Cruel Love {1/2}afterandalasiaAugust 29 2011, 16:34:07 UTC
"Belle, come on, pick up the phone. Come on. Seriously. For goodness's sake, Belle, pick up--"
"LeFou? You gotta be kidding me. It's gone midnight."
"Belle, I need your help."
"There's no-one else? Really?"
"It's Gaston! I don't know what to do with him!"
"Give him a beer and put the porn on. That usually works." He could just hear the roll of her eyes.
But he clutched the phone closer to him, trying not to let her hear the stifled wail from the front room, and hissed desperately. "Not this time, Belle! He's... he's upset?"
She didn't sound any more impressed. "Did his team lose a match?"
"No, it was..." LeFou glanced back over his shoulder, made certain that Gaston was engrossed in his Phish Food and whatever the hell was on the television (Pride and Pomegranates? Sense and Stockings? He had no idea.), and wished that he had a video phone to let Belle know how pleading he felt. "That new girl, Meg."
"The exchange student?"
"Yeah. They slept together."
Belle gave an unimpressed snort. "Her and half the college, him and half the college. Whatever."
"I think she... did something to him."
There was a slow, considerate silence at the other end.
"I mean," he fought for words. "He's all wrong. He totally can't handle getting dumped by her."
"Wait, wait... she dumped him?"
"Yes! Exactly! He woke up the next morning and she was already gone!"
"Wow," said Belle, slowly, sounding honestly surprised. He could hear rustling at the far end. "And that shook him up?"
"Belle, I've neever seen him like this."
"Uh-huh."
"Seriously. Even when you came out, he shrugged it off. This is..."
There was a desolate howl from the front room. He was pretty sure Jane Austen didn't write about werewolves.
"This is different."
"Uh..." Belle groaned. "Let me get Chel out of my bed, get dressed, and get over to you. I'll be a half hour, okay?"
"Please?" he said again, and it came out as a complete whine. Belle didn't dignify it with an answer before hanging up.
-----
"Wow, he really is down."
Peering round the door, Belle eyed the rumpled, forlorn figure that is Gaston. All six feet four inches of him was curled up on the sofa in a tracksuit, a duvet round his shoulders, hair dishevelled round his face. It would look like the aftermath of a heavy night out were it not for the period romance playing on the television in front of him and the quart of ice cream clutched in his lap.
"Yeah," said LeFou, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. "And it's been four days!"
Belle rounded on him with wide eyes. "Four days? But it was only three days ago that--" she cut off, abruptly, and cleared her throat.
"That what?"
"Nevermind." She looked back at him again, screwing up her face in concentration. "So, seriously? He's not even been out or anything?"
"Nope. He hasn't gone to class. He hasn't even gone out clubbing."
"Sports?"
"No. He's only left the sofa for more ice cream."
"And... tell me again why he's watching Pride and Prejudice?"
"He said that he felt for Mr. Collins."
Another snort, this one quickly suppressed. "No comment. Okay, you grab the vodka, I'll go talk to him. We'll figure this out."
-----
"So, er..."
"All right, now he's drunk and eating ice cream. No, I didn't think that one through."
Half past one in the morning, and Gaston was sobbing helplessly into a hand towel as Jane Bennett became Jane Bingley, a spoon still in his mouth.
"Did you find out what she did to him?"
"Something about blindfolds. And her feet. He wasn't making a lot of sense. But I think that at one point he was talking about that thing she does with her tongue where..." she seemed to realise that he was staring. "Nevermind."
"So. Do we just need to get him laid or something?"
"I somehow get the picture that's the last thing on his mind."
They looked at each other. They looked round to Gaston, who was currently spooning a mixture of melted ice cream and vodka into his mouth, and sobbing none-too-gently. Then they looked back to each other again.
"Then what are we going to do with him?" LeFou pleaded.
Belle paused, frowning, and rubbed at her nose. "We could tell him that she does this to everyone."
"Oh no," said LeFou. "No no no no nooooooo. Gaston isn't like everyone."
Cruel Love {2/2}afterandalasiaAugust 29 2011, 16:35:12 UTC
Belle gave him a very meaningful look.
"I mean," he added, "I don't think that would help, you know? It might... make things worse." Lowering his voice, he said: "I'm not sure he could handle that."
Albeit with a roll of her eyes, Belle seemed to acknowledge Gaston's fragile ego with a nod, and went back to looking intently at him through the barely-open kitchen doorway. "I think," she said slowly, "I have an idea."
Not daring to break the spell with words, Le Fou looked at her in pleading hopefulness. She rapped her fingers against the doorway, frowning slightly in concentration, then turned to him with such determination on her features that he could have melted with relief.
"Get me a pen and paper, and check behind the furniture in his room for any female underwear in a size... oh, a 2 or 4. Preferably purple. No names or distinguishing marks on them. Perhaps we can make this work after all."
-----
After adding up a day for hangover cures, a day for ego-stroking and at least one more day for being a lazy ass, Belle had barely been expecting to see Gaston again until the week was out, perhaps making his triumphant re-emergence on Friday night to go pick up some other unfortunate girl who had somehow managed to avoid hearing about him, or who had but hadn't really believed it.
She was rather surprised, then, to find him outside the ATM on campus by Wednesday, standing in the queue and admiring his reflection in the dark glass of the shop window. Raising one eyebrow, Belle paused for a moment, then shrugged and grinned as she headed over towards him.
"Good morning, Gaston."
Eleven o'clock. Rather impressive for him, actually, she had to admit. Gaston reluctantly turned away from his reflection to offer her a bright, sparkling smile, which faded only marginally when he realised who it was. "Oh, Belle. Good morning."
"Oh, hey Belle!" LeFou appeared from behind Gaston, or might as well have solidified out of his shadow for all that Belle had realised he was there a moment before.
"Good morning as well, LeFou. So," a cock of her head as she turned back to Gaston, "feeling better after your... stomach flu... then?"
LeFou had kept her updated over the phone. She had guessed that the creation of an excuse was a step in the right direction, and it made her smug to find out that she was right.
"Why, Belle, I didn't know you cared!" declared Gaston magnaminously.
Belle and LeFou shared a look, and the latter shrugged. Perhaps there had been rather more vodka involved than either of them realised.
"In any case," he was continuing, "I rather am, in fact. Helped along by this, of course!"
He produced an envelope from his pocket and kissed it dramatically.
"To know that the emotions shared in one night are to intense to be continued! Oh, the fickle hand of love!"
The letter was clutched to his chest, and he heaved a mighty sigh. Belle didn't ask what he had done with the purple thong that LeFou had fished out from behind the radiator and presented to her with the fieriest of blushes. She probably didn't want to know. But at least, it seemed, he had fallen for it.
"Yes, Gaston. I'm sure that it solved your heartburn. Or was it stomachache?" Before he could answer, or LeFou could make any more of a terrified don't-let-it-fall-down-now look, Belle patted Gaston condescendingly on the arm. "In any case, it's good to have you around again. We needed our quarterback."
He already seemed to have lost interest again, and the guy behind was pointing out that the ATM was free so would they just get a move on. With a brief wave, Belle turned and disappeared into the crowd milling around the concourse, making sure that she was well out of the way before she let a giggle slip from her lips. It was always gratifying to be proved right over something.
Particularly when that involved guessing exactly what Meg had done with that scarf of hers. Thinking about the bruises now almost faded on her own ankles, Belle hummed a faint song to herself and set off for her classics class. Amor omnibus idem, after all. Love is the same to all, and perhaps some day Gaston would be ready to realise that he was no exception.
"LeFou? You gotta be kidding me. It's gone midnight."
"Belle, I need your help."
"There's no-one else? Really?"
"It's Gaston! I don't know what to do with him!"
"Give him a beer and put the porn on. That usually works." He could just hear the roll of her eyes.
But he clutched the phone closer to him, trying not to let her hear the stifled wail from the front room, and hissed desperately. "Not this time, Belle! He's... he's upset?"
She didn't sound any more impressed. "Did his team lose a match?"
"No, it was..." LeFou glanced back over his shoulder, made certain that Gaston was engrossed in his Phish Food and whatever the hell was on the television (Pride and Pomegranates? Sense and Stockings? He had no idea.), and wished that he had a video phone to let Belle know how pleading he felt. "That new girl, Meg."
"The exchange student?"
"Yeah. They slept together."
Belle gave an unimpressed snort. "Her and half the college, him and half the college. Whatever."
"I think she... did something to him."
There was a slow, considerate silence at the other end.
"I mean," he fought for words. "He's all wrong. He totally can't handle getting dumped by her."
"Wait, wait... she dumped him?"
"Yes! Exactly! He woke up the next morning and she was already gone!"
"Wow," said Belle, slowly, sounding honestly surprised. He could hear rustling at the far end. "And that shook him up?"
"Belle, I've neever seen him like this."
"Uh-huh."
"Seriously. Even when you came out, he shrugged it off. This is..."
There was a desolate howl from the front room. He was pretty sure Jane Austen didn't write about werewolves.
"This is different."
"Uh..." Belle groaned. "Let me get Chel out of my bed, get dressed, and get over to you. I'll be a half hour, okay?"
"Please?" he said again, and it came out as a complete whine. Belle didn't dignify it with an answer before hanging up.
-----
"Wow, he really is down."
Peering round the door, Belle eyed the rumpled, forlorn figure that is Gaston. All six feet four inches of him was curled up on the sofa in a tracksuit, a duvet round his shoulders, hair dishevelled round his face. It would look like the aftermath of a heavy night out were it not for the period romance playing on the television in front of him and the quart of ice cream clutched in his lap.
"Yeah," said LeFou, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. "And it's been four days!"
Belle rounded on him with wide eyes. "Four days? But it was only three days ago that--" she cut off, abruptly, and cleared her throat.
"That what?"
"Nevermind." She looked back at him again, screwing up her face in concentration. "So, seriously? He's not even been out or anything?"
"Nope. He hasn't gone to class. He hasn't even gone out clubbing."
"Sports?"
"No. He's only left the sofa for more ice cream."
"And... tell me again why he's watching Pride and Prejudice?"
"He said that he felt for Mr. Collins."
Another snort, this one quickly suppressed. "No comment. Okay, you grab the vodka, I'll go talk to him. We'll figure this out."
-----
"So, er..."
"All right, now he's drunk and eating ice cream. No, I didn't think that one through."
Half past one in the morning, and Gaston was sobbing helplessly into a hand towel as Jane Bennett became Jane Bingley, a spoon still in his mouth.
"Did you find out what she did to him?"
"Something about blindfolds. And her feet. He wasn't making a lot of sense. But I think that at one point he was talking about that thing she does with her tongue where..." she seemed to realise that he was staring. "Nevermind."
"So. Do we just need to get him laid or something?"
"I somehow get the picture that's the last thing on his mind."
They looked at each other. They looked round to Gaston, who was currently spooning a mixture of melted ice cream and vodka into his mouth, and sobbing none-too-gently. Then they looked back to each other again.
"Then what are we going to do with him?" LeFou pleaded.
Belle paused, frowning, and rubbed at her nose. "We could tell him that she does this to everyone."
"Oh no," said LeFou. "No no no no nooooooo. Gaston isn't like everyone."
Reply
"I mean," he added, "I don't think that would help, you know? It might... make things worse." Lowering his voice, he said: "I'm not sure he could handle that."
Albeit with a roll of her eyes, Belle seemed to acknowledge Gaston's fragile ego with a nod, and went back to looking intently at him through the barely-open kitchen doorway. "I think," she said slowly, "I have an idea."
Not daring to break the spell with words, Le Fou looked at her in pleading hopefulness. She rapped her fingers against the doorway, frowning slightly in concentration, then turned to him with such determination on her features that he could have melted with relief.
"Get me a pen and paper, and check behind the furniture in his room for any female underwear in a size... oh, a 2 or 4. Preferably purple. No names or distinguishing marks on them. Perhaps we can make this work after all."
-----
After adding up a day for hangover cures, a day for ego-stroking and at least one more day for being a lazy ass, Belle had barely been expecting to see Gaston again until the week was out, perhaps making his triumphant re-emergence on Friday night to go pick up some other unfortunate girl who had somehow managed to avoid hearing about him, or who had but hadn't really believed it.
She was rather surprised, then, to find him outside the ATM on campus by Wednesday, standing in the queue and admiring his reflection in the dark glass of the shop window. Raising one eyebrow, Belle paused for a moment, then shrugged and grinned as she headed over towards him.
"Good morning, Gaston."
Eleven o'clock. Rather impressive for him, actually, she had to admit. Gaston reluctantly turned away from his reflection to offer her a bright, sparkling smile, which faded only marginally when he realised who it was. "Oh, Belle. Good morning."
"Oh, hey Belle!" LeFou appeared from behind Gaston, or might as well have solidified out of his shadow for all that Belle had realised he was there a moment before.
"Good morning as well, LeFou. So," a cock of her head as she turned back to Gaston, "feeling better after your... stomach flu... then?"
LeFou had kept her updated over the phone. She had guessed that the creation of an excuse was a step in the right direction, and it made her smug to find out that she was right.
"Why, Belle, I didn't know you cared!" declared Gaston magnaminously.
Belle and LeFou shared a look, and the latter shrugged. Perhaps there had been rather more vodka involved than either of them realised.
"In any case," he was continuing, "I rather am, in fact. Helped along by this, of course!"
He produced an envelope from his pocket and kissed it dramatically.
"To know that the emotions shared in one night are to intense to be continued! Oh, the fickle hand of love!"
The letter was clutched to his chest, and he heaved a mighty sigh. Belle didn't ask what he had done with the purple thong that LeFou had fished out from behind the radiator and presented to her with the fieriest of blushes. She probably didn't want to know. But at least, it seemed, he had fallen for it.
"Yes, Gaston. I'm sure that it solved your heartburn. Or was it stomachache?" Before he could answer, or LeFou could make any more of a terrified don't-let-it-fall-down-now look, Belle patted Gaston condescendingly on the arm. "In any case, it's good to have you around again. We needed our quarterback."
He already seemed to have lost interest again, and the guy behind was pointing out that the ATM was free so would they just get a move on. With a brief wave, Belle turned and disappeared into the crowd milling around the concourse, making sure that she was well out of the way before she let a giggle slip from her lips. It was always gratifying to be proved right over something.
Particularly when that involved guessing exactly what Meg had done with that scarf of hers. Thinking about the bruises now almost faded on her own ankles, Belle hummed a faint song to herself and set off for her classics class. Amor omnibus idem, after all. Love is the same to all, and perhaps some day Gaston would be ready to realise that he was no exception.
Reply
Leave a comment