Journal of the Dark One

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This is here to address some assumptions I make about Rumpelstiltskin in the series and also answer some common questions about why I make certain decisions while playing him.

1. Sexual Orientation/Did Rumpelstiltskin sleep with Cora?/Has he slept with Belle?
2. Rumpelstiltskin and Children
3. Rumpelstiltskin and Drinking
4. Rumpelstiltskin and Belle/Rumpelstiltskin and Lacey
5. Post-TLV Developments

( 1. Sexual Orientation/Did Rumpelstiltskin sleep with Cora?/Has he slept with Belle? )


( 2. Rumpelstiltskin and Children )


( 3. Rumpelstiltskin and Drinking )


( 4. Rumpelstiltskin and Belle/Rumpelstiltskin and Lacey )


( 5. Post-TLV Developments )



This post will be updated regularly as more questions come in or I think of more canon assumptions to address.

A parent's first instinct is to see immediately to their child if they hear them scream or cry. Faster is their response if it's both. Rumpelstiltskin was no different, such that he shot to attention and nearly fell over his spinning wheel and his own foot -- the pain immediately catching him as he groped for his walking stick and hurried further out into the yard. Bae was small, enough that the tall grass nearly obscured him completely as he came running from behind the house, red-faced, practically wailing as tears streamed down his tiny cheeks.

Ignoring the pain in his foot entirely Rumpelstiltskin fell to his knees to be at level with him, and he placed his hands on his shoulders to look at him. "Ohh, Bae what's wrong?" he asked, trying to sound as though he were in control, as though everything were all right, but he could already feel his heart fluttering. His face was already pained, worrying. His son fell into his arms, still screaming, and it was all Rumpelstiltskin could do, to just hold him and try to give him what he needed. "What happened, Bae? T-Tell Papa. Come on."

Bae held up his hand for him, and Rumpelstiltskin sat back a little to look. He could see the red spot on the back of his hand, the swelling that had begun -- the remnants of what he could already tell were a tiny stinger, and on realizing his child had no broken bones or anything more serious, he heaved a small sigh, then cooed at him -- albeit shakily.

"Oh -- oh dear, I see now. Did a bee get you?"

Baelfire carried on with his crying but could at the very least nod.

"Were you playing near that nest?" Some calm had begun to return to his voice.

The boy hid his face against his papa's chest before nodding again, the closest he'd come initially to admitting he had done something he was told not to do.

"Oh my poor dearie, here we are now. Hold still. Let Papa see again." And he tended the sting, something he was had experienced himself once or twice, but it was never worse than it seemed to be during childhood, soft shushes and croons as Bae's tears and cries slowly simmered to something quieter and less alarming. "Are there any more?"

Bae shook his head.

"Do you think you'll be all right?"

He just clung to him tighter, and Rumpelstiltskin realized he wouldn't be getting back to work anytime soon. That was all right. He had time. He stroked the boy's back and hair soothingly, murmuring soft assurances. His own trembling had died to nothing. His son was safe now.

"That's not the first time you've chosen that song."

Rumpelstiltskin glanced up from his reading, first to the tea he gathered to his lips to take a taste, then to the man who had spoken. Sensing he might find it wise to join him again and that he would pry with still more useless questions, he might have looked a bit sour.
The song in question that he'd chosen on the jukebox crooned gently in the background. One he knew -- from his cursed self's vinyl collection, but he'd been thinking of it often of late.

Killian Jones was right. It seemed he chose it every other night he came in.

"...Was there something you wanted to add to that observation?"

Jones pulled a face and, as expected -- sadly, sank into the chair across from him. "Why you like it so much?"

"Who said I liked it?"

The smallest twitches of a smile touched the corners of the pirates lips, like he knew the Dark One was having him on and it'd been far too easy to catch him at it. "Why else would you pick it?"

"It's suited my mood lately."

Jones paused a moment to just listen to the end. It gave Rumpelstiltskin a few blissful minutes of uninterrupted music. When the song ended, clicking over to the next song on the album, his unwanted companion resumed his line of commentary. "I don't really understand all the references. It sounds sad, though."

Rumpelstiltskin turned the page. "It's told from the point of view of a boy whose brother went off to war and came back damaged, changed, and unable to live as he once did before going. He is now traveling away again to a facility in Spain -- a country in the world without magic -- where he can be cared for. His brother reflects on his condition, knowing he has gone away, but he keeps seeing people on the street that he mistakes for him." He punctuated this with another look to be certain his lecture still had an audience. "It makes him cry."

Something he'd come to appreciate about Captain Hook -- though he would never admit it -- was that he had become a man who listened, quite intently. It was not a trait he would have credited him before. What was more, when he explained the song, he could see the dots connecting behind his eyes -- not just to the words he heard in the song, but perhaps even in Rumpelstiltskin's desire to hear it.

"I'm not saying I haven't done my fair share of wallowing, so don't mistake me, but why do you do it to yourself?"

He didn't have to specify what he meant, and Rumpelstiltskin wasn't feeling facetious enough to dodge. "Because I would rather that than feel nothing at all."

[In the background of the video the silhouette of what appears to be a spinning wheel is quite visible. Rumpelstiltskin has been...quiet. Contemplating. And as such he's been fairly nonexistent on the Barge since his return as a Warden.]

Mighty timely of you, Admiral. [A jaunty little salute, there.] I would have hated to have been stranded here however long waiting for you to make up your mind.

Let's see...Nygma. Edward Nygma. [Flipping through a few pages of the file with a grin.] Oh, this should be interesting.

[With a snap of his fingers he disappears from sight, leaving an empty room behind. He'll get to any messages for him after he's met with his Inmate.]

[Spam - Edward's Cabin]

[In the instant after he snaps his fingers in his own cabin, he appears in another, leaning on his cane not for support but for a look of gentlemanly confidence, a pose they've both likely held at some point.]

I hope I'm not interrupting anything.

I look forward to seeing what other lessons are to be offered. I see some logic, perhaps, in offering life skills of a varying sort. Prepares you for the "outside" and all of that, if you lacked such skills to begin with.

Almost makes you think they're willing to let you leave.

[Semi-Friendly Filter -- If You Have a Deal or Arrangement Going with Him or are Actually Just a Friend, You're On This]

Have any of you made it into the CES or CTS as yet? I'm curious to know what changes have occurred.

[Private to Dr. Rex Lewis]

You've been here a while. I don't suppose you have any idea where this ship is going.

Can I count myself among the probable many who are not shocked this last disaster was mostly averted by the efforts of Inmates? 

So I'm not at all unfamiliar with the notion of moving between worlds, but having taken the time to study and ponder what information has been granted me, I'm beginning to see that this ship has a rather unique way of doing that. (That brochure was most helpful, by the way. Madame, I don't believe I got your name and therefore can only say "thank you.") 

You see, to do what this ship does, a person from my world or any other world I've traveled to [of which there is one, maybe two] has to have something that can open a doorway between one and the other. There is little talk of the space in between, which is, essentially, where you would have us believe we are now. But this is something different. I say that because while there are certain fixed ideas that tend to carry from one world to the other -- a place without magic cannot, with almost no exceptions, make magic of its own, for instance -- it tends to affect a visitor only so much. But then we just experienced a breach, which affected each of us so much that we became new people.

This is not a foreign concept to me, but where I've been, that sort of thing only happened because an additional curse was involved -- as far as we know. Since it has been broken many have been led to question the nature of that world in itself.

What I mean to say is that, if nothing else, this place has given me a new perspective from which to ponder certain...irregularities back in Storybrooke, where I last came from.

Just to clarify: This does not always happen when the ship stops in a world, correct? Other than intention, what stops us from changing when the barge docks deliberately? 

And by the by: I really do hate to hurry things along, Wardens, but are any of you intending to tell the rest of the population exactly what is going on, or are you going to continue to lie about food contaminants and command everyone to keep calm and go back to work? 

[The occupant of cell 5 is an unusual case, but then all of them are, aren't they? What had originally been recovered from the crash site registered signs of life and no visible injuries, resembled man in only the most vague of senses -- as it appeared bipedal, had eyes, a nose and a mouth, arms, etc, but -- not quite. It had also been unconscious and was kept under observation in its cell for five days before it simply...vanished. There were at first assumptions that there had been a security breach, until the doors were approached. The guard on duty was wise not to open it when he heard a distinctive giggle. No, subject 5 was still in there, proven when a figure appeared on footage, often doing very mundane things. Sitting on the cot, pacing the cell, for at least a week only when no one was looking. In the last few weeks, he has not only been visible -- he's a he, now -- but more human-looking. Sometimes he appears to be a perfectly normal man in a black suit, but only one person has reported an incidence of him speaking directly to them, his interactions often relegated to expressions and pantomime. Once or twice, he has been seen as not so human, his skin dark and unnatural, his eyes large and piercing and more animal than man, his limbs slightly elongated.

Sometimes, he can't be found in his cell at all. In fact, he has a habit of disappearing as soon as he's wanted for routine tests.

Also, at odd hours, one has the chance to hear whistling, the familiar tune of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." Today is one of those days.]