#malappris

Belle couldn’t go to school, being a girl. The village had a schoolhouse, which admitted only boys so Belle settled for sitting underneath the window nearest the teacher and listening to the classes. Sometimes she would peek her head through the window to see what was being written on the blackboard, and to roll her eyes at all the boys who were misbehaving. Of course, she had to disappear from the window when they came out to play, reading a book under a tree instead. 

It was a slightly rare occasion that Annalise would enter the town, usually preferring to keep to herself in her home in the surrounding forest. However, as she tended to a farm and garden, she would have excess goods that would go to waste if left alone, so she would bring them into town in a wooden cart pulled by the large bull that she owned, finding herself a spot in the town square to sell her goods.

She had brought quite a bit with her this time: crates of eggs, jugs of fresh sweet milk, small wheels of cheese, fresh vegetables and fruits from her garden, and bouquets of beautiful flowers that she had grown herself.

She was placing one of these bouquets into a bucket of water for them to stay fresh when she saw someone approach.

Genevieve held up the glass in her hand, turning it to the light to see if she had left it spotless. Well, as spotless as a glass could be on the Isle. She didn’t like leaving the pints of the tavern dirty, especially when she had a free day the next day. She knew that would only mean more work for her when she came back. “Do you want some more ale?” She called out to her father, turning her attention to him now before gesturing to the empty cup in his hands.

Another day another village to sell her potions too. Danielle had no chores, She had no cases and money was starting to run low. Thankfully, she already had sold at least four bottles, two bags of powder, and a rose vial. People here must get sick a lot. Poor things. Is there no doctor here? Nether the less she continues to gently call out to citizens of this quaint place, hoping to get at least a few more bites. 

he hasn’t even been in this little town, this quiet village for more than a day, and already he’s heard of the man who all but owns it:

Gaston.

the name itself calls to mind an image of the person himself: huge, hulking, masculine…brutish, blustering, beastly. nobody fought like him, said the townsfolk, and apparently, in a wrestling match, nobody bit like him either. there was no man in town half as manly, he’d heard. gaston, gaston, gaston.

what in the empire’s name is all the fuss about?

that’s what he’s here in this tavern to see. apparently it’s a favorite haunt of the man’s, one of the places where he can really put on display that he uses antlers in all of his decorating. the people inside seem to be holding a party of some sort, singing their beloved hunter’s praises as he goes tromping around in his big black boots:

No one looks like Gaston Trashes mooks like Gaston No one manhandles swindle-ing crooks like Gaston!

listening at the tavern door, anakin raises an eyebrow at the lionizing lyrics. really? he can see the man parading through the room when he goes to the window: my, what a guy, what an intimidating specimen……but there seems to be something missing about him, something that makes him not as good as the hype. hm, what could it be?

ah, yes. 

He’s not Anakin.

he flings open the door and leans one arm against the frame, and the song stops mid-note. he would look to all these men like he’s from their world--his cybernetic limbs all covered with long black gloves and boots, and the mechanical half of his face is hidden behind a black half-mask--but he seems not from this world even so. even with the smattering of burns across his cheek and neck he is still 6′6″ and magnificent, the firelight setting a glow to his golden eyes and adding a mysterious edge to the smile that plays across his soft lips. still gorgeous, every inch of him, and still vain enough to think that no one else can compare.

… wheres the block button-

oh come on. we both know that if you replaced “ani’s dick” with gaston’s that would be you.