Who: Daniel & the Beast What: Reveals! When: Backdated to the morning of the plot. Warnings: None.
For Daniel, coming back to life was no more pleasant than dying. It was less painful, but far more disappointing. He was still in the hotel, but hidden in a small bend of one wall, near his door but removed from view for anyone coming down the hall. Daniel had never caught anyone else in the hallway before, most likely because he was never there except between 2 and 5 in the morning, generally when then drink started having consequences. Whatever the monster's metabolism was, it dealt with the poisoning more efficiently than Daniel's did, and in this way Daniel could be a drunk without dealing with the long-term physical consequences. It had worked so far, and Daniel would have congratulated himself on his cleverness if he gave a damn about his own welfare.
He sat up against the wall and rubbed at his chest. Getting stabbed had been unbelievably painful, but he thought he'd probably gotten out of it before the little doll managed to geld him with her little letter opener. Daniel shuddered at the thought and pressed his knees together. Women could be twisted.
Taking up his usual role of peanut gallery, he dug his journal out and flipped the pages open, his bare heels propped solidly against the carpet. He found the little doll's lack of excuses interesting, and he sat there scribbling for a while longer before he leaned back and scratched his scalp with the end of his pen.
After about a minute of thought, Daniel looked down into his journal and wrote something locked to the Beast on the other side of the door. "I died. Did you?"
Then he picked up his pen and walked through the door, into the room beyond, sodden with dust and quietly shadowed in the vague outlines of a filthy fantasy castle.
In what felt like a second later, he was back in the hallway again, journal in hand. Daniel glanced to his right, out the window; the sun hadn't moved, or it had been a full twenty-four. He didn't wear a watch, and dismissed the question of time as irrelevant.
He cracked open the journal and flipped open to the locked entry. Daniel noticed that the Beast didn't write at all, or if he did, he had an excellent secretary or a printing press that had yet to be invented. It was perfect Gothic Copperplate lettering, and Daniel suspected something fishy, like magic, made it possible for the Beast to communicate through the journals. He had said, "Yes. I was temporarily human at the time, in a way, and I believe someone died with me, or just before. A boy, no one of my acquaintance. I plan to find out if this dominion over serpents was only temporary as soon as I find one living in the forest. I see from the journals this did not happen to everyone, this dying and living. I bear no injuries from you, and I also see you have not yet drowned yourself in drink this time through the door. May I suggest you stay sober long enough to prevent this… transformation from happening again?"
Daniel clicked his pen furiously into action and wrote, "I'd like to know what you think I could do about it. At least I didn't murder anybody. It doesn't hurt you to sober me up." And Daniel paused as he eyed the last sentence. It was the first time he'd had a trace of worry about such a thing. He resolved that the Beast would correct him if it weren't true, and went on, "There aren't any injuries, either. Just stay in there, for a while. I need a break." He clicked his pen silent and strode through the door again.
Daniel blinked again in the hallway. Again he didn't know if it was a full day or only seconds later. In the journal, the Beast had replied, "No, your drink barely gives me pause for a moment. If you wish to stay useless in general, suit yourself. I have tended to my own affairs in the last day. Tend to yours."
Daniel sighed, resigned. It was the first time the Beast had obliquely referred to forcing him back at the door again if he tried going through. Daniel was relieved, somewhat, that their physical connection wasn't doing anybody any damage, even a monster.
He shut the journal again and went down to call a cab.