Gaston took aim at the flock, hitting his target and watching it as it fell to the ground. Lefou ran, seizing his prize and stuffing it into his bag.
"Wow, Gaston, you must be the greatest hunter ever!"
"I know," replied the tall, muscular man. He was never one for false modesty, and there was a room full of trophies to prove his point.
Lefou gathered the rest of the game, tugging it along behind him as they made their way back to town. Lefou ran to the butchers to sell the stuffed bag, while Gaston looked up and spotted Belle, his face instantly brightening when he saw her as she made her way out of the small village.
Head in a book again. He heard whispers as he passed the townspeople, marking her peculiar and unsocial, but admittedly very beautiful. He did his best to ignore them, instead trying to reach the woman who had stolen his heart. He kept losing her in the crowd, stopped by his many admirers and clients who wished to fawn over him and to beg a moment of his time. By the time he spotted Belle on the outskirts, he had committed to thirteen new projects before the week's end.
Not wishing to be further delayed from the beautiful woman walking away, he ended up climbing over rooftops, sliding down at the end and striding up to her, taking the book from her hands- a sure-fire way to initiate a conversation with the focused reader.
"What are you reading?" he asked, incredulous as he quickly ran through the book.
"It's called La Belle et la Bête. It's my favourite book."
"Why is it your favourite? Does that mean you've read it before?" He was still flipping through it, wondering what could be special about a storybook that made Belle love it.
"Yes, several times. Not that you would understand, monsieur. It has these daring sword fights, a magic spell, even a charming prince in disguise. It's extraordinary."
"How can you read this? There aren't any pictures," he stated in confusion, trying to piece together the story from the little he heard and saw, yet failing completely.
"Well, some people can use their imaginations," she responded pointedly, grabbing the book out of his hands.
"Huh." He didn't think he had ever read something so big, but he knew Belle was smart. That was one of the things he loved about her.
"Well, enough about charming princes from pretend books. You should consider spending time with a real man. Like me," he preened, thinking on his morning hunt and how surely she would've been impressed.
"Like you?" He missed her incredulous look, taking it as encouragement to continue his current proposal instead.
"Yes, Belle! You can come watch me chop all the wood the bakery will use next week, then admire me as I raise a booth for the fish merchant, and you can wipe my sweaty brow when I fill in for the blacksmith, then I'll even let you sit in the wagon I'm pulling to the seamstress' house this evening."
"You will?" He remained oblivious to her disgusted tone and expression.
"And then tonight, you can watch me drink the bartender under the table before you rub my tired feet!"
She turned away from him, which was obviously an invitation for him to follow her. "Gaston, you are not only primitive, you are abhorrent and repulsive."
"Why thank you, Belle!" he responded, delighted to hear her compliments, even if he didn't entirely understand them. "So, we'll just go gather your things and you can follow me around all day."
"Actually, Gaston, I have to go home and help my father."
"Yeah, maybe you should help that loony old man!" exclaimed Lefou, finally catching up to Belle and Gaston.
"Haha! Loony old man indeed!" bellowed Gaston, remembering some of the trouble her father's 'inventions' had caused in the past.
"Don't talk that way about my father!" defended an angry Belle.
"Exactly- don't talk that way about her father," scolded Gaston, hitting Lefou on the head for insulting his girl.
"My father's a genius! Someday he's going to invent something that will change this dull, dreary, insignificant little town!"
And with that, she stormed off, in the direction of the smoke he now saw pouring from the house in the distance.