Chapter Text
Beau was a boy that could be described as many things. Soft and eloquently spoken, tranquil, and most definitely charming. But one thing he certainly was not was reactive.
“Ballerina's will,” his mother joked. “You could keep your composure better than me, all that sweet patience and that little blue tutu. Honestly it seemed like nothing could dare to knock—“
“-IT OFF!“ At this sudden outburst, his voice screeched with disuse in the upper register.
Of course all good values must be held to a challenge; To build integrity, no? To his displeasure today was the angel's test run. Kids in his class had recently found fun in trying to find the crack in his perfect poise, some sort of sick sadism. This came with a resolution Beau made to himself, to be more ”expressive“ in his makeup and dress. His mom encouraged him to test his limits, but this development had left her tense. It had nothing to do with the actual style, but rather the connotations alongside it.
Monsters.
Monsters had once lived alongside humans before The Great War, many veterans claimed them to even be great allies in the past. Of course, they had retreated into Mt. Ebbott at the human's victory, but the scars hadn't left with them. Monsters, in their infinite forms and manifestations, had been known for their rich arts, almost bursting at the seams with a lively wonder so imbedded into their kind that you could see the angel's fingerprints. And humans, constantly seeking change and wandering with their stubborn persistence, had felt great joy among them. All of that ended with the war. Any trace of monsterlike culture was either blindsided or worse, the fear of confrontation and a past rekindling was too great. Thick air stale in the room was bound to drive any person mad, but with the knowledge of monsters just below their surface and their guilty hands being the perpetrator, nobody wanted to speak the truth about it. So all hints of monsterkind was buried, buried, buried.
But Beau-- Beau thought that was all stupid. Expression was defined to be to one's self, no? So if he were to dance in a way that suggested limbs he didn't have, or if he painted bright colored dots along his dark skin, that was his expression in the end! And he didn't mind when the other kids taunted him as a “wannabe monster”, or “humanoid”, maybe that war was screwed up. At least that's what his mom believes.
And apparently his image did crack enough to let his distaste for the human's past actions to slip through. Because what came to break it down was physical this time.
A kid grabbed him by the straps on his leotard and pulled him so close he could almost taste the kid's panted breaths.
He slipped a barred grin. “Didn't know you could scream.” stifled giggles followed.
The room became silent with a step. “Look, we all know you don't wanna be a human. We all have since you walked into our school in our town looking all smug. You think you're better than us? Better than us because you got some sort of moral superioty? Or do you just want to pierce people with your big scary horns?”
Beau lightly pushed himself back. “I do enjoy being human. I just-” he heaves against the kid's weight “want to do it in a way I can be free. You want freedom too, don't you? We all want to love ourselves and others. Is that not what being a human entails?” Small mummers of debate rised up around the two. Monster were bad, but to be trapped was worse wasn't it?
The noise in the class rises to a cry as Beau is pushed to the ground, the air knocked out of him before he can even protest.
“You smartass! Thinking you can just talk your way out of being dealt with. Didn't your precious mommy ever teach you to listen to what your told? ”
The kid raises a hand. ”Or am I going to have to?“
Beau flinches his head to the side to brace himself for the impact, but the sting never comes. Instead, a voice does.
”Let 'em loose! Don' go 'n make me deal witcha, ya hear?”
All heads turn to the tall freckled boy at the door. Beau gulps air back into his lungs both in shock and need as the boy readjusts his cowboy hat.
The kid above Beau lessens his grip “ooh boy..here comes daddy's little trooper.“
”Missus Maddie done tell me that sum of y'all been hootin' n hollerin' causin a ruckus in 'ere. But now I see y'all been in sum sorta..“ his tongue flips around the word” all-ter-kay-shun.”
“Learning new words, are we Mister Justice?”
“Now that'd be Mista Weston, but ta' yew that'd be Sir. Now git off that poor boy befor' I go n take yew off myself.”
Dumbass, as Beau began to mentally call him, started to smile again, ”Make me country boy.“
”Now I don' wan no tomfoolerin' here.“ ”Too bad.”
Weston's face scrunched up like he would throw a fit then and there, but after a moment he seemed to come to a resolve and move his cowboy heels back with a clank of his spurs.
“Cmon now, go or I'll go git the teachers.” The kid pressed further down onto Beau and Weston's eyes scrunched at the corners.
“Don' be nasty. Eyl-- I'll uh take ya myself!” Honestly it looked like the poor guy was about to cry. But Weston nonetheless shifts on his feet and shoots an apologetic glance at Beau.
“Awlrighty then-- one last chance ya snake.” The kid just scoffed at him.
The growing crowd gasped as they saw Weston bravely ran over and swiped down his hat. He jumped onto the boy and squeezed his torso with his chaps to keep him in place, before putting his hat over the kid's eyes.
“Bring it yew, p-ah-pansy! Or I'll keep on fussin'- rnghh- ya like a strawbury roan!”
Above him, Beau saw a flick of fear in his eyes. He wondered how many times he'd actually fought someone, let alone roughhouse. He'd guess not many given how he was handling the kid like a bull. But Beau felt a great sense of relief clash through him at Weston's faux tough persona.
“Go n' call uncle or else I'll go en' make ya run 'round this school wit' ya tail betwean ya legs!” The kid felt his ribs seize and he groaned in humiliation as he threw his hands up in defeat and got off Beau. “Suck ups.” There was no winning against a golden boy pleading for justice.
Beau sighed deeply as the pressure was finally off of him. The majority of the crowd had nervously skittered back to their respective classrooms or went back to mindlessly staring at their papers in light chatter to avoid trouble. Now it was Weston taking a proper look at Beau, and Beau at Weston. Beau saw small tears hidden in his ducts and the side of his cheek. He didn't say anything about it.
”Well ah, I'm real sorry ya had ta--'”
Beau smiled with his dimples ”No. Thank you. That was very brave of you.“
Weston's sunkissed skin bunched in at his cheeks in a great big smile, ”Really?“ He shuffled a bit closer, ”ya think 'm like one of em fearless folks?“
Beau let out a chuckle as he set his cowboy hat back on his head, “Like a sheriff on call...Weston?“
”Oh, well I figure since we're uh...buddies?“ Beau gave a nod, ”That yew can call me “Wes”. I don' like ta keep it all complehcateds, I like Wes."
“Just Beau for me then.”
The bell rings and the class goes out to merge with the rest of the end of day hallway traffic. Beau and Wes follow suit to the entrance after Wes runs to his original study hall classroom to pick up his stuff.
When he returns, Beau huffs in amusement. ”Well Wes..can I inquire with you about something?“
”Anythin' ya hart asks!“
”...Why are you dressed like a rodeo cowboy?“
Wes had a flush creep up his neck and across his freckles. Beau decided he quite liked it. ”O-oh well um. Ya see, I'm achtuelly a farm hand on 'm family's farm! Gotta wake up real early in da mornin' n take care of all the horsies. I don' got no time ta' change, so I keep 'm gear on.“
Beau smirked. ”And?“
”And???“
”It's written all over your face Wes.“
Wes tilted his head to the side”I don remember scribble scratchin all of 'm face...“ Cute, cute, cute, Beau thought.
”It's a figure of speech.“
”oh..OH! Oh well then..” He whispers aside “I wanna be a cowboy. I figure it's real silly fer me t-”
“Don't fret, I’m wearing a leotard under my sweater. I want to be a ballerino, you know. ” “They got those?” Beau giggles, “Do they have 16 year old cowboys?”
Wes putters, “Course! Billy the kid was only 12 round the time of his first killin'!“
”So there we have it. A ballerino and a cowboy.“ Beau concludes as they reach the entrance. Wes seems to contemplate this as a grin begins to reach ear to ear.
”Well shucks! Can't go against tha' kinda bulletproof arguewment huh? You use that good head of yewrs to do all them spins then?”
Beau snorts at the unexpected comment in such a charmingly southern way. Wes' eyes widen at the sound as Beau slaps his hand over his mouth at the supposed loss of his serene image in front of Wes. To laugh like a happy pig in mud in front of someone he just met was so embarrassing he couldn't just--
--Wes gently takes Beau's hand off his lips.
“No, no don't it's...um...eh well. I think yer a real tall drink o' iced tea, y'know?” Now just seeming to realize how it looked, Wes threw his hand down from Beau's and put it at his holster flustered. Beau haphazardly nodded along, not quite sure what he meant by that.
”Look uh..Beau. I think yer a mighty fine gent', so if ya'd like ta' come round the farm sum time, give me a holla! And I'll be 'ere, course.” Beau, having regained his composure, smiles fondly and takes a pen from his backpack pocket.
“Do you have a phone at home? Could you write it down on my arm lest I forget?”
“Mhm! Yessir, we got a landline at the house.” Wes' writing is barely legible, but given the hurry it seemed to work well enough. Beau gives Wes a coy wave and hurries off to his bus and Wes beams back before departing.
Maybe it'd be nice to have an unlikely friend. You never know when it'd come in handy.