Fingers had begun to fidget with the stockier male’s overcoat, shifting it further closed, while ensuring the buttons were all done up - guiding his hands upward toward the bow that accented the very top of his attire. Palms pressed down against each side of the bow, before his right hand took hold of Lefou’s chin, forcing his eyes to link with his own, words spoken through a stern and demanding tone.
“When I say look at me. . . I mean it. Now. . . I’ll ask one more time, are you going to help me get the girl, or are you going to cower away and hide here - drinking away your fear?”








