Recovery/Reflection - Fabled Countryside [CLOSED]
The blood drenched master of the castle made his way back to his home, leaving crimson pawprints on the luxurious carpets on the way to his private chambers. He passed by the servants' worried and scared faces that were watching him from behind cracked doors. One look from their master, and they knew better than to ask. Silently, the beast made his way up the stairs into The West Wing, the room that was once again the monster's den. But here there was no more warm glow of the enchanted rose. It was only darkness, a suitable place for such a being as him. He had almost walked right past a cracked mirror when he caught sight of himself. The image completely shocked him. Adam was back and near horrified at the mess of his face. Beast or no, the least he could do was try and clean this blood off. He took a few minutes to try and collect himself... though truthfully he was in quiet shock at the extremity of his reactions tonight. It hadn't hit him yet.
He left his private room to go draw himself a bath. When he entered the smaller room, he sighed a little with relief. The help was quick and he was certain Mrs. Potts had ordered the bath to be set. The water was steaming and a large collection of soap and towels were set on a counter. A fresh set of clothes had been provided as well. He gave a weary smile for his thoughtful household.
A long while later, Beast emerged from the bathroom, about as fresh and clean as a monster could be. He returned again to The West Wing and laid down on his slightly destroyed bed. He didn't care. He was exhausted. Unfortunatly, sleep wasn't about to come so easily. He closed his eyes but before long, images of the night's activities played back. What was that man? He knew with certainty that it wasn't Riku. Didn't smell remotely human... He, or it, didn't smell like much of anything until the blood came pouring out of his skin. That had been very real... In fact, it smelled familiar now that he thought back on it. He tried to place it but couldn't. It bothered him enough that he rolled out of bed to find a dried blood spot on the floor and to try and figure out what it was. Once the scent was fresh in his nostrils again, it struck. It smelled like the blood of a deer. He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about that. Why would something that looked like RIku but smelled like that try and taunt the Beast into killing it? It must've been some crazy magic. He wondered idly if there was still a threat or if the death of the being had been enough.
Beast was still trying to avoid thinking about losing control like he did. He had gone mad for a short while. It almost felt like he had been watching the monster take those actions, instead of himself. What scaerd him the most, though, wasn't his temper or his anger; it was the fact that he, on some primal dark level, had enjoyed tearing that creature apart... and the fact it looked human had apparently not caused any uneasiness or hesitation. He was afraid to admit it, so he left his thoughts tumbling around, trying to figure out what was going on.
For a small moment he did think of Belle, and it hurt him to the core that they had fought like that. It had to have been a long time coming but... now just wasn't the time. They were both under a lot of stress. There was no need to fight. She was all he had, and besides all that, he just plain missed her.
He left his private room to go draw himself a bath. When he entered the smaller room, he sighed a little with relief. The help was quick and he was certain Mrs. Potts had ordered the bath to be set. The water was steaming and a large collection of soap and towels were set on a counter. A fresh set of clothes had been provided as well. He gave a weary smile for his thoughtful household.
A long while later, Beast emerged from the bathroom, about as fresh and clean as a monster could be. He returned again to The West Wing and laid down on his slightly destroyed bed. He didn't care. He was exhausted. Unfortunatly, sleep wasn't about to come so easily. He closed his eyes but before long, images of the night's activities played back. What was that man? He knew with certainty that it wasn't Riku. Didn't smell remotely human... He, or it, didn't smell like much of anything until the blood came pouring out of his skin. That had been very real... In fact, it smelled familiar now that he thought back on it. He tried to place it but couldn't. It bothered him enough that he rolled out of bed to find a dried blood spot on the floor and to try and figure out what it was. Once the scent was fresh in his nostrils again, it struck. It smelled like the blood of a deer. He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about that. Why would something that looked like RIku but smelled like that try and taunt the Beast into killing it? It must've been some crazy magic. He wondered idly if there was still a threat or if the death of the being had been enough.
Beast was still trying to avoid thinking about losing control like he did. He had gone mad for a short while. It almost felt like he had been watching the monster take those actions, instead of himself. What scaerd him the most, though, wasn't his temper or his anger; it was the fact that he, on some primal dark level, had enjoyed tearing that creature apart... and the fact it looked human had apparently not caused any uneasiness or hesitation. He was afraid to admit it, so he left his thoughts tumbling around, trying to figure out what was going on.
For a small moment he did think of Belle, and it hurt him to the core that they had fought like that. It had to have been a long time coming but... now just wasn't the time. They were both under a lot of stress. There was no need to fight. She was all he had, and besides all that, he just plain missed her.