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"And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul"
~John Muir
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Forest Of Beasts
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"Belle. You came back..."
Between the rain, lashing down on their bodies, and the Beast's hulking form above him, Gaston twisted the knife, and allowed himself a few seconds of hateful satisfaction.
A few seconds were all he had, before the Beast's form descended, and then Gaston realised he was falling too.
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Fall From Grace
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There was an irritating warmth cast across his face, which he cursed at first. Then he realised that perhaps he wasn't dead. It wasn't so irritating anymore, but it was confusing.
Gaston opened his eyes, suspicious more than relieved about the revelation. He might still be dead, after all. He'd never been one to dwell on the abstract or else unknown (or much else for that matter), though he did wonder if he might be in hell, and perhaps unconsciously, the thought didn't entirely surprise him.
Above was a beautiful canopy of green; trees swaying in a gentle breeze, and streams of soft white light occasionally peeking through the leaves, reaching his face and bathing it in that not so irritating warmth.
He hauled himself upright, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It was a ragged, uneven gasp, almost like a sob, and Gaston immediately and fiercely chastised himself for it. He wiped a hand across his forehead, sweeping away locks of hair which were still wet with what had happened only moments before.
Was it moments? Gaston briefly cradled his head. It ached, but not with injury. More like a persistent and throbbing headache.
Testily he stretched out his legs. He wasn't so worried about any damage there anymore. The only pressing damage at the moment was that of his shattered pride and ego.
He grimaced; the image of Belle and her face was a permanent fixture in his mind's eye. He knew he wouldn't ever forget it, and perhaps that was the most telling clue that this might actually be hell.
At least, for a few seconds it was.
There was a grunt, like a deep exhalation, and Gaston jumped lightning-quick to his feet, because he recognised that sound far too easily now.
He turned slowly around, and attempted to disguise his braced expression.
The Beast stood a few feet away, yet his shadow still managed to reach and cover Gaston. His face was unreadable, a dim silhouette of danger which Gaston couldn't properly gage.
"...you," his voice quivered, but hopefully not enough to give away his nerves. "I-I killed you."
The Beast snorted, as though he might have told an awful joke, before turning slightly to the side. He seemed to glare at the ground, and Gaston noticed he was staring at something half-hidden in the grass. It shone against the sunlight above them, and he realised it was a hunting knife. His hunting knife.
Instinct reached him before anything else, and he leapt forwards to retrieve it. At the same moment something crushed severely into his side, and though he expected to meet the ground (and perhaps die again, oh what luck), he found himself being elevated off the ground, in a scenario all too familiar.
Only this time there was no use for fear.
Huge paws clung to his shirt collar, threatening to rip it apart, and hot breath touched his face.
The Beast's sneer was perhaps as twisted as his own.
"Do I look dead to you?" the Beast's voice was low and dangerous; a rumble of promised threats. His paw curled tighter on Gaston's shirt. "Do I feel dead to you?"
Gaston kept his sneer in place (or else he hoped); "Hah...you're as ugly and monstrous as I remember, Beast."
The Beast growled, but that wasn't what startled Gaston.
As the Beast lifted him up a bit higher, one of the peaks of light shining through the trees spread across his terrible face. There was no mercy in his blue eyes anymore, though. Nothing resigned or defeated within them that might have given Gaston the upper hand again.
That there was even an 'again' was a question in itself, but that didn't matter anymore. Gaston could feel the tension in his body falling away into horrified surrender. Perhaps this was his hell, to be subjected to the questionable mercy of the Beast over and over again.
Another sharper growl, and then Gaston felt himself hitting the ground with a force that made him groan. He glared up, but the Beast was already turning away from him, as if he didn't even matter.
Gaston gritted his teeth, and cast around, looking for the knife.
"Do you really think I'd let you attempt that again?" the Beast sounded bitterly amused.
Gaston stared at the monster's back, surprised by it's canny. So, it learned things. And remembered them too, as terrible as it was.
Gaston looked sullenly down, not enjoying the realisation at all.
"Are we dead?" the Beast said, as if he was musing anything but that. "I hardly feel dead."
Gaston stood up slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the beast like it was dangerous prey.
"How am I to know," he muttered, more to himself.
His head still hurt with that disorientating headache, as if someone had truly scrambled his mind up. He wondered shortly if the Beast felt the same way, but knew better than to question it. He wouldn't imagine or even dream about finding any familiar ground with the creature.
He did notice that the apparent stab wound had completely disappeared from the Beast's back, however. It was disconcerting, but he wasn't about to poke at that curiosity either. Besides, it wasn't like the Beast couldn't know for himself.
"We're in a forest," the Beast said, after a moment.
Gaston sneered at him. "Brilliant work, Beast."
The Beast snarled, and Gaston flinched back automatically, at the same time reaching behind his back. Despairing, he realised he couldn't find his bow and arrow. They must have been lost in the fall.
"Do you have any better deductions?" the Beast asked, in a testy voice.
"None at all."
It wasn't an admittance, but Gaston did feel unusually wary, of everything, even discounting the Beast's presence.
This forest, wherever it was, did not have the same feel as any usual forest Gaston had ever ventured into, and he had been in many, on many hunts through the years.
There was something strange and...offbeat about it. Like the edges were too soft and vague, and anything could creep into his vision at any moment; those old folk stories of reptilian beasts and fierce dragons, beautiful unicorns and so many other fantastical and unbelievable creatures. None of that would have surprised him.
And after all, wasn't he looking upon something far too unbelievable at this very moment?
"What is it?" said the Beast.
Gaston realised he was staring at it. Not in awe (lord forbid), but with that same strange sense of unease he felt about the rest of the forest. Natural as it was to keep his guard up as a hunter, there was something within this realm he knew he'd never be able to hunt down and kill, or else not before it might kill him first...
"Nothing," he shook his head quickly. "But I intend to find out where I've been put, and get the hell out of here."
It was paranoia and confusion disturbing his thoughts, nothing more. He'd had a big fall, and his head had been jarred into some temporary disorientation, that was all.
He looked the Beast up and down once again, debating uselessly about if he could take it down in that moment. His hands balled into tight fists of unconscious tension, just at the thought of it.
"I intend to do the same," the Beast nodded. The fierce edge to it's voice cooled slightly.
It wasn't this that made Gaston hold off, and consider that he might kill the creature at some other time. He needed weapons and the element of surprise for that. But as he turned away, allowing his defences to drop momentarily in front of the Beast, he wondered why it had not attacked him first within the castle, or even now, after the fall.
Instead, the Beast stalked slowly after him, like a predator biding it's time.
Gaston pulled a face, trying to ignore the anxious pound in his chest. Somehow, ludicrously, it seemed that the hunter had actually become the hunted.
It was a real fall from grace.
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