COUNTDOWN: 1 DAY

The first thing Gaston was really aware of was that he had awoken at floor level.

It was his own livingroom, but the place was a mess. There were smashed eggs everywhere. Empty earthenware bottles that had been once full of liquor littered the floor. Gaston's shirt was missing and, without even looking, he strongly suspected that he had thrown up on himself.

His bed mattress appeared to be on the floor, and he was laying on it.

It was a puzzling situation, yet he felt too bad and too tired to pay it much mind. His insides felt like they'd been bombed out.

He started back to sleep, unconcerned about his location, when he awoke a second time to find LeFou trying to force-feed him a large cauldron of brewed coffee.

He was thirsty. He drank up without asking questions. The liquid, untinged with alcohol, made him feel better; as did the caffeine.

"There you go…" said LeFou, soothingly patting him on the back.

Then it suddenly dawned on Gaston. "Belle!" he cried, leaping to his feet and splashing LeFou with hot coffee as he dropped the pot. "LeFou — what are you doing away from her house? What if she comes back?" He grabbed LeFou by the throat and stood, angrily.

LeFou was just glad to see Gaston feeling better. "Told you — she's back —" he choked helplessly.

Sickly as Gaston felt, he received a spark of joy at the news. His eyes brightened immediately as a surge of endorphins hit him.

"And Maurice?" he asked.

"Him too — they're together," LeFou gasped. "Maurice wasn't looking too good."

"Maurice never looks good, LeFou! Now what the hell are you doing here? We have to notify Monsieur d'Arque!"

Gaston threw LeFou to the ground and started to race towards the door — but then a sudden, intense queasiness overtook him.

He was still powerfully sick from the blackout level boozing.

The motion was too much. He spun, and fast as he could he diverted to throw open a widow. He stuck his head out and puked forth a batch of god knows what he'd eaten lately, all of it tinged green with absinthe and tasting of the fennel leaves.

One of his usual midnight stalkers was waiting below. She was the lucky girl hit with the mess.

Served the creep right.

While Gaston lingered at the windowsill, sweating, and waiting to see if anything else was going to come up — he suddenly remembered the first time he had ever seen Belle in all his life.

It was many years ago. She was brand new to town, about ten years old. He was eighteen, or maybe seventeen — he recalled how his hair hadn't gone completely dark yet, still maintaining a bit of childhood blondness at its tips. It was Christmas Eve, very cold. He had been brought out to the midnight mass, like all good French boys and girls were expected to attend. But he had been very clever and had managed to sneak out of the church unnoticed, concealing in his dress-coat a pilfered bottle of brandy. He and LeFou were out in the churchyard, guzzling the spirits as fast as they could; and neither of them being large creatures at that moment in time, they had naturally become rather sick from all the strong liquor.

That was when Maurice and Belle had entered — so new to the village that they hadn't correctly calculated when they needed to leave for church if they were to arrive on time for the Christmas service. And thus the father and daughter found the two teens puking their guts out. In concern, they went to check on them. Gaston couldn't remember it well, due to the state he'd been in… but he was pretty sure he'd barfed on her that night.

Now he laughed. It looked as if he'd be marrying that same little girl in a like condition. Who'd have ever thought? Who'd have even guessed he'd want to marry that skinny, nerdy, gangly creature who had checked on him that night so many years back? Like she was his mom or something? He didn't need another mom.

Ah, Belle, Belle, Belle! Any moment now she was going to be his!