Is This What You Wished For?

In the shards of the shattered mirror a little white face was reflected, over and over again, just like the voice that bounced back and forth against the stone walls. Beast paused with his injured arm halfway to his face, tongue poised. His thick brows lowered in confusion. “...Huh?”

There was a sheep in front of him. A little, bouncy, two-legged one. In some kind of suit.

Her words kept reverberating, and even though the King knew she wasn’t the only odd creature in this Merged World business, the way she looked didn’t make sense. It all added to his bad temper, and his arm hurt.

Heavy jaws shut to grit out a scowl. Robert was about to tell the little fluffy thing off. She might be little, and weird, and white, and cute, in her animalish way. She might not fit the dark and gruesome personalities of the rest of this side in the war. But nobody told the Master what to do—especially no one in this Keep, no one as part of an army he was disliking more every moment he spent in it.

Then her little voice somehow managed to get louder and his growl died. Goblinish ears flattened not unlike a scolded puppy. Oh. Certainly no one...except maybe one...talked to him like that. Before his anger could rise again, Robert’s confusion sharpened into one word. Savage.

The Beast’s long face drooped. His massive shoulders seemed to shrink under the cloak. When his poison-colored eyes followed, they landed on his own fearsome visage, reflected up at him in a hundred distorted ways. His temper was savage. Again. And this body...it suited it. He was only here, in this place, in this form, because he deserved it. ”You’re right. ...I am a savage.” The deep voice was melancholy.

The round, human eyes set in a frame of ugliness were wide again, pulled out of their melancholy gazing. The Beast watched Bellwhether as the velvety little creature talked. Strange. Her voice and words were so...normal. They reminded him of that fussy decorator in his own palace—Evangelique. But they came out of the mouth of a little animal wearing clothing, and they spoke of other monsters with ease, no shudder. Wasn’t she a sheep of some sort? The Prince had never designed to work with farm animals, but he’d always had the impression that the bleating white were stupid and easily frightened.

And here she was, a weird little villain, noticing his moods.

Confusion gave way to that deep melancholy again and Robert’s goblin-esque ears drooped. What did it matter, anyway? So one small freakling in this nightmarish army wasn’t what he’d expected. She might be willing to help his injuries, but that wouldn’t solve the real problem. It wouldn’t return him to Belle.

“I...am.” ‘Upset’ was an understatement. “...I apologize. I got lost and my...temper got out of hand. I hate this place.” Mused the Beast, wrinkling his snout at the walls, the broken mirror, everything around them.

Then she was telling him to hold still, that it might sting a bit—and Robert was struck by the fire lit memory of beautiful, compassionate brown eyes under brows that clearly indicated sternness at the same time, a warm cloth under gentle, fearless fingers...

The Beast yanked his arm, nearly twice the width of the sheep herself, in toward himself. If she hung on, it would hurt, and he wouldn’t care about hoisting the mammal from her feet. He gritted his teeth and started to turn away. “No.” Rumbled the toothed monster in sudden change of tone again. He was a mess. And he didn’t like the idea of anyone but her fixing it, after all. “I don’t need your help!”

The Beast’s tightly scrunched eyes glowed green between his angry eyebrows and snarling cheeks. But they relaxed again, just slightly this time. This sheep was more full of surprises than Lumiere on Valentine’s Day. Definitely not like the easily startled animals on the hills of his kingdom, and certainly not as easily shaken off as Cogsworth. Actually, she was beginning to remind him more of a ruder, fluffier version of Mrs. Potts. Maybe it was the stern, organizational glare.

Well, he could glare too, and the newly resurfaced memory of Belle was making it easier to hang onto that temper. Not to mention the stinging glass. Robert leaned forward and down, most of his bulk snarling into Bellwhether’s personal space after she’d dropped away. He swung his arm even higher and further out of reach of her strange, human-like little hoof things.

The sickly colored ears swirled back under gnarled horns. Maleficent. It was odd, picturing her and feeling this confusing mix of apprehension and hope, fear and desperation. And it made him angrier.

“Maleficent!” Spat the thundering chimera. ”I’m not her warrior.” A brutish, toothy, sarcastic grin gleamed in the low lighting. “But I know what she could clean!”

He swept the uninjured foreleg out wide to indicate their surroundings without caring if he knocked into the lamb. “How about these walls so we could actually use the torchlight in here?!”

His maroon cloak whisked through the tinkling glass along with his ragged tail, and he turned to shout down the hallway. “Or this rubble, so her ‘warriors’ aren’t tripping off of cliffs before they’ve even reached the battlefields!”

The Beast swung around again, eyes shut, full-on bellowing. “Or she could GET ME OUT OF THIS BODY!” This last outburst ended in a roar that had the shards of broken mirror dancing against the ground, dust cascading from the run-down ceiling, every fang in the long maw visible.

And what was better for it?

Then the Beast shrunk in on himself, healthy arm looping over his snout to hide as much of the face as he could. She’d promised to help him, and here he was. He was her warrior, and no closer to seeing Belle. Was it hopeless? Again?

The throbbing in his injured arm seemed to pull the King’s mind from the dark hole it was wandering down. Was she still here? And...had she said bleeding out?

Well. He couldn’t leave Belle with only that last blasted letter to remember him by. Even if it did take a fussy sheep-gargoyle to get back.

With a barely-audible rumble, Robert barely, reluctantly, extended the glass-pincushion of his limb out to the spot Bellwhether had been standing in. He peeked one poisoned green eye through the crook of his massive elbow, deflated.

Plague

The only response to Bellwhether’s first question was a shake of the shaggy head. Robert wished he couldn’t feel the three extra layers of furry weight on each side of his face as he did so. His temper had been a candle absorbing the last of it’s wick in a fiery outburst. Now the King felt extinguished and dull.

A glimpse of hurt feelings or compassion from Bellwhether might have interested the Beast in her more fully. She didn’t look upset so much as irritated. Well. If she’d known who she was insulting, and what he could do, and what he had done...but she didn’t, and what did it matter, after all? The last time he’d had teeth and claws it had made him feel slightly better to knock and badger smaller servants around the castle. Now he didn’t even consider it. Only stared listlessly down at the shards his cloak was trailing through.

“Uh?” The former Prince blinked up, ears moving through fluff to catch the sheep’s second question. Angry with Maleficent? The pain of her hoof-things pulling at his injury jumbled the chimera’s thoughts. He gritted his teeth. “Yes. Ah—no.” Stumbled the more subdued voice.

How was he supposed to answer that? Obviously he wasn’t happy with the strange sorceress—what did she think that roar was for? Soft headed creature. But also...The Mistress of All Evil, and her other magical cohorts, were Beast’s only chance at no longer being a monster. The Enchantress had made it clear she wouldn’t be helping. And Maleficent may not be good...but if goodness meant allowing Belle and his friends to go to war, he wouldn’t be good. He couldn’t. So he couldn’t say anything that might keep the dark lady from disenchanting him as she’d promised.

Bellwhether seemed capable. She wasn’t afraid of him, against all odds, and she had some kind of authority, and she spoke about Maleficent sort of the way Lumiere referenced Cogsworth. Technically Lumiere worked under Cogsworth, but the waxy man always talked about his superior more like they were friends. Was anyone friends with anyone in this army? Could anyone be friends with Maleficent—even if it was a smartly dressed, two-legged lamb-thing?

What could he say around her?

Robert’s huge brows furrowed even deeper and a matching rumble echoed through the halls. It came partly from discomfort, and mostly from confusion. He hated sorting out nonsense like this. Another jolt of pain from the tugging at his injury shot up to a massive shoulder and the Master of Fort Chambrod decided right now he didn’t care.

”It’s—complicated!” Growled the Beast between clenched jaws. “And that HURTS.”

Robert’s temptation to lick his injury, now that it was free from glass, was only held off by keeping curious eyes on Bellwhether. Funny name. Not as funny as Smellwhether...but that was mean. Belle wouldn’t like it.

Beast tore himself from remembering how she’d scolded Lumiere for his last tease of Cogsworth by realizing his other arm was headed for the cuts absently. He blinked and rubbed a massive paw through the mane around his neck instead. “Hrmn...that’s...not very kind.”t”

He went to answer and found a melancholy mood swinging up. What could he say? Not his real name. He didn’t want anyone to know who he was under this monster. It was too embarrassing. A king who was humbled once, but it didn’t stick? A king hiding from his own Queen? A king self-exiled from his kingdom?”I’m...uh...the Beast. Th-that’s all.”

He tipped his bulky head, wincing as she began cleaning it. Not as gentle as the last person who had helped him. But...she was helping. Perhaps everyone here wasn’t a monster. She said she was doing this for Maleficent, but Maleficent had barely spoken to the Beast since he’d agreed to stay and serve her until she lifted the curse. If the Dark Fairy couldn’t be bothered to check in on her ‘warrior’ then why would a little lamb creature care? Was some of this out of...compassion?

Belle would know. She’d saw it in others when it didn’t want to be found.

Maybe he could be like her and coax it out in this one little animal. What did he have to lose by trying to find..someone who wasn’t repulsive in this army?

A small smile started to lift the heavy lips. ”So...” Rumbled the King. ”Is that why you’re here? Working for Maleficent? Because your old master didn’t like you?” He wished his rumbling bass didn’t sound so awkward. But casual conversation had never been his strong suit.

The befuddled chimera was only really understanding a handful of what Bellewhether was saying. He could blame some of that on the arm she was bandaging and it’s distracting throbbing. He blinked, trying to figure out for a moment what a ‘pred’ was.

Loud. Smelly. Sharp-toothed. He knew what those things were.

The Beast didn’t like much else that the sheep was saying. Underestimated and looked down upon...she thought she had the right to whine, when at least she got to have her own body? And why shouldn’t she be looked down upon? She was short. And wasn’t that how all non-royals started out? At the bottom, having to prove themselves? That was the impression he got from Cogsworth.

Robert snorted, then realized this was not the train of thought that Belle probably had when she tried to make friends. She would be...compassionate. She sympathized with Chip whenever he was upset. She treated his complaints like the worries of a child meant just as much to her as they did to the boy. He didn’t know about ruling the world, but he had learned plenty about how to appreciate others, even if they weren’t quite his social status.

Large buffaloesque head bent towards the sheep. Gentlemanly smile. That was the thing. “Well,” he answered, glancing to one side to collect his thoughts. “It’s a long story. I...uhh...needed help.” He turned over the arm between her hooves and regarded the massive paw, the claws he remembered and hated getting used to. Then the rough smile was back, ”And you’re the first here to actually...do anything. To help, that is.”

Awkward. Belle would do it better. But...this was a start. Maybe, whispered the dim flicker of hope inside of him, she’d be proud of him if she could see him now, horns and all.

He stood up, folded his bandaged arm in and swept the other out to draw his cloak in a bow. The Orince was unconscious of his tail adding a flourish to it. “Miss Bellewhether. You have my thanks.” He blinked up, lifting his head out of the bow in a moment of delighted inspiration. “And my appreciation!”

The chunky brows swooped up, trying for a grin that probably came out too sheepish and toothy. Would he be able to befriend someone he’d been roaring at a moment earlier? Maybe if he was at home in his own castle, with her help. Could it hurt to try?