This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)
Fellow Prisoners
-by Angie
The thoughts of a prisoner – they’re not free either.
They keep returning to the same things- Solon (556 BC)
Vincent stood beneath the grate in the dust-filled culvert. He detected nothing but the scents he expected, although they were exotic in the extreme and made his nose twitch.
Devin had come here often, returned full of stories. No matter how he tried though, he had been unable to convince Vincent to accompany him, although it was one of the safest places he could have gone. His refusal would have made Father proud, had he known, but the reasons were his own. Vincent had not wanted to look at fellow prisoners.
When Catherine had come into his life, the dangers of the world Above had come with her. Then he had been captured by scientists, experiencing Father’s worst nightmare first hand. Catherine had rescued him - but that near-death experience had changed him. He had realized, belatedly, that a cage worked both ways and that it was sometimes unclear who was the prisoner.
Tonight he had followed the Bronx River to a place that had been within easy walking distance all his life. In the intervening years there had been changes here. There were no concrete cells and ugly iron bars any more. The inmates were treated with respect – and their visitors were not there to ogle, but to learn.
He had come here out of curiosity, to see for himself – and if truth be told, to seek knowledge of a sort. There was only one inmate he wanted to see – had to see.
Vincent shifted the grate quietly, lifted himself through it and replaced it. He stood in deep shadow surrounded by a dense patch of trees. There was no moon and the sky was overcast. It was a warm night with a slight breeze. He sensed no one near by. The closest person was a guard who seemed to be asleep in one of the buildings. He knew he would have to be wary of security cameras, but he would avoid the pathways and viewing areas. He was not a tourist.
He had bathed carefully for two days, using no soap. His black wool cloak had been washed and aired in the Chamber of the Winds. He knew he would never be able to quite rid himself of the tunnel smells – but he had made every effort to diminish them for this special trip. He wore nothing but a pair of stretchy shorts. He had also fasted.
Soft-footed, he began to jog around the eastern perimeter, keeping to the trees and deep shadows. He reached the parking lot and turned west. Before long, he found his landmark and moved around the compound carefully, wanting the breeze to carry his scent ahead of him. Then he saw the concrete "mountains" and began to climb.
He moved slowly now, looking for a place he had seen on the map, where he could look down into the enclosure. He reached it and hunkered down by a well-hidden chain link fence, searching. Yes, there were a pair of them, plus a couple of cubs. He sensed they were awake and aware of him. He kept himself still, although he quivered internally with excitement.
He wondered what he smelled like to them. He knew his scent was not entirely human.
He waited and was suddenly aware of a dark shape easing its way towards him through a patch of trees and then through dense underbrush. Vincent almost held his breath in anticipation.
The shape approached the fence along a narrow patch of rough grass, and Vincent saw that it was the big male, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, his mouth slightly open, canines showing. He sensed no danger to himself. The beast was well-fed and did not feel threatened.
Vincent slowly removed his cape and put it behind him. He opened his own mouth, exposing his canines and attempting to get eye contact. His empathic talent worked to some extent on animals, but this was his first exposure to a wild one, if a zoo resident could be called that.
The lion sidled up to the fence and shook his abundant mane, began scenting the air. Vincent shook his head in mimicry and crawled closer to the fence, wanting the lion to see him clearly. He examined the face opposite him with great interest.
He had recently come to accept the presence of a full-length mirror in his chamber because Catherine wanted it there. For the first time in his life, he did not avoid his own reflection, but it was hardly automatic for him to look at it. He had made a special point of doing so earlier in the evening.
Alike, yet not alike, he decided, not without relief.
Vincent tried to project calm and curiosity only. He sensed that the animal was now cautious and puzzled. The lion lifted its great head and looked him in the eyes. They looked at each other for long moments, before the lion made a whuffing sound and sat down, rubbing his flanks against the fence, his tail twitching slightly, but never taking his eyes off Vincent’s.
Then the lion lifted one of his big paws and pressed it against the fence, claws sheathed. Vincent, sensing no danger, pressed a hand to meet it, felt the hard pads on his palm. They were warm, almost hot. The lion flexed it a little, as if trying to increase the contact. Vincent put his fingers through the fence and gently moved his fingers around the huge paw, stroking it lightly. He began to feel a vibration, realized the lion was purring. Vincent found himself responding in kind, knew at once that the lion felt it too.
Abruptly, the lion dropped his paw and lay along the fence, his head still angled up to keep eye contact. Vincent got as close as he could until he could mimic the lion’s posture. Pressed as close as they could get, their sides touching through the links, their joint purr danced between them. Vincent slowly moved so his head was immediately adjacent to that of the lion’s, while still locking eyes. The lion waited, his mouth now panting slightly. Slowly Vincent pressed his face against the fence and the lion followed suit. He knew there was little danger. The links were too small to allow the lion to hurt him.
The lion’s purr increased in tempo and as Vincent wondered what his next move should be, a long rough tongue shot out from the lion’s mouth and rasped over his nose and mouth. The lion regarded him for a few moments longer, then rolled onto his back, legs in the air, belly exposed, his purr now clearly audible, his eyes still locked on Vincent’s, as if begging for attention like a domestic cat.
Vincent was amazed and exhilarated. He desperately wanted to stroke that exposed belly, but he couldn’t get his hand through the links. He looked up. The fence was very high and topped with barbed wire and an inward overhang. Although he might be able to climb over without damaging himself, he would not be able to return that way. He would be as much a prisoner as the lion – and in far more danger. Perhaps it was for the best. Affinity or not, the lion could be unpredictable if his space was invaded.
So Vincent remained where he was and put both hands against the fence, then reached his fingers through. The lion rolled onto his side again and moved his head so that he could lick Vincent’s fingers. It was done with such gentleness, that Vincent found it almost erotic. His own purr was now almost as loud as the lion’s.
The lion’s head lifted suddenly, ears alert, and Vincent started, pulling his hands back. He realized that the lioness was nearby. She approached and sat on her haunches a few feet away, regarding the two of them. Vincent sensed her curiosity. She padded to her mate, then stepped over him to push her head against the fence. She regarded Vincent with such intensity that he drew away slightly. She turned her head to nuzzle her mate then rolled over him playfully. The lion nipped her shoulder and she sat down, but next to the fence, effectively separating him from Vincent.
She turned to look Vincent in the eyes. Then she lifted a paw to the fence as her mate had done. Vincent sensed no danger and placed his hand there. It was a little smaller than that of the lion, but just as warm. She moved her head to lick his fingers through the fence and he felt a mild purr through her paw. Then she dropped it, turned her back on them both and walked back into the enclosure, curiosity satisfied.
The lion had been watching his mate’s every move. He rose and looked at Vincent again, then shook his head a little in a leonine shrug. He padded close to the fence and put his muzzle against it. Vincent pushed his own face into the links until he could feel the lion’s soft nose on his own. Their joint purrs grew again. They breathed on each other for long moments, inhaling each other’s scent. The lion’s had a slight wildness to it, of dusty plains under a hot sun. He felt the lion quiver as if in response to this image and his tongue again rasped gently over Vincent’s mouth. Vincent caught a slight odour of raw meat, but it was not unpleasant.
Suddenly the lion broke contact, turned away and slowly followed the path taken by the lioness. He looked back over his shoulder once, as if to imprint Vincent on his mind, then was lost in the night shadows.
After long moments, Vincent roused himself, put on his cloak and began his return to the tunnel entrance.
He was deep in thought. The experience had awakened something inside himself. He had felt a definite bond with the lion, who in turn had recognized something in him. The lion’s exposure of his belly implied recognition of a superior, but in what sense, Vincent had no idea. Perhaps the lion did that for his keeper too. But that last face-to-face was different. He’d be willing to bet that the lion had not done that with any human.
The memory of their silent communication, their purrs vibrating between them, was one Vincent would cherish. Oddly, he felt liberated. There was now another prisoner who had reached out to the world, found something new in it, and enjoyed the discovery. It made Vincent feel less alone, less unique. He also knew he would never be able to explain this to anyone. He and the lion shared that as well.
END