You want to know something funny? I heard this entire chapter in my head in the voices of the people who played these roles. So now I've got a British Maurice, a real French baker, a director-narrator, and a Beast, Lumiere, and part of an ensemble who are German. Oh, theatre, the ways you've screwed up my brain...
Once upon a time, in the desert of New Mexico, an orphaned young boy lived in a magnificent mansion. Although he had everything his heart desired, the boy was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the mansion, and offered him a single rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the boy sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.
The boy tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the mansion, and all who lived there.
Ashamed of his monstrous form, the boy concealed himself within his mansion, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom for many years. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.
As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?
It was a beautiful summer's morning in Pequeno, New Mexico. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the town was beginning to wake up. The town center, with its little shops, was just starting to see its first customers when the girl walked up the street and into the square. She was tall and graceful, with an almost anime-like quality to her dark liquid eyes and smooth black hair. She was clad in a Pequeno High sweatshirt, a tank top, boy's cargo pants, and old workboots, and she was carrying a very thick book. A small gold locket was bouncing against her chest.
She sighed quietly as she walked along the street. It's always the same, she thought.
"Little town, it's a quiet village," she sang.
"Every day like the one before
"Little town, full of little people
"Waking up to say..."
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour."
She nodded politely as the crochety baker, Benoit, passed her, heading for the bakery with his wife. "There goes the baker with his tray like always,
"The same old bread and rolls to sell."
She sighed. "Every morning just the same
"Since the morning that we came to this poor provincial town."
"Good morning, Belle," Benoit grunted.
Belle put a smile back on her face. "Oh, good morning, monsieur," she said.
A grunt. "And where are you off to?"
"The bookshop," Belle said. Benoit's face immediately lost any spark of interest it had held. "I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk, and an ogre, and -"
"Yes, yes, that's nice," Benoit muttered. Then he yelled over his shoulder, "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!"
Marie, who had stopped to chat with a group of people outside the little jewelry store, waved him off grouchily. Belle shook her head and moved on, opening her book to page through one last time.
"Look, there she goes, that girl is strange, no question," said Jeannie, who was outside the jewelry store with Marie.
Marie nodded in agreement. "Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?"
Patricia raised her eyebrows superciliously. "Never part of any crowd -"
"Coz' her head's up on some cloud," interjected Norman, the store owner.
They all snickered. "No denying she's a funny girl, that Belle."
"Bonjour," sang Christopher, the fishmonger.
Gaby smiled and nodded at him. "Good day."
"How is your family?"
"Bonjour," Heather said, at the butcher's.
The butcher, Slade, replied, "Good day."
"How is your wife?"
"I need six eggs," squawked Cathy, hurrying across the square.
"That's too expensive!" Heather exclaimed.
Belle thumped her book shut, trying not to scream at the sameness of it all. "There must be more than this provincial life!"
"Ah, Belle!"
In her distraction, she'd wandered straight into the doorway of the bookshop. Belle smiled and went inside. "Good morning, monsieur," she said. "I've come to return the book I borrowed."
"Already?" asked Ernie, the proprietor. He smiled. Belle was an odd girl, but she was a good one.
Belle smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I couldn't put it down," she said, putting her book back where it belonged and scanning the shelves. "Have you got anything new?"
Ernie laughed. "Not since yesterday."
"Oh, that's all right," she said, running her finger along a line of books. "I'll borrow - this one." She pulled it off the shelf and smiled down at the cover.
"That one? But you've read it twice!"
Belle laughed. "It's my favorite!" she told him. "Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells... A prince in disguise..." She sighed, letting the hand she'd been waving an imaginary wand with fall to her side.
Ernie smiled. "Well, if you like it all that much, it's yours," he said.
Belle's head snapped up. "Oh, but sir -"
"I insist!" Ernie said, crossing his arms.
Belle looked down at the book, and back up at Ernie. "Thank you," she said, beaming. "Thank you very much!"
"I'll see you here at eight tomorrow morning to start your first shift!" he called behind her as she left the shop. She waved in acknowledgement and opened up the familiar pages.
She passed by Tommy, Matt, and Anselm, a group of older teens who were hitting on the grocer's daughters, Vanessa and Deborah. They glanced her way as she walked by, nose buried in her book, and all raised eyebrows at each other.
"Look, there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,
"I wonder if she's feeling well,"
"With a dreamy, far-off look," sang the girls.
The boys rolled their eyes. "And her nose stuck in a book,"
"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Belle."
Belle honestly didn't notice them. She had gotten lost in the story. She sank down on a bench in the square, holding the book close.
"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because, you'll see,
"Here's where she meets Prince Charming -"
She grinned.
"- but she won't discover that it's him til' chapter three!"
Done with her fangirling for the moment, she returned to the story.
Outside the bakery, a few girls glanced over and shook their heads. "Now, it's no wonder that her name means 'beauty'," they said.
The passing knot of Vanessa, Deborah, Tommy, Matt and Anselm nodded. "Her looks have got no parallel."
Over by the bookshop, Sara, Chesney, and Monica snorted. "But behind that fair facade, I'm afraid she's rather odd."
"Very different from the rest of us -"
"She's nothing like the rest of us -"
"Yes, different from the rest of us is Belle."
There was a loud bang from just outside the square. A lanky shape with a mess of blond hair flung itself in, yelling, "I've got it, I've got it!"
The dead duck he was after hurtled to the earth, five feet to the right of where he was dancing to try to catch it. Lefou, a birdbrained rising freshman, scowled at it and picked it up, just in time for another figure to enter the square.
This one was taller than Lefou, and much more filled out to boot. Dark-haired and clad in one of his many polo shirts and a pair of khakis, Gaston, a boy who had graduated with Belle the past week, Pequeno's celebrity star quarterback and heir to the hunting store franchise his family operated out of the town, swaggered in off the street Lefou had just left. Lefou scrambled over to him, almost dropping the duck in his haste.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. "You never miss a shot, Gaston! You're the best hunter in the whole world."
Gaston ran a hand through his hair and gave a crooked grin. "I know."
"No beast alive stands a chance against you," Lefou said, and grinned. "And no girl, for that matter."
"It's true, Lefou," Gaston agreed. "And I've got my sights set on that one." He pulled Lefou closer and pointed out Belle with the butt of his rifle.
Lefou looked at Belle, and then back at Gaston. "The inventor's daughter?"
Gaston nodded. "She's the one! The lucky girl I'm going to marry."
"But she's -"
"The most beautiful girl in town," Gaston said, shooting Lefou a subtle glare.
Lefou, who was about as subtle as Gaston's gun, wrinkled his nose. "I know, but..."
"That makes her the best," Gaston said sharply. He pulled Lefou up by the collar of his T-shirt. "And don't I deserve the best?"
"Why, of course you do!" squeaked Lefou. Gaston let him go and paced towards Belle, eyeing her.
"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,
"I said 'she's gorgeous,' and I fell:
"Here in town there's only she
"Who's as beautiful as me,
"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Belle."
There was a small commotion inside the bakery, and then three girls came hurtling out: Liesel, Laura, and Veronica, varsity cheerleaders who had all been crushing on Gaston for as long as anyone could remember. They squealed.
"Look there he goes -
"Isn't he dreamy?
"Monsieur Gaston -
"Oh, he's so cute!"
Inside the bakery, Benoit scowled and covered his ears at the noise. They could make a dog whistle with those squeals.
"Be still my heart,
"I'm hardly breathing!
"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"
Belle could feel Gaston's eyes on her, although she hadn't been able to hear him. She got up and walked away, her nose in the book for cover even though she wasn't really reading anymore. The sounds of the square were swirling up to a crescendo.
"Bonjour -"
"Pardon -"
"Mais oui -"
"Good day -"
"You call this bacon?"
"What lovely grapes!"
"Some cheese -"
"Ten yards -"
"One pound-"
"'Scuse me -"
"I'll get the knife -"
"Please let me though!"
"This bread -"
"Those fish -"
"It's stale -"
"They smell!"
"Madame's mistaken -"
"Well, maybe so!"
"Good morning!"
Belle looked up at the sky pleadingly. "There must be more than this provincial life!"
"Just watch, I'm going to make Belle my wife!"
"Oh, good morning -"
Belle had looked back down at her book, not seeing the words at all. The townspeople all glanced towards her.
"Look, there she goes, a girl who's strange but special
"A most peculiar mademoiselle."
"It's a pity and a sin -"
"She doesn't quite fit in -"
"'Coz she really is a funny girl
"A beauty but a funny girl
"She really is a funny girl,
"That Belle."
Belle snapped her book shut and turned to the square. Every head immediately snapped away, overly intent on its own business. She sighed and headed down the street that led home, opening her book back up again and bringing it up to hide her face.
It wasn't until she had very nearly run into him that she realized someone was standing in her way. She had to look up to see the face, even though she knew who it was already by the polo shirt.
"Hello, Belle," Gaston said, flashing a crooked grin.
Belle hid a frown. "Bonjour, Gaston," she said tightly, and tried to step around him. "Excuse me." He let her pass, but snatched the book out of her hands. She turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. "Gaston. May I have my book, please?" She held out an expectant hand, but he didn't respond.
"How do you read this?" he asked, flipping through the pages. "There's no pictures!"
"Well, some people use their imagination," Belle replied, grabbing for the book. To her surprise, Gaston gave it back.
"Belle," he said as she started to head off, "It's about time you got your head out of those books and started paying attention to more important things."
Belle stopped dead in her tracks. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to control the flood of smart remarks she could have retorted with. When she turned around, Lefou was doing a stupid little dance and pointing to Gaston. "Hint, hint," he stage-whispered.
"Like you?" she asked coolly, ignoring Lefou's antics.
"Exactly," Gaston said, pleased she'd gotten to the point so quickly. "The whole town's talking about it..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas, and...thinking..."
Belle pulled away, staring incredulously. "Gaston, you are positively primeval!"
"Why, thank you," Gaston said. He put an arm over Belle's shoulder. "What do you say we walk over to the bar and take a look at my football trophies?"
"What do you say...we don't?" Belle said, slipping out of his grip.
He turned to her, still with the crooked grin on his face. "C'mon, Belle, I think I know how you feel about me."
Belle smiled tightly. "You can't even imagine."
Gaston tried to put his arm around her again, but she pulled away. "Gaston, please. I have to get back and help my father!" She stalked away.
"That crazy old fool?" said Lefou. "He needs all the help he can get."
"Don't talk about my father that way!" Belle snapped, turning on him.
Gaston clunked him on the head. "Yeah, don't talk about her father that way."
Belle gave them both withering glares. "My father's not crazy," she said. "He's a genius!"
At that moment, there was a sound like a small explosion from up the street. Belle's eyes went wide. "Papa!" she exclaimed, and ran off towards the source of the sound.
Gaston snorted. "Some genius."
Lefou scratched his head and looked up. "What's a genius?"
Belle ran into the hardware store, through the main room, and into the back where her papa had his workshop. The room was full of smoke, and the smoke detector was beeping like crazy. Maurice was in the middle of the room, on a chair, trying to make the beeping stop. Belle opened up all the windows and turned on a fan to waft the smoke out. As it cleared, she saw his invention smoking from the side. It looked like something had blown up.
"Papa, are you sure you're all right?" Belle asked Maurice as he put the chair away.
"I'm fine," he said distractedly. "But I can't for the life of me figure out why that happened! If this isn't the stubbornest piece of - ow!" He'd kicked the side of the machine.
"Papa," she said.
"I'm about to give up on this hunk of junk."
Belle shook her head. "You always say that," she said, pulling off her sweatshirt. It was warm in the workshop.
"I mean it this time," Maurice said. "I'll never get this bone-headed contraption to work."
"Yes you will," Belle said. "And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow."
He harrumphed.
"And become a world-famous inventor," Belle said.
He paused. "You really think so?"
Belle smiled. "You know I do," she said. "I always have." She hugged him.
He smiled. "Well, I'd better get cracking," he said. "This thing's not going to fix itself." He lifted the flap under the singed area. "Now, let me see... Where did I put that dog-legged clencher?"
Belle glanced around the room and spotted the tool on the bench. She picked it up and passed it to him. "Papa."
He smiled and started working. "So, tell me," he said, "did you have a good time at the market this morning?"
"I got a new book," Belle said. It was a nice, neutral answer.
Maurice laughed. "You do love those books."
Belle smiled sadly. "Well, they take me away to wonderful places, where there's adventure, and mystery, and romance...happy endings..." She bit her lip. "Papa, if I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"
"Don't I always?"
Belle hesitated. "Do you think I'm...odd?"
Maurice appeared from behind the machine, a pair of buglike goggles over his eyes. "My daughter? Odd? Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I don't know." She shrugged noncommittally. "It's just...well, people talk."
He looked at her seriously. "Well, they talk about me, too." He came over to her and took her hand comfortingly. "No, I'm not odd, nor you
"No family ever saner
"Except one uncle who...well, maybe let that pass." He shook his head.
"In all you say and do, you couldn't make it plainer:
You are your mother's daughter - therefore, you are class."
Belle smiled a little. "So I should just accept I'm simply not like them?"
"They are the common herd," Maurice said. "And you can take my word:
"You are unique - creme de la creme." He smiled and squeezed her hand.
"No matter what you do, I'm on your side.
"And if my point of view is somewhat misty-eyed,
"There's nothing clearer in my life than what I wish and feel for you -
"And that's a lot.
"No matter what."
Belle smiled. "No matter what they say," she said, "you make me proud.
"I love the funny way you stand out from the crowd!"
Maurice smiled back. "It's my intention
"My invention
"Shows the world out there one day
"Just what we've got -"
"No matter what!"
Maurice linked his arm through hers. "Now some may say all fathers just exaggerate -"
"That every daughter's great?" Belle asked.
"You are," Maurice replied. Belle smiled.
"And every daughter tends to say her father's tops," she said.
"She pulls out all the stops to praise him,"
"And quite rightly."
Belle smiled for a moment longer, but the market reentered her thoughts quickly. One bit of encouragement would never be enough to make years of that go away. She looked away sadly.
Maurice pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back gently. "No matter what the pain," he said, "we've come this far.
"I pray that you remain exactly as you are.
"This really is a case of father knowing best -"
"And daughter, too," Belled interjected, smiling slightly.
He smiled. "You're never strange."
"Don't ever change."
"You're all I've got -
"No matter what."
Belle smiled and hugged Maurice tightly. He held onto her for a moment longer, and then pulled back a little. "Well," he said, "what do you say we give her a try?"
"All right," Belle said, backing away a bit as Maurice adjusted the machine, flipping levers and pushing various buttons.
"Okay," he said. "Stand back - here we go!" He pushed a final button, and the machine sprang to life, huffing and puffing like a dragon.
Belle gasped. "It works!"
"It does?" Maurice asked. "It does!"
Belle wanted to jump up and down, but she settled for hugging him. "You did it, you really did it! Papa, you're going to win first prize at the fair tomorrow, I just know it!"
Maurice was smiling bemusedly. "Who knows? Maybe I will, at that!"
They'd just finished loading the machine into Maurice's truck when Belle jumped. "Oh! I almost forgot," she said, and ran inside and up the stairs to the living floor. She grabbed something off of the foot of her bed, ran back out, and held it out to Maurice. "I made you a scarf for good luck."
It was an ugly thing, patched and loosely knit out of at least a dozen different kinds of yarn. Belle had grown up in a hardware store, after all, and while she could build and wire and do mechanical work as well as anyone, handicrafts were a little out of her league. But Maurice smiled and took it and put it around his neck. "Well, now I know I'll win," he said. "And then we'll be able to send you to the best college, and visit all those places you read about in your books."
Belle smiled and hugged him.
Finally, he pulled back. "Well, I'd better be going," he said.
"Goodbye, Papa," Belle said.
"Goodbye, Belle."
He got into the truck and started the ignition. As he drove off, Belle called after him, "And be careful!"
Maurice waved at her. Belle smiled and watched until he was out of sight.
It wasn't long before Pequeno was out of sight and Maurice was alone on the road. He had a map laid out on the dashboard, since he'd used parts from the GPS to build the machine and hadn't had the time to buy another one. He hummed as he drove along.
"First prize is nearly mine.
"It's quite my best invention -
"So simple yet complex,
"So massive yet so small.
"This triumph of design will be my old age pension..."
But when, hours later, he was still in the middle of nowhere, he changed his tune.
"That is, provided I can find the fair at all..."
He frowned. "I must have missed a sign... I should have paid attention."
And then there was a loud sputtering noise, and the engine gave out.
"Drat!"
He put on the brakes and hopped out of the cab. But try as he might, he couldn't seem to figure out what the problem was. Everything under the hood looked perfectly fine. The gas tank wasn't empty. The truck just seemed to have stopped.
And then, from very close by, he heard a howl.
"That's not a nightingale, and not a mating call... Wolves!" he exclaimed. It was bizarre - there weren't many wolves in New Mexico - but he had managed to stumble on a local pack. And they were close.
He saw one, and then another. And another. And another. Four in total, all large, healthy, and not looking happy about the human in their territory.
Maurice backed away as slowly as he could. The wolves followed. They were closing in.
I don't think wolves are supposed to behave like this, he thought. What's going on here...?
He stepped on a rock and slipped, and the wolves charged. Maurice scrambled up, grabbing for the only thing he had - the scarf. He held it in front of him and used it like a whip, but the wolves didn't seem cowed. They kept coming, and he turned and fled. There was a tug on the scarf, and he let go unthinkingly. He was more worried about escaping the wolves.
Then suddenly he found himself at the edge of a ravine. Down at the bottom, along a river, there was a huge house. Maurice's heart leapt. If he could just get down there -
One of the wolves snarled, almost right behind him, and Maurice jumped. His only option was down, and he prayed his strength wouldn't give out. He started down the ravine, groping desperately for hand- and footholds. The wolves seemed momentarily stymied, but by the time he was halfway down he could hear them following along the least vertical part of the ravine.
He was shaking when he reached the bottom, but the wolves were on his tail. He ran for the mansion, which was only a little ways away. He pummeled the door. "Let me in! Let me in!"
And, with painful slowness, the door creaked open, revealing a dark interior. Maurice threw himself inside and slammed the door behind him.
Then he looked around. The front hall seemed deserted; there wasn't any sign of the person who'd opened the door for him.
"Hello?" he called. "Hello?"
In the darkest corner of the hall, right behind the door, two extremely bizarre figures were standing in the shadows. The shorter, thicker one whispered, hardly making a sound. "Now you've done it," it hissed in a distinctly British accent. "I told you not to let him in!"
"We could not leave 'im for ze wolves!" said the taller, leaner figure.
Maurice looked around. "Is anyone home?"
"If we're quiet, maybe he'll go away," whispered the shorter one, sounding strangled.
"Is someone here?" Maurice called, louder.
The taller figure started to move out, but the shorter pulled him back. "Not a word, Lumiere. Not one word!"
"I don't mean to intrude, but I've lost my way and my truck's broken down. I need a place to stay for the night!"
"Poor fellow," whispered the taller figure. "Cogsworth, 'ave a 'eart. Monsieur, you are welcome 'ere!"
Maurice snapped around. "I heard that! Now I know there's someone here," he said, "and I'll thank you to step out where I can see you!"
Lumiere stepped out of the shadows and lit his wicks. "'Allo!"
Maurice stumbled back from the most shocking sight of his life. The person who stood in front of him was human, but it wasn't at the same time. He was a fusion of man and candelabra - a tall, straight figure with arms up, lit candlesticks for hands, and a hairstyle that was turning into a giant candle on top. His suit was the same metallic shade of gold which shimmered underneath his peachy skin.
And then the other most shocking sight stepped out: a man who seemed to have had almost all of his body turned into a giant mantle clock. His mustache had taken on a very pointed appearance as well, and his hair seemed to be forming the numbers around a clock's face.
"And goodbye," said Cogsworth, pushing Maurice towards the door.
"W-w-w-wait!" Maurice squeaked. "You're a clock! And you're talking!"
Cogsworth frowned. "Astonishing, isn't it? And quite inexplicable. Goodbye." He pushed him towards the door again.
"Cogsworth!" exclaimed Lumiere. "I am surprised at you. Where are your manners?"
"We have got to get him out of here before the Master finds out!" Cogsworth hissed.
Maurice wasn't paying attention to anything they were saying. He was examining Cogsworth, shaking his head in awe. "This is incredible!" he said. "How is this accomplished?" He continued with his examination, turning Cogsworth around and feeling the clock, which seemed like real wood, but also the arms, which seemed to be flesh under the brown suit sleeves. Cogsworth let out little squeaks of protest, several "stop it - stop that"s, and a stream of laughter as Maurice probed into the ticklish area beneath his arms. But when he opened the door in front of the pendulum and gears on Cogsworth's front, Cogsworth went a shade of red that would have put a tomato to shame and slammed the door shut. "Really, sir, do you mind?" He sounded outraged.
"Well, I'm stumped," Maurice said, shaking his head. "It must be some sort of new-fangled gadget."
The outrage in Cogsworth's voice went up about another five levels. "I, sir, am not a gadget."
"I'm sorry," Maurice stammered. "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that I've never seen a talkin...a tal...a..ahCHOO!"
He didn't have time to turn away, and so he sneezed directly onto Cogsworth's front. "Bless you," the clock-man said dryly, taking out a handkerchief and wiping off his door.
Lumiere shook his head. "You are chilled to ze bone, monsieur," he said, moving in. "Come, warm yourself by ze fire." He led Maurice away, one candle-arm behind Maurice's back and one up at a low angle to his body.
"No!" Cogsworth said. "I forbid it! Lumiere, as head of the household, I demand that you stop right there!"
Lumiere didn't so much as look at him. Cogsworth scurried after him into the living room, where a bright fire was blazing in front of a tall chair. Lumiere led Maurice directly to the chair, pulling it closer to the fire. Cogsworth went pale. "Ohh, no... Not the Master's chair!" he stammered, panicky. "I'm not seeing this. I'm not seeing this!"
Maurice settled himself into the chair. As he did, he heard a voice from across the room. "Ooh la la," it said. Maurice looked up. A young woman with long ginger ringlets was standing in the doorway with a blanket in her hands. "What 'ave we 'ere? Do my eyes deceive me, or is zis - a man?" She bounced across the room. Her long feathery skirt moved oddly, more like it was part of her than something she was wearing. "It's been so long since I've seen a - a real man." She glanced at Lumiere coyly. "No offense, Lumiere. Bonjour, monsieur," she said, turning her attention to Maurice. "Mind if I sit 'ere?" She perched on the edge of Maurice's lap.
"Oh," Maurice said. "Well, hello..."
Cogsworth stormed over, took hold of the woman's arm, and pulled her off. "All right, this has gone far enough. I'm in charge here -"
"Coming through!" sang someone from another doorway, and a motherly-looking woman with an unusually rotund figure - a figure which bore a strong resemblance to a teapot - came into the room, rolling a cart in front of her that had a large teacup perched on top. "How would you like a spot cup of tea, sir?" she asked. "It will warm you up in no time." She smiled down at him, settling one hand on her hip and the other into the air at an odd angle.
Maurice blinked. "Oh," he said. "Er, yes, please..."
"No!" Cogsworth said, whirling on her. "No tea! He'll be here all night! No tea."
The woman nodded and smiled, then turned around and leaned over to the teacup. Warm brown liquid streamed into the cup. "There you are."
Maurice blinked again, and then decided to stop trying to figure out what was going on in the bizarre mansion. At least he was warm and away from the wolves. "Just what I need," he said gratefully. As he moved to pick up the teacup, it turned and beamed at him. He jumped and let out a surprised squeak. The cup turned towards the woman. "I think I scared him, Mama," it said in a young boy's voice.
"Hello there, little fellow," Maurice said. His voice was higher than normal. "What's your name?"
"Chip," said the teacup, turning back.
Maurice saw the chip in the cup's rim and shrugged. "Figures," he said.
The ginger woman shook out her blanket and scurried back over to Maurice. "Care for a blanket, monsieur?" she said, draping it over his shoulders. She left her hands there and smiled. "I just love older men." She glanced over her shoulder at Lumiere.
He took a step away, bringing his chin up pretentiously. "Babette," he said. "You are always trying to make me jealous. Well, it's not going to work zis time."
Babette whirled on him indignantly. "Me? What about you wiz Simone?"
Lumiere snapped around. "Jaques -"
"Michelle -"
"Pierre -"
"Veronique -"
Lumiere opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped, caught in memory. "Veronique," he moaned, a look of erotic pleasure crossing his face.
Babette huffed in frustration and stormed out of the room. Lumiere followed after her imploringly, but was stopped halfway across the room by Cogsworth. "Lumiere, listen to me," he said. "We have got to get him out of here! Do you have any idea what the Mater will do if he finds out we've let a stranger into the mansion?"
"Calm yourself, Cogsworth," Lumiere said soothingly. "Ze Master will never 'ave to know!"
And then the entire mansion shook with a furious roar.
Everyone in the room went white as a sheet.
"As I was saying," Lumiere said, smiling weakly "'e is bound to find out sooner or later."
"Should we hide, Mama?" Chip asked.
Lumiere shook his head. "No, no, no, remain calm," he said. "Zere is absolutely no reason to panic."
"Lumiere's right," Cogsworth said shakily. "There's absolutely no reason to panic." He crossed the room and touched the blanket. "May I borrow this, please?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled it off Maurice's shoulders and over his head.
"There is a stranger here," growled a rumbling voice. It echoed off the walls. Maurice looked around wildly but couldn't figure out where it was coming from.
"Master," Lumiere said, "allow me to explain. Ze gentleman was set upon by wolves -"
"Who let him in?"
Cogsworth turned around and lifted the blanket. "Master, may I take this opportunity to say I was against it from the start!"
He yanked the blanket back down as the voice growled, "Who dared to disobey me?"
"Oh dear," said the teapot woman.
"You have all betrayed me!"
Padded footfalls and the clicking of claws heralded the entrance of a figure into the room. It crossed to the chair and leaned down, breathing angrily. "Who are you?" it demanded.
"M-Maurice!" Maurice stuttered, wincing away.
"What are you doing in my mansion?"
"I lost my way in the desert!"
The figure turned away, growling. "You are not welcome here!" it roared.
"O-okay, I'l - I'll just be on my way -"
He looked up to find the figure back at his side. Its bestial face, contorted with rage, glared down at him from amidst a tangle of long, tawny hair like a ratted lion's mane. The figure was huge - lanky, but at least seven feet tall, and all its fur was bristling. Maurice flinched away.
The beast growled softly. "It's hideous, isn't it?"
"No, I-I-I wasn't -"
"You've come to stare at the Beast, haven't you!?"
"I meant no harm, I was merely looking for a place to stay!"
The Beast looked down at him, nostrils flaring. "I'll give you a place to stay!"
He roared, bringing up a massive paw, and then everything went black.
Hi, all! I'm back again with another freakish fanfic.
My community theatre put on a production of Beauty and the Beast around the Christmas holiday, and the urge to put it in writing has just gotten too strong to resist. I've borrowed most of the characterization from our show, and the looks of most of the characters, too. Belle, the Beast, and Gaston are the only ones I've changed drastically - all three of them were adults in our show (Belle and Gaston both had several children!) and there are some things I wanted to play with in Belle's character. If you recognize the names of the ensemble characters, then I'd just like to say that it was a fabulous show and I loved working with all of you ^_^ And if you don't, well, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction!
- Writerchic97