Ok, so we're going to leave Bella and Bastien to get acquainted for a moment, and in the meantime, we're gonna pay Tristan a little visit to see how things are going with him, then we might visit Morris as well, cos it would only be right to check up on him after the experiences he's had in the last few days. Bear with me; we'll get back to Bella and Bastien in good time!
Disclaimer: - Please don't sue me, Mr. Disney, for the evil plagiarising I'm about to do. Amen. (Actually this chapter is not really to do with the film so he can't really do anything, can he?)
Tristan slammed the door hard behind him. The noise made the ornaments on the mantelpiece quiver just a little and the crystals on his step-mother's favourite chandelier jingle somewhat dangerously, but he didn't care. He was in a foul mood. He often came back to the house at least fairly angry when things didn't go his way but this time he was beyond furious. He took his rage out on the nearest available object, which happened to be the hat stand, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, scattering coats and hats all over the floor. Tristan continued to stomp down the hallway until he came to an ornate full-length mirror, where he paused, as he often did, to admire his reflection. On this occasion, however, what he saw made him want to rip the mirror off the wall. One side of his face was as devastatingly handsome as it always had been, with deep blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose and a chiselled jaw, but the other side was ruined by the red hand-shape that now took up most of his cheek. He had had no idea that Bella could slap that hard. He'd always thought of her as somewhat delicate and waif-like, like most of the women in the village, so when she'd slapped him (how DARE she slap him) he'd been so shocked he'd dropped her in the mud. 'Serves her right!' Tristan thought, as he examined his cheek.
On second thoughts, maybe it wasn't too bad. A bit of make-up would probably cover it, and he would still be able to do the shoot tomorrow. This happy thought was only temporary though, as Tristan's blackened mood was too strong for any other emotion but rage to consume his thoughts. He somehow resisted the urge to smash the mirror with his fist, but this was most likely because he did not want to make his knuckles bleed un-necessarily. He'd only recently had a hand massage anyway.
He kicked off his boots in the direction of the hall cupboard, not bothering to open the door first. The heavy soles chipped the varnish but he didn't notice as he stomped up the stairs and then stomped down the landing to his bedroom, where he flung open the door and disappeared inside.
His room was just how he had left it, which was good as this is what he had requested. He hated the maid coming in and tidying. She always moved his stuff around so he couldn't find it again. Once he'd even found his beloved Flex magazines in an orderly pile instead of all over his desk the way he liked them to be. That way he'd always have handy reference material. How was he supposed to compare himself to the Mr. Universe contestants if he actually had to go through every magazine? When he had confronted the maid, she'd looked terrified, but it had worked as she had not come near his room since. The collection of dirty plates and glasses by his bed confirmed this neglect, as did the clothes that were strewn all over the carpet.
Tristan went to his stereo and pressed play. Then he turned up the volume to maximum in order to create the most appropriate level of noise to compliment his temper. The music blared out as he went over to his mini-fridge and poured himself a nice cold protein shake, which he drank in one gulp. He then spent a further fifteen minutes examining his cheek in the mirror, prodding and poking his skin from every angle to decide the best way of covering up the slap mark. He frowned; his nostril hairs needed plucking again.
Suddenly there was a loud hammering at the door, followed by a strong bellow.
"TRISTAN! TURN THAT SHIT DOWN! NOW!
More hammering. Sulking, Tristan stomped (as hard as he could without boots on) back to the stereo and jabbed the stop button, then he opened the door to find his father, Patrick, fuming.
"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, SON? I'M TRYING TO WORK DOWNSTAIRS!
Tristan was in no mood to let his father shout at him today, but he had more sense than to answer him back when he was in as bad a mood as he was at the moment. Tristan's rages were bad, but Patrick's were very nasty. They were not helped by the vast amounts of ale that he drank. As Patrick swayed on the landing now, Tristan was tempted to push him over, but he didn't. Instead he gritted his teeth and spoke through them, his voice coming out strained.
"I've had a bad day, ok?"
"DO YOU EVER HAVE A GOOD DAY? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT KIND OF STRESS I'M UNDER AT THE MOMENT? I DON'T NEED YOUR NOISE BOOMING IN MY EAR!
He paused for a moment, as he noticed the red mark on Tristan's cheek, and it dawned on him what the matter might be. His voice was now more weary than angry.
"Oh god! What did she do this time?"
Patrick was well aware of his son's constant battles with Bella. Personally he couldn't see why Tristan even bothered. The girl was nothing special, just average, especially when compared to some of the great bits of ass that Tristan usually brought home with him. Hell, he'd even sampled a few himself, but Bella? What was the point?
Tristan snorted and pointed to his cheek, obviously feeling that actions spoke louder than words on this occasion. His father tutted a bit too loudly, then snorted with laughter, slapping Tristan firmly on the back of his shoulder blade.
"You let a woman hit you? What are you, some kind of wimp?"
Patrick found the idea so funny that he was now stooped over in the doorway, tears rolling down his face, throaty laughter resounding in Tristan's perfect ears. Tristan's face was twitching in fury, but he knew better than to hit his father. Patrick was nowhere near as big as Tristan but he still packed a strong punch. He'd found this out the hard way when he'd been caught snooping through his father's study. He'd been punched so hard his nose had bled solid for two hours. It had taken numerous hospital appointments to straighten it out again.
Tristan had always had a temperamental relationship with his dad. They could never see eye to eye about anything. They were both stubborn and refused to admit they were wrong. Patrick was very successful in his business which Tristan knew was something to do with real estate and development, but not all the details. His father was strangely private about his work; hence the punishment Tristan had received when he'd been caught in the study. The only other person who'd known the full extent of Patrick's work was Matilda, Tristan's mother, but she had walked out on them ten years previously. Tristan wouldn't admit it, but part of the hatred he felt for his father stemmed back to that moment a decade ago.
He'd been in his bedroom watching television when he'd heard a huge row going on downstairs, and snuck down to the balcony to see what was going on. His parents often argued, but this one sounded serious, and Tristan, being inquisitive as most 11 year old boys were, could not help but eavesdrop on the argument. He hadn't been able to make out all of what was happening, but he had seen frantic shadows on the living-room wall and heard his mother screeching. Odd bits of dialogue drifted up to him, bits like ….'How could you...you've gone too far this time…….what's gonna happen if they find out...what about us...how could you do this...
His mother had been doing most of the talking, with his father saying the odd word or two of protest here and there. This had gone on for quite sometime. Tristan had been dimly aware that Baywatch was starting without him, but he had been unable to stop himself being a witness to the final time he would see his mother. His parents had then come into the hallway, his mother crying and pulling on her coat, his father guzzling down whisky behind her. All of a sudden, his father had thrown the bottle against the wall in reaction to something his mother had said, and with a roar of "You just try, you bitch!", he had drawn back his fist and hit her straight in the face.
Tristan had clung tightly to the railings of the balcony, his eyes wide with horror, as his mother had somehow found the strength to walk out of the door and slam it hard behind her. His father had stayed in the hallway for a while with his hands in his pockets, and then had looked up at Tristan, shrugged his shoulders and murmured "Women!".
Now ten years on, Tristan was trying not to think about that image, that snapshot moment when his mother had gone, but it always seemed to dig itself up in his memory whenever he saw his father (which wasn't that often these days). Patrick was still in hysterics, now slapping his thigh in time to his guffaws. Gradually, the beats and the chuckles became less frequent until finally he stopped and looked Tristan full in the face.
"So what did you do to deserve it? Pinched her ass did ya?"
Another shorter round of laughter.
"I tried to stop her going into the forest."
The laughter stopped abruptly.
"What did you say?"
"She wanted to go find her dad in the forest. I tried to stop her, and she slapped me."
Patrick lowered his head, obviously absorbed in his own thoughts for a moment. After a while, he looked up. If his expression had changed in that short time, there was now no trace of it.
"Good."
"Good?"
"That you didn't do something stupid like go after her. You know I don't like you going near those woods…dangerous, those woods are. Full of miscreants.
A pause.
"When she comes back, you better let her know who's boss. No son of mine lets a woman get the better of him. Understood?"
Tristan nodded.
"Make sure you keep that music down."
Patrick sauntered off down the hall. Tristan waited for a second and then punched the door. Hard. The wood splintered beneath his fist but he hardly noticed the pain as he went to get another protein shake from the fridge. He sat on his king-size bed and sipped the drink, his eyes staring straight ahead, His father was right. Bella had been out of order. How dare she hit him? Him? Tristan Blain. He and his father were probably the most powerful men in town. It would not do to let silly girls like Bella affect him like this. By the time he had finished his drink, and drained all the residue from the bottom of the glass, Tristan had decided that he would make her pay for what she did to him, but his ungifted brain could not figure out how. What could be the best way to assert his dominance over her?
Luckily for Tristan, it wouldn't be long before he found his answer.
Downstairs, Patrick poured himself another beer, and contemplated Tristan's words. His hand shook ever so slightly as he raised the glass to his lips.
TrudiRose- Ok, thats good, was worried I was getting a little cheesy! I make up little sayings like that myself so if they don't make sense, thats why! I thought talking would be more constructive than shouting. I don't think either of them would have a lot of energy to shout anyway! Ok, the plaster/band-aid thing. (..."let's call the whole thing off..." sorry distracted there!) I was actually gonna call it a band-aid originally, but then my British brain made me write plaster. I think in Brit; therefore I write in Brit! But i am trying to avoid language stufflike that. To be perfectly honest, I have noidea where I'm setting this. That's not good is it? Ideally it'd be in a non-descript fairy-tale kind of worldbut purely because of the country I know best, its kind of set in England, but obviously a much nicer version of England! But they have French names...lol, I'm so confusing!
LumBabsFan-Lol i understand what you're saying. Thanks for the compliment. As you can see fromthe chapter above, I'm having to meander slightly from the basic plot of the movie occasionally. Hope this isn't too distracting! This wouldbe a story I'd normally get into to, but of course I'm going to say thatcos I'm writing it! Thanks for your continued interest.
Bellamegs- Yeah I know. Bastien (btw I'm spelling it with an 'e' now) I just really like the name, not cos its French-like, just because I was going through allsorts of names but this one best suited his character. And, yes there are no servants, which is proving to be slightly annoying, but I can't just bring some in now as much as I'd like to. Magic mice? Hmm...I'll keep that in mind! Lol, I read the chest bit to my dad, and was immediatly accused of writing soft porn or a Mills & Boon novel! Honestly! I was trying to create a sense of him being strong but dangerously so, so shes in awe of him but wary at the same time if that makes sense. And obviously because he's never had a woman stare at his chest, he's gonna be a tad uncomfy.
As for the 'hearing him wince', I was wrongly under the impression that people make noises when they wince. But my mum tells me that they don't, so you are perfectly right to nit-pick. For 'wince', read 'shudder; or something!
Rosakara-Thanks! Glad you're liking it!
Everyone-Again. merry bit of slight irrelevence here, but just thought I'd share this with you. Feel free to skip this bit! I watched the John Savage/Rebecca De Mornay version of BatB today for the first time in about ten years, and was immediatly struck by the horrendous acting! LOL, the guy who plays the fatheris just incapable of expression, its so funny! And John Savage as the Prince...I actually felt he looked better as a beast! And the kiss at the end, it was so painful, it was like they were being forced to kiss eachother! Heehee! It's such a B movie, but its great fun! Anyway...
