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My Beautiful Beast	By : praiseofblood Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Fables Views: 8216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, any resemblances to anyone is coincidental. This story is copywritten by praiseofblood. Do not copy

Chapter List
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Chapter 7: Little Brothers are Little Shits or Goddammit Jeffrey!
Jeffrey grunted as he emerged from the thick woods surrounding their little mountain village. He’d finally made it home. It was pitch black, with only the fire light from the huts illuminating the blackness. The fall night had grown a bit chilly, and Jeff couldn’t wait to get to the fire to warm himself up.
But poor Adrian. There was no telling how cold or hungry he was in that awful beast’s dungeon. That is assuming it didn’t already eat his poor older brother.
Some man Jeffrey had turned out to be. He was a coward. He couldn’t even stand up to that stupid castle monster to save his brother—who risked his neck for him. Jeff, glum and angry at himself, kicked the dirt.
Sure, Adrian was a perfect, strapping, annoying big-assed know-it-all who flaunted his stupid perfect all over Jeff’s life, but—he was still his brother. And Jeff had not idea what to do to get him back, even though some evil little part of him didn’t want to get Adrian back. But a larger part of him wanted to do what was right, and what would mama think—Mama.
Oh shit.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Back at the village, Jeffrey and Adrian’s mother had worked herself up into a right tizzy. Both of her sons were late for dinner, and that was too unusual to be ignored. Even as babies, their stomachs were like clockwork.
Vanna poked her head out of her sturdy, if shoddy, wooden door for the third time in ten minutes. Where were they? She hoped to the gods they hadn’t done something stupid. But, knowing Jeffrey, he most likely had.
“Mama!” came a reedy call from afar, down the main path of the village.
“Jeffrey?” Vanna called, stepping fully out of their hut. “Jeffrey?” she called again.
“Mama!” came her son’s call yet again. He was visible now—dirt streaked and scratched and…was he covered in urine? Vanna turned her nose down and brushed off her disgust to welcome her son back home.
When Jeffrey was in reach, she held out her arms wide…and cuffed him solid on the back of the head. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Ow!” Jeff groaned, rubbing the back of his head.
“And why does it look like you’ve been wrestling in a pig pen? You’re filthier than usual,” Vanna tsked disapprovingly.
“Mama! Please!” Jeff groaned. At his mother’s reproving stare, Jeff bit his lip. He knew his mother would tan his hide for this but… he had to tell her right? Adrian was her favorite and everyone would miss him if he didn’t explain that the Beast had him, right?
But what if he didn’t? What if he didn’t say anything, at least for a little while longer? It could give him time to come up with a good story. He’d already lost the house’s pickaxe when he’d freaked and thrown it at a deer padding through the underbrush (shut up, it was dark), and Adrian could have been taken off to one of the Lords’ wars if he was walking about too far from their remote village.
Not that he’d want something like that for his brother, mind you. He loved Adrian, he just…didn’t want to die for letting him take his place at the beasts’ castle. His mother would no doubt beat him to death. With a stick. A heavy stick.
“Boy, I’ll cuff you one again if you don’t tell me where you’ve been in the next minute.” Vanna meant it too. She knew her son and she knew that he was completely irresponsible and had most likely done something completely idiotic. She only hoped he hadn’t killed anyone’s goat again or something.
“I…accidentally…” Jeff began, flushing. “Um…” Shit. Think quick Jeff. It’s either a cuffing or death. Mama would kill him when she found out what had happened to Adrian.
“What?” Vanna frowned, placing her hands on her wide hips.
“Um…I um, I got in a fight with Sven. And uh, we were fighting and uh…I threw a rock at him and uh…hit Pierre’s goat. I don’t think I killed it…but it fell over. And Emilie came out to see what’d happened. We hid behind the pigs until she left but I think she saw us…” he stuttered out. It helped that he’d fallen in Old Man Pierre’s pig pen on the stumble home to make his story more believable.
“Goddammit Jeffrey!” Vanna groaned. “You killed another goat?!” She smacked him thrice more and pushed him towards the hut. “Get your ass inside and get the bucket! Bathe and go to old Pierre’s and apologize for killing his goat! Now!”
~*~*~*~*~
Adrian stared at himself in the mirror. This room had a lot of mirrors. This particular mirror, though, was gilded and ran from about a yard above his head to the ground.
The…very sexual wardrobe had asked him to “come inside” and “pick his pleasure.” After staring at the thing for a time, and kicking when it moaned as he moved clothing around on the racks, Adrian had finally found a pair of breeches and a plain cotton shirt.
He sighed in pleasure as the smooth cloth fell over his shoulders. It was much more comfortable than the heavy fleece and wool he wore. Sometimes the women could spin the string thinner, but then his shirts didn’t last very long.
Adrian sighed and ran a hand through his hair as his stomach growled. His mother would most likely have a nice, mutton stew on the table, with a bit of bread and maybe even some of the sweet wine her admirer, Gaston, had gifted her. She didn’t much care for him, but he gave pretty good presents—the last had been a nice cut of beef.
Adrian’s stomach growled again and he sighed. He wanted to be ornery and deny the Beast’s invitation to dinner, but Adrian was a big man—and was quite used to eating regularly. He padded over to the door with only a moment’s hesitation when he heard a pompous “Peasant, the Master requests your presence at dinner.”
“Oh, hello there kerchief,” Adrian greeted the napkin.
“My name, is Bouceaux. Bou. Ceaux. It is not that hard a name to pronounce,” the napkin sniffed.
Adrian withheld a chuckle again. “Sure thing, tablecloth, lead the way.”
The napkin gave a undignified snort and made to flutter down the hallway, Adrian keeping pace. They arrived in the main hall, where the grand doors of the castle stood steadfastly secure, and the little napkin turned towards a room that had a warm fire glow.
Adrian followed the little napkin into a large study where a table had been set, complete with covered dishes and a large wine decanter center table. The beast sat in front of the fire in a large chair, a leather bound book in his paws and a pair of spectacles much too small for his face perched on his snout.
He looked up at the sound of Adrian’s footsteps and he carefully closed the book and stood heading to the table. “I do hope you like roasted beef?”
Dominic was the embodiment of suave perfection, a perfect gentleman…a prince even! Nevermind the fact that under all that fur, moments before, he’d been sweating like a whore in confession. He’d paced the floor, talked the entire conversation over—twice—practiced his non-I’m-going-to-eat-you smile and even had time to preen a bit before hurriedly seating himself and pretending to read. Cool. Calm. Suave. Debonair….if a bit tart from the sweat.
“Do you smell wet dog?” Adrian quipped, scenting the air a bit and wrinkling his nose.
Damn it, Dominic frowned. He hated that he sweat when he was nervous. “No,” Dominic said, a hair too quickly. “Just sit Peasant. You are the first company that I have had in a very long time. You can tell me what goes on in the outside world.”
“Did you bathe recently?” Adrian asked, ignoring the beast altogether.
“God damn you,” Dominic frowned, shaking himself just to irritate the bastard and seating himself in his chair. This was going to be a long evening.
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My Beautiful Beast