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Marcel Crevier stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the bland crowds of the town. After all, a ginger male who wears mostly purple didn’t match the facade of normalcy the village had. So one might have said it was surprising that the town hero, Gaston Legume, did not notice him until he was leaning over someone’s table at his tavern. Yet, anyone who knew Gaston beyond the mask knew it wasn’t too surprising since the man was always too focused on himself.
“LeFou,” Gaston poured himself a drink as he watched the ginger parade themselves about, “Who is that?” LeFou looked at Gaston and tried to hold down his confusion, because Gaston had met Marcel earlier due to Marcel being close friends with Belle.
Still, he wasn’t shocked his dear friend had forgotten, “That’s Marcel Crevier. He’s a bit newer to the village. He was around Belle today, you even spoke to him.” Gaston dismissed that. Afterall, this man definitely seemed like someone he’d remember.
LeFou continued to tell Gaston about Marcel, but Gaston didn’t focus on a word of it. Instead, he caught the gaze of Marcel and received a smile. He watched as Marcel’s hand lingered a little too long on the shoulder of one of his patrons, and then come over to them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Marcel batted his eyelashes before looking at LeFou, “Glad to see you again, LeFou.” Gaston soured as he watched Marcel place his hand upon LeFou’s shoulder. There was an odd sense of fondness between the pair that Gaston didn’t understand but knew he didn’t like. He cleared his throat and Marcel looked up at him lazily.
“My apologies, Gaston. Did you need something?” Marcel sounded so bored already. Gaston felt his ears get red. Anyone who knew anything about the village knew better than to deflect Gaston like that. Yet, Marcel threw away comfort for honesty.
A part of Gaston liked that. “What are you doing at my tavern?”
Marcel leaned against the bar and smiled a bit, “What do most people do at a tavern? Drink, talk… Flirt.” Gaston tried not to acknowledge the jittery feeling he felt when Marcel said flirt like that. “Do you have a problem with it? If so, do you plan to do anything about it?”
“I do have a problem with it and I could always throw you out for it,” Gaston explained with much more arrogance than Marcel cared for. Marcel still smiled, and Gaston wanted to squish the butterflies in his stomach telling him he enjoyed that smile. “What’s so funny about that?”
“That you’re thinking about kicking me out. I’m friends with Belle, after all. Do you really want her to hate you more than she does? Or have her father know that you, a brute, preyed upon a poor, innocent, young man?” Gaston might’ve been more offended by the ginger’s ability to outfox him, had he not begun this game himself. He pursed his lips and sipped his whiskey, refusing to respond. Marcel gently squeezed LeFou’s shoulder, “So you boys have fun on that “hunting” trip of your’s, hm?”
One wicked look from the freckled man, and LeFou choked on his drink. He went into a coughing fit that at first Gaston laughed a bit at before getting worried for his friend. LeFou excused himself between coughs and went to the bathroom. Marcel watched him and then back to Gaston. “My, my.”
“What was that?” Gaston asked.
“Why would I tell you? Much more fun when you’re confused,” He was damn snarky, that was for sure. Still, after a bit of pressure, even the most stubborn bird would chirp for him.
“I care about LeFou, I should know what things are making him,” Gaston waved his hand to explain and noticed that for a moment, Marcel seemed surprised. He covered it up immediately and he smiled again. He looked away for a moment and then looked back at Gaston.
Marcel stood up and stretched, “How about this? We play a game of chess. Anytime you take one of my pieces, I will answer one of your questions. But, if I take one of your’s, the opposite happens and you have to answer one of my questions. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of a challenge.” Gaston supposed sometimes he should think with his brain more than he thinks with his ego, but that was for a later moment.
Gaston shooed away the drunks by the chess board. “I’d never back away from a challenge, especially by you .” He went ahead to sit down and Marcel followed. The pair set up the board and for a moment, there was a long stare at the board and then at each other. Marcel waved for Gaston to go first, but before he could say anything, Gaston smirked, “Ladies first.”
“You beat me by one second,” Marcel pouted before lazily placing his hand upon the board. Gaston wondered how someone could act so bored when playing with the village’s champion player. It was why very few people ever challenged the man. Behind blind adoration, there was a true respect for his skill. Sure, some people had bested him a couple of times but, with his ability to pick out who was and who wasn’t cheating and ability to come up with strategies on the fly, it was nothing to bat an eye at. Yet, there Marcel was sitting, placing the piece down with what looked like little thought.
The game continued with silence until Marcel teased, “Gaston Legume, what a funny name.” Gaston frowned, but tried not to pay attention to the attempt to distract him, so Marcel pressed on with it. “You’re quite the war hero too. Everyone talks about you after all. Gaston this, Gaston that. A war hero, a popular man, with the funniest name. Wonder which part makes people grovel to you the way they do…”
“You talk too much,” Gaston grunted and Marcel smiled at him, “You really should pay more attention to the board.”
“I’d say the same to you, Gaston,” Marcel smiled as he took one of Gaston’s pieces. Gaston seemed a bit surprised honestly. “Oh, my turn to ask the first question then, hm? Alright. Why do you really want to marry Belle? It doesn’t make any sense to me. The women here practically drape themselves all over you, and you ignore them all for Belle. Why?”
“She’s the most beautiful woman in the village, obviously,” Gaston watched Marcel give him an unconvinced roll of the eyes.
“Is that it?” Marcel looked back over the board, “Belle hates you. She fights you at every turn and she clearly hates you. So why her? The other women here are just as pretty.”
Gaston went quiet. He knew, deep down, why he chose a woman who would fight him at every turn. A woman who would never give him the chance to marry her. He avoided the thought like it was the plague, but he knew it. Marcel looked him over, “If you need some time to think, I can give it to you.” At first, he assumed Marcel was genuinely offering it until Marcel added, “Belle’s told me you’re brainless, so I figure it must be really difficult for you.” His face reddened and Marcel laughed. And that laugh made Gaston sick. A churning in his stomach he wanted to get rid of.
Gaston moved a piece as he settled on the only excuse he could find, “It’s the ones who play hard to get that are the sweetest prey.”
“You make yourself sound like a beast,” Was all Marcel could think to say before the game continued. Pieces moving along the board, onto square after square. The pair would either make small quips between each move, or it’d be utter silence. Until a piece was stolen by Gaston. “Well, well,” A small crack of nerves broke out from behind Marcel’s smile, “It’s your turn to question me.”
Gaston had millions of questions in his head about Marcel, but he forced himself to settle with one. “Where do you know LeFou from? You two acted… fond of each other,” Gaston tried not to focus on how Marcel had been practically all over his best friend for years, clinging to him like that.
Marcel raised an eyebrow and smirked, “LeFou was one of the first people to meet me when I came to the village. You were out on a personal hunting trip, or something, and he saw me looking confused. Sometimes he comes to talk to me other times as well…” Truth and lie melded beautifully into Marcel’s explanation. Gaston nodded.
The game continued and the questions seemed less personal than before. At least, from Marcel. Truly, both had questions for the other that they wanted to ask, but asking the question was a problem in itself. Till, Gaston thought to ask what he assumed was a basic question. “Why were you really visiting my tavern?” He asked.
Marcel twisted one of his curls with a free hand and tapped the edge of the table. “You really want to know?” Gaston wondered if he should be nervous, with a question like that being asked. He still nodded and Marcel leaned in. “My type of work requires me to get to know people. Your tavern has some of the best customers around.”
Gaston was not foolish, he knew the type of work Marcel was alluding to. His face got warm, surprised that something could be going on in the village and more importantly, in his tavern, without him knowing. Marcel seemed sly though, unable to be caught and who exactly was going to tell without outing themselves. Marcel’s facade of calm seemed to falter for a moment, he looked nervous. “Well, Gaston, are you going to throw me out for it?”
“No,” He should. Gaston knows that he should grab Marcel and shove him out and scream out about what Marcel was. But he couldn’t. Whether it was soft green eyes or the pretty red hair that framed his face, or the willingness to stand up to Gaston, he couldn’t point out which one made him say no. “We haven’t finished our game.” Marcel leaned back and smiled a bit.
“Then alright. Oh, by the way, check,” He winked and Gaston realized he was in check, “Really, Gaston, if this is your best play… Well perhaps what they say isn’t true.” Marcel’s words were playful, and Gaston wished he could be more upset about losing rather than the game being over.
“There’s a first time for everything. I’ll get you next time,” He made a move and watched as the game ended in his loss.
“Next time?”
Gaston hadn’t even realized he’d implied they’d be doing this again, “Well I want to watch you lose.” A throw away excuse that left Marcel giggling.
“Then I expect you to brush up on your skills, Monsieur Legume,” Marcel stood up from his seat, “I’ll be off then. Thank you for the game, Gaston. Goodnight.” He flipped his hair and Gaston watched him leave with a final good night. A spark lit amongst the both of them that night, and neither of them had a clue how to handle the fire.