Author's Note: Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Pride and Prejudice, Twilight, or Star Wars. I do own the concept of all of these characters convening, but not much else. Some dialogue and descriptions ripped lovingly from their respective books--ask me if you're not sure if I made it up or not and you wish to use it. Speculations encouraged, reviews welcomed, suggestions suggestable. Everyone may be slightly out of character--if it gets to be too much for you, please review or PM me. Also, check out my other stories-especially Wolf-Maiden which is my reworking of the archetypes of Beauty and the Beast. Please review if you like it, or even if you don't. This was sparked by a conversation with Baroness Orc about the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (and no, I haven't seen the film yet, but I am DYING to...) and to Sherlockian Girl whom I have kept in suspense, waiting for me to post this. Without further ado, the story.
The League of Gentlemanly Gentlemen
"Be a gentleman…Be a gentle man," the Beast muttered under his breath for the thousandth time. "Dah! I'll never win Belle's love," he growled, pacing his balcony like a caged animal. If only he had an enchanted rose for each time he had stalked across his balcony at midnight. Unfortunately, he realized, neither pacing, nor burying his head in the sand, nor even running to the end of the earth and spending the rest of eternity as a beast would solve his problems. "How do I become a gentleman?" the Beast desperately asked the stars. "What do I need to do?"
Although the night was dark as pitch, the Beast was suddenly blinded by a brilliant white light. Several men were plopped down onto the stones of the balcony.
The first was a pallid seventeen year old with 'God-like' bronze hair. Although his expression was baffled, his face must have been dazzling when he smiled. He reminded the Beast of a statue of Apollo that he had smashed years before.
Next was a blond, lazy eyed man whose height nearly rivaled the Beast's. He was dressed in satin breeches, waistcoat, and overcoat; around his neck was tied an expanse of white, frilly lace. The man eyed the Beast through a little quizzing glass, one eyebrow raised. His lack of fear was both refreshing and disconcerting.
The third man was dressed much like the second, except that his garments were much less ornate and not made of silk. He tipped the beaver-pelt top hat back from where it had slipped when he had appeared. He stared wide-eyed at the Beast and blinked several times. He was obviously afraid, but he was making a valiant effort not to show his fear. He had a clean-shaven, nobly handsome face and curly black hair that the Beast was willing to bet that a woman somewhere was dying to run her fingers through. Or several women, the Beast added mentally.
Did the Enchantress, or whoever had brought these men here, mean to humiliate the Beast by placing their handsomeness next to his ugliness?
Despite the fact that the fourth man had a very odd modernized pistol drawn and ready to fire, the Beast immediately liked him better than the others. Maybe it was the determined set of the man's hairy chin, or how the man was dressed in a shabby white shirt and black pants with a yellow stripe up the side. Or perhaps it was because both the Beast and the man were both a little scruffy-looking.
"Sink me, but this is a rather curious event," the tall blond man drawled, breaking the silence.
Everyone began talking at once; the Beast was at a loss for words.
"This certainly isn't Pemberly."
"Where's Bella? I know I'm not dreaming because vampires can't sleep or pass out or go into comas."
"I told Chewie not to fly to close to that black hole," the scruffy man muttered. "Jabba'll have my head if another shipment goes sour…Wait," the scruffy man asked the Beast suspiciously. "You're not a Wookie, are you?"
"Silent," the Beast finally roared. "I do not know how you came to be here—it's certainly none of my doing. I demand that you tell me who you all are and what you're doing here."
The pale teenager spoke first. "I am Edward Cullen. I do not know what I am doing here. I was thinking about how I need a woman with whom to share my lonely and pathetically thirsty existence." Everyone else stared at him in shocked silence. "Oh, yes, well, I am a vampire," he added sheepishly.
"You next," the Beast said, pointing to the tall blond man.
"Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet," the blond man drawled, bowing elegantly. He waved about his lollipop-shaped eyeglass and flicked a piece of lint off of his immaculately clean coat.
"What is it you do?" the Beast asked testily.
"Not much," Sir Percy said slowly. "I have money, a beautiful French wife who happens to hate the ground I walk upon, and a country estate in England. I make up the most amusing little ditties. Would you like to hear one?"
"No," the Beast said gruffly. "You. Next."
The third man with the dark, curly hair bowed stiffly. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman."
The Beast cocked an eyebrow at the mention of the word. "Go on," he grumbled, feigning disinterest.
"Well, ahem, I check over my servant's work to make sure it is being properly completed; when required, try to be a good host; take care of my younger sister, Georgiana; and make sure that my tenants are being provided for."
"I see," the Beast said. "Your turn," he turned to the last man, who was still holding his gun.
"Han Solo," the scruffy one said, suspicious, but smooth. He glanced around warily, then struck his gun into its holster. "Smuggler, ladies' man, and Captain of the Millennium Falcon. Who are you?" Han Solo demanded of the Beast.
"I am the ruler of this castle, the Beast," he said gruffly. "I was a prince once—as pretty as any of you—"
Han Solo interrupted with a snort.
The Beast glared at him, and then continued. "A great act of selfishness caused a witch to change me into this form. Now I must win the love of a woman in order to break my curse. I have been told that being a gentleman may help me. Give me advice," the Beast commanded, "or else I'll…I'll lock you in one of my dungeons," he finished harshly. The Beast was beginning to become desperate.
Edward Cullen and Mr. Darcy looked a little concerned, Han Solo scoffed, and Sir Percy began to laugh aloud.
"What's so funny?" the Beast said crossly.
"La, but it seems that if you'd like to become a gentleman," Sir Percy began, foppishly waving his quizzing glass about, "You'd be best to not to lock your guests in your dungeons."
"Guests?" The Beast started. "Who said anything about any of you being my guests?"
"Well, naturally, we assumed that you would be hospitable, sir," Mister Darcy gulped.
"Yeah," Han Solo chipped in. "It's not our fault that we got plopped down onto your balcony."
"Fine," the Beast said, rolling his eyes in resignation. "Come this way." He led the men down the corridor that led out of the West Wing.