Lord Wyron — Roleplayer Guild

*~*Collaboration between Ghost Shadow and YoshiSkittlez*~*
Mark's morning had started out pleasant enough, given the circumstances. He had woken up, taken a few Aspirin, took Grip for a walk, and grabbed a quick spot of breakfast. Currently he was trying to distract himself by working on a rather detailed Civil War battlefield he had set up in his basement. It gave him something to do with his hands and mind, occupying him somehow without distant memories of the past - or of his son.

This pleasant activity, however, was to be interrupted by the slightly irritating vibration of his cell phone in his pocket; accompanied by some old Johnny Cash ringtone that Mark found quite amusing.

Pulling out his phone from his suit pants pocket, Mark had to take only one look at the Caller I.D. for his expression to fall from one of content neutrality to disgust and disdain.

Hitting the 'Answer' button, Mark chose to ignore the formalities and simply asked, "Is he safe?" Certainly referring to Mason.

"You think I would be wasting my time calling you if he wasn't?" Regina answered hotly, already annoyed with how this phone call was going. "I need you to stop by my place sometime this afternoon. I have a few things to discuss with you." She went on, taking the tone of the Mayor of Storybrooke rather than just Regina Mills.

"Unless the things you intend to discuss are how and when I get to see my son, I'm not interested." Mark replied stubbornly, having already denounced Regina as Mayor in his mind.

"Well now, how will you know unless you stop by?" Regina countered, her white smile heard clearly in her voice. "I'll see you in an hour." Her voice dropped completely, done with pleasantries and promptly hung up the phone.

Mark grumbled something under his breath as he pocketed his phone, heaving out a sigh as he stared blankly at his diorama. Frankly he wasn't sure what it was Regina wanted. But he couldn't look weak or cowardly, especially around her.

Heading back upstairs, Mark had enough time to get a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes on.

The time seemed to go by slower the longer he waited. His mind drifted, wondering what it would be like if his life had gone differently. If this Curse never sent him here, to Storybrooke; if the Wicked Witch had never lain eyes on his village and taken everything that was dear to him. Would he still be happy? Living the simple woodsman's life in the forests he loved so much? With the wife and son who he loved and remembered. Now his son was alive, but was little more than a shadow, a fragment. Unable to remember anything of the past, unable to remember anything of the life he had before Storybrooke, before Regina. Yet instead of pain or sorrow, Mark felt only emptiness...a hollowness inside him that seemed to do nothing but make him feel lonely, bare, but still alive.

Maybe spending eternity as The Tin Man was truly his destiny. Working and working until time ran out, unaware of the past, the present, or the future - ignorant and blissful.

Sometime during these musings, Mark inclined his head downwards, closing his eyes as he lost himself in thought.

Opening his eyes after some time, Mark looked down at his watch and grimaced as he realized he would have to get going.

Patting Grip atop the head as a farewell and grabbing his jacket before heading out the door, Mark took a few moments standing just outside his truck, eyes fixed on the window as he saw not his own reflection, but the face of the machine staring back at him; goggle-like eyes devoid of emotion, a permanantly crooked, jagged 'smile' etched into the front of his face to give some semblance of humanity.

Mark shuddered visibly, cold gaze fixated on the Tin Man in front of him, the machine only responding by placing a single hand up against his 'side' of the window.

"Why are you following me? You're not real anymore! Just a nightmare." Mark said aloud through gritted teeth, clenching his fist tightly as he could only wait for the machine to respond.

A distinct ticking sound, not dissimilar to that of a clock became audible as the Tin Man seemed to turn his head from side to side before looking out in front of him.

The Tin Man emitted an unsettling noise, something similar to that of a man exhaling; as though trying to catch his breath, straining underneath the weight of his own body. The Tin Man did not appear to be in any state of pain or anguish, but the sounds from within gave evidence to the contrary...even though it was debatable if the machine could even feel anything at all.

Staring straight back at Mark, the Tin Man took a few moments before replying. "Part of you." He said, the words seeming to emanate from him, as his 'mouth' did not move. His voice was cold, octaves lower than Mark's own, gravelly and resonating...yet underneath the veil, one could detect the slightest bit of humanity inside. Mark's own voice, smothered and distorted by steam and gears.

"What? What do you mean? You're a machine!" Mark retorted, glaring daggers into his own reflection.

"More than that. Part of you...Nicholas." The Tin Man replied coolly, displaying no emotion or motive in tone whatsoever.

Mark shut his eyes tightly, formulating a response in his head. Upon opening his eyes, however, the Tin Man was gone...replaced with Mark's own reflection.

Sighing tiredly, Mark stepped into his truck and turned it on before making the relatively short drive to Regina's, dreading the impending meeting.

By the time Mark reached the front door, he could tell that something was amiss. The left door was slightly ajar (broken off one of the hinges), the splinters where he had reduced the majority of it's center to firewood remained unattended to.

Mark took more than a few moments examining the shattered door, inwardly quite surprised it hadn't simply collapsed to the ground from the damage. Yet he also felt a certain sense of pride, maybe...he knew it was childish, but still...

"Oh good, the fire department has finally arrived." Regina stepped into the front lawn from the side of the house, a basket of freshly picked red apples grasped tenderly between her two hands and holding it out in front of her on her lower abdomen. She released one hand to look at the watch on the underside of her wrist and frowned slightly. "Though it seems if I had called Boston's fire department even after calling you I'd still get a better response time..."

"You're lucky I showed up at all." Mark replied in a voice that was rife with disdain. "Now what do you want?" He asked, planting both hands in his pants pockets.

Regina raised a black eyebrow before vaguely gesturing back to her door.

"You're looking at it. My property has been destroyed, by a city counsel-member no less, and in favor of allowing things to get legal and... well just overall messy- I'm feeling quite generous today so as soon as you fix it, I'll get off your back."

Mark's eyes narrowed in response, clearly not pleased by Regina's 'generosity' and started closing the distance between them. "The only reason you're still alive is because Mr. Nolan allows it. If I were you, Ms. Mills...the last thing I would be doing is making demands." He finished venomously, his mouth curved into a deep frown.

Her eyes narrowed into a venemous glare almost instantly; what had been a rather cheerful demeanor replaced by that of The Evil Queen known throughout The Enchanted Forest.

"And if I were you Mr. Dufresne, I wouldn't be so quick to throw around threats and take a moment to remember your place at the bottom of the food chain like the trash feeder you are."

Mark slowly inclined his head down to look Regina in the eyes, steely resolve still apparent in both his posture and voice, "You don't scare me...you may have been a queen where you come from, but you're nothing but a harlot where I come from. So don't try and intimidate me..." With that said, Mark turned to head back to his truck without even looking back.

His insult didn't even so much as break the skin. Instead, her painted lips spread into a white grin as she watched his back turn to her.

"Oh I don't think so..." She said more outloud to herself. Keeping hold of the basket of apples with one hand with the basket pressing into her hip, Regina raised her right palm and twisted her wrist, feeling the magic flowing through her fingertips just as naturally as if she had been born with it. Vines began to sprout from the ground, growing at an unnaturaly quick pace and before Mark knew what was going on, a single vine grabbed hold of his ankle and hoisted him up into the air while two other vines restrained his wrists.

Now dangling Mark upside down, Regina scoffed while keeping her smile and approached him, the vine lifting him up a head or two higher so that their eyes were on level ground.

"Don't hold yourself up above all the rest Mr. Dufresne. This is still my town, and these are still my rules. Now what kind of message would you be sending Mason by refusing to take responsibility for your actions? Hmm? Or is bad parenting something they encourage in your land."

Mark visibly seemed rattled as he was hoisted up into the air, restrained within seconds. Struggling in vain against his constraints, Mark was forced to look Regina in the eyes as she not-so-subtly taunted him.

Summing up as much courage as he could in the current situation, Mark replied, "Taunt me as you will, Regina...but in the end-" Mark had to pause mid-speech to wince as the vines that restrained his wrists caused his bad shoulder to spasm painfully. "In the end so long as you live...like this, you will never be truly hap--"

Regina grabbed an apple from her basket and while Mark was in mid-speech, forced it's flesh into his mouth like a pig ready for roasting. She had no desire to let him prattle on and on about things she could really care less about, she heard this speech over a hundred or so times (though all different people). Taking a moment to set the basket of apples down by her feet, she straightened herself back up to make eye contact with him, ignoring all it was that he had to say to her.

"My door... it will be fixed within the hour." She twisted her wrist a bit, manipulating a fourth vine to start snaking around his throat, teasing the hold around his windpipe with a small amount of pressure. "Or my son will no longer know what it is to have some estranged, disabled firefighter fighting pathetically for his affections." She paused to tilt her head to the side a bit, the pleasentries coming back to her smile and voice. "Sounds like I'd be doing him a favor..."

Mark kept his hateful glare for as long as he could, wavering as the fourth vine began slowly constricting his neck. Old memories came rushing back to him, he was trapped once again; trapped by magic. He remembered the helplessness, when he watched his entire family fall apart in the village he had called home since birth. Magic corrupts, magic perverts, and in the end, magic kills. He was almost thankful he never could use it. A solid, dependable axe was all he needed. And yet, here he was, hanging upside-down like an animal caught in a trap - all over a damned door.

He'd fight back....but not today. The only thing rebellion would earn him was a swift death. Then what would come of his son? He had to stay alive, if only for awhile.

Unable to speak either in agreement or disagreement, Mark merely kept his gaze on Regina, his expression softening from extreme hatred to bitter disgust.

Regina just let her upper lip curl up into a sneer, moving her head so that her nose was a hairs breadth from his own, sharp eyes upon him like trapped prey. When the firefighter remained still, the fight either gone from him or reserved for another time, Regina took a step back and flicked her wrist. The vines let go of their hold around him and sunk back into the ground, the vine around his left wrist holding on a fraction longer than the others, deliberatly forcing Mark to land on the grass on his bad arm.

"So glad we can come to an understanding." Regina smirked, gathering up her basket of apples once more and headed inside her home, leaving the door open for him to tend to like they had 'agreed' upon.

Landing on the ground with an audible thud, a muffled groan escaped Mark's lips as his whole weight landed on his bad shoulder, the usually dull, relatively bearable pain flaring up into a sharp jab.

Shutting his eyes tightly for a moment as the pain passed, Mark yanked the blood red apple from his mouth, looking at it for a moment before promptly squeezing it in his hand, crushing the fruit into little more than an empty husk as juice dripped from his fingers.

Tossing the carcass of the apple, Mark heaved out a heavy sigh before staring at the broken door, formulating how on earth he was going to repair it in an hour.

Examining the broken door up close, Mark shook his head slowly. This was something a basic repair couldn't fix; he'd have to replace the door entirely. Sighing once again, he pulled his flip phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Regina, something along the lines of: 'Picking up tools, won't be long. Need to replace door.'

Inwardly hoping she was as reasonable as she was impatient, Mark went back to his truck and drove off, absentmindedly rubbing the red area around his neck from where the vine had previously strangled him.

The convenience store wasn't terribly far from Regina's mansion, but Mark always enjoyed taking the more scenic route. It reminded him of home, especially since it coincidentally passed by the schoolhouse, letting Mark catch a glimpse of his son if he was lucky enough to.

School had been let out not five minutes prior, and the boys and girls of the elementary began filing out. Boys were busy picking on the girls, while the girls tried to huddle themselves in larger groups to be less of a target. The air around the school was filled with children's laughter, screams of joy for being let out for the day and the dull chatter amongst those who were better suited just talking rather than running about like wild monkeys.

One boy in particular seemed secluded from the entire group, however. Shrugging his backpack strap over his shoulder, Mason walked through the crowded area with little-to-no interest to the boys and girls his age. The groups seemed to split open for him, allowing him passage through as if he carried some kind of disease, the noise of their voices going down to a dull roar when he passed by. He didn't seem to mind, however. Mason kept his head up high and passed through with lack of emotion until he reached the sidewalk. Away from the prying eyes of his school-mates, his shoulder's slumped and his head lowered downwards, beginning the lonely walk that would take him back home to Regina's mansion.

Slowing down somewhat as he saw Mason pass through the schoolyard, Mark constantly glanced over to see his son as he walked by, noting the empty resolve he seemed to carry as the judging eyes of his classmates were on him.

Easing into the brake of his truck, Mark lowered his window as Mason was walking past on the sidewalk, the former woodsman breaking the sullen silence, "Hey there, Pal...everything alright?" He asked, trying to keep both his voice and intent as unthreatening as possible.

Blinking, Mason turned to look at the firefighter before shrugging in response.

"Hey Mr. Dufer- Drefreh, Mr. D." He replied, still having difficulty in pronouncing Mark's last name despite knowing him the last five (cursed) years. He held something in his eyes then, as he looked back at Mark; a sadness that seemed to heighten his age beyond that of the nine-year-old boy he was supposed to be. "Yeah, everything's fine I'guess. No one wants to talk to me anymore now that they know who my mom is..." His brows furrowed as he looked down at the ground between his feet. "Mr. Merriweather won't even let me go out to recess anymore, he's afraid I'm gonna break another kid's nose for calling my mom a witch..." Mason took a moment to kick a pebble at his feet before looking back up to Mark. "You don't think my mom's a witch, do you, Mr. D?"

Mark nodded slowly as Mason retold his troubles, scratching his scruffy chin for a moment before speaking. "No, I don't think your mom's a witch." Mark replied, lying through his teeth. He had no heart to hurt his son's feelings, especially since those feelings revolved around his fake mother. Even in Oz such was the same. Mason loved following Nick Chopper around the village, trying to split a log with his own small hatchet, or caring for the few animals they kept around. But anytime the boy needed comfort, he would always go to his mother. His real mother.

Mark let a few ample moments pass before continuing to speak, "I think people are scared of your mother. You see, people are afraid of what they don't understand. Magic can be pretty scary stuff, and so anyone associated with it makes people afraid. What's best for you to think about is not what others believe, but what you believe. Your mom loves you...and I'm sure you love her. That's all that matters, in the end." Mark finished, his voice slightly wavering as he was (in his mind) denouncing his deceased wife, as if further repressing her in Mason's shattered memories.

Mason looked back at Mark with somewhat of a thoughtful expression on his face before looking back down to his feet.

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Tell you what..." Mark began, a small smile spreading across his lips. "I need to go to the convenience store and then buy a replacement door for your house. How would you like to come along with me?" He offered warmly.

"Oh yeah, cuz you broke it." Mason replied noncholantly as he looked back at the firefighter. He seemed to fidget then, calculating the pros and cons of Mark's proposal in his head as if trying to surmise if he might get into trouble with agreeing to go. "Well, I was supposed to go over to August's today, but Marco won't let me come over anymore so mom won't be expecting me home for a while... so yeah, I guess I can go."

"Excellent!" Mark replied cordially, reaching to his right to open the passenger door (wincing all the while as he stretched his arm out).

"You like building things, don't you Mason? Legos, Lincoln Logs, stuff like that?" Mark asked curiously, intrigued to see what his son's interests were here in Storybrooke. Admittedly, Oz lacked much in the way of entertainment aside from one's own imagination. But here, the opportunities were endless.

Climbing into the truck, tossing his backpack aside, Mason shut the door as he bobbed his head up and down in reply.

"Yeah, I like trains too. Mom got me two sets, one for her office and one for home so I have something to play with when she's working." Ever the observant one, Mason then asked, "Is there something wrong with your arm Mr. D?"

"What? Oh no, I'm fine. Just my shoulder. Tendonitis, probably from overworking it over the years. Nothing to worry about." Mark reassured, keeping out the fact he had been dropped on it from a sufficient height less than twenty minutes ago.

"Oh, okay." Mason turned to let his eyes look out the window. He didn't know what tanditus was or why Mark had it, but he was willing to just let the entire conversation slide, not finding much interest in it to begin with.

Mark remained quiet for most of the drive, seeming to sense from Mason's outward demeanor that he wasn't much in the mood for conversation. He had to think, was it possible for Regina to love someone? Truly love someone? Mark found himself stuck. He was jealous, wanting to take his son back and try to live the life they had before...but that could never happen, not again. For now...if Regina made Mason happy, then Mark had no right to take her away from him. At least until the boy remembered who he was.

Before Alecar had a chance to devise a plan as to how to escape, the boisterous sounds of the LAAT engines signaled the ship's ascent, the roaring sound growing quieter until fading away entirely. This most deafening silence, however, was not to last long as another LAAT landed not long after, a great disturbance in the Force alerting Alecar to its presence. Whatever had arrived was far worse than he was expecting.

He honed in on the disturbance, using his natural Force sensitivity to try and detect who or what could give off such a disruption. He needed not search for long, though, as distant snarls and barks rang off the Temple walls - Vornskr. Alecar only knew them from the time he would spent late at night in the Archives, studying more of naturally Force-sensitive creatures. The Vornskr he had found most peculiar: hounds who inherited Force-sensitivity to help them hunt the reptilian Ysalamir, who in turn developed the ability to create Force Bubbles as defense. Alecar had marveled at such adaptations in youth, but now he could only feel terrible anxiety...even slight fear.

He could not sense any of the Vornskr approaching his and Salhaine's location, at least not yet, but he instead could feel three other presences approaching quickly: Clones. Though not the standard fare, something about them was far different.

"Padawan Lira, please get behind me." Alecar ordered in a stern but not unkind tone, drawing his lightsaber from his belt once again, his finger brushing across the activation button should the need arise.

He reached out to the Force to give him strength, to clear his mind. A feat that naturally would have been second nature to him, like breathing. But with so much pain and death abounding around him, Alecar had a difficult time finding peace and clarity. Nevertheless, he slowed down his heart rate, eased his nerves at least slightly as he could now hear the armored boots of the Clones sprinting down the hallways, directly coming towards them.

Alecar hit the activation button of his saber just in time to directly sense three Clones enter the room. Using the Force, Alecar could get enough of 'vision' to 'see' these were no ordinary Clones. Their armor was shaped differently, and dual vibroblades replaced the rifles standard issue troopers wielded.

Alecar quickly entered a wide opening stance, his saber held firmly in his left hand whilst his right was crossed over his chest. Spacing his feet apart, he held his saber at an upwards and back angle. He inwardly regretted his lack of lightsaber training, but trusted the Force, as well as his study both in Niman and Makashi (the former more exclusively practiced) to defend himself and the Padawan.

In a split-second, all three Clones' blades spun out, sticking straight out from their forearm as they charged simultaneously at Alecar, who just barely managed to bring his saber up to block the first Clone's blades, the clashing sound of blade on blade resounding off the walls.

Alecar was flanked by a second Clone who promptly lunged a single arm out at the Miraluka, who used the Force to leap over both assailants, narrowly avoiding the vibroblade as he did so.

"Defend yourself!" Alecar called out to Salhaine before he was quickly engaged by two of the Clones at once, quickly forced to switch to a Makashi form to block the endless onslaught of attacks, his defenses becoming less organized, more reckless as he focused more on survival than form.

Because of this, he was unaware when one of the Assassin's blades swept across his thigh, causing him to drop his lightsaber reflexively, crying out in pain. Stumbling off-guard, Alecar defensively blasted both Clones aside with the Force before falling onto his knees, pressing both hands against his bleeding leg in an attempt to apply pressure.

One of the Assassins, now ready to finish off the wounded Jedi, pulled a DC-17 hand blaster from a hip holster, firing off a volley of shots at Alecar, who quickly deflected the bolts with the Force, sending them off in random directions. The other Assassin, however, had a different tactic in mind, and attempted to charge once again, blades at the ready.

Now desperate, injured, and overcome with a desire to stay alive, Alecar shot out his hand once more as luminescent blue tendrils of lightning shot from his fingertips, meeting the Assassin head on in a split-second, the Clone not trained to handle such techniques.

The Clone shuddered violently as the lightning coursed through his entire body, outlines of his skeleton flashing up randomly as smoke slowly rose from his armor. Within what felt like hours, the Clone's smouldering body fell to the ground with a clatter, leaving only two Assassins left; one directed towards Salhaine, the other still at Alecar.

Losing consciousness at a quickly approaching rate, Alecar telekinetically summoned his lightsaber to him, the Assassin attempting to work out a strategy against this Jedi who apparently was not against Dark Side techniques. Before the Clone could plan any further, however, Alecar threw his lightsaber, scoring several glowing gashes across the Clone's chest as he, too, fell to the ground dead.

Alecar, overcome by fatigue and pain was just barely holding onto consciousness, feeling his sensitivity to the Force begin to dim as his perception faded. He would be of no help in this current state.

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