Who: Ella and Daniel What: A narrative + transformation log Where: R1 When: Immediately after this, then at midnight. Warnings: None and kissing.
After the door closed behind the witch, Beauty moved toward it immediately, not giving the Beast a chance to stop her. She locked the door securely, and she rested her forehead against it for a second, then two, then three. She was letting her pulse slow down, hoping her heart would stop racing, trying not to give into the panic that she'd felt from the moment she'd opened her eyes and seen that shadowy figure where it shouldn't have been.
As she waited, the vines began climbing back into the corner, disappearing into nothing, and the scent of fear began to ebb away. They were inside, and it was safe here. She tried not to think about what the witch said, tried not to think about anything but the fact that the witch was gone, and they were both well.
She wondered when she started worrying about the creature in the room as much as she did about herself. With that thought, she turned and leaned back against the closed door and looked at him.
When she got up toward the door he had twitched upright, but done no more to impede her progress, only letting his head droop in despair when he had been absolutely certain she was going to go through the door and make good her escape from him. When she did not, he was surprised enough to watch her at the door, and then, bewildered, at the strange plants curling behind the carpet. It took him some time to convince himself that she wasn't planning on leaving at all, and once he did his mind was free to turn back to the catastrophic visit.
By the time she looked back at him, he had moved away, back toward the other end of the room where the glass revealed a brilliantly warm afternoon. The flowers, so bright, bobbed a little in the stirring air leaving the warmth of the city. His back was to her, the feline spine slightly curved as his front paws held him upright and his back ones sprawled behind. The eyes were faintly visible in the reflection, staring out into the garden beyond rather than at her or himself. He'd tucked his chin low while he brooded over this new development.
She watched him for a moment longer, then she quietly made her way to him. She was almost silent as she carefully navigated the books the witch had sent flying, but she was certain he could hear her still. She paused when one title caught her eye, and she picked the book up as she passed it. His copy of Persuasion felt strange in her hands, familiar somehow. One moment, then two, then she continued on, slowing a little as she neared him, coming to stop at his side.
She didn't say anything immediately, didn't want to interrupt the silence in the apartment. Instead, she raised a hand and lightly trailed her fingers through the fur at his back, fingertips moving against his spine. That he was deep in thought was obvious, and she was unsure whether she should interrupt him. The reflection of the blue eyes was intense, serious, and she could only imagine living in constant fear of the witch who had been inside previously.
When she finally spoke, the question was simple and direct. "How long?"
One ear twitched back as she came near, and the eyes re-focused in the reflection to verify it was indeed her, but he didn't say anything until she was very near, so near that he could see her silhouetted on the glass in front of him. "A long time. Time enough that... it is only time." He attempted to shrug, but it was only a wave of tension that moved down his spine under her fingers. He pressed closer to her as he had before, curving his body the other way to orient himself even nearer to where she touched him. The great shaggy head tipped sideways against her hip, as if it was too heavy for him to lift up on his own. "I was afraid she would be angry at you. I don't know why."
She thought about that a moment, raising her hand to pet the scruff of his neck, then higher until her fingers were rubbing between his ears. I'm fine, the touch said, reassured. "I know; it's why I kept silent," she admitted, because it was the truth. She had held her tongue for him, been careful with her words for the same reason. She had sensed his fear and had not wanted to exacerbate it. It was, in fact, the main reason she wasn't asking a thousand probing questions now. Later, she thought, later.
His warmth against her side was calming, and the vines behind them retracted completely, disappeared as if they had never been. The soft scent of roses filled the room again, and she ducked her head to rub her cheek against soft fur. He was taller than her, even like this, and her cheek was against his neck. The smell of musky fur was comforting, and she breathed it in before straightening. "Thank you for protecting me," she said softly.
He indulged himself with a deep breath of roses and a sweet feminine smell that was surely unique to her alone. Leaning down, he tapped his forehead to hers then pressed a soft muzzle and very cold nose to the curve of her neck. "You are welcome, my beauty," he said, with the barest hint of a smile in his deep voice. "Though I do not think I would be as good as your garden against such as Her." The capital was clearly audible, but he seemed less nervous that he had been previously, pleased that she was not disappointed in him or his behavior. "Where did you learn magic?"
"I don't know magic," she said, not hiding the warm laugh that bubbled forth at the cold feel of his nose against the curve of her neck. She looked back at where the vines had been, and then she looked back at him. "I don't know how that happened. I just know how to grow things," she said, because before this day, with all its strange occurrences, she had never done anything like that before. "I've never brought down briars, fixed balconies or grown vines," she admitted, without shame.
She had, up until this moment, lived a very ordinary life.
"Do you- do you feel as if we've met before today?" she asked him, because the question had been playing at the edges of her mind since the vampire attack. It was odd, yes, but no odder than being here with him, no odder than almost recognizing the book in her hand, no odder than witches and vampires.
He looked at her with something like doubt in his eyes, as if he did not trust that she was telling him the truth. It was incredible to him that she did not know magic, since he found her to be inherently magical even before she appeared in an explosion of rose petals and chaos. He didn't hold that against her, and indeed, found it impossible to hold her by any standard at all. She was his Beauty, perfect in every way. "You are familiar," he agreed, though not as if it disturbed him. It was true and many things were true that he did not understand.
She nodded, and she went quiet a moment, rubbing her cheek against his fur again. The flowers outside swayed in a soft breeze, and the sun was high in the midday sky. When she moved back from him, she did not speak. Instead, she stepped forward and opened the door to the balcony slowly, not wanting to startle him with the move. She had to nudge him to get to the door's latch, and he felt warm and safe against her side as she tugged the door open.
It was cool outside, but not overly so, and she took a careful step out onto the balcony, book still in her hand, mindful not to step on anything sharp with her bare feet. She looked at him over her shoulder, the glance clearly beckoning him out into the sun and the warmth. Come with me, the look said, and she walked toward the spot where he had been sunning himself just a few hours earlier.
He had never spent very much time outside, having no great desire to expose himself to the elements any more than chance passersby, but he followed her without hesitation. There was some maneuvering to get through the door, but once he was outside he gave himself a dog-like shake that sent dust motes sailing through the shafts of sunlight. Afterward he padded over to the warm spot on the cement and sprawled out, hindquarters first then dropping sideways with a sigh.
She waited until he had settled, and then she sat beside him. His side, she found, made a wonderful backrest, and she leaned against the warm fur and opened the book she'd been carrying in her hand. She yawned quietly, as she flipped through the pages. After all, they'd only slept a few hours before the witch had woken them. But the day was lovely, and she looked over at him as she ran her hand along the side of his neck, a flat-palmed touch, fingers sliding into fur.
She flipped to the chapter to where Captain Wentworth returned, but instead of reading silently to herself, she read it aloud. Her voice was soft, quiet, more of a lulling thing than something demanding attention. She figured he didn't get to hear many voices, and she wanted to change that, even if she didn't think he'd listen to the story itself. As she read, she paused to yawn sleepily and to rub his fur softly, the ring on her finger glinting in the sunlight with the movement. It was, she thought, a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.
As the sun set and the air cooled, the book slipped from her fingers and sleep overtook them both.