<strong>Name:</strong>Mr. Gold<br/><strong>Occupation:</strong>You really ought to know by now,<em>dearie</em>.<br/><strong>Time: </strong>A tick-tock tick-tock past midnight?<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Storybrooke Streets<br/><strong>Tagging: ???</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://cimg.tvgcdn.net/i/r/2016/03/06/baca4766-5ef3-4c81-9ed3-015446d9df13/resize/900x600/d0a9d9b7c964b8cee328b565e74ee907/160306-news-once-upon-a-time-robert-carlyle.jpg)</div>The arrival of a newcomer in her car, along with a certain very special boy, was not only received by a hapless well-meaning psychologist walking his dog. Unseen, in the shadows stood another, his form cloaked in a dark coat, hands idly resting against a walking cane as he beheld the scene with an intense expression on his face. A little too intense, in fact, almost as if he attributed great purpose, great significance to the innocent scene that played out before his dark-brown eyes.<br/><br/>Once the blonde visitor and her child had moved finally onward, a very slight smirk appeared on his thin lips. The mysterious figure, a man, felt both wistful and almost giddy at the same time -- for a moment something rose in the back of his throat, the urge to put a noise to that feeling and declare it for the world, but he suppressed it. He was a more dignified man these days.<br/><br/>Calmly, he stepped away from his secure spot and walked back into the street, his cane merrily tapping against the ground despite his again somber expression. As he passed the skittish Dr. Hopper, he gave him a dark look -- the psychologist smiled nervously and quickly stepped aside to make room, pulling his dog with him.<br/><br/>"Mr. Gold," he offered a greeting, showing the man a smile that he didn't feel -- and that quickly froze as the man in question offered him nothing in return. Little love was lost between these two, for Mr. Gold could hardly stand the meddlesome therapist beyond the veneer of professional conduct. The reasons for this were manifold, but still one fact remained: Mr. Gold owned this town. Like oh so many, the ginger-haired gentleman owed him -- rent, among other things.<br/><br/>With Hopper out of sight, Gold stepped onwards -- haltingly, relying on his cane to help him with his obvious limp -- and allowed himself another smile. He looked upwards, towards the ancient clock tower. He waited.<br/><br/>His smile grew wider when, for the first time in so long, it moved forward.<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Mr. Gold<br/><strong>Occupation:</strong>Owning most of Storybrooke.<br/><strong>Time: </strong>Morning, 1st Day A.E.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside Granny's Diner<br/><strong>Tagging: Jasmine Misra, Barry Louis</strong><br/><br/>If one could see inside the mystery that was Mr. Gold, they might see a pleased, wide grin on his lips rather than the dour expression he showed the world. That they could not, however, was a blessing: dark things lurked inside his head, secrets and terrible truths that most were better off not knowing.<br/><br/>At times, it was difficult for the man to keep it from spilling out. To maintain his facade, even from the one who also knew what he knew. Blessed ignorance served him better in public and to be underestimated was an advantage that few others could see as keenly as he.<br/><br/>The pawnshop owner was not a tall man, nor a strong one. If he impressed, it was with his presence, and that he had in spades. He came this morning dressed in his usual manner: a tailor-made black suit with an equally black button-down shirt and a tie of dark purple coloring. He was never really seen in anything but<em>dark</em>colors. His mauve hair was middle length, reaching just to his shoulders at the back and a bit unruly.<br/><br/>He did not frequent Granny's Diner very often. Usually only when he felt like a change of pace, when he met someone there for business, or when the rent was due. Today his steps took him into its direction despite none of these being the case. Why, then, did he go there? Curiosity - his leg might be lame, but his ears were keen, and he had heard where their visitor had been directed last night. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be there this morning.<br/><br/>Of course he had no intention of actually intruding on her morning, but it ought to prove interesting what her presence had brought. Surely most of the people of Storybrooke would feel that something was off, that something had changed, even if they had no way of knowing exactly what was going on. Not yet.<br/><br/>Thus he crossed the road towards the diner when he saw one of his closer acquaintances, a lovely woman by the rather telling name of Jasmine, stumble to a rather bad fall almost in front of him. A frown appeared on his face. Pursing his lips he slowly moved closer, silently cursing his bad leg as another man reached her first. His frown grew deeper as he realized who it was: another name, a name that we shall not mention here, came to him immediately, before a moment later he quickly identified the large fellow as Barry Louis. One of the, in his opinion, more useless residents of Storybrooke. Too well-meaning and slovenly to even be of use as a thug in spite of his large frame.<br/><br/>"Ms. Misra," he called out, awkwardly moving closer with a look of concern on his face. Whilst he didn't have more than a glance to spare for the much larger Barry in face of her injury, he was certainly content to let the much taller man help her up. Considering his own particular infirmity, it was a much less trying process than if he were to do the same.<br/><br/><em>He could scarcely wait for the moment it would no longer be a problem … </em><br/><br/>Once he had finally reached the both of them, he pulled a white silken handkerchief from his pocket and gave her a brief, questioning look to see if she did not object, before moving to clean her cut. "Are you alright, dearie? You look shaken."<br/><br/>He was not one for displays of empathy, usually, so this bit of concern at her injury was perhaps a bit unusual to some. After all, who would begin to guess that Mr. Gold regularly visited the fortune teller for more than just the rent? Indeed, he seemed quite keen to know what the fates had in store for him and regularly had her peer ahead with her cards. Whether this was some gesture of compassion for the struggling young woman or genuine belief in clairvoyance was a subject for debate amongst those who knew of it, but he certainly always seemed quite serious when it came to these things.<br/>