Title: Unworthy

Author: Rissa85-Stargazing85

Rating: PG13 to R

Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance

Part: Part Six (Not Veraciously So).

Disclaimer: Stated already.

Author's Note: I've gotten into the habitat of writing the Author's Note at the end of writing the part. This part is an introduction to a slight variation I've made in the story. It'll still follow the same storyline as the movie, somewhat. But I've added my own spice, of course. I tried not to put so many gigantic words, frankly, I'm getting tired of looking up every third word. But don't worry, I'll keep the vocabulary seasoning light to moderate. This is the longest part I've wrote to date, hope you enjoy it. =)

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Traipsing from one end of the dining hall to the other, he growled. She was overdue, as preemptory as his bidding had been; he was amazed that she did not disembark more swiftly than he. At once, he remembered her orbs pervaded with dismay and her subdued posture, showing the whole fortitude of one that had been condemned to penance at the pillory.

Initially, he had scheduled dining to take place in the hall of the East Wing, nearer to her, and the opposite of the West Wing. But he was unfamiliar enough in that Wing which served him no real function, except an excursion to the realm of the now repentant but once meretricious. The power he executed over her had given him an odd sense of refreshment, but somehow the East Wing had always stripped him of his condescension and made him feel the loss of supremacy and fearlessness. Guilt. It was a silly emotion, but an emotion nonetheless.

The dining hall of the West Wing. He had not been in attendance frequently as a child, and less as an adult. Forthrightly, it was a room unrestrainedly garnished with dozens of colored satins, silks, brocades, crystals, and exotic woods and brass. As most of the West Wing had been pretentiously ornamented, its two dining rooms had been no different. The larger one, which could serve nearly one hundred guests, was toward the northern part of the Wing. The one he chose to have dinner in was the smaller one, enough to seat five, and the place where his mother often ate with he and with his father when he was sedate.

Contrasting with the larger dining hall, this one was markedly more personalized and more suited toward comfort than presentation. The moderately sized mahogany dining table with legs carved with flower buds and vines, the fireplace with rich golden brocade draped over the mantel, and the high ceiling with two large paintings over opposite walls made for a snug setting. She had always loved tranquility and the two paintings emitted the sentiment.

The painting, adjacent to the wall opposite the fireplace, was one of a streaming and sapphire brook, teaming with life and silver fishes that were just below the water's rushing surface. The bank was overgrown with fresh green grass that was neatly trimmed, and just beyond the grass was when the land elevated to a hill that hid what was beyond from view. The sky was left, that was a tangerine-yellow fading to an intense indigo further away, entirely cloudless.

The other painting, on the opposite wall of the river painting, was of an open field full with fresh grass and stray colored leaves, all shades of lemon, olive and scarlet. Deer were grazing peacefully while rabbits were at their feet, white and small compared to the size of the deer. In the background were tall trees whose tops could not be seen past the picture, the trunks colored a profound auburn etched with the faint initials of C and M into the bark.

He twisted around, hearing muffled copper and the door opened with Lumiere, darting in and absent-mindedly he bent down holding the candle-holder in his paw. The candle-holder spoke with suavity, "She's lovely, Master." He gazed avidly into his Master's eyes, which held a remote spark of reflection.

It seemed that he did not hear him at all, and if it wasn't for his firm grip, it would seem that his soul had left his body. His face was entirely blank, the only thing keeping him from appearing a statue being his rhythmic breathing. A porcelain clanking was heard before Mrs. Potts bounded from the door into the room and onto the table. Her face held softness and maternity, and the Beast turned his gaze toward her.

"Master," Mrs. Potts began tentatively, and he began to blink. "Dinner is finished. Now we must wait for her. She has to dress, of course." She finished with as much gentleness and simple as she could. The Master had always hated complex conversation and had always preferred the straightforward.

Exhaling forcefully, he placed Lumiere on the table next to Mrs. Potts and sat at the far end of the table, in a chair with a high-back and soft cotton and linen seating, embroidered with golden tassels. Lumiere and Mrs. Potts sprung over to him, as his gaze turned grave. He began ascetically, with an aggravated edge. "Well, where is she? I gave her over an hour, she should be here!" he finished with emphasis, gesturing to the seat opposite to him, a little over ten feet away.

"Perhaps she is just around the corridor? Master, have you thought this could be the femme jeune who could break the spell?" he was vibrant with excitement, almost as if the spell had been broken already and he was merely waiting for his transformation.

Bothered and offended, the Beast growled, arising and pacing in front of the sizzling fireplace. "Of course I have! I'm not a fool..." he paused, running his paw over his ginger and tousled fur. "It's useless...she's so...so beautiful, and I'm, well, look at me!" he proclaimed, seeing their sensitive faces.

"You must help her to see past all that." Mrs. Potts suggested tenderly, as Lumiere nodded keenly. The Beast glowered, if he had seen himself when he had been the handsome human he had been, it would have been a jest to propose that a stunningly attractive maiden as his captive to fall in love with something that came across as he appeared. In fact, he was not a beast, but not wholly human. Something to be dealt with in between and fitting in neither systematic worlds.

Disheartened, he pouted and flopped back into his chair. He must look as he did when he was a boy, frivolous and pouting like the spoiled child he had been. But he no longer cared, perhaps he could make her fall in love with him so he could become un-enchanted and be his paramount and shamefully handsome self once more. "I don't know how." He finished with a hint of vulnerability.

Mrs. Potts and Lumiere then began a fervent barrage of suggestions, hints, and warnings that sounded to him more of a drill instruction perfected with guidelines than merely a small counsel of advice. Attempting to think, hear the comments, and sort through the advice was arduous and soon all jumbled together as an damp painting left in the ruthless rain. He furrowed his brows.

"You must control your temper!" They both emphasized with prudence and admonition swiftly before the door opened languidly. Lumiere whispered with anticipation, "There she is." All went utterly noiseless, save for the crackling of the flames. But it was not she that was there, only a wooden and gold clock, more than a little fidgety.

"Where is she?" he questioned with a healthy dose of annoyance, as the clock, named Cogsworth, began languidly. "Good evening." The Beast stood, looking down and more than imposing. Cogsworth backed toward the door a step or two, to give the Master more room.

"Oh, the girl? Well, she is in the process of, that is to say, well...Ah yes! She was to tell you..." his modulation dropped from anxious to quiet and acquiescent. "She's not coming." The clock winced, seeing his frozen expression change to one that he could not fully grasp.

The Beast was seamlessly motionless and composed before it registered with him, and it seemed as if time had become stationary. Not unlike the ponds and lakes in the middle of rigorous winter. His rage had been provoked, and only the ones in his propinquity could know of its full extent. Many times the castle had rung with his growls and annoyance at a maladroit or belated servant, even when he had been human, his temper had not dared to have been provoked by acquaintances and family alike.

"What!" he thundered, bursting such as boiling oil in a covered cauldron and fueled by water. The true degree that his wrath could be mustered could not be fathomed by her who had managed to flout him, and bring upon her delicate shoulders the concentrated antagonism that he possessed.

Gliding across the polished marble as a provoked wasp would dart through the air, the others tried to keep up with his rushed and determined stride. It was a pace that would leave even the most fit hunter short-winded and mind-boggled. He was lissome, for he leaped past staircases and fled down corridors with as much dexterity as someone who had been ballroom dancing for a lifetime.

His maroon cloak flapped before stopping as his large fist pounded on the door with immense strength. The sound echoed to the walls and became fainter, loud enough that it would most likely be heard in the West Wing. His voice was livid, deep, and remarkably not winded. "I thought I told you to come down for dinner!"

Her voice began vigorous but faded quietly, "I'm not hungry. You can't possibly tell me to come down when I'm not hungry." He thought that she must be on the other side of the door, either so or her voice could be loud. He opted for the first thought, and vexed by her insolence, he gritted his teeth.

"You come out or I'll, I'll..." he paused swiftly, "I'll break down the door!" he finished, smug in his mind, short in his rush of emotion, and satisfied with his end result. All was at a standstill. A few moments passed, and he banged again on the door, the resulting echo growing fainter.

Lumiere repeated smoothly, placing his two candles together tentatively. "I may be wrong," he began knowing full well that he was not amiss, "...But that may not be the best way to win the girl's affections." The Beast looked at him, badgered enough already by vehemence and insurgence.

Cogsworth aided, pleading solemnly, "Please, attempt to be a gentleman...?" Exhaling, the Beast dropped his tone to monotony. "Will you come down to dinner?" Her response was rapid and in the negative. He pointed to the door to emphasize her obstinacy, gesturing for weight.

With a voice that was smooth and soft with sophistication, Cogsworth continued with suggestion. "Suave and...gentile..." The Beast closed his eyes, taking his cloak in his hands and straining his patience as much as he could, she was perceptibly attempting to experiment with as far as she could be allotted with his persistence. If it were not for the spell...He was going about this for the return of his former self.

"It would be my grave pleasure if you would join me for dinner, Mademoiselle," he added for more suavity. Cogsworth urged him with another recommendation, and he finished with monotony once more. "Please." Her counter was with strained patience also, and it grated on his nerves. "No, thank you."

All thoughts of propriety, gentility and good breeding left him, extinguished like a candle that had been blown out by fierce wind. The only thought that registered in him was insolence and the hot blood that coursed through his veins along with his rapid heartbeat only fanned his ire. "You can't stay in there forever!"

She was quick to oppose his statement with one precisely as biting. "Yes I can!" The objects were astounded, she did not seem petrified of him as they were. Any servant that would have been as impudent as she would have been immediately sacked and a hundred years before, thrown in the dungeon. Recalcitrance to royalty, she was intensely valiant to attempt to undercut his power, causing for a spectacular show.

"Fine! Then go ahead and starve!" he roared, causing the windowpanes to rattle, and the objects to shake. He narrowed his eyes toward the group at his feet, "If she doesn't eat with me," he paused icily, "Then she does not eat...at all!" he rushed from them, slamming a mammoth door at the end of the corridor, causing a crystalline figure to hurtle to the floor.

"That didn't go very well at all, did it?" Mrs. Potts questioned rhetorically, and sighed. Cogsworth shook his head and sighed also, "Might as well go to the dining hall and kitchen and start cleaning up."

-----

Tables crashed, mirrors splinterized, and the clamor of such commotion echoed to the walls and bounced back, intensifying the noise. Ripping a drab-hued drape that hung in his face, he paced himself rapidly to the marble stand. In actuality, it was one of the only pieces of furniture that remained unmarred in his exclusive part of the Wing. His rage was still heightened, as he spoke to himself in low tones.

She had dared to provoke him, and he was sure at one point that she would buckle and come out, be graced with his present. It was his misfortune that he did not keep her in the dungeon. He had given her a room out of his own concord and compunction, and she had shredded his esteem for her. Prisoners were alleged to be compliant and biddable, adept to at least attend dinner.

He would have to break her, that was all. She was too high-minded, thinking that she could hang about in there forever without water, without food. She would recognize who ruled authoritative in the castle, far be it from him that she should contort the impression of who was Master of the castle. It had been an embarrassment to see the disapproving gazes of his servants as she countered with a potency and inflexibility all her own, she would have to be tamed.

Picking up the mirror without so much as a glance toward the gleaming rose that was suspended in mid-air under the fortification of immaculate glass, he beckoned overpoweringly. "Show me the girl!" The sheen bordered near an excruciating jade brilliance before he saw his beastly face transform into a picture of her sitting on the canopy bed that once belonged to his mother.

The dresser was speaking with her soothingly, as her eyes were closed and arms were crossed. It was a stance that he had often took when he had been human and did not attain the outcomes he had wanted. Insubordination. There was a gown near her and the dresser endeavored to modify her opinion.

"The Master's not so awful once you know him. Why don't you give him a chance?" she close to beseeched. The girl opened her eyes, and faced the dresser with startling effervescence, her eyes open and full of emotion. "I don't want to know him. I don't want to have anything to do with him!" she ended with a finality that ended the brief conversation and caused him to put down the mirror.

A sensation of bleakness saturated him. He could have inferred that someone that looked as she would have nothing to do with such a ghastly distressing creature as he. Not fully a beast, but not quite human as well. Something in between and belonging to neither antagonistic world. He glanced at the rose in the glass, musing of the enchantment and the spell that had long since been cast on him.

It would be unattainable to engender a feeling of love for him in her. Even affection was impractical. She was so gorgeous and he was a Beast. As extreme as her obduracy, he was sure that she had rejected many marriage proposals and courted few that measured to her. After all, she was valiant and assertive, she must be to disregard what he directed that she would do.

Placing on paw on his lowered head, and one on the stand, he sighed dejectedly. Forcing her to love him would be futile. How could someone so lovely and likely-looking as she possibly fall in love with he? It would have been a jest when he was human, and if he could fully realize it, a jest now. At times, he thought the Enchantress more brutal than he could ever have been. It would be a Herculean feat for her to love him. Doomed to implosion.

-----

She had heard his temper, felt his indignation, and tasted his vehemence. She had seen in her dress the fright that she had felt but was obstinate not to divulge. His strength had not been lost on her, she heard every pound on the door with clarity and ardor. She had even been tremulous as she heard his roar, heard his intimidation, and heard the slamming of that far-off door and the falling of glass.

Tremulous still, she paced her room. It had more than enough space for her to stride across and stride back. Of course, she could not remain in this room forever, she would without doubt waste away or starve, as he so eloquently put it. A sadistic wrath such as that, she had never experienced in all her years. It had horrified her, as she had rightly been when she was convinced that the door would either cave in or become unlatched.

Her stomach growled audibly again, it had been growling since shortly after the confrontation a few hours before. She had managed to nap lightly for the duration of an hour or so, but now her stomach growled, reminding her of the growl of the Beast, and sighing she drew herself to the window. Pulling back the thick velvet and lavender sash, she gazed out.

Snow. Flakes of ice that collected on the outside windowsill and fell moderately and slowly, so that she saw little but white flakes and the black and mystifying night that gave away little and held in all, in a enigmatic anonymity. Pressing her head against the cool glass, she closed her eyes, loving the chilly feel on her more than warm forehead. It calmed her.

Every winter, it had been a tradition for her and her father to go behind the cottage and build a man made of snow, sticks, and with a carrot and scarf. It was a memory that had lodged itself in her mind, and she could not remember but one winter, when she was in Paris with her paternal grandparents, that she did not make a man made of snow. Now, at the first signs of snow, she was ensnared.

She had never realized the full level of the joy and rapture of freedom until she had lost it. It was now, in her imprisonment that she conceded precisely the degree of degradation that pervaded the word prisoner, and it rankled her. Confined her, and made her feel less than human. But she was something more than a prisoner, she took her head from the glass and placed her back to it, gazing at her surroundings.

The room was something noteworthy and a privilege. And when she had defied him and provoked his vexation, she was sure she would be punished with more than just words. Not yet treated as a prisoner, but not yet treated as a human being with rights. Something that was in the center and she could not situate herself in either because her position fitted neither. She inhaled, feeling her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her grinding hunger, having not been fed since morning.

She spoke aloud, knowing the dresser would hear. "Tell the Master...I'll be down shortly." She glanced back into the darkness and flurry, knowing that her response would make him feel even more powerful, he would think that he had triumphed. But she paused, she knew of her real objective. It was for her benefit that she ate, not his. It would be ludicrous of her to starve when she could undoubtedly survive and find other means of obtaining the same result. He would see that he had not prevailed, his infuriation only needed to be braved.