How Are The Servants When Their Sick? Who Takes Care Of Them? What Makes Them Feel Better?? ♡♡♡♡

How are the servants when their sick? Who takes care of them? What makes them feel better?? ♡♡♡♡ luv u

they all turn into fucking bears and won’t take their cough syrup.

just kidding. here’s a long-ass post

lumiere

what. a fucking. production number. 

this is a man who has intense seasonal allergies so EVERYTHING IS POISON and EVERYTHING IS THE END

he’s rapped his will like ten dozen times

(but not like, really. we know lumiere faces actual threats incredibly bravely. we’re talking like, a cold here.)

DEATH!!!

IT’S ALL DEATH!!!!!!

COGSWORTH, MAKE SURE MY SKULL IS USED IN A PRODUCTION OF ‘HAMLET’

BUT LIKE, A SPARKLY PRODUCTION OF HAMLET. GLITTER. SONGS. SHOWGIRLS.

…!!!!…..

ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT, SOMEONE SHOULD DO THAT? !

( once he’s busy scribbling out choreography for “hamlet!: the musical,” which will be soon adam’s (incredibly unwanted) birthday present, he feels much much better )

plumette

oh my god lumiere is in meltdown

is it fucking tuberculosis? lumiere doesn’t care. he’s gonna catch every damn flu in the book by cuddling with his beloved

she likes getting Lotions and Hot Soups and Pastries That Are Far Too Rich For Sick People To Be Eating ™. she fucking revels in all the medicines and creams and powders and breath mints

she is languid and ailing and still absolutely breathtaking plumette. beauty like that don’t quit

cogsworth

oh he hates being sick. the palace can’t fucking run without him!! (it can. just…super badly.)

he is consoled by a stream of tea mugs and lumiere coming to make (fake) promises that everything is Fine. both of them know he is L Y I NG

cogsworth always likes it when people pull out the old quilt his mom made him and put it on him when he’s sick. nobody realized this until belle came along and was like ‘YES! GOOD! MOM-WELLNESS-POWER.’

he likes being petted and pampered by plumette while he sniffles. but ‘oh, dear, you’ll catch a cold,’ and he’s fucking giving her the blankets he so badly needs. like damn cogsworth can you not even not fuck up being sick

cadenza

so. fucking. PICKY. it’s too loud! it’s too quiet! his nose is blinding him!! his ears are eating him alive!!!!!! just obey his demands to the maximum and you’ll be fine. is this orange juice freshly squeezed?? show him the orange peels. show him. bring him the literal orange tree

(but give him sheet music to look at and he’s happy as a clam.)

garderobe

ALSO picky as FUCK. like good thing they’re married?? i guess??

fucking drama queen. it’s the end of the EVER FUCKIGN WORLLD

she needs like ten thousand blankets. cadenza sits by her side and tell her how BEAUTIFUL she is, how she has been cursed by the heavens to bear this sickness so some puny opera wench elsewhere can feel even basically competent for two seconds, your voice will be more BEAUTIFUL than ever after this, amore mio, let me clasp your cold hands and hold them to my face & warm them

(she secretly loves being sick. the ATTENTION.)

chapeau

‘are…are you ok in there, chapeau? speak to us. no, wait, that would actually be bad. semaphore? sacre bleau, my friend, you losing your voice and you being yourself is the difference between a gold coin and a sous—are you contagious? will i die by coming in? will i die by bouncing on your bed? i am bouncing on your bed. would magic tricks help? non? tea and coffee? hot food? what—oh. quiet. You want quiet? Well, you will have that soon enough. Let me just perform my magic tricks first.’

(chapeau is very easy to care for, though meticulous in the few things he asks for. everyone keeps him company, for utterly no reason. he likes hot drinks and toast with jam.)

cuisinier

‘i’m not sick! i’m not sick. get out! devils! get that demon’s oil away from me! the day i drink castor oil is the day i forget how to bake a tarte Tatin—no!!! i will get over this by willpower alone!! and butter. always butter. get out!! is this castor oil?! get it out—’

he’s fucking awful to take care of and they basically have to promise him that lumiere won’t fuck around in his kitchen while he’s out. it’s a fucking group effort

chip

‘mom can i have some orange juice. can i have a comic book. mom wanna see me do a trick? mom i can drink the entire bottle of cough syrup without breathing. mom. mom. mom can i have more orange juice. m o  m’

(( he’s fine, his mom just wants to murder him ))

mrs. potts

r u kidding? when mrs. potts goes down this entire ship burns