Day 1 - Evening

The self-proclaimed Greatest Hunter in all of France sat perched on his hide-lined throne at the head of the room, as per usual. Rounds of jokes were being shot off from every which way as mugs and morales were constantly refilled. Gaston merely smirked at the sarcastic questions that the bar patrons began hurling at him, becoming increasingly ballsy with their alcohol intake.

"So, how'd it go, Gaston?"

"Did you propose yet?"

"Did the sight of LeFou frighten her away?"

"I'm sure throwing her book was a nice touch."

"Didjya see the bosom on 'er? Really somethin' to look at when she's all hot an' bothered!"

"Is it too late to bet on Maurice?"

"Didn't go as ya hoped, eh, Gaston?"

So, they knew that he hadn't made much headway that day. Gaston sighed and rubbed his face, thinking of how to respond. He stood, pausing to mentally prepare his speech.

He wasn't worried. Why should he be? He still had the rest of the week to go.

Piece of cake.

"She's one tough egg to crack, I'll give you that one," he finally replied with a curious smile.

A few men chuckled. Someone yelled, "Hear, hear!"

"But then again," he continued, "A girl's worth is measured by the chase."

Gaston shot a glance in the direction of the Bimbettes Three, but the reference went right over their heads and they sighed desperately in unison at the sight of his pretty blue eyes.

"Belle is like a fine wine," he began, taking on a "sophisticated" tone of voice. His expression shrunk and he shook his head as his train of thought took a hard left. "No, wait. She's more like… a cat."

The entire pub listened intently, each and every one wondering where their idol was going with his rant. But the hunter simply sat back down with a grin; he had no intent of explaining further. It made sense in his mind, so it must make sense to everyone else. LeFou shrugged when they looked to him for an explanation. He was a lightweight and was absent from the tavern most nights; he had only been briefed on the bet shortly after he arrived that evening, tailing Gaston, and didn't know any more than anyone else.

The hunky bachelor sat, sipping his beer, pleased with his clever analogy, until a man in the back broke the awkward silence that had been building in the room: "Well, what do you mean, Gaston?"

Raising a single eyebrow, Gaston rose to his feet again, holding his mug up. A new idea, a new plan, was forming in his mind. Perhaps he had come onto Belle too strongly, when he needed to do the opposite: maintain distance, and make her want to come to him of her own volition.

Now that he'd made his presence known to her, Gaston needed to play the part of aloof and disinterested to make her want him.

"If you chase a cat, it will run from you… but leave it be, and it'll come to you on its own, purring at your feet, eager to lap the cream right out of the palm of your hand."

Gaston pumped his beer in the air. The men began hooting and hollering immediately, almost as if on cue.

"Amen, brother!"

"You sly dog!"

Gaston's booming laughter echoed as his drink was filled and filled again, until the sun broke over the hills beyond the town limits, behind Belle's house.

–

Day 2 - Morning (6 Days Remain)

Gaston loitered near the gun shop, the one of the first stops on his morning routine. The shopkeeper slapped him on the back and mused at how early he managed to awake each morning, despite drinking at the tavern all night. Gaston shrugged it off as a necessary survival skill. A skill that was essential to a hunter who spends long nights in the wilderness with nothing but his wits about him. He was about to divulge into one of his entertaining hunting stories when he spotted his target: Belle, walking into town, with a basket hanging from her elbow and reading a book. The shopkeeper, noticing the way Gaston's eyes followed her, made a snarky remark that was silenced by Gaston's rifle in his face.

"Talk about how great I am," he commanded. Belle was headed their way.

The man, confused and afraid and put on the spot, stammered before finally whispering: "You have nice hair?"

Gaston straightened and slicked back his hair to emphasize the man's comment. But when he turned, Belle had already passed and the man's praise of him went unheard. The hunter growled and turned away from the shop, moving towards the bakery. He stood nearby with his back against a wall, absentmindedly checking his fingernails.

Belle was not oblivious to Gaston's presence. In fact, as she approached the baker and saw the muscular man in her peripheral vision, she tensed immediately, preparing for an onslaught of boasting and shallow compliments; she eased when he did no such thing. He didn't even move.

Her curiosity was piqued, although she dared not investigate further. Deciding not to wait around for a repeat of yesterday, Belle purchased her goods from the baker and brusquely walked away, but was put at unease once more by the sound of Gaston's heavy boots not far behind her. Panicked, the inventor's daughter ducked into what she believed was her only safe haven: the bookshop.

"Belle," the bookkeeper greeted, surprised as the girl rushed inside, glancing over her shoulder. "What has you in such a hurry this morning?"

She breathed a shaky sigh of relief and tucked a few strands of hair that had come loose behind her ears. "Gaston. He's… "

… been taking an unprovoked interest in me lately.

The bookkeeper, not a man of the drink and therefore as unaware as Belle, shrugged. "Anything I can help you with?"

Anxious amber eyes darting about the room, she shook her head. "No, no, I don't think so. Thank you."

She thought for a moment.

"Do you mind if I… if I stay in here for a while?"

The elderly, bespectacled man gestured for her to stay, and she thanked him, using her time in the shop to browse the books on the shelf. All was quiet and Belle's heart returned to a normal pace. As long as she was in the bookshop, she was safe.

–

"Damn, lost her."

Gaston marched up and down the cobblestone streets of town, trying to find the object of his affection. She must have noticed him; he had made sure he was visible to her everywhere she had gone that morning. And yet, she was still not his wife.

Something was definitely wrong here.

"Lose something, Gaston?" a man called out from where he stood in front of the metalsmith's workshop. Some men laughed with him, and Gaston, desperate to keep up appearances, chuckled heartily and joined them.

"She's a tight one, that Belle," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"I'll say," one of the men, a heinous fellow with wooden teeth, wheezed with a wink as he nudged Gaston's side. The hunter feigned a laugh in response.

"She'd be a cheap wife, that's for sure," another one mused, taking a long swig from the stein in his hand.

"Excuse me?" Gaston sneered. He was almost insulted on his future-wife's behalf.

"Well, you have to admit she's a bit… well, plain."

"And petite. She probably doesn't eat much."

"And with the prices that dressmakers are charging these days… "

"You'll save barrels on fabric with such a tiny woman for a wife."

"I'm guessing it doesn't take more than a metre to wrap her up."

"But who cares what she wears, right? Unwrapping her is the best part, eh, Gaston?"

"She may be small, but I bet she's round in all the right places. Just think of that wedding night–"

The man was abruptly silenced by Gaston's monstrous fist around his neck. He scrambled to free himself, but the hunter easily outmatched him, and the peachy hue of his skin began to fade to blue as the other men looked on with awed horror.

"That's my bride you're talking about," he growled before finally letting the man go. He collapsed like a rag doll at Gaston's feet.

Despite the man's incapacitation, his words had an impact that struck Gaston like a bolt of lightning. Without his conscious consent, his mind instantaneously conjured up an image of Belle on their wedding night, shy and vulnerable, undressing for him, and… round in all the right places, just as he'd said.

As masculine and brutal of a façade he put on, the image shot through the hunter like a bullet, painting his face and neck and chest a visibly deep shade of scarlet as it traveled downward, finally stopping in the pit of his stomach. The men watched his transformation, amazed at how two different men could each change colors in such a short span of time.

Gaston, humiliated, ran across the street and into the bookshop, as the group of men was left behind, scratching their heads.

–

Belle smiled to herself. It was so peaceful in–

The bell above the door chimed the entrance of an unwanted guest. Belle's pulse stopped and her veins froze as she recognized the sound of weighty hunting boots moving over to the bookshelf. Her hand, which was outstretched to return a book to its place on the shelf, retracted back to her body, taking the novel with it. It pressed with a suffocating force against her diaphragm as Gaston stood next to her. Belle awaited the moment he would say something to her, or touch her, or take the book from her hand, but he only moved to take down a rather large volume, and he began flipping through its yellowed pages.

Nervous, her head reeling, Belle was compelled to speak. "Good morning, Gaston."

The hunter gulped–audibly–and pushed his face into his newfound hobby, hiding it from view. He damned himself. He should've known she'd be in the bookshop.

He really was stupid, or whatever the fancy word Belle had used to insult him had been.

"Morning… Belle."

She waited anxiously for a proposal, but none came. Seeing no forthcoming confrontation, Belle's body calmed itself. He sure was a puzzling creature, that Gaston.

Curious, Belle turned her head to read the cover of the book his nose was currently smashed against; a gasp of surprise escaped her lips.

"The Canterbury Tales? Gaston, I didn't know you enjoyed literature," she said. She arched an eyebrow at him. With a perplexed expression, the hunter carefully pulled his face from the pages and looked at her, then back at the novel, then back at her.

"Belle, you must be confused. This is a book."

"That's what I was referring to. The Canterbury Tales. It's one of my favorites."

Something clicked in Gaston's brain and he let out a rather loud and unconvincing "Aha!" as he held the book above his head.

"Ah, yes! This! Literature… " he laughed, tapping the binding with his thick fingers. Bemused, Belle crossed her arms in disbelief, watching him. Feeling further humiliated by his faux pas, Gaston's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.

"Well, yes, I just came in here for this book, and now I am going to go."

He turned on his heel to leave, but Belle, taken aback, stopped him. "Wait! That's it?" she asked, holding a flat palm to her neck.

"What do you mean?" Gaston asked as he turned back to face her.

"No lines? No proposing? I mean… " Belle's eyes went wide and her mouth gaped. "You seemed so… keen on having my company yesterday."

Gaston stiffened, and then immediately let out a hearty bellow that shook the entire shop. The bookkeeper had to snatch his inkwell before it toppled off his writing desk. This wasn't going smoothly at all.

"Ah, ha, yes, that–" Gaston cleared his throat, "About that, I, uhh… "

Gaston's mind reeled and he felt compelled to leave. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was tongue-tied. Something about Belle was… intimidating. A million things spun through his head at once and Belle watched him, waiting for an answer. He accidentally pictured her in he buff again.

Leave.

Now.

"I'm truly sorry Belle, but I'm afraid I have to go… water my horse!"

Before she could utter a sound, the bell above the door clamored noisily as Gaston's quickened footsteps disappeared into town.