 
I continued picking up used coffee cups, sighing wistfully "I know you've got to kiss a few frogs to find your man, but this is getting a little too ridiculous for my liking," 
Ground pounded against the soles of my leather boots in a repetitive manner, however the same could not be said for my cloak. Its faded olive green silk fluttered around my ankles, hitting my trousers light enough to only just be felt. The wind picked up, hitting my face with a resemblance to a sharp blade, although I didn't dare turn my head. I knew full well that once I escaped I would be free; it was having enough mental strength to do so that was the complicated part. 
I wasn't completely sure how far or how long I had ran for, but just as I began to tire to a point of lethargy, I reached a dock, seemingly abandoned. Without taking any time to hesitate for fear of exhaustion kicking in, I started fumbling with the ropes keeping one of the smaller boats stationary. The task took longer than I had hoped with numb fingers, but it was successful nonetheless. Within a few minutes, I had somehow succeeded in pushing the boat far enough into the sea to begin rowing. 
However, the spell of good luck was cut short by a storm, ultimately destroying my boat into nothing more than simple debris. I must have lost consciousness, as the next thing I remember is awakening on the deck of a collosal vessel, fumbling for the dagger I had hidden in my boot without being too obvious that I was doing so.
"Well Lass," a rough, British accent spoke above me, "welcome aboard the Jolly Rodger." By this point, I had cautiously stood up, my dagger hiding behind my back subtly. The same voice spoke again, coming from a dark haired man dressed all on black - presumably the captain by the authority he was displaying "Well boys, seems we have ourselves some company." Rough cheers and the sounds of colliding cutlets filled the air, before eventually dying down, leaving room for me to speak. 
"To be company of yours, Captain, is not something I plan on doing anytime soon." 
The man smirked, obviously humoured. "Well its a good thing you dont have much of a say in the matter then, isn't it?" As if it had all been rehearsed, members of his crew grabbed my arms and began dragged me across the ship.

Hours pass, which I spend cooped up in what I can only presume is the smallest quarters. A thin, archaic bed sits in the corner, though it takes up half the floor space. The walls are unpainted, wooden planks and seem to blend into the floor, my mind only being able to separate the two because of the door, currently bolted shut from the outside. For a uncertain amount of time, I drifted in and out of consciousness until I was disturbed by the sound of rusty metal colliding. Similar noises followed, ceased, then were replaced by the scratching of the door on the decking. My body tensed, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up right and my left hand shot towards my dagger. Leather boots treaded lightly, the heel landing first, letting the toes fall after it. By the time the boots were securely inside the tiny cabin, I was pressing the dagger into the back of the persons neck, still unsure of their identity. 
"Move and it draws blood." I gritted my teeth, holding the cold blade up to the rather fat neck. 
"That won't be necessary." The captain appeared in the doorway, one hand resting on his belt and the other in his pocket. 
"But Captain-" The chubby one began to protest, but was silenced and sent out, being reassured that he would 'deal with it'. I presumed 'it' was me. 
"Now," the Captain sat down on the ruptured bed, pulling a worrying face as it creaked for a little longer then safe. "I've come to make you a deal." 
"Oh really, am I supposed to feel honoured?" I crossed my arms, already sensing that I was going to become irritated quickly. 
"Dont temp fate, love, I'm offering you an easy escape; either you agree to tell me your story over -say dinner - or I let my crew out there have their way with you, which isn't going to be nearly as pleasant as the alternative." The man took out a small flask, took a sip and offered me the same. Gingerly, I took some and was thoroughly relieved when I realised it was simply rum - not some sort of homemade concoction. 
"Alright," I stood tall, cleared my throat. The liquid courage certainly seemed to help  "But what happens after that?" 
The captain leaned forwards until our noses almost touched, his breath tickling my skin. "Whatever I see fit." He paused for a moment, looked me up and down, then turned towards the door. 
"Do I at least get your name?" I raised my voice after him, hoping it would catch him before he bolted the door again. 
The Captain sighed, turned back to face me and uttered a small collection of words. "Killian Jones, but most people prefer to call me Catain Hook." With that, he lifted his left hand out of his pocket where it had remained the entirity of his visit, only to reveal not a hand, but a silver hook where one should be. Before I even had chance to draw breath, the door was once again shut and sealed me inside.

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