Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Disney story!

Chapter 5. Introductions

The first October frost settled on the college town. I sighed and hugged my old coat around myself and blew on my hands as I walked behind an older gentleman at my local flower nursery.

'What color do you want the buds to be?'

'Red.'

I took and paid for the plant, handing over precious spending money I had very little of. This was such a lame idea. It was so…so…stupid. I just felt as if I needed some sort of purpose to go over to that being in the grand mansion, and for some reason a rose plant to replace the rose I had taken seemed to be the only reason that came to mind. So, here I was, doing just that.

I started walking towards the empty lot that I now knew was, in fact, not empty at all. This is ridiculous, I thought, what in the world am I going to say-what if I misread and this thing did want to hurt me?

Why couldn't I be satisfied with leaving things alone, instead of allowing the growing itch of curiosity to get the better of me? Ever since I was little, my curious side would always get me into trouble. I could remember the time I read one of Dad's letters, the first time I realized how dire our financial situation was or the time I sat and listened at the door to the doctor telling Dad that hospice needed to be called in because they had done all they could for Mama. I only hoped my yearning to unlock magical mysteries wouldn't lead to disastrous results.

I turned slowly onto the rose covered property, allowing my perception to adjust and the curtain to be lifted to reveal the ominous mansion before me. No, I hadn't dreamed it! Making my way through the roses, I could see the exact one I had plucked, a circle of dead roses encompassing the area I had taken it from. I cringed and felt bad I had done such a thing, but still-there was no reason he should have hollered at me so, especially since there was no way I could have known it would cause havoc for his other plants.

I made my way to the porch and knocked on the heavy doors, and didn't shudder quite so much this time, when they opened on their own. Of course, there was no one behind the doors, just as there was no one lighting the lights as I made my way through the foyer.

'Hello? I am here to apologize.' My voice echoed and fell flat against the dark walls and velvet. Suddenly a delicious warmth came from an adjacent room, and I slowly crept towards a great room with two big arm chairs that sat before a roaring fire. A small table stood between the two chairs, foamy hot chocolate sat in two, old but clean mugs. A book of poetry, Robert Burns to be exact, sat opened on the table.

I was quite cold, and the fire was so inviting, that I sank for a few minutes in the closest chair, put my gift down and held my hands up to the fire. I looked over at the steaming hot chocolate longingly, but didn't dare try any. I had learned my lesson!

'You don't like Hot Chocolate?' A growly voice attempted to whisper, but whatever the pitch, it startled me and I looked around to see him before me.

'Y-yes, of course, but after what happened last time I didn't want to impose.'

Was that a chuckle I heard? 'I don't think you can do much damage to a drink, unless you intend to chip my cup.'

I had no idea how to respond to this. I took a sip of the hot chocolate, hoping with all my might that it wasn't poisoned or drugged. Seemed to taste okay-he wasn't playing a flute intending to play and lull me to sleep, I supposed, still I kept an eye on him as he came around and sat in the other oversized chair. He filled it a lot better than my small frame did the other chair-it practically swallowed me!

He picked up the book of poems and looked at them closely, which allowed me to get a good look at him without seeming to stare. There he was, a face that looked a bit like a lion, 'hands' that looked closer to a bear, his claws carefully turning the page with apparent practice. His body was covered with clothes that looked like it came straight out of a Victorian costume drama. They made me think of Arthur Clennam from Little Dorrit,just someone, welll, a little harrier. The clothes almost looked comical on someone so not human. His eyes glanced up from his book for mere moments and we both locked eyes before both looking away shyly. His eyes. They were clear sky blue, and the one thing, besides the clothes, that looked so decidedly human. The eyes betrayed something, something like pain, loneliness, and something else I couldn't quite make out. I looked back down at my lap and remembered the gift I had beside me.

'So, um, I brought you something.'

'Hmmm, I see, well, I'm afraid they won't grow here, they'll never take root and will just die.'

'I was afraid that it would be something like that,' I sighed. 'I just wanted to apologize for picking the rose. I shouldn't have taken something that didn't belong to me.'

He made a gesture that I suppose now was a shrug, it appeared to me that his whole body moved in the motion. 'It's okay, I didn't mean to scare you. You didn't know what you were doing.'

I still didn't know what I had done! Why did a simple rose mean so much to him? For some reason, I didn't feel we knew each other enough for me to ask such personal questions. Instead I glanced over to his book and said,

'So, you like Burns?'

He grimaced, no, smiled!

'Yes. His poetry reminds me a little of home.'

My whole face scrunched in curiosity, my facial expressions always gave away what I was thinking.

'Yes, I'm not from the states.' He replied casually.

It was true. His accent did sound somewhat British, not Scottish though.

'We had a summer home in Scotland.' He said, once again reading my expression. 'I'd rather not talk about it right now, though.'

I nodded in silence, trying to think of something to say-he beat me to it.

'What about you?'

'What about me, what?'

'Do you like Robert Burns?'

I brightened. 'Yes! Well, that is, I'm not as into poetry, as I am into other classic works. However, I do love a good poem, sometimes, and Burns is up there in ones that I like.' I paused.

'My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.'

Yes, definitely a chuckle exited the hairy mass before me.

'What?!' I said, a bit hurt.

'I don't think I've heard it said quite that way before-not that I've heard people in a long time, but-'

I colored, realizing that I had added a scottish accent to the poem, as I had done for my Dad. He would always chuckle at my attempts at accents, but in a very endearing sort of way. This chuckle was so growly, it made me tremble just a little.

'Sorry, I'm always adding accents and voices to my readings to make them more interesting.' I told him, still not really looking at him much.

'No, it's kind of, well, nice-I just can't pinpoint exactly where you are in Scotland, it's not half bad outside of that, ummm, what is your name?'

At this I did look up. 'Julie. Really it's Julia Belle French, but most people call me Julie.'

His eyes looked deep into mine. Those eyes were so soft-so human, so strange.

'Such an ordinary name. Such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary person.'

I laughed, trying to ease the intensity of his look. 'I don't exactly feel it. So. What is yours?'

There was such a long pause.

'Hugh. My full name is Adam Hugh Prince, but when people called me something, it was Hugh.'

I smiled. 'Nice to meet you Hugh.' and I reached out to shake his hand. He turned his head in curiosity and reached his gigantic paw, careful of his claws. 'Nice to meet you too, Julie.'

Author's note: I hope you liked this interaction! I try to add a bit of my own life into the story as well. I love watching period dramas (as well as read classic literature), and I always read them aloud in a British or Scottish accent. I had a scottish and British friend who would always say that my accents were actually not half bad, but they couldn't tell what region I was going for, lol

Please let me know what you think!