The Beast (Logan)
Finally, Beauty gave up the library for the night and headed to her bedroom. There was an outfit waiting at the foot of her bed, and the cottage whispers urged her gently into the task of changing. The clothing and the jewelry veritably flew onto her, with hardly any effort on her part. It was often that unseen helpers dressed her in her cottage, as if the cottage itself remembered the young lady from Paris with her attendants.
The shoes weren't to her liking, but they still settled on her feet. She'd learned long ago that fighting only resulted in delaying the inevitable. Once she was dressed, the next step seemed to be leaving -- but she had no idea where she was to go. It was late, far later than she usually would venture out, but there she was, walking carefully down the path leading from her cottage in the park to the City streets themselves.
A winding walk didn't ease the restlessness -- nothing seemed to. She was frustrated and baffled and ready to walk back home again, when the light of a corner tavern caught her eye. It drew her close, and before she knew it, her hand was on the door. She never frequented places such as this, but yet she found herself pressing into the dim light of the establishment.
The hum of the tavern quieted when she walked in, and she felt the heaviness of eyes on her. With a lift of her chin, she tried very hard to look unfazed, then found a seat as quickly as she could. No place seemed open, except for a stool at the far end of the bar. She took it, then, and smiled at the man who came up to ask her what she wanted.
She really didn't know.