Gaston | ON HOLD

TWO

"Hand it over?" He could feel his temper rise as he repeated the words. Though he was positive he could best the man, albeit in strength or by speed, Gaston slowly unbuttoned the leather strap and handed over his pistol.

"Wait a minute," the man chuckled as he turned over the weapon in his hand. "Why didn't you just say it was an antique?"

"An antique?" Gaston was appalled, his mouth falling agape, but he was stopped short when another man in blue approached them.

"Everything alright here, Maddox?"

"Yeah, Sarge." The man acknowledged his taller superior with a quick nod. "I thought he might have been our 10-32 from earlier, but it's just an antique."

With an outstretched hand, the Sergeant took the gun into his own hand.

"Double-barrel flintlock," the taller of the two muttered. "Refurbishment? Or--"

"It's an original," Gaston snapped. "And if we're all good here, I'd prefer to be on my way."

 The tips of the huntsman's ears were beginning to burn as he reached for his pistol. How dare they disarm him and then insult one of his most prized hunting possessions. Many of the creatures mounted on the walls of his hunting lodge back home had been taken down by that 'antique'.

"Yeah, alright." The man called 'Sarge' replied warily as he handed Gaston back his gun. "I can see by your interesting choice in fashion that you're not from around here."

Gaston gave his pants and red, leather jacket a once over before glancing back at the two watchmen. "I can assure you, this is all the rage in France," Gaston defended.

"Maybe at the turn of the century," Maddox snickered before elbowing the Sergeant in his ribs. 

The two burst into a chorus of laughter as they turned away from Gaston.

"Just stay out of trouble there, pretty boy," Sarge called back over his shoulder. "Cause I'm pretty sure you wouldn't last longer than five seconds in the pumpkin patch."

*****

Gaston readjusted his coat collar as another harsh wind whipped against him. The sun had set a few hours ago, and a light drizzle had begun shortly after that. With no place to call home, the large hunter was forced to take shelter under an awning with a few other poor, unfortunate souls.

As he had aimlessly ambled along the streets of New York, it wasn't hard to see why the Enchantress had sent him here. Sure he had deserved to be sent to a place without happy endings, but at least Hell would have been warm.

Mindlessly, Gaston fingered the sack of coins dangling from his belt. He had attempted to secure a room for the night, but the clerk at the front desk of the establishment had laughed in his face when he tried to pay with the gold francs. After suggesting he visit currency exchange in the morning, Gaston had found himself not so kindly escorted from the building and tossed back out on the streets for the remainder of the night.

Not surprisingly, that was how he had ended up here. Standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the most putrid beggars he had ever had the misfortune of smelling. As a toothless old woman smiled up at him, Gaston rolled his eyes in disgust before looking away. He'd had one encounter too many with an ugly hag to be amused.

Suddenly, the old loon shoved Gaston, easily catching him off balance and knocking him over. As the large huntsman crashed to the ground, the beggar reached out and snatched up his coin purse. She gave a shriek of excitement as she ran out into the city, disappearing down a dark alley as she went.

Immediately, Gaston was up and chasing after her. He probably should have just let it go. That certainly seemed like the easiest option, but he was a hunter-- and in the moment, years of combat training combined with natural instinct had taken over. He could definitely track down one crazy old bat. But it wasn't until he found himself scaling the slippery shingles of an old cathedral tower, that he stopped to wonder-- should he?

The scene before him seemed all too familiar as large rain drops splashed in his face. Just twenty-four hours ago he had been in the same predicament, dangling from the top of Beast's castle. Gaston grimaced, his grip beginning to slip. Only this time, it wasn't the claw of a furry beast that would bring him back to safety.

"Just hold on there!" A soft voice called out to him. "I've got you!"

As he clung to the ledge for all he was worth, a delicate hand reached down.

"C'mon, take my hand!" She yelled. "I promise I won't let you fall!"

And in that moment, Gaston wondered if maybe-- just maybe-- he had died and gone to heaven instead.