Purse

I don't own anything, literally anything. I do not own OUAT, any of its cast and/or any of its characters. I just hope and pray that Season 7 is a good as any of the others, but if Colin is there, then I trust him.

Purse

3rd Person

Emma sighs as she roots around in her bag, growling when she can't find her purse. "No, no, no, please don't let this happen to me!" She sighs, kneeling on the floor and beginning to pull things out of her bag in a desperate attempt to find it.

Of-freaking-course.

The one time she's desperate and needs her purse more than anything on this earth, she's forgotten it.

Less than an hour ago she had been in her pajamas, laying on her couch with a hot water bottle on her stomach, yelling to her dog about how much she hated periods and wanted to get her ovaries ripped out rather than go through this pain month in, month out.

(She swears her dog raised an eyebrow at her as if to challenge her to do it, damn Henry and his cute puppy face that she can't stay mad at.

Said dog is probably on her bed by now asleep, having no clue to his owner's peril.)

Back to less than an hour ago, she'd gotten up and gone to the bathroom to change her tampon, only to find that she was out of them, having used the last one in her bag for emergencies. But now she was in a (literal) red zone and she had left her purse on her couch while online shopping.

She regrets buying another red leather jacket now, it was an impulse buy, but she wishes she hadn't because then her purse would be in her bag!

It's not like she can just turn around and go home because for one she's fairly certain she won't make it the whole way home and she'll end up ruining her only pair of yoga pants that don't have any stains or holes.

"Crap, shit, no." She whispers, glancing up at the double pack of tampons, obviously panicked.

What the hell is she going to do?

"Lass, are you okay?" A voice says from above her, and Emma's head quickly snaps up to see a sort of tall but extremely attractive man staring at her in concern.

He doesn't seem bothered by the dirt on the convenience stores floor as he kneels down to check she's okay. "Lass?"

Emma stares at him for a moment, taking in his appearance.

He's young, twenty-seven if she had to guess, not much older than her. He has brown hair that looks so soft she's vowing to ask what shampoo he uses, and she sort of wants to touch it as she's convinced it's as soft as a cloud. He's British; if his accent is anything to go by, but she can't tell which part of England he's from (because he's certainly not Scottish or Welsh).

He has the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen, and she thinks they can rival the ocean, but they're filled with concern that makes her shrivel up a little.

No one gets concerned about Emma Swan, no one ever has and she's shocked he is. "Hi." She whispers softly.

"Hi, are you alright?" He asks again, looking around. "Love do you realize that you're on the floor in the feminine hygiene section at ten pm?"

Emma nods quickly, her hand curling around her stomach when she feels a flash of pain, tamping it down but he can read it on her face.

"Lass, what's wrong?"

"Well I was going to ask what the hell you're doing in the feminine hygiene section at ten pm, but then I got a really bad period pain and forgot to ask, and now I just realized I have revealed my monthly predicament to a man I don't know."