“Beastie, sweetheart, you there?”

A stinging silence crept comfortably over the ransacked living room. Settling most appreciatively near the ratty old sofa, it compressed itself contentedly into the leathery cushions in search for familiarity against the intruding shriek. Staring lifelessly at the plastic contraption that taunted him so, he blanched. Again, it flickered, a soft teasing red as if somehow betraying her very presence in the forsaken room.

“Darling! Snuggle-bear. Please don’t be like this.”

The soft penetrating whisper somehow weaved through the cracks of his clasped hands as, again, he heard her calling. It wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair! Didn’t she…

“You know I love you…”

LIES ALL LIES! Why couldn’t they just stop lying, stop this confusing tangle of words and mixed meanings from reaching his consciousness… or whatever was left of it at this point. He glared venomously at the quivering speaker, blaming its very existence (all those wires, oh gods, the wires) for the constant hollowness in his heart.

“…but its for your own good darling. I’ll still be here if you ever need me. I just…”

Promised herself to him. Like she had promised to never leave him again. History was repeating itself, just like the last time she had ran away from him to her father (of all things, hadn’t HE provided her with enough to satisfy ALL her needs). He had nearly DIED for christsakes! True, it had been a self-inflicted injury… but still! HE HAD GIVEN HER HIS ROSES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! WHAT MORE COULD SHE…

“…want a little time to myself. For the family. For you. It’s for the best. I’ll call every day. You know I will.”

A little time.

“I love you.”

... He could do that couldn't he?

“Take care of yourself, honeykins.”

Just a few moments away, then she’ll come right back. He couldn’t say no to her. Just like the last time…

A few bottles of beer, mouthwash and disinfectant later, he relented. Blinking drunkenly from his nest of torn stained linen (which still smelled of her) and his own discarded wardrobe (which smelled strangely like salmon, goodness knows why), he burst out afresh into a series of loud wailing sobs. He knew she wasn’t going to come back this time, he just knew it. I mean, come on, the lady didn’t exactly have the most reliable of track records, three days overdue! Seriously, could /you/ survive that long without her kind warm gaze, those soft pouting lips, that gracious smile…

Of course not! By gods they should try this, again, for a month. A whole bloody month even! And for what ludicrous reason this time round? Bridesmaids? A wedding? A need for a family gathering? Goodness knows /he/ wasn’t family. He wouldn’t have any part in /that/.

Her sisters were getting married… god damn them and their incestuous loving (ew) ways!

Goodness knows what love they found being standing pigeon stools for half a century. Bloody fairy witch should have left them as statues! Look at what they got up to mere months after! Lesson learnt? I think not? And all that trouble they had to go through to get that new fountain working, plumbing and all, it was much more financially sound to have kept them just there as the lovely still figurines, spouting water not lies or those sweet little compliments he knew they gave his sweet dear little Beauty. Heavens knows they’d even persuade Belle to join them in their highly unethical sexual escapades.

“Mshpsdeeek!”

Reeling back at the thought, he stumbled forwards, blindingly grasping at the walls as his own legs fought its way through the upturned tables, picture frames and legal documents. Leaning heavily upon the porcelain sink, he stared dejectedly at the hobo who stared back at him.

Wait. A hobo.

The nerve, to think he, a homeless man of no status could upstage a man, nay, a prince, in his home! It was simply preposterous!

“Why I never…it is most precociously rude to…”

The hobo mouthed the same words mockingly. In fact, he mimicked his actions so perfectly…mocking-fully. Goodness knows the intruder hobo guy was a professional mocker thing!

Wait a minute.

By gods. Was that him? Peering closer into mirrored depths of his beastliness, he traced the dark sunken bags beneath his eyes and reached the final, most awe-inspiring verdict; he hated mirrors with a passion.

Always did. Always will. They always looked better broken or with big great sweeping rolls of velvet draped artistically over them.

But for now, for /her/, he preened.

For today’s standards, once they got past the whole “rwoar I’m a manly hairy beast dood” thing he had going on before, he was quite the catch.

With dark brown curly hair reaching his chin and smoldering black eyes that simply stole your soul away, he was that dreamy mixture of half-man-girly things today’s rabid fan base seems to be so fond of. It didn’t help that a faint blush stole across those fair cheek, a manly (or so he thought) stubble creeping across his chin; to sum it up quite nicely, I’d totally glomp him.

With a disdainful sniff, Prince Beau (affectionately known as Beastie to the love of his life) donned a lavender dress shirt with that swirly sorta emblem things his kingdom so proudly adorned his royal stationary with –or used to until a couple of failed investments caught up with them- looming at his shoulder, he squeezed into a pair of jeans and tried to scrunch up the best welcoming non-mournful un-ghastly face he could manage.

Cause damn it he was going to get through the day with or without alcohol! He’d never forgive himself if he ever let down the single thing that now bound them legally (they’d never bothered to pass their marriage documents down to the Mundy’s) to his darling Beauty…

Beau and Belle’s Gardens- we nurture your nature!

Cue heart-breaking smile certain to win over your patronage.

Watch out world, Beastie’s back and this time he’s gone boutique!