Deliciously full, Iris lies on her back on the four-poster and dozes until-
"Mademoiselle?"
She sits up to regard a wardrobe inching cautiously into the room. "Care for an evening gown?" he asks. Proffering one, he adds, "I hope I'm not intruding."
"No," Iris permits, rising. She's pleasantly tired and more than half convinced this is all a dream. A strange dream, full of singing and dancing and a beast with a terrible temper. Though it draws on, she knows morning must be near. Soon enough, she will open her eyes and the magic will vanish.
I should take advantage of it.
Standing, she accepts the gown and tells the wardrobe, "Thank you."
"You are quite welcome, mademoiselle. Sleep well."
Sidling awkwardly back towards the door, he is nearly through it when Iris calls, "What is your name?"
"Ronald Raymond. My friends call me Ronnie." Wedging himself successfully through the frame, he adds, "You may call me Ronnie."
"Thank you, Ronnie."
With a shallow bow her way, he trundles off. Stepping forward, Iris shuts the door behind him and shimmies out of her day gown, setting it on a chair before settling into her evening wear.
As the castle sleeps, she pads over to the door and presses it open. Looking down the hall, she sees no one.
Slipping out of her room, she walks the length of the corridor. Absentmindedly, she glances through open doorways at empty rooms on either side. She descends staircases, hand trailing along the railing. She traces the trail of turrets to the top. Gazing out over the grounds, she marvels at the frost-coated kingdom. What curse is this? she wonders, ruefully certain that if she awakes, she will never know.
She doesn't mean to find him, but when she walks past another inconspicuous room, his door is ajar. She looks into the room and sees him sound asleep on a bed. He is so massive that he sprawls off of it, head and shoulders on the floor, a foot twitching occasionally at the foot of the bed. As she watches, his chest rises and falls, at once soft and heavy. Seeing him reminds her of a minotaur, guarding its precious kingdom. She considers waking him - she should thank him for saving her life - but in the end, she lets him sleep.
She drifts away, and cannot deny a part of her that hopes he sleeps well.
As she wanders, she passes the candelabra - Cisco - snoring in a sharp slouch near a window. He's within shouting distance of The Beast, and a strange pang passes through her at the thought. She doesn't know who takes advantage of the proximity - if it is the metal man or the monster which seeks companionship - but she recognizes the deep friendship between them. For some inexplicable reason, they're close. Perhaps Cisco is just that lonely - or The Beast is more compelling than she gives him credit for.
On a higher sill, a feather-duster blinks down at her. Cindy lifts a wing in greeting before tucking it back around her face, dozing off. The clock - Caitlin - is nowhere to be found, but neither is the wardrobe Ronnie. She half-hopes they're keeping each other company; it seems terribly lonely to be without a friend here, in this grand and empty space.
The torches end in the east wing, so she unhooks one from its sconce and holds it up to the cool, dark space leading towards the west wing.
Father did always say I was insatiably curious, she thinks, proceeding at a slower pace. There's a sense of intrusion to this space. No singing furniture greets her, and no Beast guards his lair. It feels like a different castle.
As she passes farther into the space, she finds monstrous claw-marks driven deep into the tapestried walls. A thrill of horror courses down her spine at the thought of what caused them. She can almost see it, The Beast arching and roaring, tearing through the fabric as though it isn't there. What infuriated him so, she dares not guess. She thinks about turning back and pretending she never passed through this place, recognizing the warning for what it is, but blue light draws her ahead.
Passing through the threshold of the room at the end of the hall, she steps into a high-ceilinged chamber. Tall, open windows spill blue moonlight into the room. A single marble pedestal stands in the center of the room, radiant and beautiful, almost out of place in this dark space. She stares at it, entranced, for upon it sits a single, brilliant red rose, encased in a bell jar. Around the rose lie its own fading petals, blackened remnants of a happier time.
She places her torch in a sconce on the wall and steps towards the rose. She feels her father's unspoken warning to be careful tugging at her shoulder. Ignoring it - for The Beast is not here, and in the confines of a dream, she cannot be hurt - she draws up to it. Reaching out, she rests her hands on the jar. It is more alive than any singular area of the castle has been, perhaps more alive than the whole castle combined. Firming her grip around, she lifts the glass clear, setting it down upon the floor.
A stiff breeze nearly extinguishes her torch, pushing hard against the rose. Reaching forward, she cups a hand around its flower, shielding it. "How do you survive here?" she murmurs, letting it go. The rose sags, its brilliant red dimming to an alarming shade of maroon.
A paralyzing roar nearly startles her off her feet. She staggers away as The Beast shouts, "Don't touch that!"
Speechless, she draws her distance as he draws forward, grasping the bell jar with trained care and placing it over the rose. Flattening his paws on the glass, eclipsing the flower within, he stays bowed over it for an interminable moment. Iris' heart beats quickly as she stays near the edge of the room, watching him. At last, his shoulders relax fractionally, and when he removes his paws she sees the rose glowing red.
The Beast steps away from it, staggering around it, and she has nowhere to go but sideways as he stalks towards her. His breath steams; his eyes burn in the dim light. "What were you thinking?" he demands.
She can't speak; I was curious falls flat in the silence. A chill breeze snaps over her skin, raising goosebumps. Cornered by The Beast, heart pounding and breath halting in her chest, she has a realization. This is no dream.
Back against a wall, she stares at him, aching for one of his servants to call upon him, but no interruption comes. As he closes the distance between them, she knows she stands no chance against him.
Close enough she can almost feel his chest rising and falling, she says, "I'm sorry."
He turns on his heel, stalking towards the pedestal and wrapping his paws around it hard enough that the marble nearly cracks. "Get out," he orders, hunching over it. "Now."
She doesn't need further prompting, taking flight and scarcely slowing until she is deep into the dark wing. As she rounds a corner, a puppyish bark startles her. Before she can stop, she trips over its owner. Barking, a small - something - clambers around her, jumping up and down with wooden clicks on every bounce. She sits up in time to see a light appear around the corner, followed by a worried cry. "Belle!"
"I'm fine," she breathes, watching Cisco hobble forward as quickly as he can. "I'm fine."
"To be a wolf!" Cisco says, skidding to a halt in front of her. "Alas, I have only candle legs. My friend, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she repeats, shaking a little as she pushes herself to her feet. At her side, the pup whines. She turns and sees a footstool wagging energetically, jumping as it barks.
"Ah, this is Houblon. Houblon!" he repeats, as the footstool wriggles excitedly next to her, bumping against her. "Leave her, garçon."
Picking Houblon gingerly up by his sides, Iris holds it up to eye level. "How did you know I was here?"
"I didn't," Cisco admits. She glances down at him, setting Houblon to one side carefully. "But they have not invented a place Houblon cannot find!"
"We should go," Iris tells him, rising.
"We should!" Cisco agrees, hopping along. Houblon charges forward, outpacing him immediately. Iris follows them, keeping pace with the swift-moving candelabra and trying to calm her pounding heart. "Pay no mind to the master, he is - excitable."
"He's furious."
"Well, as long as you did not find - ahem - anything unusual, all is well!"
"Like a rose in a bell jar?"
Cisco skids to a halt. "Oh, ma chérie," he says solemnly. "That is his most prized possession. Sa vie même."
His very life.
Resuming his walk, Cisco says bracingly, "But, not to worry, not to worry! Curiosity is a wonderful trait in a woman!"
"Why do you think so highly of me?" Iris asks, following him. "I have only defied you and your master."
Cisco scoffs. "Defiance is a wonderful trait in a woman!" he says.
"Stubborn," Iris insists, "rule-breaking. Dangerous."
"All wonderful traits in a woman!"
Houblon barks ahead, and Caitlin comes clopping towards them, asking, "What on Earth happened?"
"A midnight stroll!" Cisco lies. "Nothing more!"
"You're a terrible liar."
"A wonderful trait in a man!"
Leveling a flat look at him, Caitlin glances up at Iris, then back down the corridor. "Caitlin," Cisco warns seriously. "You should not go."
"Someone must, before he..." She doesn't finish, waddling off slowly.
"Before he what?" Iris asks Cisco once she has disappeared.
Cisco lifts his arms in lieu of a shrug. "Does as the master does," he explains. "Makes terrible choices, that is. Come, come. All will be well, I am sure." Hopping off, he adds, "I am mostly sure." Then, after a few more hops, he hesitates. "Perhaps I should go with her." Then, looking at Iris, he shakes his head. "No, I am certain it will be fine."
Iris doesn't share his conviction, but she has no choice but to follow his light as he walks away.
"Master?" Caitlin calls into the darkness. She doesn't dare use his name; if the girl heard and found out who he was, it would only stoke his fury further. And he is furious. She needs neither sight nor proximity to know as much. "Master?" Farther down the hall, impenetrable darkness yields to blue light. She follows it until she reaches the chamber. Gingerly, she takes a step towards The Beast in the center of the room, arched protectively over the rose.
In a low, halting voice, he says, "She could have ruined us. In one moment of carelessness, she nearly did."
"You have given her nothing," Caitlin reminds. "She has no idea what is at stake."
Growling, he says, "She has no right to my life. Nor any of yours."
Caitlin sidles closer. "It was an accident."
The marble cracks under his claws. "This is my home," he snaps. "I am the master of the house, and I will not allow a peasant girl to bring everything tumbling down because she didn't know better." He throws himself off the pedestal, stalking over to the windows and leaning his paws against the sill. "I want her out. I want her gone. And I will not entertain another human being here, not now, nor ever."
Caitlin walks over to him, resting near his feet. "Barry," she says, "it was an accident. She meant no harm."
"How do you know?" he asks without looking at her. "She clearly despises me."
"She does not clearly despise you," Caitlin echoes in exasperation. "She seems quite tolerant, given how intolerant you have been towards her."
"She has no right to my kindness."
"Yet you have gone out of your way to provide it." When he casts her a sharp, questioning look, she elaborates, "The wolf?"
He snorts in disgust, directing his gaze back out over the grounds. "I should have let it eat her."
With an effort, Caitlin climbs up the loose stones until she, too, is on the ledge. "That is not what you believe."
"How do you know what I believe?"
"Because I remember a boy of nearly twenty jumping into a freezing well to rescue a scruffy young mutt." Barry does not move nor acknowledge her, but she presses on. "I remember the same boy carrying his injured father three miles home in the hopes of saving him." He looks at her, but she does not let his flat stare intimidate her. "I know who you are, underneath the pomp and powder. And you are not a boy who lets wolves eat anyone, let alone people like her."
"The mutt is a nuisance. My father is dead. The girl is a nuisance, and without me, she would also be dead. What is your point?" he demands.
"Houblon is a joy, and you love him, and you loved your dying father, too. Love, Barry. Love is the point. We act because we love, even when it is not in our own best interests. You love, even when you do not acknowledge it. You saved her because it is who you are."
Exhaling, he rests his chin on his arms, gazing outward. He seems thoughtful for a long moment, and Caitlin doesn't push him. Unlike Cisco, she can handle silence for more than two seconds, taking a seat and following his gaze.
"In six months, as many petals fell," he narrates. "In six days, half as many have fallen."
"The rate has increased prodigiously, yes."
"The very last six will fall in as many hours at this pace," he remarks. "And she - she touches it, has she no idea how delicate roses are? What if it had died?"
"We wouldn't be having this conversation," Caitlin replies.
He presses his paws to his face. "I cannot even think. It is on my mind at all times."
"Perhaps you should ignore it." When he scoffs, she insists, "Our situation is as dire as they come. If you dwell, you will get nothing done, and fulfill the prophecy. We do have a chance, but the answer is not to lie staring at the rose all day, waiting for the last petal to fall."
"I have no idea how much time I have. Is it even possible?"
Caitlin dares to walk closer. "Was saving your father?"
Barry's grip tightens. "No."
"If you believed that, would you have carried him home?"
Barry lowers his paws. "How am I to answer that?"
"Honestly. Would you?"
"No," he snaps, short, sharp.
"Precisely. Even when the odds were stacked against you, you didn't let them stop you from trying. Try, Barry. You will get nowhere if you stand still."
Looking at her, he says, "And if I fail as I did then?"
"You will have shown your love. Perhaps you do not love yourself enough to fight for a better future. But if you love any of us - do not let this one moment harden your heart."
He pushes himself off the ledge, chancing a look back at the rose. Still innocuously bright, bold and beautiful. Even as he looks at it, his shoulders tense, then relax again. "Very well," he says at last, sweeping out of the room.
Caitlin leaves him be, looking out over the grounds, savoring the sight.
If she is wrong - if she is terribly wrong - then it may be the last chance she gets.
"Did you know there is an entire con-ti-nent where the nights last as long as this one has?"
"You're joking," Iris says, sitting in a chair in one of the hosting rooms and looking over as a tray rolls over to them, bearing a teapot and cup.
"I am not!" Cisco says, dancing in front of the fire. "It is - magnifique! A frozen wasteland, far below the Earth!"
"Sounds dreadful." Accepting the cup of tea that the pot pours for her, Iris tells her, "Thank you."
"Quite welcome, darling," the teapot responds.
"Ah, the darling Mademoiselle, the very Dame de la Maison!" Cisco announces. "Belle, I would like you to meet notre reine bien-aimée, Nora."
Iris toasts her. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine, dear."
"She is the finest teapot in all the con-ti-nent!" Cisco says. "Un merveille!"
"If you are the Queen," Iris begins, "The Beast - he is your husband?"
Cisco laughs, loud and carrying. Nora reposes on the tray and corrects, "He is my son."
Iris lifts both eyebrows, intrigue filling her with renewed interest, despite the late hour. Cradling her cup in both hands, she asks, "What's he like? Underneath the claws and fangs."
"Brutish and charming in equal parts," Nora replies. "He disliked dancing, but he loved tending the gardens."
"He is quite enamored with his roses," Iris muses, stomach still a little sour from the encounter.
Nora and Cisco share a look. "I have not told her," Cisco apologizes, bowing. "I felt it was the master's place."
"So it is." Looking back at her, Nora adds, "The roses are - important to him. To all of us, really."
"Is it because of the curse?"
Another shared look. "You are sharp," Nora allows at last, looking at Iris and tipping forward in a nod. "Yes. It is because of the curse."
"What does it entail?"
Nora smiles enigmatically. "I'm afraid I must disappoint you there, Belle."
"Should we tell you," Cisco dares to elaborate, "it could ... create problems." Waving an apologetic arm, he adds, "Trust me, we would much rather illuminate you!" He douses his own candles before waving them. When they do not ignite, he frowns. Hopping over to the fire, he reaches close to it, catching a wick and tending to his three flames. "Voila! Illumination!"
Iris sets her teacup on the tray. "If something happens to the rose," she surmises, "will something happen to him?"
"Ah, a sharp one - a wonderful-"
"Trait in a woman," Caitlin finishes for him, waddling into the room.
Cisco rushes over to her, nearly tackling her in his relief. "Mon amie! You live!"
"Of course I do," Caitlin dismisses, pushing him off of her. "You thought he would kill me?"
"Not for an instant!" Cisco laughs nervously, fooling no one. "Everyone knows it is impossible to kill a clock!"
"Tell that to a child and a high shelf," Iris says, "or a determined cat."
"I love her," Cisco says, hopping back over to her. "If I were not already engaged, I would marry you!"
"How can you be engaged if you have not proposed?" Caitlin points out dryly.
Cisco does a happy little twirl. "Because I am in love," he explains.
Iris smiles a little. "With a feather-duster."
"The most beautiful feather-duster in the world!" Cisco expounds. "The most extra-ordinary, wonderful specimen to grace the Earth! Brighter than fire, finer than gold!"
"I see you've met the Dame," Caitlin tells Iris, bowing at Nora.
A thought occurs to Iris: "If she is the Queen, and The Beast is her son..."
"I was a prince."
Iris stands and turns to face him, standing on the opposite side of the room. He looks a little rough around the edges in full light, fur ruffled, dried blood visible on his left arm. His gaze is still bright and fixed on her. "I did not wish to tell you," he adds, looking at the assorted accoutrements. Cisco bounds off; Caitlin sighs and follows him. After a moment, the tray bearing Nora and Iris' cup idles off, leaving just Iris and The Beast himself in the room.
Keeping her distance, Iris says in a neutral tone, "You do not wish to tell me many things."
"I would say it's for your own protection, but then I would be lying."
With a slow, mock curtsey, she points out, "I have broken decorum because of your lying, mon prince."
He huffs. "A Beast cannot be a prince. You needn't observe decorum."
"This seems a dream," Iris admits, walking towards him. "A princely Beast, talking furniture, a hidden castle."
"If so," he permits, easing back, but his back is already to a wall, "you have unpleasant dreams."
Iris continues. "I could understand the castle. I've always wanted to live a less provincial life." Advancing, she adds, "Even the talking furniture, given how often I seek companions in the woods, chattering in the brooks and songs in the trees." Pausing feet away, she says, "But you ... why would I contrive you? You seem singularly out of place."
He keeps his silence.
"Since I was young, people have told me there were beasts in the woods. Bears, wolves, and boars, the like." She notices his claws flex a little at the word boars, but does not press the point. Not now. "I've met a few, so I have experience, and impressions of what to expect. One could argue this is more than enough to contrive a monster who reins over his castle. Someone like you."
He lifts his head a little, defiance and dismissal in his eyes.
She takes another step forward and he presses back against the wall, attempting to put distance between them. "But you saved my life," she points out. "Why?"
He works his jaw, searching for words. When he speaks, his voice is low and held soft by proximity. "What do you want from me?"
"I want answers," she says. "Why did you save my life?"
"I had to. You were in danger."
"No one compelled you. You didn't have to."
"Would you prefer it if I hadn't?" he deflects, agitated.
She straightens her shoulders and holds her ground. "I do not believe you are who you say you are," she says at last. "You may look like one, but you aren't a Beast."
He makes a low sound in his chest. "Am I not?"
She says, "You don't want me here. Very well. I do not particularly wish to stay. Given you will not feed me to the wolves, you may either live with a thorn in your side, or you will help me get home."
He scoffs. "You command me?"
"Yes," she says bluntly. "You can either keep me here, and despise me, or you can find me a way home, and never hear from me again. It's your choice."
This close, Iris notices, he smells like petrichor. The little movements of his fur are visible, and she experiences a moment of absurd temptation to reach out and feel it. Soft or coarse?
"Very well," The Beast says at last. He presses forward and she steps back, letting them maintain distance. "We will ... find you a way home."
Her shoulders flatten. She finds unbridled relief will not come, but she nods anyway.
Then he says firmly, "Tomorrow."
Nodding, she commits, "Tomorrow."
They do not shake, but he looks at her for a long moment, and she cannot read what is in his eyes before he steps aside and sweeps away, cloak fanning behind him.
If she keeps her eyes below the horns, she can almost pretend he is a prince.
Something terrible has happened.
When the castle doors open and Prince Julian staggers into the foyer, Barry's stomach drops. "What is it?" he asks.
Out of breath, Julian shakes his head, leaning over his knees. "My prince, you must hurry. There's been an accident. It's your father."
Heart pounding, Barry takes off at a run, leaving Julian far behind him as he dashes into the woods. He doesn't need to ask where he's going - he knows, has traversed this path countless times in his dreams - but he cannot cover ground quickly. His breath comes in agonizing pants, his legs moving far too slowly. It's only three miles, but it takes forever - he runs as fast as he can, but it's not fast enough. Please, oh, please, oh, please, he begs, pushing on, and then he finds them.
Sir Fred Chyre lies off to one side, gored by some terrible beast, staring unblinking at the canopy of the trees. Barry gags at the sight, physically repulsed a step, but then his focus shifts as he hears a groan of pain nearby.
" I'm coming!" he shouts, charging across the brush, careless of the scrapes and cuts he acquires. "Please, hang on, I'm coming!"
He feels sick to his stomach as he lunges over the last bush into view, gasping hard, a stitch in his side folding him in half. "Father," he pants, lifting his head and staring at the scene before him.
Father is dead, lying off to one side, right leg torn open.
The sound, he realizes, comes from a different source. Confusion and agony surging through him, he looks to his right - and beholds a familiar woman, gasping in pain as she presses her hands to her bleeding side.
" Beast," she says, looking up at him, wide-eyed and surprised. He starts to rush forward, to help, but she whimpers and draws to her feet, staggering away. "No, no, no..."
" I won't hurt you," he tells her, but it's already becoming difficult to speak, voice dropping to a familiar guttural tone as fangs protrude from his jaw.
" Stay away," she pleads, falling hard. "Don't hurt me."
" I'm not going to," he promises, and he stumbles as he shoulders through the brush separating them, oversized and furred, catching on branches. "What happened?"
She sobs, pushing back farther, but she cannot get far, and he is fast and powerful, a predator closing in. "Please," she says. "My father, he needs me."
A deep, terrible sound builds in his chest, slipping past him and sharpening his hands into clawed points. She backs into a rosebush, and the instant she touches it every petal shrivels up and dies, and the monster breaks loose as lightning erupts across his chest. Her scream is drowned out by his roar, claws shredding deep into-
Jerking awake, Barry pants, staring wild-eyed out at the open doorway. Gaze drifting down, he sees Cisco, anxious and only two-thirds lit. "Master?" he asks carefully. "Are you all right?"
Breathing heavily, he cannot speak, and he sees the same fear cross Cisco's expression as it did Belle's, idling back a step. "Barry?" he half-asks, half-pleads.
The spell snaps, and he looks down at his own - paws, they're paws, and he cannot define the nameless disappointment that floods him as he glances back up and assures in a low, familiar tone, "Everything's fine."
Cisco relaxes so much another candle snuffs out. Reaching out, he relights it with his other arm. "That's - good," he says, a little halting, and no small amount scared, as he bows and makes himself scarce. The door shuts a little hard behind him, but Barry doesn't snap at him.
Struggling to his feet - six months cannot erase nearly thirty years of muscle memory - he reaches up instinctively to feel his horned head, claws clenching in thick fur as he drags them down the back of his neck. Breathing heavily, he lowers his paws and stares at them, half-expecting blood on them. The only blood on him, he realizes, looking down his arm, is the smattering of it on his left arm from the dire wolf.
It was just a dream.
Frustrated and furious, he clenches his teeth hard to suppress a growl that wants to roar out of him. Tormented day and night - have you no pity, Witch?
He deserves it - knows he deserves it, dragging her into his foyer and introducing the guests to their latest uninvited before denying her any hospitality, stirring laughter from the crowd, a petty, boyish move inspired by drink and stupidity bone-deep - but he still rages against it, a bull in a pen.
One mistake, he thinks. One mistake, and it's all over.
Turning towards the open window, he clambers out of it, hanging onto the side of the tower and letting the blistering cold sink into his skin.
You deserve this.
Deep down, he knows he does. You hurt them. You ignored them, and taunted them, and pushed them too far.
Scaling down carefully, he reaches the iced grounds and exhales powerfully, beastly to his bones. He wanders into the forest, wandering deep enough that he can almost hear the chatter of the dire wolves, but they do not pursue him. Pain builds in his chest until he can scarcely stand it, but he presses on. Three miles, he thinks. Just three miles.
It isn't far, but it might as well be the moon: for the closer he draws, the slower he moves, until it is like carrying a physical weight to even stand.
You have reigned free over your castle without consequence for years, The Witch condemned. May you rule it - and it alone - forever.
In sight of the edge of the snow, he drops to a knee.
One-and-three-quarter miles.
Just over half the distance he needs to reach his father.
Father, he insists, attempting to stand and falling forward instead. On hands and knees, he crawls, the strain at his back and shoulders reaching unbearable proportions, pulling against an unbreakable set of chains. He reaches the very boundary and can move no closer than a foot, reaching out and gritting his teeth against the pain as his shoulder pulls and pulls, threatening to dislocate.
Holding his ground for as long as he can, he jerks away and staggers to his feet, quickly gaining momentum as he returns to the heart of his own personal hell.
Panting hard, he holds the edge of the gate and looks outward at the woods he cannot cross, and almost hears the wolves laughing at him, the silent forest denying him.
Defeated, he sinks to his knees, aware that he will be stuck here for absolutely ever.
Long live the king, The Witch stated.
For when the last petal falls, your servants will succumb, and you shall remain, in perpetuity, sole proprietor of this frozen kingdom.
Breathing heavily, he bows and stares at the ground.
Unless ... unless.
He thinks about the girl, the arrestingly beautiful girl, who is decidedly not repulsed by him, a girl who may even - dare he entertain it? - come to ... tolerate his company.
Tolerate is a rather low bar, his inner Caitlin points out.
Straightening, he staggers back to the castle. It's a start, he admits. It's a start.
"I need your help."
Standing in the foyer, Cisco and Caitlin exchange a glance. "With?" Caitlin prompts.
Sitting back on his haunches in front of them, Barry admits, "The girl."
Cisco claps loudly before Caitlin clocks him, silencing him.
"You told her you wanted her to leave," Caitlin points out.
Barry makes a noncommittal noise. "I ... would like to attempt the contrary."
Cisco swoons, hand held to his chest. "Do you mean to say you wish to make her want to stay?"
Barry sighs. "Yes?"
Cisco hops forward and hugs his leg. Barry yelps loudly when his fur catches fire, Cisco jumping back as Barry swats it out. "Sorry, sorry!" Cisco apologizes. "I haven't hugged you since you acquired fur."
"Perhaps we could refrain until I am furless, and you are not made of fire," Barry says.
Cisco salutes. "As you wish. So. The girl!"
"The girl."
"Romance her," Caitlin suggests.
Barry looks down at himself, covered in fur, tail swishing almost out of sight. "I look like a bear."
"It is appropriate, is it not?" Cisco says. When Barry levels him with a flat look, he waves an arm. Then, unable to resist, he adds, "Is it not, Bear-y?"
"Haven't you ever charmed a lady before?" Caitlin interjects before Barry can make good on a raised paw over Cisco, threatening to deliver a rather robust blow. "Drink and dance and moonlit walks?"
"There is plenty of moonlight!" Cisco adds cheerfully, raising an arm and singeing Barry's palm, forcing him into a sharp revocation of his threat. "And drink! And dancing!" He twirls once demonstratively, beaming.
"I ... cannot dance."
Cisco says blankly, "You are a prince."
"Exactly. I do as I please. Which is not dance."
"Then ... I shall teach you!" Cisco proposes brightly.
"You are a candelabra," Barry reminds reasonably.
Waving an arm dismissively, Cisco assures, "The principles are the same. But drink! And moonlit walks!"
"Gifts. Pleasant conversations," Caitlin adds.
"Songs! Declarations of love!"
"Perhaps we should start small," Caitlin suggests. "One amicable conversation."
"One amicable conversation," Barry repeats. "That seems reasonable."
"And then ... a dance."
"We will talk about that." Straightening, Barry nods. "Where is the girl?"
"You wish to romance her at four in the morning?" Caitlin points out.
Barry sinks back onto his haunches. "When do peasants arise for the day?"
"Earlier than princes, but not that early," Cisco replies. Clapping again, he ducks out of reach of a swat. "This is going to be wonderful! Come, come - we must prepare ... breakfast!"
Barry presses his paws to his face. "Tell me there's no song."
Cisco hops cheerfully across the foyer. "I'm - not - telling!"
"There's a song," Caitlin assures grimly.
Barry groans in defeat. "Of course there is."
"Am I not the most handsome man on Earth?" Hunter asks. "The strongest? The smartest? The most courageous?"
"All and more, Your Excellency."
"Then how," he asks, pounding a fist against his chair, "has the most beautiful woman eluded my grasp?"
"It is quite late," Hartley reminds, stifling a yawn. The bar is nearly empty, but a few fellows remain, keeping them company. "Maidens tend to rest at this hour."
"If Joseph is correct, then she is not resting." Resting his chin on his hands, he adds, "Perhaps we should investigate this beastly claim. The sooner I obtain her hand in marriage, the sooner we can leave this abysmal place."
"A sound conclusion."
Pushing back his chair, Hunter says, "Come, Le Fou. We have places to be and maidens to wed."
Hartley follows him out of the bar. It's only the thirty-sixth consecutive hour they've been awake. Wherever Hunter finds his relentless energy, he wishes to obtain the same elixir of life. As it stands, he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, "Let's."
It's late by the time they reach the edge of the woods. Fatigue presses on Joe's eyes, but he doesn't let it stop him.
"Strange," Wally murmurs as Volo walks side-by-side with Grey. "Snow in June?"
"Before the morning is out," Joe says, "we will see much stranger things. Are you certain you wish to proceed?"
Wally looks at him and nods once. "I came this far, did I not?"
Joe nods, and together they cross the line separating their world - and The Beast's.
