Intro

This role play is based on the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast. It is based in Victorian era, roughly 1840.

RPers: ox3tyi and xemsax

Characters

Beauty
Name:Charles Jonathan Sinfeild
AKA: Charlotte Jane Sinfeild
Age: 20
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Green
Body: Medium height, slender build

Charles is forced to take on the alias Charlotte and pose as a woman when his father is caught stealing a valued item from the garden of a reclusive nobleman. As an ultimatum his father is to send one of his daughters to live with the nobleman for the rest of her life. To spare his sisters an unsavory fate Charles goes in their place.

Pic: As CharlotteDrawn by me :D

Beast
Name: Villeneuve de Beaumont
Age: 26
Appearance: He has dark brown, almost black hair, complimented with brown eyes. He can be described as buff, but is really just a notch below that.
Biography: Beaumont was once a rich nobleman, but one day he refused the orders of his queen, and as punishment, his dearest possessions were stripped from him, and a locket left in its place.

Pic: To Come.

[[Okay, wanna start?]]

[[Sorry about the pause, the weekend did horrible things to my time. o__o]]

Charles had always considered himself a brave man. True he was less then strong and no one would even accuse him of being imposing. He had been a sickly boy, and because of that had never truly developed the hard edged shell of manliness. But in spite of that he'd always been brave.

It had been easy enough to volunteer for the duty he now faced; the horrified expressions on his sisters' faces had been enough to kindle the flame of masculine bravery in him. Now, however, he could not summon even the tiniest shred of courage.

He stood, hand raised as if to knock, before the door to what would be his new home, and was absolutely terrified. Surely this ruse would not succeed; Villeneuve de Beaumont did not sound like a fool. One look at him and surely the man would know the truth, and then what? Charles had never been faced with such uncertainty before in his life.

With great effort he finally rapped the wood of the door with the iron knocker, and stepped back. The three medium sized trunks that his sisters had bequeathed to him lay daintily near by. Each trunk was filled to capacity with dresses, corsets, frilly undergarments, paints and ribbons, and any item a young lady might need to make herself appear amiable. Not a single masculine item could be found within. He fluffed his skirts self-consciously, and then fidgeted with the ribbon that attached his bonnet to him. He felt absolutely and incurably ridiculous.

[[It's okay, I might not be on weekends either. I have prep school and other random stuff ^_^'ll]]

Beaumont was in his living room, huffing on his pipe, waiting for the girl he's been promised. Every so often, he would stop, look at the clock, and with a frustrated grunt shift his sitting position. He was getting impatient. The daughter that the old man had promised was late, and Beaumont was starting to wonder if she would ever arrive at all.

"Sire, you have a guest at the door," a servant came to say, announcing the arrival of the hostage.

Finally!! Beaumont exclaimed in his head, but all he did was wave his right hand, signaling the entrance of the lady.

The servant began to leave, but Beaumont quickly interrupted with directions.

"Show her in," he growled. "Then lock her in her room."

And with that he got up from his armchair and disappeared up the stairs.

From the moment the front door opened to reveal the butler, to the moment Charles heard the metallic click of the bedroom door lock behind him, time moved like a blur. He'd tried to look at the furnishings of his new home as he was lead; he gazed wide eyed at everything as politely as a lady might. And yet, standing in the delicately furnished bedroom he could not bring to mind a single detail.

Slowly he turned to the door, tried the handle but knew it would not give. Though the fireplace was lit and glowed serenely, Charles felt none of its warmth.

His trunks were there, he wasn't sure how, and he knelt to inspect them. Should he put away their contents himself, or wait for a maid? He'd never been very wealthy, and had always done things for himself.

To distract himself he opened one, inside was a deep blue velvet gown, and matching slippers. The clothes he wore now were dusty from the road, and he knew his sisters would be vexed if he was presented to Monsieur Beaumont in such a state.

In the few minutes it took him to change he'd not once dared to glance at himself in the tall mirror that had been generously provided. Now standing before it in the new dress (which was regrettably last years fashion, the sleeves puffed about the shoulders, the skirts not nearly as generously fluffed) he had to admit it was pitifully convincing. Would he, after a while, forget he was even a man?

Beaumont paced around his room, anxiously weighing his decisions. Should he keep her there forever, or let her out to see the house, or maybe something else.

"Sire, if I may," a servant interrupted. "But perhaps it would be wise to invite the young lady to supper?"

Beaumont quickly turned around in fury.

"And let her see me in this state?" he growled. "Absolutely not!! Leave now, before my temper gets the best of me!!"

He slunk into an armchair, with the thought of supper still hanging in his mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, perhaps it would give him a chance to see the girl.

"Tell her to dress for supper," he growled to the door. "But I won't tolerate tardiness!!"

Charles was in the middle of sorting out his clothes when word came to him that supper would be served soon, and that he was expected to dine with the master of the house. The servant looked at him strangely for a moment, and Charles felt that his secret was suddenly discovered.

"A maid can come and sort those for you, m'lady.'

"Oh! No...That’s quite alright." So it was the clothes after all. He set down the frilly undergarments he'd been holding, and suggested that the servant show him where he would be dining. He knew, after all, nothing about the layout of the house, and did not wish to be late.

Beaumont was slumped at one edge of the dining table, one foot over his chair, the other underneath him. His chin rested on his arm, and he was staring intently at the flickering candles on the table.

He had ordered the room to be dimmed, so as the lady wouldn't see his hideousness, but he was curious about the appearance of the lady.

With his other hand, he drummed on the table, until he saw a graceful figure walk into the room. She was small and petite, with a bonnet tied under her chin. She kept her head low, so he couldn't get a glimpse of her face.

Frustrated, he growled, "Off with the hat!!" She started, and after a minute's pause, he added, "ma'am."

((Do you mean my character? He's not wearing the bonnet anymore...))

[[Oh, I just assumed that he would be wearing one, to hide his face xPP Now what. Hmm]]

Beaumont waited as she took her place at the other end of the table. He waved his hand and servants appeared immediately with silver trays. They made their way towards the table and uncovered the dishes.

"Dig in," Beaumont said gruffly as he began to grab a chicken leg.

The man was positively horrifying! He was nobility and yet his manners were embarrassing. Charles was surer at that moment then ever that he had done the correct thing in taking his sisters' place here. Damn being caught, he could never let a real lady become the possession of such a man!

He ate delicately, slowly; his apatite had been weakened just at the thought of entirety of the situation to begin with, now it was nonexistent. Not once did he glance up at the man across from him for fear that either his true gender or his overwhelming distaste might be discovered in his features. That the candles were dim was all the better for him.

When he felt he could not put fork to mouth anymore he rested his hand on the napkin he'd placed on his lap earlier. His head bowed slightly he waited for his host to finish.

Beaumont scarfed down his dinner, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He stared at the girl for a while longer, before attempting to start a conversation.

"So," he grouched. "How old are you?"

"Recently twenty sir." He said in his softest voice.

He was painfully aware that twenty was nearly past marrying age for a woman, and feared this might encourage his beastly host.

That Monsieur Beaumont did not even bother to learn about his guest, Charles suddenly realized, was both offensive and useful. If the man knew nothing of the habits of his sisters' personalities he would be afforded a larger margin of error.

Charles asked no question in return. He did not want to know anything about this man. As well he was not about to humour him.

"Speak louder girl, I can't hear you!" Beaumont snapped.

The girl seemed shy, but even so, Beaumont could hardly hear her. He hated to ask people to repeat themselves, but hated it even more when they made him repeat himself.

Charles' hand clenched in his lap, the napkin bunched between his fingers. He took a breath, contemplated getting up and leaving, exhaled, and looked directly at the man sitting across from him.

Initially he had planned to act a little timid to make himself appear more feminine. That he could not do now. Not when Monsieur Beaumont's mannerisms were so uncivil.

"Recently twenty, sir. And I do not like to repeat myself so do be sure to listen when your guest speaks." His voice was sticky-sweet venom, his expression one of defiance.