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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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!"

"I wouldn't have been scared if you put a lid on that temper!" Calling him a wretch and getting huge and antlery.

"Now stop licking the wounds, you grouchy weirdo. That's nasty. You shouldn't knock the stuffing out of all those wolves only to wind up knocked flat from an infection." He grabbed a rag, wrung it out.

"...So hold still so I can help."

"You invade my bedroom and expect me to be calm?" Alastor hissed. For a moment, it seemed as though the Beast would refuse to give any quarter - but after a beat, he surrendered an arm for Lucifer to wipe at.

Lucifer snorted dismissively, and took the surrendered arm. "Was it? It's no wonder- it was a mess. And whatever 'secret stash' you have, I didn't find. Your secret's safe."

He raised the rag a little, a visual warning and a pause, before he started wiping off the mud and grime.

Alastor's lip curled, and there was a slight hiss of an intake of breath - but he held back any further sounds of discomfort in favor of sneering at the man currently carefully blotting mud out of his bite wounds.

"You don't even realize the damage you could have done. Be grateful I am so magnanimous to have only roared at you. I could have easily broken you even more easily than I had the dresser I'd thrown instead."

Whoogh... wolf claws and mouths were pretty dirty, no doubt. He would continue to dip the rag into the basin, wring it out and press on.

But he frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I'd be- I'd be pretty dead if you didn't show up, and I'm grateful. Thank you. But, why did you save me?"

"Why else? You're mine," Alastor answered flatly.

His gaze scattered. Despite everything that had been happening, his stupid body betrayed him by warming the color in his face.

"Whuh-why'd- sheesh, don't say stuff like that..."

Oh, that's an interesting reaction. He'd expected anger, frustration, 'you don't own me!', something like that.

But flustered, embarrassed? Did this little man agree?

What a strange little creature. Alastor just chuckled - the wounds were egregious, but worth it in the end. It would've been a shame to lose such a baffling little man.

He's so WEIRD, why is he weird!? Like it wasn't even the 'cursed monster' thing... really, he was pretty used to the cursed monster thing.

But he didn't need to be so angry. Yeah, he went where he wasn't supposed to, but what did he mean by 'damage caused'? Everything in that room was busted to hell and back.

...

But what was that flower...?

He tightened his jaw and snorted. No, he wasn't in the mood for another 'roaring'. He focused on cleaning up, but kept his memory of that strange rose in the back of his mind.

Alastor stayed still and quiet as Lucifer tended to him. Those mechanist hands were gentle... well, this man was a father. He'd have to have learned to be gentle if he ever bothered with his child... which he had, from the sounds of it.

As Lucifer kept soaking, wiping and touching him up, the prince's mind wandered and idly he plucked at the blond hair, flicking aside the dead leaves that'd gotten tangled up from him getting dragged to the ground.

He had grown deeply focused on his task, and was reminded of the times he'd bandaged a badly skinned knee or the one time the neighbors' rooster had given Charlie the roughest time. Lucifer had never felt such a bone-deep anger toward a barn animal, but roosters had those awful talons, and those terrible spurs...

He blinked, but lifted his eyes when he felt something touch his hair. Something came out, and he realized he hadn't really checked himself in all of the hustle of getting the prince back to the castle.

Shamefully, he was reminded of a time he'd tested something to help with wood-cutting, and round up with countless pine needles in his hair, his pockets... and how Lilith would stop him and make sure every last one was cleared. Other nights, he would simply be curled up against her, and she would be stroking his head as he fell asleep- as he always did- each and every time.

"...You shouldn't sleep in a room that looks like that."

Alastor kept plucking at the messy hair, smiling in amusement, even huffing a wry laugh at that comment. "That's not your room and therefore not your concern."

"But you're a prince. ...At the very least, a room you sleep in should be a place of comfort and look the part."

He'd taken that fragile trust and sullied it. Maybe this was the least he could do.

"...Let me fix what's broken. The table I saw, a new dresser. Some chairs in there looked okay, but need a sanding and a polish."

"Fixing furniture that I've broken? Or are you looking for an excuse to be nosy about my quarters?"

Alastor scoffed, leaning back to look at this strange little inventor. Why did he want to supplicate so much? So so strange and funny.

"Regardless, it isn't a discussion until this heals," Alastor tapped at Lucifer's wounded arm with a claw. "There's no humor in you limping and wincing through menial tasks."

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