freetogoodhome | i was a stranger in a strange land

i was a stranger in a strange land

[When you're accustomed to traveling throughout time and space, the way Ford Pines has become accustomed, there's very little that can faze you after awhile. Finding himself dumped in the middle of an unfamiliar village square is hardly the wildest thing that's happened to him. He straightens up, dusts himself off, and takes stock of his surroundings as he tucks the portal gun back into its holster. Judging by the architecture, he'd have to guess 18th-century France; he glances down at his attire; it's not the most period-appropriate, but it's passable as long as he keeps his tech under wraps. His boots are muddy, his coat long enough to hide anything suspicious. His eyeglasses are hard to explain away, as modern as they are, but he can wing it. He's decent enough at improvisation.

He follows the sound of music and merry-making to what he correctly assumes is the local tavern; without any local currency, however, he's resigned to scoping out the locals and perhaps seeing if he can't charm a drink or two out of a generous soul therein. Most of them men, and occasional ladies, inside seem awfully wrapped up in their own goings on, so much so that they barely notice Ford. But there's one person off on his own, sunken into an armchair near the fireplace, looking rather...distant. Curiosity has Ford crossing the tavern with his hands folded behind his back, pausing near the empty armchair opposite the young man, and giving him a questioning glance.]

May I...?

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[Since the night of the battle at the castle, Lefou felt completely lost. He went through the motions, kept his horse (and Gaston's, which had passed into his care for lack of a next of kin) fed and taken care of and his house tidy. But it was like he was adrift in a thick, heavy fog.

It had been fine enough in the moment, like a blindfold had been lifted and he'd been able to see Gaston for the monster he truly was, but now that the battle was over and he was completely alone, it was obvious how much of the man had been...completely integral to Lefou's existence. So much so that even the villagers who didn't outright ignore him didn't know what to do with him now that he was forced out of Gaston's shadow. He went through the motions - he ate, he slept, he hunted, he drank.

He sits in Gaston's chair like he could borrow the strength he'd admired in the man if he wrapped himself in the chair, instead of the stool that he'd spent so much time perched on.

When he sees the man's red shirt he almost chokes on his ale. But it's not the bright red of Gaston's coats or waistcoat, and he follows the color up to an older man with silvery-brown hair and curious eyes behind his spectacles. He manages a smile as he lowers his tankard, gesturing at the empty chair.]

Please do, M'sieur.

[Ford knows that smile, knows it all too well. His past thirty-odd years have been a lonely and rough-and-tumble existence; he knows what it means to make his face into an expression that he doesn't quite feel in his heart. But of course, he's not exactly going to call the young man out on it. That would be astoundingly rude, even for Ford Pines, whose manners are not always at the forefront of his mind. He nods his head in thanks and takes a seat, letting his gaze sweep curiously over the other man's posture, the way he's sort of sunk into that chair as if it's the thing providing his life's energy.]

Merci beaucoup, my friend. I'm new in town, and it feels good to rest my weary bones. Could you tell me a little about this place?

Edited 2017-08-19 20:48 (UTC)

Well...There's not too much to tell. This is Villeneuve, we all just do our best to get by. The Prince's castle is just about a mile's ride to the south, we're the last village before you get there.

[He glances up at the mural on the wall, then at his companion.]

We don't really have a claim to fame, but you should get a bowl of Clothilde's fish stew. It'll make you feel like a new man.

Villeneuve. [It's a nice name. Rolls off the tongue. He raises an eyebrow at the mention of a prince; he's surprised to find himself so close to royalty. He'll have to investigate that properly, but that's a job for tomorrow. Tonight, he'll relax his old bones and get his bearings.

He raises both eyebrows over the rims of his eyeglasses, and gives the young man an amused grin.]

Clothilde. Fish stew. Got it. And who might I thank for the recommendation?

[That grin warms him head to toe. He's missed being treated like a person, it's like everyone in the village doesn't know if they should treat him like a widow so they just give him sympathetic glances from a distance. No one's exchanged more than a "bonjour" with him since the village returned to normal.]

LeFou. And you are?

[Ford has a very broad definition of personhood by now; he wouldn't dream of treating this boy like anything else, not when he's being so friendly and not questioning Ford's eccentricities.]

Stanford Pines. At your service. [He holds out a hand, forgetting momentarily that he was trying not to draw attention to them, for a handshake.]

My pleasure, Monsieur Pines.

[He reaches out to return the handshake. He wouldn't even have noticed if his hand wasn't so much smaller than the man's. But he knows better than to comment, even if his eyes glance down to confirm what his hand felt.]

You're not from around here, are you?

Likewise.

[His discretion is highly appreciated; once released, Ford's hand folds in with its twin, safely in his lap where his deformities are well-hidden. He shakes his head with a little chuckle.]

That obvious, huh? No, I'm not. But from what I've seen, your little village is charming.

[He glances around the place, listening to the sudden uptick of laughter and high spirits, and then back at Lefou.]

You don't feel like joining in all the merriment?

Not many people you'll find here with a name like Stanford. Careful, monsieur, people will think you're English.

[He winks charmingly.

The laughter and clinking of glasses makes him sit up a little straighter.]

I'm... I've been staying more to myself, lately. Besides, how else would I meet charming travelers?

I suppose not. [He snorts.] As if I'd even dare show my face around here if I were English.

[He studied his history. He knows their beef.

Ford's expression grows a little more open, a little surprised, at the compliment.]

Fair enough. I'm certainly not complaining. Without any cash flow, I can't exactly join in the merriment myself, but this is a much nicer alternative.

[He cocks his head.]

I can't imagine there's a whole lot else to do in the evenings around here.

Afraid not in a village this size. It's been livelier since many of the castle staff have been able to come down to the village again.

[Lefou's eyebrows shoot up at the mention that his new friend is poor off.]

Let me buy you a drink, monsieur.

[Ford's eyebrows shoot up again, incredibly curious.]

Were they...imprisoned?

[It certainly sounds like some political intrigue of some sort. Not that Ford is trying to get involved in any sort of mess while he's here. Just the once.

He shakes his head, holding up a hand in protest.]

Oh—I couldn't possibly put you out like that.

No, I insist. It would look bad if I let you leave Villeneuve thinking nobody has hospitality to spare for a poor traveler.

[He hauls himself up from his chair to head over to the bar.]

Ah-

[Shit.]

I...suppose you could say that. The prince used to have a, er. Beastly disposition.

Well—only if you insist.

[Ford's eyebrow cocks, his gaze lifting to follow Lefou's upward motion.]

Beastly, you say. Well, if you're willing, I'd love to hear more about that once we've got a drink or two in us.

[Is he flirting? Absolutely, he is.]

[Standing, it's clear that Lefou isn't a tall man by even the most liberal definitions.

The flirtatious tone makes his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he manages a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. There's not quite a sparkle in his eyes yet, but interest. Curiosity.]

Well then, M'sieur Pines, you must be parched.

[Is he flirting back? You bet your sweet ass.

He brushes his fingers across the arm of Ford's chair before he picks up his own stein and heads over to the bar. He exchanges some words with the bartender (a balding man in motley with thick red sideburns) and then some coin, getting his stein topped up and a new stein full of cider poured for his guest.

He returns and holds out the large pewter stein for Ford.]

[Okay, that was good. Ford certainly hadn't expected his little pass to be noticed, let alone well-received or returned. Alright. That's...that's something. He watches Lefou cross the room and procure a refill for himself and a drink for Ford, and when he comes back he takes the stein and raises it in a half-salute before taking a deep draught.

He pulls back in surprise; he'd been expecting beer.]

Cider? Huh. That's very good. I suppose, though, for the time period...

[Lefou raises his own stein in toast as well, and then quaffs deeply with the experience of someone for whom alcohol is nigh on the only potable drink in town.]

It's a brew from out of town. The other locals may prefer their usual, but I've learned to appreciate something new.

[His own flirting is still well within the realm of just friendly, where he's well-practiced in keeping it. But, well, the man across from him is very handsome, and there's no harm in imagining is there?]

[He's more than a little impressed. That's bold for a man from this time. But then again, Ford has found that throughout history, their kind tend to be able to recognize each other without much difficulty. He smiles around the rim of his stein, taking another deep draught, and pulling back with a satisfied smack of his lips.]

I'm an explorer of sorts. Appreciating something new is kind of my thing.

[He throws in a wink for good measure. Old habits die hard.]

Now, when you say beastly, how exactly do you mean?

[The village has always been forgiving of Lefou's effeminate quirks. There's always been a line he daren't cross, one that he'd made an art form out of skirting, but he played the fool overall too well for many to mind his flamboyant nature, and until recently he'd been little more to the villagers than a footnote in Gaston's story, so his disinterest in women was as easily ignored as he was.

That said, he's trying really hard not to look at Stanford's lips, and ends up hiding his flushed cheeks behind his own stein when the older man winks at him. Coy flirtation is one thing, but to have it returned so openly warms him from the inside more than his seat next to the fire.

He lowers his stein and swallows, doesn't make a show out of licking his lips.]

The story's going to sound completely mad to someone who wasn't here to see it, but... The prince was under a curse that... literally made him look like a beast. Nobody knew for years, because everyone in the village forgot all about the castle and everyone who lived there.

[Ford listens patiently; he's a good listener when he's learning something new, and this—this certainly counts as new. He chuckles.]

I don't think that sounds mad at all. I've seen some pretty incredible things in my time. How was this curse resolved?

He fell in love with a girl from town.

[True love's kiss is a hell of a drug.]

I'm pretty sure there's wedding preparations underway right now.

Huh. [Ford's expression softens considerably. He's always been a sucker for a good romance.] True love. You don't say.

[It's like something out of a fairy tale, and yet...well, isn't this whole place, thus far? Friendly locals, quiet village...]

It must be a relief to all of you, then. Some measure of peace, perhaps?

Not if you ask the seamstress. [He chuckles, then realizes he ought to explain.] His Highness has been making up for his absence by trying to boost the economy of our little village as much as he can. Which, at the moment, involves outfitting a wedding party.

[His amusement softens to something a little lost, as his gaze falls to the amber liquid that he swirls in the stein in his hand.]

...Pretty much everyone in the village has some kind of job to do to get ready. [The "Except me" hangs in the air, unsaid but no less obvious.]

[Ford signals his understanding with a lift of his chin.] Kind of him to do so. At the very least, it must break up the monotony.

[He catches a hint of melancholy from the young man, and leans his head to one side out of habit, a curious gesture.]

And what about you? Are you not busy as well?

Oh, definitely. Nothing has been quite monotonous here since the prince was freed.

[He manages a grin at the head tilt, an attempt to slough the melancholy off of his shoulders so as not to worry his new companion.]

Me? I don't exactly have any skills that are useful to a wedding, M'sieur.

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