Author's Note: How random is this? Yeah, I'm famous for being random. At any rate, this is a Beauty and the Beast fic based mostly on the Disney story. -dodges fiery hell wrath and various sharp objects- WAIT! You misunderstand, mon ami! Disney based on the basis that there is a Gaston, really, only I see him as more of a Raoul character. Well, for all of you who aren't Phantom phans, that means that in this fic Gaston is more of an old suiter of Belle's, a perfectly ok guy, not the scary cartoon with excessive chest hair. 0o This is sort of a one shot trial run, I plan to write another Beauty and the Beast fic soon, based more on the Donna Jo Napoli book BEAST. It will be much less campy. So...please reveiw!
Disclaimer: -shrug-
"Where is she?" I all but snarled to one of the cowering serving maids.
"God as my judge, I don't know, Master. She's such a little thing, she is. Slips about the castle without so much as breathing." She stammered, her bony knuckles grasping the wash basin she held until they were white. I could see that I was frightening her very badly, but at the present I couldn't care less.
"You're useless." I spat. I meant to pass her, but she reasoned that I meant to strike her, and brought her hands up as though to shield her face. The basin dropped from her clumsy little hands, shattering into jagged shards at my feet. She sank to her knees with a small gasp, trying in vain to stop the water's flow with her skirts and to grab up the shards of the basin.
"I'm so sorry, Master. Please forgive me, good monsieur!" She stammered, turning her tear-stained face towards my eyes, imploring forgiveness. Did she expect me to order her to kiss my feet? I stared at the pool of water at my feet, which was slowly turning crimson from the blood of this girl's hands, which she'd foolishly sliced to ribbons in her haste to gather the porcelain shards.
"Get out of my sight." I said carefully, still staring numbly at the swirling crimson pool. She made a strangled noise I vaguely took to be gratitude, hefting herself up from her pathetic vantage point on the ground and nearly tripping over her soggy skirts as she fled. I ran a hand through my hair, a gesture Belle told me I made often when I let my temper get away with me. Almost immediately I wanted to follow the little idiot and apologize, but it was far too late now, and my head was beginning to pound mercilessly. The library. That's where she probably was, as usual. I turned on my heel, longing to simply leap up the staircase as I had so frequently done in recent years past. I took the stairs two at a time, noticing that the hall was devoid of the usual chatter of servants. Then the castle was already abustle with whispered warnings to stay clear of their Master until he regained control of himself. Wonderful. Fool, fool, fool! Shame flushed through my face as I approached the library, fumbling with the lapels of my rumpled dress coat in a vain attempt to gain my composure. I stared at the doorknob a moment, my hand outstretched to turn it. I still had to blink once in a while at the sight of those pale counterparts, my hands. The door flew open before I had the chance to knock, Belle standing there with a ferocious look marring her lovely oval face.
"Do you even recognize your wrong?" She asked, her voice breaking. Right away I noticed the stubborn tendril of her auburn locks that always refused to stay in place. I swallowed, reaching up to brush it out of her eyes. She pulled away from my touch, sighing heavily and retreating back into the library. I followed her, shutting the door behind us with a slam that I honestly hadn't meant to create. She jumped at the noise, spinning around to face me, fire dancing in her eyes.
"Marquis, when will you learn to control yourself? I had honestly thought we were past this." She raged, something she rarely engaged in. It was almost endearing, the way she could be so very angry and yet her voice never rose any higher than her usual just-above-a-whisper tone. My name sounded delightful coming from her.
"My Beauty," I addressed her solemnly, "I'm sorry, truly I am. Please forgive me." She threw up her hands in exasperation.
"It's not me you need to apologize to, as I understand!"
I frowned, sinking into one of the lounges by the fire. She rushed to kneel at my feet, placing her delicate little hands over my far larger ones.
"At least tell me what happened, then." Her voice had softened, and I glanced up to gaze at her. The firelight illuminated her face, her features soft in the hazy light. I took a deep breath, squeezing one of her tiny hands, relishing in its coolness.
"One of the stable boys took one of the stallions out for a ride. The foolish lad tried to jump him over the brook over on the far side of the Northern grounds." I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible, but I heard the fury steadily creeping into my narrative. I heard Belle gasp, and I looked up from the fire to meet her gaze.
"Not Philippe?" She asked fearfully, and I shook my head absently. She uttered a sound of relief, and urged me on gently with a small smile.
"No, this stallion was very young, untrained. It broke a leg attempting to leap the gap. It had to be put out it's misery, of course. One of our finest stallions, my Beauty!" I removed one of my hands from Belle to run a hand through my hair once more, massaging my aching head. Belle sighed softly.
"I'm sorry, mon chéri." She murmured, reaching up and taking my hand from my head and replacing it with her own, working her blissfully cool hands around my battered temples. I closed my eyes, fully content.
"And what of the little boy?" She whispered into my ear, sending a brief shiver down my spine.
"He's being tended to by the finest. I was horrible, Belle. More concerned with the damned horse than the boy." Belle sighed quietly.
"Où il y a de la fumée, il y a le feu. Your temper is a raging fire, as it as always been."
"I can only douse it with thoughts of you, my Beauty." I muttered, grasping one of her kind hands and bringing it to my lips. She smiled at bit, brushing a strand of my long hair out of my eyes with a refreshing fondness.
"Then think of me always, as I do you."
The sincerity of the statement warmed my heart, and as she leaned in to kiss me deeply I could only thank whatever gods had led her to me.
Belle and I have had many such somewhat ridiculous episodes, always met with love and trepidation. I've often wondered to the extent of my transformation. Not the physical one, but the true state of my actual soul. I have never been religious. I in fact spurned all things having to do with any higher power in some half drunken bout of rebellion in my youth, back when my parents still lived and I thought of them only as the clammy hands choking me. I watch as Belle leaves the castle, leaving me to solitude, every day to pray to some almighty man in the sky. Does Belle fear Hell? Mon dieu, that's possibly the most laughable thought I've had all day. Belle, who left her family thinking herself condemned to misery and fear, Belle, who was never anything but kind and gentle and patient and good. There will never be a Hell for Belle, but for me? I remember something Belle once whispered when I had been in the hunched over form of a Beast, railing at someone or other and crushing things as was my pathetically over dramatic custom.
"Forgive him Lord, for he knows not what he does."
I don't know what I'm doing, even now. I never have. There is no God for me, there never will be. The bastard son of a nobleman and his mistress, I was brought up privileged and illegitimate. My whore of a mother couldn't be paid to accept me, and so the wife of my father did so in good spirits. Thinking of her now, I realize just how little I cared about anyone or anything. This woman, who loved me unconditionally, who bandaged my head after I fell from my first horse, who spun tales of magic and morals, who called me her darling boy...oh god. I never repaid her kindness, never once really cared. I had not dutifully washed the blood from her handkerchief, comforted her as her eyesight dimmed. I had not sat by her bedside as she died, her frail body racked with great heaving coughs. I think I might faint, I truly do. Belle has told me over and over that I must not indulge in this sick little passion of mine, reliving the monster I was and still truly am, but how can I help it? No, there is no God. No God I know would have allowed my behavior without simply sending a lightening bolt down from the heavens.
After Gaston and I fought, if you can call it such, and I fell to the ground dead to all the world, Belle professed this love for me, and I was saved. The perverse magic did not heal my character, or, for that matter, the gaping hole in my side. I can only remember the blurred outline of Belle, and how her tears fell forth onto my face. There was no moment of perfect clarity, just confusion and pain and Belle, thank god.
I fell into a fever after that, one which I drifted in and out of for days. I'm quite surprised that I didn't die, but that would have been a dreadfully disappointing end to someone's sick little game, wouldn't it? I distantly recall Belle at my side, always weeping and whispering things to me that didn't make sense. But her presence was the most comforting thing in the world nonetheless. For those days I truly lived within the prison of my mind. It seemed that every single injustice I had reviled in, every harsh word to my darling Belle, had manifested itself into some hideous shadow, constricting my airway, pulling me into the murky unknown. I cried out often, I think. Perhaps that is why Belle was always weeping. I found that if I concentrated on Belle's whispers, I could almost forget the shadow consuming me, I could almost understand what she was saying. Gradually I was able to make out her words, and focus on them and them alone. I think it is the only thing that saved me from madness.
I hadn't even realized I was human until I woke from these fever dreams and felt a marvelous softness beneath me. Mon dieu, I was laying in a bed! The thought thrilled me, and I slowly rose one of my arms to evaluate the situation. Sadly, this involved cracking open my eyes to the harsh light flooding in from a window that I belived to be on my left. My eyesight seemed murky, less sharp somehow, but I could quite clearly see my own human hand, grasping wildly at air. Mon dieu! My god! Human at long last! And then I noticed Belle, seated on the divan to my left, near the open window. She was asleep, a book splayed across her lap. A breeze lifted the curtains, brushing at her hair, making it fly up and float back down in some semblance of a ballet. I was sitting up then, noting with disgust that my face was covered in facial hair...I had a beard. The feel of it was maddening. Belle stirred then, her eyes opening to find me sitting up and waving about like a madman. For one terrifying moment I thought Belle wouldn't know it was me, here in my true body. She looked confused, springing from the divan to my bed, where she sat down and clutched my hand in her own.
"What ails you, mon cheri'?" She asked, her features distorted by confusion. She knew me! I tried to speak, but the only sound that came forth from my throat was a guttural moan, unbidden and frightening. I clutched at my throat, trying in vain to speak to Belle, feeling sharp desperation as more wretched animal sounds came forth. Belle was not frightened. She gently raised a finger to my lips, smiling.
"Your speech will return in time. Now, you must rest." I lay back on the bed, horrified. I could not speak. Was I not still a beast, then? Belle was humming as she tinkered about the room, and my eyes followed her. I was getting dizzy. I grunted then, and Belle spun to face me quizzically. Damn this beard, I wanted to say. I could only settle for gesturing at it a bit too violently, and Belle laughed. I personally didn't see anything particularly amusing.
"I wasn't sure exactly how you felt about it. One moment, then." She said, flouncing out of the room to return a moment later with a razor and basin of water. She was still humming, as if all of this was the most natural thing in the world. It was slightly surreal, really. She perched on the side of the bed, setting down the basin on a nearby table of some sort. Where was I? I knew I was somewhere in the castle by the familiar scent of mildew and decay. This must be Belle's bed, then. The only bed that wasn't encased in cobwebs and filth, and smelled faintly of pressed roses. At least my sense remained intact. Belle dipped the razor into the basin and began to shave off this horrible beard. The feeling was blissful, unexpectedly so. I believe I fell asleep, much to my embarrassment and chagrin. When I awoke again Belle was gone, as was my beard. I ran a hand over my face, finding it smooth. As I did so a thought struck me. Was I ugly? Would Belle find me attractive? What a damnable vain creature I am, but still the unspoken question remained. I could never manage walking or talking or eating or reading or just living like a man in my cursed form, despite all efforts. I had been a beast, and now that I was a man, I could be what Belle desired, could I not? I had pondered over what Belle desired for quite some time in my previous form, a favorite almost morbidly amusing pastime of mine. I would assume she would want a man endowed with certain assets...upon this thought I quickly raised the covers to glance down. Oh, this was getting ridiculous. Totally and utterly ridiculous. I should laugh, really I should, but my laugh had a surprisingly high potential to turn into a bout of hysteria. I needed to find Beauty, clear my head.
I pushed back the cumbersome covers, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I was roughly clothed in a rather tattered nightshirt that smelled suspiciously of mothballs. Come to think of it, I was beginning to smell quite stale. So Belle had surveyed my body as I slept. I hoped all was as I recalled it, everything in the right place and such. My legs looked entirely alien to me, and I waggled my toes a bit to be absolutely certain they were mine. So they were. I truly hoped they would support my weight, though upon further analysis I realized my current weight was laughably minimal to the form of the Beast. Standing up proved more difficult than I had imagined. Years pacing the ground hunched over on all fours did nothing for my posture, and I must say that I was by no means used to standing on two feet. I promptly pitched forward and fell, somehow managing to take the little table on my left down with me. Dull pain shot up my side, and I twisted awkwardly to discover that I had reopened the wound on my side, which had been neatly bandaged. It was now slowly oozing blood through the bandages, making me more uncomfortable than I already was. I meant to call out for Beauty, but shut my mouth when I remembered the dreadful sounds that would proceed.
I sat there for awhile on the floor, carefully exaiming my body. My limbs seemed so impossibly long, almost unnatural. My hands thrilled me, I loved them. Now I would be able to read, to write, to turn doorknobs, for mercy's sake! My hair was rather long, and a bit matted. It appeared that Belle had tried to untangle it but had given up. It would have to be cut to a reasonable length. My body began to ache, and I realized I had been sprawled here on the ground in an unnatural position for an extended amount of time. Oh, how stupid. I was not helpless. I shifted on the ground, grabbing hold of the bed for some support. Very gingerly I managed to pull myself up into a passable upright position.
After a few embarrassing attempts that I was glad Belle wasn't there to see, I mastered taking awkward steps around the room. I found that I grew tired far faster in this body, and plopped into a nearby chair quite flustered. Almost on cue, I heard footsteps in the hall, joined by the distinctly wonderful smell of food. Belle walked in, artfully balancing a tray with various tin plates and jugs upon it. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of me out of bed, but did not comment. Setting down the tray on a writing desk, she held held out her hand to help me up. How thoughtful. I was a bit humiliated, which Belle seemed to find delightfully amusing. With her help, though I could have done without the badly cloaked giggles that rapidly turned into dainty coughs, I was seated near the window with Belle kneeling beside me. We had cold quail and goose eggs, and I found it quite considerate that Belle had served me finger food, as I presume silverware would have eluded me. She had also brought some red wine and cheese, apple slices and rasins for a makeshift desert. Belle finished before me, and disappeared to find a comb for a second valiant attempt at my mane - no, hair. She made a bit more progress this time, and the feeling it produced to have her fingers entwined in my hair was near euphoria . Our lack of conversation wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, I found I rather enjoyed it.
Until, of course, she discovered that I had reopened the gash in my side. Then she was again aflutter, fetching clean bandages and the like. She carefully peeled back my shirt, and I saw her blush lightly at the sight of my bare chest. It made me sigh in relief, quite audibly so, and Belle was a bit puzzled. Still, she redressed the wound with swift efficiency and leaned back on her heels to pin me with an almost accusatory look.
"You are starting to smell." She said, wrinkling her nose with a sardonic smile. I laughed. It sounded all right, my laugh, if not a bit throaty. I think we both realized at precisely the same moment what exactly this little declaration entailed- I was going to have to bathe, and Belle was going to have to help, lest I drown myself. I couldn't help but feel a bit of anticipation. Bathing as a beast only required a brief dip in the moat, and sunning dry in the garden. Belle's eyes had widened a bit, but then she laughed.
"How odd we are." The comment was in itself a bit odd, but I understood quite perfectly. I nodded. "Well, I suppose I'll go draw the bath." She frowned a bit, but then disappeared again and if I strained my ears a bit I could hear water being poured somewhere down the hall. I relaxed against the hard back of the chair, glancing around Belle's neat little room. It smelled like her in here, again that faint scent of pressed roses. Roses. I hadn't watered them in ages, but they seemed to fair rather well, especially since Beauty's arrival. I was certain my mother had never planted them, so one could only assume they were wild roses. I seemed to have an affinity for things of the wild as of late.
Well...reveiw, 'kay? If ya' do I might just write that bath scene...tempting much?