Day 1 – Morning (Seven Days Remain)
Little town, it's a quiet village;
Every day, like the one before…
Little town, full of little people
Waking up to say…
–
"Good morning, Belle!" the baker greeted as he passed with an armful of pastries.
"Good morning, M'sieur," the inventor's daughter curtsied and followed the man, eager to socialize.
"Where you off to?" he inquired politely, although it was obvious his attention was elsewhere as he sorted through his goods.
"The book shop. I just finished the most wonderful story! About a beanstalk, and an ogre, and a–"
"That's nice," the baker commented, absentmindedly. A cross look came over his face as he realized he was missing something from his tray, before shouting, "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!"
Belle shrugged and tucked back a stray lock of hair before walking away; she didn't wish to disturb the man any further if he had business to attend to. Besides, she knew of at least one place in town where someone other than herself would be interested in literature, and it most definitely wasn't the bakery.
The village sprung to life as people began bustling to and fro, busying themselves with morning errands, such as purchasing eggs or chasing livestock. Belle made her way hastily through the madness, hitching a ride on the back of a hay cart to travel across town to the bookshop.
The tiny brass bell above the door tinkled as Belle came through. The sound was like music to her ears, her favorite sound in the world.
"Ah, Belle!" the bespectacled old bookkeeper greeted as she entered, grinning.
"Good morning," Belle returned cordially. She reached into the basket that hung from her elbow and pulled out a book. "I've come to return the book I borrowed."
It quickly exchanged hands, and before the elderly man could even register what he was now holding the dame was already on the other side of the room, scouring for a new novel to occupy her restless mind.
"Finished already?" he asked, incredulous.
"Oh, I couldn't put it down. Have you got anything new?"
The bookkeeper chuckled and tucked the book away. "Not since yesterday!"
"That's alright," Belle murmured as her hands danced over the many leather-bound spines that sat side-by-side on the shelves. "I'll borrow… this one!"
She handed it to the bookkeeper for approval. The old man adjusted his specs and inspected the front cover, shaking his head with disbelief when he realized the title she had picked out.
"That one? But you've read it twice!"
"Well, it's my favorite!" Belle started, explaining with such a passion and obliviousness to anything else that the bookkeeper couldn't help but to laugh. "Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise–"
"If you like it all that much, it's yours," he interrupted her with a sigh, handing her the book as he led her out. Belle's face lit up. No one but her Mama and Papa had ever given her a gift before.
"But, sir!"
"I insist."
"Well, thank you. Thank you very much!"
–
Oh, isn't this amazing!
It's my favorite part because- you'll see!
Here's where she meets Prince Charming,
But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three!
–
A gunshot echoed throughout the bustling streets, but it went relatively unnoticed by the villagers. Except for LeFou, a stout, reddish little man with greasy hair and a burlap sack, as well the three young women who gasped in pleased surprise, as the shot struck down a goose. It fell from the sky like a block of plump, feathery lead, landing with a hard thud beside LeFou, who hurriedly snatched it up and stashed the bird into the sack. He waddled as fast as he could over to the shooter standing in the shadows, clutching a smoking rifle in his iron grip.
"Wow, you didn't miss a shot, Gaston! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!" LeFou gushed as Gaston blew on the lip of his gun.
"I know."
"No beast alive stands a chance against you, ha!" the shorter man continued as he followed his larger, manlier counterpart. He eyed the three swooning blondes as they passed. "And no girl for that matter," he added.
"It's true, LeFou, and I've got my sights set on that one," he informed his sidekick, hoisting him up by the collar and holding him with one arm, pointing in Belle's direction. LeFou's eyes went wide.
"T-the inventor's daughter?"
"She's the one!" he exclaimed. Instantaneously, the thrill of the chase coursed through his veins like a drug, like opium. He would have her. He would win the stupid bet, come Hell or high water. But at the moment he was dropping LeFou to the ground and slicking back his dark hair, plotting his first move with careful consideration. "The lucky girl I'm going to marry."
"But she's–"
"The most beautiful girl in town!"
"I know, but–"
"That makes her the best!" Tired of a oafish sloth less than half his size contradicting him, Gaston finished his point defiantly, bearing down on LeFou with a threatening stare. "And don't I deserve the best?"
He grabbed LeFou by the collar to assert his authority. The man bumbled, intimidated.
"Well–of course–I mean, you do–but I–"
–
Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,
I said, "She's gorgeous," and I fell;
Here in town, there's only she
Who's as beautiful as me,
So, I'm making plans to woo and marry Belle.
–
"Just watch, I'm going to make Belle my wife!" Gaston announced confidently to the villagers, who watched him expectantly as he followed the aforementioned woman through the crowd. A group of men from the tavern were milling about nearby and they cheered him on enthusiastically, cackling and hooting.
Gaston lost Belle in the merriment, so he took to the rooftops, eager to catch her before she returned to her house for the day. He spotted her at once, and scaled the roofs of several buildings before leaping down in front of her, cutting her off. Too enamored by whatever she was reading, Belle hardly noticed. Gaston would make her notice. He puffed out his chest, put his fists on his hips, and flashed his most handsome, bloomers-dropping smile.
"Hello, Belle," he purred. She glanced up from over the top of her book, but kept walking.
"Bonjour, Gaston."
Not to be ignored, Gaston grabbed the book from her hands and held it above his head, flipping through the pages. A puzzled look crossed his face.
"Gaston, may I have my book, please?" Belle asked, irritated. She reached for it, but he turned away. He wondered just how fiery she could get.
"How can you read this? There's no pictures!"
"Well, some people use their imagination," Belle replied. Gaston could easily interpret the amused tone of her voice.
She thinks she's better than me. A woman! She needs a man. A husband. She's practically asking-–no, begging me to take her as my wife! This bet is going to be a piece of cake.
"Belle, it's about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things… like me."
He threw her book and began circling her, sizing her up and down like a bird of prey. She gasped and lunged for the novel, but Gaston stopped her by stamping a boot atop its cover, pressing it into the mud. The expression on her face was priceless; Gaston almost laughed out loud, but he chose to smile and be charming instead. Several meters away, the young women from the tavern nearly fainted at the sight of Gaston's pearly whites as he flashed them at Belle.
"The whole town's talking about it. It's not right for a woman to read! Soon, she starts getting ideas, and… thinking."
Having retrieved her book, Belle wiped the dirt from the edges with her apron and sighed. "Gaston, you are positively primeval."
Gaston didn't even bat an eye at the insult. In fact, he was unaware that he had even been insulted.
After all, no one insulted Gaston!
"Why, thank you Belle," he countered smoothly, sidling over to her. He wrapped an arm around her thin waist and revelled in the feel of her soft body through her clothes. Holding onto her was a show of dominance, a mating ritual that said, "This woman belongs to me."
And she did. Belle was his. Or was going to be soon enough, anyway.
"What do you say you and me take a walk over to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?"
He began pulling her in the direction of the tavern as she modestly rejected, saying something about possibly going another time. Gaston wasn't listening. Why would they go another time if they could go now? Besides, one look at his trophies and she would fall into his arms and never leave. He could win the bet in one day!
But still, with his arm around her shoulders, he could feel her body tense. She was resisting, as subtly as she could. Confused, Gaston allowed Belle to pull herself away from him.
–
"What's wrong with her?"
"She's crazy!"
"He's gorgeous!"
–
"Please, Gaston, I can't. I-I have to get home to help my father. Goodbye."
Gaston stood dumbfounded. Any and every girl in town got a fever just breathing the same air as him. Except for Belle, apparently.
A tiny part of himself dared to admit that wooing Belle may actually be harder than he had initially believed.
The hunter didn't notice when LeFou appeared out of the clockwork and was suddenly at his side.
"A-ha-ha-ha! That crazy old loon! He needs all the help he can get!" he shouted, slapping his knee. Gaston couldn't help himself. Both men keeled over, laughing.
"Don't talk about my father that way!" she cried defensively, clearly offended. Gaston, realizing he still needed to win his future bride's trust and approval, bopped LeFou on the head.
"Yeah, don't talk about her father that way!"
"My father's not crazy. He's a genius!"
A boom resonated through the hills as Belle's quaint little cottage went up in smoke. Frantic, the girl hurried away, leaving Gaston in hilarious tears. He couldn't help it: he had a weakness for such perfect comedic timing.
Briefly, he wondered if he should offer to escort Belle home, to offer whatever aid he could to Maurice, but decided against it. Whatever trouble the old bat had gotten into this time was his own fault. He could deal with it himself.
"Come, LeFou," Gaston said when he had finally calmed himself enough to speak. LeFou was still chuckling as they turned and waltzed leisurely back into town. He still had the entire week to win the bet; he figured he could take it easy the first day. No need to rush things.
At the least, Gaston had already succeeded at one part of his plan: Belle had definitely noticed him.
–
Smoke bellowed forth from the cellar as Belle pried the doors open, shielding her eyes. Her heart jumped to her throat and she began coughing.
"Papa?" Belle called out, desperately seeking her father amongst the debris.
"How on Earth did that happen?" she heard his gruffly voice from the far end of the room. Swatting at the air to clear a path, Belle found him at last as he was getting to his feet. His trousers were around his ankles, revealing a rather large pair of patterned bloomers.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm about ready to give up on this hunk of junk!"
He gave it a swift kick and Belle giggled. She was used to her father's mood swings when it came to inventing: one minute he'd be confident and proud, and the next he'd be defeated and worrisome. It was one of the many things she loved about her Papa.
"You always say that."
"I mean it this time!" Maurice growled, moving over to his daughter. "I'll never get this bone-headed contraption to work!"
"Yes, you will. And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow." When Maurice crossed his arms in defiance of what Belle was saying, she held his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze for support. "And become a world-famous inventor."
He seemed to consider her words. "You really believe that?"
"I always have," Belle assured him.
With a newfound excitement, Maurice eagerly hopped over to his machine, vowing to have it working in no time at all. He slid beneath it and asked Belle for a couple things.
"So, did you have a good time in town today?" came his muffled voice from underneath the engine.
"I got a new book," she said, specifically leaving out the other odd happenings in town that day. Especially concerning Gaston's sudden and unprovoked interest in her. She needn't worry her father.
Speaking of odd…
"Papa… do you think I'm… odd?"
"Odd?" Maurice emerged in a pair of goggles that magnified his eyes tenfold. "Huh, where would you get an idea like that?"
"I don't know. It's just that I'm not sure I fit in here," Belle sighed as she circled the room. Her fingers idly ran along the length of the tattered volume in her grip, feeling the pages crisp with dried mud. "There's no one I can really talk to."
"What about that Gaston? He's a handsome fella."
She stifled a snort. "He's handsome, all right. And rude, and conceited, and–oh, Papa, he's not for me."
Belle sat down before the hearth and put her chin in her palm, resting her elbow on her knee, and cradling her book in her other hand. Her conversation with Gaston that morning had been the longest she'd had with anyone other than her father since they'd moved there. Yet, it hadn't been as intellectually stimulating as she would have preferred. Gaston was all brawn and no brains. And materialistic, to boot. Nothing but the "best" for him. The best clothing, the best boots from the cobbler, the best ale, the best women…
Belle thought of the triplets and shook her head. They were beautiful, to be sure, with voluptuous curves and ample assets that Belle couldn't hold a candle to. Not that she minded: she never intended to marry, and so there was no chance of disappointing a future husband with whatever it was that she might be lacking.
At least physically.
"Well, don't you worry, cause this invention's going to be the start of a new life for us." He walked over to Belle and wiped his oily hands on a rag. "I think that's done it. Let's give it a try."
He pulled the lever. True to his word, the gears sprung to life, the coils began coiling, and the entire thing shook and whistled with the power of steam. Belle couldn't quite believe her eyes. An axe attached to the end of the machine moved on it's own, chopping a block of wood that had been set in place for that purpose.
"It works!" she cried.
"It does!" Maurice agreed, grinning from ear to ear.
"You really did it!"
Belle hugged her father, who pumped a fist in the air in triumph. "Hitch up Philippe, girl. I'm off to the fair!"
It was mid-afternoon by the time Belle returned from the stable with Philippe, her family's old packhorse and only "pet" besides a couple of chickens. Her father hoisted his invention into the cart, kissed his daughter farewell while simultaneously warning her about the dangers of staying alone, and climbed onto the animal's back.
"Goodbye, Papa! Good luck!"
"Take care while I'm gone!"
Belle waved and waited outside until he was too far down the path to see her. She loitered for a few minutes before deciding that she should start on some chores. Her thoughts briefly played with the idea of going back into town, but she decided that the risk of running into Gaston again was too great.
A shudder of dread ran through her. Just the few unfortunate minutes she'd spent with Gaston that morning were enough for a lifetime. Truthfully, she'd be content if she didn't see him at all again the rest of the week.
–
I want so much more than they've got planned...
–
Kind of a boring chapter, but it had to be done. Now that it's out of the way...