Margalit thought for a moment and then blurted out a question in French that she really knew she shouldn't have been asking. Translated into English, it was something to the effect of "For real? No lie? Like Gaston in Beauty and the Beast?"

Gaston looked at her like she had lost her mind.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, "The only beauty around here is mine." Margalit looked offended. "Well, besides you."

"Oh, thank you," Margalit said sarcastically. Thinking that if that really WAS Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, he probably was a real drag to hang around, she took a step away from him.

"Really, I mean it," he continued, stepping in front of her.

"Really, I have things to go and people to see," Margalit snapped back, going back to her book. Gaston chortled.

"Really, so YOU'RE into books, too?" He snatched it out of her hand. "What's this one about? Fairy princesses? Beanstalks?" The French had gotten too fast for Margalit to understand him, so she simply rolled her eyes and reached out to grab back her book. As she did, Gaston saw the cover. He couldn't recognize the title, but he certainly recognized something on the cover – guns! She was reading a book about guns! She grabbed her book back and gave him a hard shove – since he WAS Gaston and she weighed about 120 pounds, he wasn't going anywhere, but he was seeing repeats of Belle in this situation. However, it was a Belle who liked guns. This could be an interesting challenge. "I'm sorry," Gaston said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes.

"You'd better be," Margalit shot back, "You don't even know me." And, she thought to herself, you may very well be a cartoon character.

"Now, can I ask you? What language is everyone speaking? And what is all this? The Gallery? It doesn't look like an art gallery." Not that Gaston had ever BEEN in an art gallery.

"It's not an art gallery," said Margalit, laughing and sticking the book under her arm. "It's a ma… Wait, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure!" Gaston agreed, grinning.

"Uh, what year is it for you?"

Gaston scratched his head. To be honest, he really didn't know. He didn't pay that much attention. And so he just went, "17…" and then mumbled two more numbers.

Shrugging, Margalit went on, "It's a mall. A large group of stores all together."

Gaston looked boggled at this and decided to drop it.

"You like guns?" he inquired.

"Oh, I love guns," she replied.

"Do you hunt?" He couldn't really wrap his mind around a girl who liked guns. Of all the things for a woman to do! Why couldn't they just let men do the hunting and spend their time cooking and making babies?

"Not as much as I'd like to," Margalit replied, "Generally, I enjoy target shooting and skeet shooting." Gaston looked confused. "Skeet shooting is shooting clay pigeons. Clay sculptures made to look like pigeons, that is. Haven't you ever been to a shooting range?"

"Of course I've shot clay pigeons!" Gaston snapped, "I don't know where I am, but I don't appreciate you acting like wherever this is SO far advanced compared to where I'm from!"

You do have a point, thought Margalit, the same idiotic chauvinist groups are around nowadays.

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is the year 2006, so I don't really know all of what you had in the 1700s."

"They had me," Gaston replied, flexing his muscles, "And wasn't that enough?" Margalit laughed.

"By the way," she said, "I'm Margalit. Call me Gali."

"Bonjour, Gali. How does it feel to meet the most handsome man in the world?"

"It's a… pleasure."