"Belle?" The first call she doesn't even hear. She's too busy in the kitchen with the whistling kettle to realize he's calling for her.
"Belle?!" The voice is more insistent this time and she rolls her eyes, stepping out of the kitchen and heading to the Great Hall with teapot and cups on a tray. Despite the fact that it was only the two of them, always only the two of them, she has all four cups laid out along side the teapot. It's a strange affectation of his, as if he expects someone to show up any time to visit with them, as if he truly is the lord of a great manor who has people calling on them instead of the sole inhabitants of the Dark Castle.
No one ever did come. Yet the four cups must always be on the tray. And one of those cups was always the one she chipped on her first morning with him. She had expected him to be angry. She had expected him to replace it or mend it with magic. He had done neither, instead informing her that he expected his tea to always be served in that cup. Strange man.
She finally arrives in the Great Hall and gives him an exasperated look as he turns to face her. "I was getting your tea," she mutters.
"Never mind that." He waves his hands in the air in a typically flamboyant gesture and the tray disappears out of her hands, purple smoke enveloping it for a moment. She never would get used to that.
"I spent time making that." She crosses her now empty arms over her chest.
He gives her an unreadable look. "Yes yes, well, it's still sitting in the kitchen. You can have your tea later."
"It will be cold," she points out helpfully.
"Magic," he responds with, receiving another roll of the eyes from her. He uses magic almost without thinking most times. It comes so easily to him, as simple as breathing.
He grins his Cheshire cat grin at her and steps back slightly. He opens his arms wide and reaches down to grab the hat she hadn't noticed sitting on the table. Placing it on his head he speaks again. "Well?"
Belle has no idea what he wants and scrunches up her nose in confusion.
He tilts his head to the side, the ridiculously plumed hat accenting the movement, making it even more grandiose than it otherwise would have been. "What do you think?"
"Of what?" she asks with a shake of her head.
The gleeful expression dies on his face and his arms fall limply to his side. "Of me. Of this outfit…" His voice trails off.
"Oh!" Belle's hand comes up to her mouth in embarrassment. She couldn't have imagined this was what he called her up for so urgently. "You're asking me for fashion advice?"
He nods slightly, his strange eyes wide and a little wary. Belle is not quite sure what to think of this development. "Who exactly are you going to meet?"
He waves a hand in the air. "No one of any consequence."
"Really?" She doesn't believe him. She's never seen him so concerned with his appearance before. As she thought back on her time with him so far, she realizes that he's always been a bit ostentatious in dress. Leather trousers that clung to him, silk shirts, brocade vests, and coats of some strange material that often included spikes. She wonders if the last was worn to make him seem somehow larger and more frightening than he really was.
But he never seemd to care about it before. It just was who he was, as much a part of him as the magic and strange unblinking eyes.
"Really, sincerely. I have a deal to make, my dear. I need to look my best. As I always say, one must dress to impress!" And he gives a giggle. Despite this, Belle realizes that he's actually serious. He wants to know what she thinks, so she strives to give him her best analysis.
"Lose the hat" is the first thing she says. "It's not you at all." And it's not. Come to think of it, she's never seen him wearing a hat and his hair usually falls in loose curled locks past his chin, completely unstyled and wild, a strange contrast to his finely-tailored clothing. This particular hat is ridiculous. It matches the understated golds and browns of the rest of the outfit but it's a monstrosity. The feather is overly large, curling along side of it and down onto his shoulder. He looks like a peacock, brandishing his feathers for his mate.
"Done," he says and with a wave of his hand, the hat disappears. Belle hopes it will never make a reappearance, unless perhaps as one of her feather dusters. She makes a note to ask him about that later. "Anything else?" He strikes another pose, one hand coming up as he bows his head slightly.
She studies him in silence for a moment. The outfit is outrageous, which is really saying something considering his normal state of dress. The colors are understated, but he's donned leather bracers that match the brown leather of his trousers and below them the gold shirt flares around his wrists. This accents every movement of hands. Rumpelstiltskin's hands are rarely calm and quiet. Even frozen in his current strange pose, his hands look alive and ready to move. He is not a man who can be still, even when stillness is warranted.
"Turn around," she says, giving a twirling motion with one finger. He does so, but not before cocking an eyebrow at her.
The leather pants accent the lean strength of his legs as they always do (she never had seen him wearing anything else now that she thinks about it), the coat flares out below his waist. He cuts a fine figure in it, Belle notes. The silk shirt beneath the vest is frilled and gathered high up under his chin, held together by a strange oblong pin that's just slightly crooked. She's surprised to see this. He usually favors open-necked shirts that leave bits of his strange golden skin bare. This is much more formal and she again wonders who he is going to meet and why he might be dressed in such a way.
She finally becomes aware of the fact that she has been studying him for several moments and the silence is becoming a little uncomfortable. She raises her eyes to meet his and for a moment they're unguarded, wide. There's a small crinkle in his brow for just an instant before he wipes his face of any trace of emotion. It's so fleeting Belle is not sure she really saw it. But if she did…she begins to believe that perhaps this show he is putting on is actually for her. She's not quite sure what to think of that if she's going to be completely honest with herself. She tucks the thought away for later contemplation.
"Verdict, my dear?" He pauses for a moment and when she doesn't speak, qickly continues. "Come come dearie, I don't have all day."
Belle covers her hand with her mouth for a moment and hopes he can't see her amused smile. If this weren't the Dark One, the one everyone feared (and with good reason, she reminds herself), she would think he was nervous.
"The outfit suits you." She's afraid she's damning him with faint praise. He looks disappointed. There was little commitment in that phrase. A potato sack would suit some folks. And flamboyance certainly suits the grandiose hand gestures of Rumpelstiltskin. But ultimately it's a meaningless thing to say and she knows it.
Belle steps closer to him, moving to stand directly in front of him. The outfit is nigh on perfect except for that crooked pin at his throat. She begins to reach up to fix it for him when his hands snake out and grip her wrists, holding them away from him.
"Just what do you think you're doing, dearie?"
Ah, the dangerous voice has returned, the Dark One's sibilant whisper. Belle stammers for a moment. "Your pin…it's…uh…crooked." She can't quite meet his eyes until he lets go of her wrists. She looks up at him then and for a moment can't breathe. She didn't realize quite how close to him she had drawn. She'd been this close before. Closer even, when she had wrapped her arms around him that one time in the woods. But somehow this is different. He is her very own preening peacock and the look in his widened eyes tells her everything she needs to know. He has dressed this way for her. She smiles and finally reaches up and straightens the pin, dragging her eyes away from his while attentive to the task at hand.
She plans to step back at that moment, but is unable to. Her eyes return to his and she smiles softly at him. Without thinking she reaches up and straightens the hair on one side of his face, lightly touching the soft locks, twisting one curl around her finger for just a moment. She doesn't intend for the next words to come out of her mouth, but once they do, she realizes how very much she means them. "I think you look quite handsome."
The small half-smile that lights up his face was worth stepping out of her comfort zone with the truth. He steps back from her and surprises her with a gesture she knew must be out of his comfort zone as well. Reaching down, he grasps her hand in his. It's the first time he's touched her of his own volition. She had hugged him, had touched him lightly on the arm once or twice, and even grasped his hand in hers, but he had never been the first one to reach out.
In another surprising development, he raises her hand up and presses a chaste kiss to the back of it. A small sound of delight escapes her before she can stop it. She's surprised at the cool softness of his lips on the bare skin of her hand. He smiles at her over the top of her hand and it may just be the first honest smile she's seen out of him. "I shan't be long, my dear. Do enjoy your tea!" And then he's gone, her hand hanging in the air, cold with the sudden loss of his touch.
She lets it drop to her side and with a shake of her head, retreats to the kitchen to enjoy her magically-warmed tea. Belle is rarely surprised, but it seems that at every turn Rumpelstiltskin will manage to surprise her. Once again she finds herself charmed by the Dark One. She never could have imagined this would be her life, but she found that she was truly enjoying discovering the mystery that was Rumpelstiltskin.