The Opera House started decorating early. All holidays were a grand affair here, and almost everyone involved couldn't help but get into the spirit. Late November involved a formal dinner that only a select few were involved in, and the managers raved about it for days after. The more affluent patrons were there, including the Comte Phillipe de Chagny, who, after incredible pestering, let Raoul in on what happened. They were being called not only as friends, but for a business proposition to decorate the Garnier more grandly than ever before, as a way to celebrate their first whole year spent there in success – there was much knocking on wood to keep them from jinxing the statement, and Phillipe had jested they were getting more superstitious than the ballet rats.
The patrons and subscribers were a bit reluctant, at first, but then they had been let in on a secret that would come to fruition on Christmas Eve, which even Phillipe kept from his younger brother, and somehow managed to be kept from anyone in the Garnier at all. But whatever the secret was, it must have been enough to convince them, because their budget ended up being sixty thousand francs larger than last year. Exclamations of happiness were exchanged, and everyone went home with a full stomach and pleasant thoughts. Gossip faded after a week - until the first of December.
It was a mystery indeed how the managers planned it, and who carried out the duty. Some speculated it was the Ghost, while others laughed off such a preposterous thing. Why would a Ghost spend his time making and putting up dozens, if not more, mistletoe balls? No matter what you called them, mistletoe balls or wesleybobs or just wreaths, their meaning was clear through their placement in doorways and staircases and other unavoidable spaces like that. They were for unsuspecting victims – or victorious suitors – to kiss their partner under. The ballet rats and chorus girls had a ball, gathering some up to hang on their own or take with them for good luck home. More appeared soon enough, though, until even calm Christine's curiosity was piqued. Luckily, she had a loving suitor of her own who knew everything about everything that went on.
Her next visit to Erik's underground home found him muttering and looking completely like Scrooge from that book by Charles Dickens.
"Erik, you look angry." she noted helpfully. He sighed and turned.
"This damnable holiday is to blame. How can people stand it?"
"It's fun, Erik. I just know you will enjoy it by the end of the month." she informed him knowingly.
He scoffed. "I highly doubt that." was his only retort, and she let it go with a decidedly sly smile.
"Of course, dear. I'm sure you know about the mistletoe balls, in that case."
"Naturally, I know all that goes on in my Opera House." she nodded complacently at him. She had tried to have this discussion with him, and gave it up for more productive ones that she had a chance of winning. It practically did belong to him, anyway.
"So. . .who is the one that hangs them up?" she asked curiously, taking a seat next to him on the piano bench. He looked away, his jaw clenched not in the horrid temper she knew him to have, but something that almost reminded her of Raoul. A smile could not be helped as it spread across her face and she giggled. "You don't know!" she said, now laughing.
"They must have done it while I was not watching, they have not been there for very long." he said, and was clearly affronted. Still laughing, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Yes, dear. I'm sure you will catch the culprit soon."
He could not be too angry when she was so affectionate, so they moved on to other topics. When it was time for her to return above to her room, she seemed antsy. Erik assumed it was because there was the last performance of a very successful season coming up, so thought nothing more of it.
Until they were at the mirror door exit, and she turned to say goodbye, at least. He was very tall, and she was fairly short, so she had only managed to hang the thing at about eye level with Erik. He saw it and looked wordlessly down at Christine, who smiled widely up at him.
"Well, now how did that get there? It seems you will have to kiss me." she said innocently. Erik looked heavenwards with an expression that was half exasperation and half adoration. She knew he was still not fully capable of understanding just how much she loved him, and that meant all of him, including the mask and what lay behind it.
"It seems I must." he agreed softly, and she went on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands went to her waist to hold her close as they passionately kissed. As always, he took a long look at her afterward, memorizing every detail. She rested one small, warm hand on the uncovered side of his cheek as he did so, and when a knock at the door interrupted them, he took his time saying goodbye.
She took the mistletoe down and lay it on her desk for later. She might have to try that trick again sometime.
A/N: Welcome! Originally I mentioned Thanksgiving in this even though its an American holiday, but I edited that when 'twas pointed out. Enjoy the drabbles!