divinetree | "Crazy" Beauty and the "Hunter" Beast

"Crazy" Beauty and the "Hunter" Beast

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a cruel Prince lived in a shining castle surrounded by rich hunting lands.
Although he had everything his heart desired, the Prince was paranoid, selfish, and cruel.

But then, one winter's night, an old beggar-woman came to the castle, and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold.

None know for sure what happened that night. Some say the Prince turned her away for her appearance, and others claim he attempted to harm her... the beggar-woman melted away her disguise to reveal a beautiful Enchantress.

As punishment for his loveless heart and vicious cruelty, the Enchantress transformed him into a hideous Beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 30th year. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return, by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a Beast?

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Dinner was served, the furniture was scurrying about and making things more presentable for their guest, and most important of all - a warning was given.

Do not go to the west wing of the castle. "You don't need a reason. Just obey."

That wing didn't appear on its surface to be particularly special - portraits lined on the walls, armor and hunting trophies, antler chandeliers all the same leading into the east wing. The feather-duster from earlier zipped from fluttering ahead down the east wing to clinging onto their esteemed guest - at least until he was finally set up in a private room, which had a large bed with fresh blankets and a crackling fire going to make sure the room didn't get too chilled in the night.

Come morning, the castle's gloomy darkness is at least alleviated by the sun coming through the windows - save for the west wing, again, where the curtains were left not drawn. No one should be down there, after all.

The rest of the castle was thankfully tidied up, presentable, and breakfast offered - Alastor didn't join for breakfast, but that's quite alright. He's enjoying tea outside, his massive cervine beastly form somehow relaxed and reclined in a chair far too small with one leg crossed over the other as he sipped and read from a book. The grounds in the back of the castle where he was relaxing were sprawling, a large meadow-like field filled with wildflowers and plants with overgrown hedges staving off the forest proper, even if only by a hair at this point.

The warning was spoken in such a way, with no room for discussion, that Lucifer had to quirk a brow. But he nodded, and kept that in mind. He was just a guest, after all.

So after an unusually restful sleep, despite being somewhere so unfamiliar, the inventor was set to begin his first tests come the morning. He enjoyed breakfast, even if it was alone, but was relieved when it turned out the big guy was just enjoying himself outside.

He couldn't blame the guy. If he had a place like this, he'd be out in his gardens all the time. The castle still had a way of feeling... lonely.

He brought out what he'd worked on so far, taken apart for easy transport, but now he had to clasp and cinch things together, hammer and bolt. He never liked using parts made of metal here and there as it would just add weight, and every ounce, he felt, counted. At least now, anyway.

But with a sigh, he noticed something was missing. With a click of his tongue, he made his first steps to walk around the castle grounds and ask the Prince, but... maybe the guy preferred his solitude.

That's fine. He'll just look for what he needed himself!

Lucifer moved at a clip once he stepped back into the castle proper. He checked the kitchens, the parlors, any drawer he could open for something he could use as a substitute, but... nothing. Damn it.

It was in his absent-mindedness that he'd stepped out of the well-lit parts of the castle and into those all but drowning in shadow. He'll just be quick, and then get on to maybe working without what he'd needed. But surely there was something he could use just to tie this part and that part together, remain strong for at least one test before he saw to seriously fixing it.

A chill ran up his back. Just for a second. I'll be fast. I'll be brief. He moved at a jog, pushing down the nerves.

Since he'd been looking around, the more sapient staff had volunteered to check deeper in the castle cellars and the locked away places for what Lucifer needed, though there already seemed to be some uncertainty that they'd find what he needed. Or really, much understanding of what he was describing in the first place.

That's how, naturally, Lucifer found himself unattended in the West wing. The further down the halls one went, the more damage was visible: scratch marks raked deep into the stone, curtains with gashes and cuts from clawed hands yanking too hard, armor that was placed back up showing clear dents and deep holes gouged with wicked claws. Each and every portrait on the wall had faces all torn out, especially those of a young prince - all of the faces save for one of the queens, the one holding her little one on her knee, eyes tired but visibly full of sharp wit.

Rooms in this wing were sparse - a bathing room with a tub clogged with coarse fur, a room empty of everything but a piano, and so on, all of which lacked what Lucifer was looking for.

The final room to enter was guarded only by a door that barely stood on its hinges, and while it had been locked, the damage to the frame let the door swing open anyway. Inside was what must have been the Prince's room, hosting a massive bed, rungs of clothes, and... a single rose, glowing and suspended midair, protected only by a glass case.

Never had he been able to work with others in his passion, so shouting jargon at them for what he needed was definitely not a great help. But they seemed to understand what he wanted, he thought, as they set off to go look.

The destruction caught his eye. The sheer size of the claw marks, the intensity of the dents had him wondering just what happened on the days they were made. It was clear who'd made them, but... what would make him so angry?

But the portraits, all torn, faceless save for one had him clutching both hands close to his chest, shoulders hunched. No, not anger... something else entirely.

It's fine. He'll just forget everything he saw, find what he needed and go. Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

He reached the final room, the last place he hadn't checked. After so many empty drawers and nothing but dust and shed hair, he stepped inside and felt his heart leap into his throat.

The Prince's room. It had to be. Alright, buddy... you HAVE to have what I'm looking for.

He cast a brief look over his shoulder before he made a brief sweep through, careful not to move anything out of place. But, damn it, why didn't he just DOUBLE CHECK everything before he left? He knew precisely where his own personal stock was in his workshop back home, but so many miles away, there was little use longing for it...

...?

A flower. A rose. What was this doing here? Among all the mess, this general area was... untouched. Pristine. But how was it doing that? What made it glow, made it... float?

Before he could think more on where he was, the inventor's curiosity was getting the better of him. He lifted the glass case, delicate in setting it aside. He swept a hand beneath it, hoping to brush against some sort of fine stand it perhaps sat in, but it moved through air. Hands propped on the table, he leaned to look it over. It was protected by the glass, so it had some sort of importance, some sort of value. Was this something Alastor made...?

The rose remained still, petals only slightly fluttering in the faint breeze of Lucifer's movements. There was a dusty writing underneath, half faded, even after being under the protection of the glass. But before the paper could be taken and unfolded, a massive clawed hand reached around Lucifer and quickly - but extremely carefully - plucked the glass case from where Lucifer had placed it and returned it over the rose.

The Beast himself started growling, towering over Lucifer and drowning him in shadow. Those eyes... they were darker, but somehow glowed fiercer, those teeth were sharper, and blood from an angrily bitten lip was dripping freely from Alastor's maw, making him look absolutely animalistic.

"Lucifer."

Alastor's voice was growling with venom, with rage, and every part of his already distorted body looked even longer, sharper, broader--

He needed to give the prince props, then! But what was the purpose of this crea-

The hairs rose on the back of his neck. His chest swiftly tightened. A hand reached into his peripheral and covered the precious bloom. He felt his breath snatched from him, battling in his throat for supremacy over a pounding heart that threatened to lodge there.

The shadow devoured any light that flowed in from the doorway out to the balcony. This creature seemed to grow, and the smaller man drew back, understanding completely how every rabbit must have felt when facing death itself.

"...I'm sorry." His voice sounded hollow in his ears, distant. Every nerve in him screamed to flee.

"I'm so sorry. I... I-I was... I was looking for- for something, and I couldn't find it anywhere, and this place is so big that I got- got lost, and..."

Shut up. He needed to learn to shut up.

He was going to die today. Wasn't he?

"GOT LOST? YOU LITTLE WRETCH."

With a single stomp, Alastor had managed to slide between the rose and Lucifer, otherwise looming threateningly over the cowering man and inching those razor-sharp teeth closer with every furious, spat word.

"YOU THINK I'M A FOOL? DO YOU THINK I AM SOMEONE YOU CAN JUST DISRESPECT? GET OUT."

Okay. Okay, he didn't get lost. He didn't intend any harm and didn't want to bother the prince for something so... so small and stupid.

Damn it all. Curse him. Why was he such a fool?

"I'm sorry! I'm- I didn't mean any harm...!"

He inched closer and Lucifer shrank back, even smaller than he could possibly be. But he couldn't deny that this was disrespectful. He had one rule, and he'd broken it. If the prince could just calm down, stop being so fucking terrifying he could explain himself without sounding like a gibbering idiot.

But two words- Get out- were all his nerves needed before he turned and moved as fast as his legs could carry him.

No more. He couldn't be here anymore! He needed to get home, call the whole thing a wash, never speak of any of this again. Charlie didn't have anyone else...!

It was in a blind panic that he grabbed his coat and hat. It was in a blind panic that he all but stumbled out the doors, down the steps, raced to find Gershwin. Who knew how close behind the furious prince would be at his heels if he slowed down or felt foolish enough and dared to look back?

The instinct to flee was perfectly rational - there were massive sounds of crashing and shattering wooden furniture, a hefty chest thrown at the wall after Lucifer was out of the room, a cacophony of elk bugling and SCREAMING rage.

But Lucifer does get out. He does get to his horse, and out into the woods. And almost as if the land itself burned with its master's rage, thick, dark clouds roiled overhead and started to rumble, threatening a thunderstorm and darkening the trees and the paths within...

The crashing, the animal sounds, the heavy WHUMP of something that very likely could have killed him was more than enough incentive to be as far away from this awful place as possible.

He mounted Gershwin and urged him to the gates, leaving his project behind. He could always make another one, but there would never be another Gershwin, and there couldn't just be another Lucifer.

The way the heavens above seemed to growl, turn to something like filthy mist, scent the air with unspent energy told him that he'd chosen the best time to flee. Hopefully, under the cover of the trees, he didn't have to risk any harm from some unfortunate luck involving any lightning.

But something was very wrong, very quickly: The paths, they... wait, they were being strange again. He knew there was something funny about this place, but he wondered if this was perhaps the prince beginning a hunt. But rather than sporting prey for sustenance, he'd decided he would rescind his 'Get out' and would make a game out of catching and killing him.

His heart was in his throat again. "Gershwin, buddy, this is a matter of life and death. I'll give you anything you want if we get out of here in anything close to one piece...!"

Because the alternative was to become food. But the trees almost seemed to shift before their eyes. His horse shrieked in surprise and needed to skid to a stop and change course, just as confused as his rider.

With the air was ominous as it was, there was no way of working out where north, south, east nor west was. What if he was running in circles? Lucifer desperately listened between Gershwin's panting breaths and thundering hoofbeats for anything that would alert him to the furious prince.

He wasn't entirely off-base, however: His alternative was to become food... just not by the prince.

For many paws were soon on the move, beginning something of a pincer formation that led to so many successful hunts of countless prey.

The wolves know the twisting trees, the way the land shifts with its master's mood - they have also known for years how to hunt only when that Beast doesn't hunt, and right now? He's nowhere to be seen or smelled, left behind in the castle still fuming and tearing apart the lifeless stone and wood. Instead before them is a magnificent feast, a mighty horse and its panicked rider.

They just have to pull off the hunt.

The wolves make their move, surrounding the horse and rider quickly, circling in tight and making a show of a threat. The skies crashing loudly with lightning and thunder only heighten the stakes.

He saw the flash of movement and took the reins, the panic rolling off of his horse. He'd never dealt with such creatures before- every road he'd ever taken was pretty smooth save for the occasional fox or a coyote he had to shoo away- but never animals that knew these cursed woods.

Gershwin stopped sharply, churning up soil and muck. They tried turning left, but there were more eyes. Right, more eyes. Any direction Lucifer looked seemed to have a wolf just yards away.

"You're bigger and stronger, buddy... we can run 'em down!" That's all it'd take. If he could just get him to run, those hooves can handle whoever was in the way. But this poor horse, scared out of his wits, could only turn in place, blowing and snorting.

"Gersh...? Gersh, I'm right here. I'm right here. Easy, buddy- they're just... just really big dog-!" But the horse reared, overcome, and Lucifer flew off into a heap. With a cough and a gasp, the air was snatched from his lungs, and at first he writhed on the ground. He pawed around him before he rolled on to his stomach, shook his head, and reached for a fallen tree branch.

Fine... fine, he can just shoo these jerks away!

Gershwin's size was a threat - a wolf even took a fierce kick from the draft horse, yowling even as its packmates snapped at the horse's foreleg and drew blood before leaping away to avoid getting stomped. Several wolves seized the opportunity to pounce on the fallen rider, snarling as their jaws found a mouthful of coat instead of a limb but pulling fiercely anyway.

It's mere moments after the first attempt at a bite, teeth only not puncturing a leg thanks to the leather of his boot, that frightening red claws seemed to lunge from behind. The wolf was grabbed by The Beast, Alastor's talons sunk deep into the animal before he threw the damn thing like it was a pup at most.

The Prince didn't speak, merely stomping over Lucifer and raking his claws as the wolves lunged, protecting the man from harm even if the equally crazed animals were biting and tearing at him in turn.

"Get the fuck OFF-" He swung the branch at a wolf, striking true but it was a freaking tree branch and who cared? Gershwin was doing his best, and Lucifer could try and do his, too. But he wasn't trained in any weapon, and he was just a poor man who made machines- there was no drop of self-defense knowledge in his other than kicking, throwing poorly-formed fists or biting if the going got tough.

But it was him versus so many creatures that took down prey many times their size with efficiency, and so much practice. He was down again and teeth tore at his coat. He swung an arm, threw a leg, the adrenaline pumping through him. One wolf had his leg, and the other took an arm.

Maybe it'd not hurt as much if he didn't struggle. Maybe they'll just take a leg and/or an arm and he could get away, but... would it be worth it? Wouldn't he just bleed out?

So here, then. He would die here instead. He had no choice in the matter, and Charlie would truly be alone. God, he was so sorry, kiddo... he's foolish, he's stupid. Maybe it would have been better if he'd died from that terrible illness. At least Lilith wouldn't have gotten stuck in a magic castle with a deer monster, or tried to go to some stupid fair. She was great with instruments, could have made so much money playing and singing for rich nobles, maybe even--

He froze. A familiar red form loomed and stepped over him, knocking away shrieking wolves while others barked and snarled, leaping at this being who saw fit to disturb their dinner.

Perhaps it was hunger. Perhaps it was intrusion upon their hunting grounds. Or, maybe it was a strangely keen grudge, having seen the prince before again and again, edging them out and that was a challenge that demanded to be answered...

There was competition for the deer in the forest, after all. And though the Beast was large, he was only one, and they were many.

But Alastor sneered darkly at them, flexing claws and posturing - and once the pack pounced, biting and grabbing and pulling at monstrous limbs normally tidied up in some semblance of civility, Alastor fought back viciously with claws, fangs, and snarling just as loud or even louder than the wolves themselves. As they piled on, the Beast stepped away from Lucifer, away from Gershwin - the pack's attention was on him for what felt like ages but realistically was likely only a few agonizing minutes. Once Alastor managed to split the skull of a wolf by dashing it on a rock, the pack finally cut their losses, fleeing as Alastor made a charge at them.

It at least made the coast clear - there were no more wolves, and the Beast stood stock still under the rain, body and suit torn to shreds.

Alastor withheld comment - if he spoke, it'd betray how pained he was. What was he doing? Rescuing some little man that had snuck in - some little man he hardly knew! The prince attempted to limp away, but a single step brought him to his knees, and he cursed. No, no, he refuses to die like this, protecting some little ignorant nobody he thought was FUNNY.

He wanted to help. But how the hell could he? The world around them saw how he could (not) handle forest hunters, and all he could do was watch in mingled fear and awe.

His cursed body moved like a natural, but weird at the same time, long and curved and wicked and bending in ways that shouldn't make sense. But once the blood on the wolves was significantly drawn, their own survival instinct kicked in. If they continued to fight for this one honestly small, pointless meal (the horse would kick and fight them, be a bigger pain than any rabbit or deer), the big one would simply destroy them. Nothing was worth it.

They took off, and nothing but the pounding storm remained. Slowly, Lucifer eased himself to his feet. He was sore, he'd be really bruised up later, but he had all of his limbs and a vast majority of his blood in his body.

He couldn't say the same for the prince. The prince... saved him.

"...Your Hi-" He bit it back. He turned and placed a hand on his horse, who seemed just as perplexed as he.

He seized the reins and moved closer.

"Hey..." As scary as the Beast was, Gershwin knew him, had seen him so often. The snorting and soft vocalizations were ones of concern.

"...Let's get you on, get you home." Even banged up, and now soaked to the bone from the rain, he still hunkered down and reached to offer assistance, get the prince on the draft horse's back.

Alastor turned his head away from Lucifer, sneering and growling as he clutched his quickly bleeding wounds. DYING for-- for this fool, for this simpleton, for some amusement or a friend! He's not some ALTRUIST. This isn't how he is going to die!

The Beast made one more attempt to stand on his own, but couldn't even get a foot under himself. He collapsed into the mud, and fell unconscious.

He drew back with the snarl, a reflex. But despite all of that, he'd stopped running.

For as harsh as the prince had been involving entering that wing, he didn't deserve to suffer, or die out in these woods. Lucifer had that annoying thing called a conscience, and despite his own animal brain screaming at him and demanding what he was DOING trying to get this VERY LARGE AND SCARY MONSTER MAN up onto his horse after EVERYTHING HE SAID AND DID, he was trying his best to lift him and get him home.

Gershwin, to his credit, hunkered down to help. Lucifer could only be relieved that the prince was unconscious, because he wasn't given the most dignified ride on the back of the big guy, draped over like he was. But it would get him up and moving, carried by the draft horse back to the castle grounds, Lucifer leading the way on foot.

Alastor remained unconscious for the ride back... with the master unconscious, the storm subsided into a drizzle, and the path to the castle was perfectly clear. The 'staff' usher them both back in, carrying the master inside and more importantly, a chair even walking out for Lucifer to sit in - he'd gotten attacked too, after all.

"Gosh!! I sew clothes but I can sew up your skin too," Niffty oh-so-helpfully offered, fluttering around the two of them and already anticipating doing that for Alastor.

God, he desperately wanted to sit. No, he wanted to lie down and not move for a while, the adrenaline leaving his body making him a shaking, nervous wreck. But he had things he needed to do. He gave the chair a 'thank you' pat.

Niffty was given a slightly weirded-out, but grateful smile. "Uh, thank- thank you...? But that won't be necessary. For me, anyway. Do we have medicine in the castle? Or at least some hot water? Fella's covered in mud and that's not great for his wounds..."

With a flurry of activity, Alastor was dragged to the parlor and rested in his large chair. Niffty set to stitching him up, cutting away his suit and taking it away, leaving the prince in only his torn pants. He was covered with dense fur, streaks of cream interrupting an otherwise deep and dark red-and-black coat that almost hid his wounds, were they not still seeping blood. The staff also hastily tended to Lucifer, or tried to, offering warm rags on his bites.

Alastor's lip curled as he slowly woke up, curling over and hunching in on himself to start lapping at his own bloody, muddy wounds.

He voiced his appreciation and went to clean off his bites while the prince was taken out of his clothes. The wounds were far more extensive than he thought, hidden thanks to the cloth as well as the mud.

Any thought of what he would have looked like once the wolves got started with him was gone with a shudder.

But Alastor was eventually awake. Lucifer awkwardly looked away briefly, wondering what to do. He couldn't be here- the prince had told him to leave- but the woods were more dangerous than he thought. Then there was his own fear. Where could he even go anymore...?

"Ah-!" He stood, approached.

"Hey! Those are dirty! Leave 'em alone, they need to be cleaned-"

The little man approaching made Alastor's fur stand on end, his hackles raised, and he growled as he shirked back.

"These wouldn't have happened if you'd hadn't fled into the forest!" he sneered.

A flicker of apprehension flashed across his face. It froze, then turned indignant.

"I wouldn't have fled if you didn't scare the crap out of me!"

"Scared you? HAH! You would never have been scared if you hadn't gone where you were explicitly forbidden!"

Setting the Stage

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