Chapter 7 – Dear Old Friends
(A/N- I herein give fair warning, I personally think Raoul is a spoiled brat who never emotionally grew up. If you are one of those who support Raoul, READ NO FARTHER – because the Raoul bashing starts here, and since Raoul reminds me much too much of my brother in law AKA the Worthless Lump- it will only get worse as we go along. On a happier note – we will meet the Daroga today and HIM I like. And just to keep the legalities straight, all I own are a few minor characters, anybody you recognize probably is (intellectually) owned by someone else, nor am I getting so much as one cent from this. Clear? OK, then – let's go on.)
When Christine came to ask Sorelli a question after the matinee performance, she found a ribbon around the door handle of Sorelli's private dressing room. It was the signal that she was entertaining her Comte, so Christine nodded to herself and figured she'd best save her question until her friend was free – probably not until tomorrow. Turning on her heel, she ran right into a skinny, blonde, long-haired youth of perhaps fourteen or fifteen. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, " I didn't see you there in the shadows."
He looked her over, approving of what he'd caught. /Long light brown hair, probably my age (Christine was ALMOST sixteen – in another month and a half), VERY pretty, and a dancer's outfit, meaning, she's available if I want her, for as long as I can afford the price./ "What's your name, Cheri? And who is your current protector, or may I volunteer myself?"
Christine pushed at the entrapping arms, not liking either the constriction, or the insinuating tone. "Let go of me!"
Raoul was disinclined to comply. He began to move his hands over her arms, not-so-subtly caressing them. Christine frowned, thinking of the knife she kept under her tutu, but, no, not yet.
/However, if this jerk doesn't quit mauling me, I may just pull Father's dagger on him yet./ "Monsieur, please, let go of me. I don't even know you!"
That much was true, Raoul realized. Releasing her arms, he instead put both his arms against the wall, with her trapped between them. "My name" he intoned with all the dignity of a king, "is Raoul, Vicomte De Chagney. Now, you tell me yours."
Christine frowned, and then remembered. "Goodness, Raoul, you've changed! It's Christine, from Perros. Now, kindly LET GO. You never used to be this rude!"
"Christine? Christine Daae? That Christine? "Raoul still didn't move, but now it was more out of shock than lust. "What in Heaven's name are you doing HERE?"
/He makes it sound like I was stuck in a garbage pile./ thought Christine as Raoul finally moved about a foot away, giving her breathing room at last. "When my parents died," Raoul grimaced but didn't interrupt, "the Dance Mistress took me in. I've lived here for over eight years now."
"HERE?" His tone still sounded like this was a hell-hole. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it.
"And what are you doing here, Raoul?"/Since it's obvious you hate this place-/ Christine couldn't remember Raoul being so rude before. Pigheaded, reckless, yes, but not rude.
"Visiting my brother Philippe. He had an appointment with his mistress, and since I gave him no warning, he refused to cancel. It seems a little silly to me, why didn't he just send her a note and some expensive bauble? After all, it's not like she's his fiancée or something –"
/Christine was rapidly getting very tired of Raoul's arrogance. /You may have changed, Raoul, but I'm not sure I like what you've become./ Excusing herself, she decided to go pray, since she had an hour before the chorus needed to start preparing to perform this evening.
When she got down the stairs, she was surprised to see a tall, dignified, older man with a turban standing on the quay with Erik's boat approaching. Since she had never seen anyone else down here, she watched, wondering if Erik actually knew this strange man. Certainly he was not your typical Parisian. Yes, his clothes were the latest cut, and the man wore them well, but his complexion was much too dark, nor was his headgear something you saw every day.
The boat was almost touching the quay, when the man looked around and spotted her, giving her an elaborate bow. "Good day, Mademoiselle." His voice was sonorous, and his manner as composed as if they were meeting at a café in daylight, instead of in a faintly musty-smelling, water-filled, torch-lit basement.
Erik frowned slightly as the Daroga salaamed at his Christine, but decided not to object. He knew that Nadir Khan's heart was still with his Fetinah, his long-dead wife. And it couldn't hurt for Christine to know his friend, so, poling them both over to his place, he made introductions.
"My Christine, this is Nadir Khan, once the Daroga of Persia, now the thorn in my side. Daroga, this is Christine Daae, my friend and protégée. Christine, I was not expecting to see you this evening."
"I'm sorry, Erik, but I was a little upset, and so I came down to pray, and was startled by your guest's presence. I meant no harm."
Erik pondered this. "What upset you? Did that twit, Carlotta -?"
"No, Erik. I'll tell you about it later, but, I met someone I hadn't seen in some time. Time did not improve his personality any, I'm sorry to say. He acted like an arrogant jerk."
"Tell me now." Erik urged.
"Remember, when I wore the red scarf and you asked about it? I told you about my childhood playmate, Raoul?"
"Yes, I remember. Gallant and foolhardy, was he not?"
"Yes, well, his brother Philippe is Sorelli's man and he's evidently home visiting his brother. I literally ran into him in the hall and he acted like I was wearing a "For Sale or For Rent Sign" on my chest." After all, Christine had seen enough couples among the Ballet Troupe to recognize a human tomcat on the prowl; she had just never before been propositioned herself. Ignoring a low growl from Erik, she continued "But what really got my temper up was the way he was acting about the Opera House. It was like this was the place where the street-scum dwells. What a complete jerk! Even though he's no older than me, he's acting like some doddering old moralizing fool."
The pinching sensation in Erik's chest eased. If Christine disliked this youth so much, he was no threat to Erik's long-term plans. And Erik had MANY long term plans, all involving a slightly older Christine.
Observing the byplay between the pair, Nadir Khan made a mental note never to even tease Erik about this girl. It was obvious that they were both at least half in love with each other, but neither one was aware of it yet – and Nadir Khan was wise enough not to do anything that might screw up what promised to be a highly entertaining romance. After all, he liked his head right where it was, thank you very much.
(So? Comments? Screams of Rage? Review, please, and if anyone has ideas how to start dislodging Carlotta, that campaign's about to start! )
