Hello, all!
I am borrowing from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, instead of using (in my opinion) the WORST song in LND… "Bathing Beauty". Honestly, what was ALW thinking? Aside from lyrics, there will be no other crossover. That would be too weird.
Also, I switch back and forth between French and English a bit. Sorry for the confusion, I don't know a better way to handle it. Just remember: their native tongue is French. So, when the Phantom is speaking in French to her, she understands it. When they attempt to speak English (with his words in quotations), I will try to clarify as much as possible.
Please review! I need help with an upcoming plot point, and I can't know what you want without knowing who to ask! If you review, you drive the story. For those of you who don't like to take the time, that's fine. I hope you're enjoying the story, too.
Jenn
Phantasma was blooming from a simple idea into an intricate concept. Erik had written more music, while Meg slept off the hallucinogen. There were no lyrics, yet, but they would come in time. They would have to be in English, of course, to appeal to the vast majority of paying customers.
Every few minutes, his eyes would lift to Meg's covered form, willing her to awaken. He wasn't sure what to expect. Depending on how much of the drug she had inhaled, it was possible that she wouldn't remember any of their…encounter.
He was humming the strains of a dark ballad. He called it "The Beauty Underneath". It was too heavy for Meg, but he couldn't tell, without lyrics, who exactly would be featured.
Her eyelids softly fluttered awake, and Erik dropped his pen to watch her reaction. She moved sluggishly, slowly acknowledging her surroundings. When she registered her nakedness, her bare arm clutched his cape to her chest in alarm. She sat up rigidly and turned her shocked countenance to the Phantom.
"Oh, I…oh, my!" Her face flushed mercilessly, as she remembered the events prior to her nap.
Erik smirked at her, pleased that she did, in fact, recall what had transpired.
"Good afternoon, Meg. At least, I assume it must be afternoon."
"I…did I…did we…"
He shook his head at her and she closed her eyes in relief.
"Like I said earlier," he reminded her. "Never without your consent."
She nodded and looked about for her missing garments. When she saw them on the floor at his feet, she frowned.
"Erik, would you mind?"
He bent over, retrieved the blouse, and handed to her outstretched hand.
"My corset, too, please."
The Phantom smiled and made no move to pick it up.
"I will not help you put it back on," he admitted. "And, as you cannot possibly fasten it yourself, you may as well leave it on the ground."
"I will not be waltzing about without my undergarments, thank you very much," she expressed indignantly.
"Apparently, you shall. Now, put the shirt on and assist me in writing appropriate songs for you."
The confusion on her face was momentary, until she remembered her part in his plan. The corset was a lost cause. His argument was valid, if ungentlemanly, and she knew he would not reconsider. She held his cape under her arms and used her two restricted limbs to pull the white blouse over her head. Once on, she let the cape fall down and then used it to cover herself, eager to have more material over her chest.
"Now that you have regained a small measure of modesty, what would you like to sing about?"
"I don't know. What should a dancer sing about?"
"That would be what I am trying to ascertain, little ballerina." His words were teasing. She eyed him warily, expecting that his jovial mood could change at any second.
"Does it have to be in English, like the other one?"
"Of course," he affirmed. "We will be in America."
"But how will I sing in a language I don't understand?"
Erik laughed at her naivety. "I scarcely believe Christine understood any of the Italian arias that she sang for me." His laughter stopped at the reminder of his muse. Meg saw his jaw clench, as he looked away from her.
She thought about the different ballets and shows she had performed. Don Juan Triumphant eventually crossed her mind; she still wore the costume from a scene that had never seen an audience. A ballerina wearing pants was not completely unheard of, in an opera. At times, the corps was required to don male costumes to increase the amount of "men" onstage. After Christine and Piangi had finished "The Point of No Return," she and the other dancers were tasked with storming the stage to arrest the duped maiden. Piangi as "Don Juan" would then hide the frightened girl in his chambers, where they would feign her seduction.
The memory of the chaos that ensued from Christine's final disappearance brought Meg back to her senses.
"A music box…"
Erik's eyes snapped back to her.
"What are you talking about?"
"She said there was a music box. It woke her up," she dreamily answered. "It had a monkey on it, didn't it?"
"Yes," he whispered. "I had to leave it behind. I made it."
"You did? You actually made it?"
"I did."
"My mother gave me a music box that her grandmother had given her," she shared. "She knew I adored it. I begged her to play it all the time. And then I would dance. It was a wooden pedestal with a porcelain ballerina that spun on top. I pretended that I was the ballerina."
He stayed perfectly still and patiently waited for her to continue her story. Her eyes welled with tears as she reminisced.
"When she presented it to me, I was so excited! I placed it on my nightstand and twirled alongside her. Once, I put one of my mother's tutus on, so that I would look like her, too. But I was too close, and the fabric caught her outstretched hands. It fell to the floor and shattered. I cried for days, at the loss…"
The tears liberated themselves from her pretty eyes, falling gracefully down her smooth cheeks.
"She wasn't mad. My mother…she wasn't angry with me. I think she understood how bad I felt. There was no need to punish me further."
Erik took a deep breath and took up the conversation.
"Yes, this will work perfectly. You will be a ballerina on a turning music box."
He grabbed more paper from under the table and set it down.
"Do you remember how the tune went, Meg?"
She smiled and wiped the tears away. Her eyes moved to the side of the room, seeing past the wooden wall to a memory hidden within the recesses of her mind. When she had it, she looked back at the Phantom and hummed the basic melody.
He returned the smile and put the notes she sang onto corresponding lines. It was an interesting challenge, to create a solo number that would require both her dancing and her singing to be mechanical, in style. Meg placed the cape around her upper body and crossed the room to find sustenance. She settled for an apple and watched over his shoulder as his hand raced back and forth over the parchment.
Although he made substantial progress, he was unable to finish until he had matching lyrics. He abandoned the music and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper.
"Are you finished, already?"
He did not turn to face her, as he answered. "No, but I will finish the musical portion after the lyrics are completed."
She stretched her legs and back, and then finished the apple. It was hard to believe that a week and a half ago, she was practicing her craft daily. With one hand, she clasped the cloak, while the other rested gracefully at her side. She went up on relevé and let her stiff calves adjust to the strain. After they could take no more, she extended each leg out to allow her feet to point. It was difficult, in the cumbersome boots, but it made her feel better to do so.
As Meg lightly danced behind him, Erik continued to write. The lyrics came rather naturally, as he wanted the song to be rather simple. After the song was completed, he turned to her. Meg clutched the cape around her shoulders a little more tightly.
"Would you like to hear it?" he asked.
"Yes, very much."
"Que voyez-vous, vous qui me regarde? Voyez une fille sur une boîte à musique qui est enroulé par une clé."
He translated the entirety of the song for her, lightly singing the composition that he had penned only minutes ago. When he had finished, she clapped delightedly.
"I love it! It is so beautiful! Must I learn it in English? I cannot imagine it would sound better than that."
"Perhaps not," he acquiesced. "But then, we would lose most of your audience. Repeat after me: 'What do you see?'"
Her brow furrowed at the strange sounding words, but she played along.
"Whoo-at doe you say?"
"No, no," the Phantom chided. "Try again. 'What do you see?'"
"What doooh yooou see?"
"Better." He nodded his approval in encouragement. Meg couldn't restrain the feeling of accomplishment that surged through her at his response.
"And now this: 'You people gazing at me.'"
"Yooou peepule gahzeeng an me."
"Again, Meg. Listen to my voice."
He stood and held her upper arms. She stared into his eyes, frightened by the proximity.
"Focus on my lips, please, and try again. 'What do you see.'"
She obeyed and concentrated on his enunciation.
"What do you see."
"Good. Now, 'You people gazing at me.'"
"You people gazing at me."
"In one line: 'What do you see, you people gazing at me.'"
"What do you see, you people gazing at me."
"Let's keep going. 'You see a girl on a music box.'"
"You see a girl on a music box."
"You're doing very well; now try the next part…."
They continued the call and response tactic; Meg was elated to find out that the song was mercifully brief. When they had spoken all of the English lyrics, Erik smiled proudly at her. She relaxed in his chaste hold and smiled back.
"So…I just said all the words that you sang to me? It's the same story as what you sang?"
"Yes, more or less. It's difficult to translate from one language to another without losing a little of the original meaning, but the story is the same. You'll play a ballerina on a turning music box who desires to fall in love. You realize, however, that you are limited to your stationary position, bound to the very apparatus that enables you to sing of your longing."
Meg looked wistful, seeing the ironic symbolism as a metaphor for her current state. A dancer that wished for freedom, but was imprisoned by the instrument of her success. That sounded familiar.
He let her go and returned to his seat, finalizing the sheet music with the ending he envisioned. She returned to the bed and picked the copy of Notre-Dame de Paris back up.
Erik looked up when he heard Meg shifting on the bed. Her face was flushed and she held her free hand up to her lips. He knew what part she was most likely reading…the tryst between Phoebus and Esmeralda. Although the lovers in the book had been violently separated, the descriptive implications were obviously flustering the sexually inexperienced girl.
Now that two of her songs were completed, he placed the papers in a stack and flexed his cramping hands. He stood and prepared their dinner, wishing to engage her in conversation.
"Where are you, in the novel?"
Meg looked up and had an expression of guilt upon her face.
"Um…I…" she cleared her throat to start over. "Phoebus has just been stabbed."
The Phantom smiled, happy to have been right about her body signals.
"I don't quite remember that part. It's been a while since I've read it. Why don't you describe the scene for me?"
Meg closed the book and placed it atop the stack of papers. She felt her cheeks enflame, and she dreaded the idea of explaining what she had just read.
"I'd rather not, thank you. Can I assist you in making dinner?"
Erik chuckled to himself at her refusal.
After they finished their meal and the cleanup, Meg walked back toward the bed. At some point in the evening, the cape had been discarded, and now she stretched her back. Erik came right up behind her, which made her jump in surprise. His hands rested upon her waist and she froze in response.
"Before bed, I would like you to show me how you plan to emulate a porcelain ballerina."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I wondered if you would be useful as a choreographer for Phantasma, or if I would have to hire someone."
She sighed and moved to seat herself on the bed. He let go of her and left his arms at his sides. They stared at each other, until Meg broke the silence.
"I think I could do it," she stated. "I mean, I love dancing, and mother would occasionally have me help her choreograph our dance numbers." She took a deep breath and finished her thought. "I could create a routine for the music box song, but I need a little more time, if you don't mind."
"I don't," he replied. His eyes still raked over her, down to the floor where her corset still lay. "Do you remember what I said earlier? About us not having to be enemies?"
Meg flinched at the memory. She remembered what had occurred between them…how wanton she had acted. When they had arrived on the ship, Erik had used touch to control her. Now he was touching her more frequently; it was as if he was still trying to control her, but through different tactics. Or was it something more?
Did she want it to be something more?
"Yes," she answered to his question.
"You find yourself tangled up in my chaos, and I am sorry for that. You were, indeed, a good friend to Christine. I had not considered the repercussions of abducting you…I thought only of my ire towards your mother."
Her eyes misted. It had only been a little over a week since she had seen her mother. But already it felt like ages ago.
"I can give you comfort," he promised. "We can comfort each other."
He moved the cape from the bed onto the nail that held the lasso. Returning to her side, he cautiously sat beside her and stared seductively into her innocent eyes.
"Let me show you."
It was a request…and a demand. The blonde was frozen, while the noise level outside signified the end of a workday. The Phantom eased her onto her side, facing him, and he lay down in turn. Their eyes remained locked, as his hand traced ghostly lines over her cheek and neck.
Time passed as he languorously caressed her, slowly pulling her into his larger frame. She accepted the affection, desiring to feel safe, despite the fact that her mind still recognized him as her kidnapper. He kissed the top of her head in a placating fashion and simply held her to him.
Both bodies tensed when they heard noises coming from outside their cabin. A conversation was becoming more audible, as the participants made their way toward the hidden compartment.
"…not what you said before," said a male voice. "Do you not care for me, Josette?"
"I love you, Henri!" Josette exclaimed.
"Then why will you not prove it to me, my love?"
"I…I cannot just throw away my virtue," she asserted. "Can you not wait the few days until we are off this ship? We can be wed, and then I will be yours forever and ever!"
Meg scoffed into the Phantom's chest, at the idea of the philandering sailor being tied down to either of the women he had brought to this place. His head above hers, Erik smirked in a similar thought.
"Er…but, I will not allow my fragile heart to enter into such an arrangement until I know your love is as deep as mine!"
"Henri-"
Josette's argument was silenced and the sounds of kissing took its place. The Phantom pulled away from Meg and moved to kiss her neck. She shook her head in alarm, but he smiled knowingly and shushed her. As the lovers outside embraced, the stowaways experimented with their own sober intimacy.
Erik kissed and nipped at her sensitive neck, while his hand gently brushed her clothed breasts. The action made Meg flinch, but he secured her to him with an arm wrapped around her waist. To make them both more comfortable, he rolled her slightly over him, so that she wouldn't feel completely trapped.
"No…" the woman outside complained. "No, Henri. Stop. Stop!"
The Phantom halted his ministrations and watched Meg with hooded eyes. Her own hazel orbs showed her nervousness, coupled with attraction.
"Josette," Henri soothingly chided. "If you give yourself to me, I will give you the world in return. I love you so very much, Cherie."
Erik shook his head at Meg and smirked. She smiled back and rolled her eyes at the events that were currently taking place mere feet from their location. Poor Josette was doomed, and they both knew it.
"Oh, Henri!"
The couple continued their amorous activities, as Josette gave into the smooth-talking sailor. Erik resumed his seduction of Meg, peppering her neck and clavicle with feathery kisses. His hands wandered under her blouse to return his affection to her bountiful breasts.
Every so often, her body would twitch in uncertainty, but he pushed through her misgivings with light shushes and bold advances. Outside, the lovers were becoming intimately acquainted; Henri the sailor's gentle prodding was rewarded with the ultimate prize.
"Please," Josette interrupted. "Will it hurt? I've heard other girls say that it hurt the first time they made love."
Meg pulled away and looked at the Phantom, believing the question to be relevant to her situation.
"I will be gentle, my sweet," the womanizing sailor promised. The kissing resumed and the sounds of vestments being discarded could be heard through the wooden wall.
Erik softly ran his fingers over Meg's forehead into her flaxen hair.
"It may," he whispered.
She shook her head in response. Erik smiled charmingly at her.
"It is just us, now, Meg. Let me be your shelter. Let me protect you."
The words sounded borrowed, unnatural. But she could not deny that they were comforting. Her whole world had changed, very suddenly. And the only thing that binded her old life to what she would become was him. She was desperate for the intimacy.
Outside, the passionate couple had just joined. Josette's cries of pain were muffled, but they soon ceased and became ardent moans of desire. The Phantom simply watched the beautiful girl in his arms. He waited patiently for a solid answer.
There were girls in the ballet corps with Meg that gave themselves for less. Josette was certainly sacrificing her virginity for a very risky love. What Meg and Erik had was…well, not love, but at least a bond. Ultimately, he needed her acceptance. She needed his compassion. We don't have to be enemies…
Meg steeled herself and nodded her consent.
