So, this is the story I wrote for lilithsshadow on the lj community The Masked Ball. The original prompt was: "Christmas morning/gift exchange between the characters. Must include at least 4 of the following (not necessarily as gifts – please use as many as you'd like): A tambourine, a red satin bow, a feather duster, mistletoe, Turkish delight (the candy),an unexpected state of undress, a cheese grater, Robin Hood, an unrequited love (not necessarily Christine), wet ink". See how many of those items you can spot. ;)
The whole story is a bit long for one chapter, so I'm splitting it into two. I'm planning to post the second sometime tomorrow, so it won't be much of a wait. Here's part one! Enjoy!
On Christmas morning the fifth cellar of the Opera House was freezing cold, as was to be expected. The temperature did not help lift Erik's spirits as he awoke and stumbled out of his coffin to behold the small, decorated tree sitting in the centre of his living room (put in at the daroga's request) and remembered with a jolt that it was finally Christmas day.
For a brief moment in his half-awake state, he blearily tried to remember what presents he had chosen to give himself this year. As he continued to awaken more fully, standing on the chill carpet in front of the empty fireplace, he remembered that he hadn't bought himself presents for the past few years (as he actually had acquaintances now) and should probably expect at least a small something from the daroga and perhaps Christine, though not necessarily on the day. The two of them had lives, after all, and most likely had much better things to do than linger around his house all morning trading gifts. Speaking of trading gifts, had he actually gotten anything should someone else want a present...?
As Erik prepared tea, he pondered this for a moment. He'd bought a small box of Turkish Delight for the box-keeper, Madame Giry, although he could give that to the daroga if he couldn't find anything else. Otherwise, he couldn't think of anything he'd actually gotten specifically for this purpose. Well, he might want to try to fix that. The shops would probably be closed, but he could certainly see what he had about his house. There was a fine collection of assorted pieces of junk others might find useful lying around on tables and such...
Within fifteen minutes, Erik had started a fire, dressed (fairly nicely, but not in full evening dress as he didn't plan to leave his house), and begun his search of unused knick knacks. So far he'd found a nice china teacup he happened to hate, some mostly un-wilted roses he could leave for Christine, and a nice linen handkerchief he never used. These could certainly work as presents...
Erik was about to celebrate his small victories with a nice cup of wine (even though it was early in the morning, it was still Christmas) when he heard something moving about in the torture chamber. He sighed and set down his empty cup to go see who had fallen into it and whether or not they were worth his time. If it was another of those blasted ballet rats or another chorus girl, he might actually turn the contraption on, to a low setting. They needed to find a hobby other than snooping around in the cellars.
Peering in through the window, he saw with surprise that it was the daroga fumbling in the dark. This was unexpected. Erik opened the door and the Persian blinked in the sudden light.
"Ah, Erik, merry Christmas," he exclaimed heartily as he exited the torture chamber and made for the couch, setting several neatly wrapped boxes on a nearby table. "I...accidentally fell into the torture chamber, as you can see..."
He flushed a bit and stared steadily at the ground. Erik looked at his acquaintance in confusion for a moment before returning into his room and putting on his mask. When he entered again, the daroga looked up and smiled.
"Yes, well..."
For several moments neither of them said a thing, merely sat in silence, examining the different pieces of furniture and pictures on the walls. Erik finally spoke up.
"Perhaps you should learn to avoid the trap door. Having to deal with you winding up in my torture chamber does grow tiresome after a while."
"I... yes, that would probably be good." The Persian nodded and glanced over at the Christmas tree. "The tree looks nice. Pity there aren't any other decorations to go with it. You know, to give the room a more festive air."
"The room does not need to be festive," Erik snapped immediately. "It is fine. Festivity and holiday spirit are overrated."
"I know, but they are certainly fun, and much more cheerful than... well, I suppose this room isn't so bad, but your bedroom is certainly..."
Erik cut him off before he could continue. "Yes, I see your point. But I don't understand why you care so much. You aren't even Christian. Why are we even celebrating Christmas?"
"I don't know. It's what everyone celebrates around here, I suppose. The presents are certainly enjoyable as well." The daroga glanced over at the parcels on the table and smiled. "I brought some, if you hadn't noticed. Perhaps we could begin. I don't think anyone else should be joining us."
"Ah, yes, we could begin..." Erik silently chided himself for forgetting to wrap the presents. He might be able to figure something out, though, if he could think quickly. "I must retrieve my presents for you."
The daroga nodded and Erik disappeared into the kitchen, where he'd set the presents on the table. There was the previous day's newspaper lying nearby, and he quickly wrapped up the box of candy and the teacup, securing the wrapping with some strawberry jam. Those should be sufficient, and the jam should be sticky enough to hold at least until the presents could be opened. Erik re-emerged into the living room and the daroga smiled briefly from his chair, the other presents in his lap. His eyes flickered briefly to the newspaper wrapping, but his smile only faltered slightly. Erik took his seat in the opposite chair, stiffly sitting with the presents balanced on his lap.
For a long minute, the two simply sat and stared at each other, eyes darting between the presents and the faces of their givers. Erik didn't intend to make the first move, so the Persian took the initiative. He smiled briefly once more and moved across the room, depositing his presents in Erik's lap and taking Erik's presents back to his seat, all in silence, a silence only broken by uncomfortable noises from both during the slightly awkward lap exchange. As the daroga sat back down, the silence resumed completely once more for a second or two.
"Perhaps we should open the presents," Erik suggested stiffly, glancing down at the pile on his lap.
"Yes, that would make sense."
The two men began unwrapping their gifts silently. The Persian finished first, gingerly dropping the sticky newspaper on the carpet, and pulled out the Turkish Delight.
"Erik, this is wonderful! I adore Turkish Delight."
"Yes, I thought so..." Erik replied, removing the last of the wrapping on his present. He pulled off the paper to reveal what looked like a card with hearts drawn on in some strangely familiar red ink. Opening the card, he read the contents:
My dear, I shall love and treasure you until the end of time. I could never ask for a lovelier present than you.
Erik looked up at his friend in confusion. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
The daroga returned Erik's confused look until he caught sight of the red hearts. "I... oh. Yes, well..." He leapt up and pulled the card out of Erik's hands, blushing furiously. "I hadn't meant to give you that particular present."
"I certainly hope not. I am only interested in Christine, you understand."
"I... yes. Yes, of course. Er, move on to the next present, please. That one is yours."
With a slightly suspicious glance at the daroga, Erik slowly unwrapped the second present. As he pulled the wrapping away again, a couple inkwells of red ink tumbled out. Fortunately, Erik caught them before they hit the floor.
"You gave me ink."
"Yes, well I thought you might need some. You go through it rather quickly at times..."
"Well, thank you." Erik set the inkwells aside and both men moved on to the next presents. The Persian pulled out Erik's unused teacup and Erik removed a tambourine.
"A teacup," the Persian announced. "I... have been wanting a teacup. Thank you."
"Yes, and this... tambourine. It is very interesting. Perhaps I could find some way to make use of it..."
"I... yes."
Both stared down at their presents for a long minute, and were still staring when there was a knock on the door.
"Who on earth would be knocking on my door?" Erik mused to himself quietly for another minute before the Persian nearly forced him up and to the door. A soaked and shivering Christine stood outside, a soaked and shivering Raoul behind her.
"Hello, Erik," Christine greeted, her teeth chattering, as she wrung out her dripping blonde hair. "I thought it might be good to come visit you, you know, keep you company."
"Yes, well, I already have company. Why did you bring him along? Shouldn't he be doing something with his family?" Erik gestured toward Raoul, who, not having hair long enough to wring out, had begun shaking his head like a dog.
"Well, he was going to, but they didn't want me to come along, and then he got into a fight with his brother, so we decided it would be better to do something else."
"Why are you so wet?"
"We couldn't find a boat, so we swam across the lake," Christine replied far more cheerfully than someone standing soaked in the fifth cellar underground in the dead of winter should have responded.
"You swam across the lake?" Christine nodded. "In the middle of December?" She nodded again. "Do you want to catch your death? It's freezing!"
"Maybe if you let us in..."
"Very well." Erik stepped aside to allow them in. The couple dripped lake water all over his carpet, and his upper lip wrinkled in disgust. He didn't want to think about what was in that water.
Christine, already standing near the fireplace, suddenly held up a small, wet box. "We brought decorations. Well, it was my idea, really. I know how you are with decorating."
Before Erik could give his complaint, Christine had opened the box and was pulling out half-soaked holly leaves and candles and mistletoe, which she scattered all over his table.
"Here they are! They got a bit wet when we swam across, I suppose, but nothing we can't get around!"
"Er, Christine, before you begin decorating," the Persian spoke up from where he had been standing silently on the opposite side of the room, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to change into some drier clothing? The lake is freezing this time of year, as is the temperature down here, and I know Erik would be terribly upset if you were to catch cold."
"Ah, yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me. I would have gotten so caught up in the decorating and... well, sorry, but who are you again?"
"I... the Persian. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
"Oh, yes! The ballet rats, superstitious little things, tell the wildest stories. They say you have the evil eye. Not that I believe a word, of course, anymore than I believe what they say about the Opera Ghost having hundreds of heads which he chooses to display at will." She laughed and gently ran a finger along Erik's hand, resting on the table near her decorations.
"Yes. The ballet rats."
"Er, Christine," Raoul muttered quietly, playing with her dripping sleeve. "Do you think we'd be able to change sometime soon? It really is freezing down here."
"Yes, of course, Raoul. Erik, do you have something Raoul could wear as well? If I remember correctly, you had a fair amount of clothes for me in the closet in the Louis-Phillipe room, but if you had something that might fit Raoul as well..."
"I believe I can find something for him. You may go change while I search."
"Oh, yes, thank you." Christine smiled once more and disappeared down the hallway. Erik followed shortly after. He dug through his wardrobe for a few minutes, searching for something that wasn't a dress suits, and eventually found something suitably plain. It might be a bit long on Raoul's shorter frame, but it would at least be dry.
"You may wear this," he announced as he came back into the living room, tossing the suit at Raoul. The vicomte fumbled with the clothing and dropped it on the floor before picking it up and blushing furiously.
"I- I'll go change, then," he mumbled, and stumbled over the pant legs as he hurried down the hall, looking for an empty room. Erik turned to face the Persian once more.
"Aren't the aristocracy generally more graceful?"
"Erik, the poor boy is freezing cold, soaking wet, and you probably frighten him. And it's Christmas. You could cut him some slack."
"Yes, I suppose..."
The two men sat in silence once more, until suddenly unusual noises began emitting from the torture chamber. Erik groaned.
"Not again. Who is it this time?"
"I have no idea. Most likely an accident."
"I should probably see who it is..." Erik rose and went over to peer through the viewing window. In the dark, he could make out two confused-looking shapes in swirling skirts. "Bloody chorus girls..."