Bonjour! This is my first post to fan , so I beg your pardon in advance for any mistakes. Still figuring out how this all works! Anyway, to business!
I decided I was going to write one day about Beauty and the Beast. I had just got done with playing the role of Belle in a local production of the musical, so I think I was missing my show! Anyway, I put my iPod on shuffle and declared that I'd write a one-shot based on the first song that came up- this is the result.
The song is "Obsolete" by Sara Groves. It's lovely. Listen to it while you read, if you like, and it may just enhance your reading experience. :) This one takes place before the events of the movie or play- Belle and her father have just arrived in their new home: a dull, provincial town. Enjoy!
Oh, and I don't own the characters. Obviously. ;)
Belle watched the three village girls trip gaily down the street, leaving her by the fountain in the center of town. People bustled by in the street around her, some cheerful and calling out to friends, others more frantic in their efforts to get errands done. No one looked at her. She might as well have been invisible.
They were all going about their lives, just as they had before she arrived in their village with her father. Each bent on their work or play, everyone knowing where they were headed next. They all belonged, and they knew it.
As they passed her by, Belle clutched the handle of her basket so tightly that her knuckles became white. Was it really so hard to fit in? What was so different about her that she couldn't settle into the same rhythm they possessed, join in their lives, become one of them? She had been trying so hard, but each of her efforts was met with some sort of failure. It was as if her thoughts were on a different plane, a line that ran exactly parallel to their thoughts, and never crossed them.
She shuffled her feet in the dust of the street, unsure of where to go next. She had chanced to meet the the blonde, giggling girls in the square, and had mistaken their smiles for an offer of friendship. After exchanged bonjour's, she'd approached and tried to engage in more than a customary greeting, attempting some small talk.
The results were bordering on disastrous.
Belle wasn't one to ramble and babble, in fact, she tended toward more quiet habits, and if asked, would have described herself as more of a listener than a talker. But in her eagerness to make friends, she jumped instantly to the subject nearest her heart— stories. When she asked enthusiastically what their favorite books were, all the answer given to her was three identical blank stares. The girls blinked at her, then glanced at one another and tittered. Belle had apologized, wondering if they hadn't answered simply because they had too many favorites and couldn't possibly pick one story as the best they had ever read. When she expressed as much, the girl in yellow had blurted, "Read? Why would we ever want to do that?"
All three had laughed, and now their voices no longer sounded cheerful or friendly, but artificial and sneering. The girl in red shook her head at Belle and grabbed the hands of her friends, saying, "Come, mes amis, Monsieur Gaston is just back from his hunt—!" And so they left, dashing off in a fit of high-pitched squealing and loud whispers.
Belle bit her lip to hold back her tears, knowing she was silly to cry at such a small slight. But this latest example of her inability to relate to the people in this little village had gotten to her, and, added as it was to other such instances…
She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turned on her heel. Why did she let herself care about what others thought of her, or that she didn't belong?
Belle walked on, eyes on the ground until she had reached the end of the street. As she passed the last houses on the edge of the town, she kept going, following the dirt road until she came to a small lane. She turned down it, finally allowing herself to slow down. The quiet countryside calmed her. She sighed, relieved. She felt more at home on her own.
She rounded the bend and saw a cottage through the trees: her new home. In front of it stood her father, bent over one of his newly begun inventions. He stood up to rest his back for a moment and caught sight of her. He beckoned her with a smile and wave, and that was all it took to set Belle running, down the rest of the lane and into his arms.