(This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)

Puss-in-Boots

Angie

Puss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more, but only for his diversion.

Charles Perrault (Puss-in-Boots)

Vincent was in his chamber Below, reminiscing in his favourite chair – the only one large enough to let him put a foot up on the seat. He was regarding the pair of long roan-coloured boots which leaned against the bottom of his coat rack. His eyes had a distant expression.

Catherine had gone to bed, but aware that Vincent was deep in thought about something, was watching him surreptitiously. He was in profile, as still as a cat watching a bird, completely engrossed in his thoughts. It was one of the things she loved about him, not least because it allowed her to observe him without fear of making him uncomfortable. He was dressed in tight grey pants and a long raw silk pullover shirt tied at the neckline.

What was he thinking? She followed the line of his eyes, and realized he was looking at the red boots. Vincent had worn them once that she remembered – and that had been a long time ago.

The boots, Vincent decided, had to go. He had once thought they were the epitome of glamour. He had worn them with a certain flair, he thought. He had enjoyed fancying himself a swashbuckling pirate or cavalier during the French Revolution. He had worn them to meet Brigit O’Donnell at the Hallowe’en Masque. That was the night he and Catherine had walked the city openly, a memory he treasured above all others.

In truth, he had been disinclined to wear the boots for some time. That was Devin’s fault. On one of his visits, he had watched as Vincent put on the boots and his frilly shirt for a special Below evening of entertainment - and had burst into laughter.

"Well, if it isn’t Puss-in-Boots in the flesh!" Devin had laughed until he had had to sit down – in Vincent’s chair, no less. Vincent glared at him, unaccountably hurt by the insult.

Charles who had been quietly sitting on the edge of Vincent’s bed, had stood up and walked over to him, looked at his face carefully, then his clothes – and smiled.

Charles’ face when he smiled was so beautiful that Vincent envied him. Charles’ loving heart shone though the terrible deformities, his eyes crinkled in joy and he showed all his uneven teeth without hesitation. Vincent knew his own face was not capable of such expression, that his best "look" was neutral. His expression when he exposed his canines in a roar or growl did not even bear thinking about. He had never seen himself that way - and hoped he never would.

Charles had come a long way from his black hood with eyeholes. He and Vincent had become fast friends, and he had learned his lessons so well that he now read stories to the children when he visited. His voice was good, his diction much improved – and they loved him. Vincent could almost be envious of that as well, but knew that such love had been unknown in Charles’ life before he met Devin. Vincent, on the other hand, had been surrounded by the love of his "family" Below, took it for granted almost.

Charles had spoken quietly and carefully, as was his way. He had looked Vincent in the eyes. His face became serious as he saw the hurt in Vincent’s eyes.

"You are not like Puss-in-Boots, Vincent. You are not a trickster, or unkind. You never ask for anything. Devin is more like him. You look stupendous!"

Charles had become fascinated by large words and used them whenever he could. He and Mouse regularly tried to outdo each other with new and longer adjectives.

"Thank you Charles," Vincent said, hugging the big man and looking over his shoulder at Devin. His brother had become suddenly stone-faced. Vincent realized that Charles had probably never been so direct in his criticism. It was not his way. He seldom saw the bad in anyone, and his reproaches were that much more effective as a result. A mild reproof from him could start a child crying. In those rare instances, it was hard to tell who was more upset, Charles or the perpetrator. He would only have made such a comment because one of his two favourite people was making fun of the other.

Devin had got up and quietly joined them. He put his arms around them both, looked from on to another.

"Charles is right, of course. You do look marvelous, Vincent. I’m sorry."

But then Devin had broken into a grin. Vincent waited, knowing what was coming.

Vincent had been the butt of "cat" jokes all his life. He did not resent them. He knew what his face resembled. There was no escaping it. But being called "Puss-in-Boots" had rankled because of something neither Charles nor Catherine knew – but Devin did.

Vincent occasionally, even now, hunted vermin in the Tunnels. His eyesight was good in the dim light, his hearing very acute - and he could smell the beasts. Wearing only enough to protect his modesty, he enjoyed the chase, the heady rush of triumph when he made a quick, surgical kill. He dropped the carcasses down the Abyss and said nothing to anyone.

Devin had found him carrying several dead rats by their tails one night, when they were still boys. He had said nothing to Father, but not out of kindness. Devin used the knowledge to irritate Vincent with barbed allusions.

That evening he had known that Devin would have to be extra careful. He would lose his warped enjoyment if anyone else knew the secret they shared. Even thinking about his brother’s quip made Vincent warm.

"You look like a great lord with interesting diversions," Devin had intoned, mischievously. Devin had known that Vincent would recognize the reference from the Charles Perrault book, but that Charles would not catch the subtlety. Catherine might have, but she was helping William in the kitchen.

Back in the present, Vincent ceased his woolgathering and began to read. He waited until he felt Catherine fall asleep, then he padded over to the boots, picked them up and made his way to the Abyss. With only a slight pang of regret, he tossed them over. It was somewhat ironic that they would join the desiccated remains of his "diversion."

What rankled most was that Devin had been correct. He HAD looked like Puss-in-Boots, had not even caught the similarity, despite having seen the famous sketch by Gustav Doré. Wearing his favourite frilled shirt, all he would have needed to complete the outfit was a jaunty, wide-brimmed hat – and a very long feather. He could not give up the shirt because Catherine loved it – but the boots were expendable. He would explain their disappearance somehow.

Vincent decided that very soon he would confess to Catherine about his "hunting trips". Devin would find out that someone else knew their secret the hard way – when Catherine turned on him like a tiger for daring such a joke in her presence. That would be sweet revenge on his brother.

Vincent was smiling as he returned to his chamber.

END