I'm back again with another chapter. This one gave me a hard time, and I had to rewrite it maybe three times before I was halfway satisfied. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. Please read and review!

"You great idiot! I do not want to eat a meal with her!" Erik paced around his desk like a trapped animal. He wasn't an animal, but he was trapped. That imbecilic Daroga was blocking the door!

"You don't have to alienate everyone you meet, Erik."

"She's already done a rather fine job of alienating me, wouldn't you think?" He said, his voice low.

"She can not control her rather...unappealing voice. It would be wrong to judge her."

"Lecturing me on the importance of not judging others. I think not." He stared long and hard into Amir's eyes.

"I'm sure she would like to get to know that person who is giving her lessons."

"What more would she like to know? That I'm terrible? That she is in the same room as a corpse? Would you like me to tell her that?" Amir held up his hand.

"Not at all! I was merely suggesting that you dispel any fears she might have about you."

"Hmm."

"You were rather threatening earlier today."

"Fine you dolt, I will consider it." He and amir both knew that he wasn't.

"Thank you." Amir finally unblocked the doorway, leaving Erik to rifle through his papers while considering an answer. He would have to wear the mask that uncovered his mouth. His mouth that was a part of the thing that one could call a face. He never wanted to subject anyone to that terror, but Amir had seen it often enough and...maybe Mlle. Daae wouldn't mind.

He normally took meals alone, with Amir only going into his office sometimes to pester him for company. Erik knew that he went out many nights of the week, leaving him in peace. One part was grateful for the Daroga's distractions, another part was sad that he couldn't go with him. That was one of the only things he could be jealous of Amir about.

After reviewing many of the architectural plans, writing letters and rejecting proposals for buildings, his mind wandered once again to Amir's own proposal for lunch. It was looking more appealing by the minute. Had the man bewitched him?

Against his better nature, he exited the study and slunk into the dining room. The table was already set, but no food was present.

Erik waited in silence for a moment, contemplating if he really should leave, when the dining room door began to slowly creak open. He went further into the shadow. It was just Amir who apparently did not notice Erik's presence. He closed the door behind him, with a bounce in his step.

"Not going to say hello?" Amir shrieked in a very unmanly way. Erik's acquaintance gasped for breath and pointed a finger at him.

"You scared me."

"Evidently. Aren't you going to sit down? It's rude to be the only one standing."

"There are only two of us." He sat down next to Erik., "and I had just come in."

"It's the principle of the matter, dear Daroga."

"You are positively insufferable." though this was true, he was not in the mood for arguing with Amir, strange as that was.

"So, when do you think the guttersnipe is coming downstairs?"

"Genevieve said something about her just receiving her clothing now. I would say about 15 minutes." he leaned in closer to Erik. Erik leaned away, "and do take care not to call her a guttersnipe."

"Why ever not?"

"It's a terribly rude thing to say."

"Hm." He would be ignoring the Daroga from now on.

The servers entered, bringing in the steaming piles of food. Never was Erik more proud of himself for his amazing ability to seek out the best chefs.

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When Christine accepted this proposition as the object of a bet, she had expected something rather different. The house would be shabbier, they would give her a tiny room in the basement and she would be eating something only slightly better than gruel. Maybe gruel with a topping of week-old berries. She would work because she wouldn't be able to pay in full.

That was what she thought. What she got was infinitely better. Christine was sitting in a gorgeous dining room, with a spread of ham, mash, and peas, dressed to the nines, looking better than she had in her life.

"So, the flower seller finally joins us." M. Laurent's tone was callous.

"It's a great meal ya 'ave 'ere." she chose to ignore his lingering annoyance and appeal to his pride.

"It's fine."

"Mlle. Daae! You look lovely." Her face brightened at the compliment. She felt a tinge of embarrassment at M. Ahmadi's words. She didn't know how to handle them, as she rarely got them.

She did feel slightly irked at M. Laurent's lack of comment. Not that she cared, really. It was nice to feel appreciated by someone though.

"Thank you, M. Ahmadi." She sat down next to M. Laurent who was pointedly ignoring her. He was scraping his fork through a meager helping of peas.

"Erik, aren't you going to say anything to Mlle. Daae?"

"What?" he was startled, "yes, she looks fine." he barely took a glance at her. What a mannerless, feelingless mountain-goat.

"So, Erik, what is happening with that client in Nice?" M. Ahmadi cleared his throat.

"Why do you want to know what's happening in Nice?" Christine hung onto every word she heard about possible information about her teacher. Since she had that slinking suspicion about him being involved in...less than savory practices.

"Well, has he responded to your preliminary sketches?"

"No, he hasn't, Daroga." His tone was final, but M. Ahmadi kept chipping away at him.

"Are you worried something has happened to him?"

"No, frankly I am not," he was getting irritated, she could tell, "I have plenty of other work." this was her shining chance! She would finally know what M. Laurent did for a living.

"What do ya do for work?" He looked caught off guard for a moment.

"I am an architect, but I dabble in many sorts of things." Christine was greatly relieved for the time being. He had a normal, straightforward job. There were no more worries to be had. She didn't realize her heart was pounding so frantically in her chest until she has her anxiety assuaged.

"Was there a reason your baggage-ness decided to ask me that?"

"'hat can I say? I'm curious." she had a feeling that honesty was the best policy around M. Laurent. His yellow, gleaming eyes looked like they could pierce your soul and suck the life out of your body.

"That could get you into a lot of trouble, one day," he said quite slowly while looking directly at her. It was like he was threatening her, but she couldn't tell what he was telling her not to do.

He looked over at M. Ahmadi.

"You too, Daroga." M. Ahmadi almost spat out his drink. From laughter or fear, she couldn't tell.

"Erik's affairs are his alone? Is that right?" It turned out he was laughing.

"Quit your laughing! You know it's true." M. Laurent really liked to spoil the fun, didn't he?

"Fine." Amir rolled his eyes.

Christine piled all the food she could on her own plate. Before that, she had a taste of the jelly that was in a tiny glass on her left.

It was probably the most disgusting thing she ever had in her life, so naturally, she spat it out onto her plate. Then she began to attempt to scrape the flavor off her tongue with the table cloth. Her dining companions were appalled.

M. Ahmadi looked at her with an expression of wide-eyed horror. she was positive that behind the mask, M. Laurent too bore the same expression, but with a ting more anger.

"Why ever in the world would you spit food back onto your plate! It is the most disgusting thing I have seen this week!" M. Laurent yelled at her, but not very loudly. Amir was still staring at her as if frozen.

"My God." M. Ahmadi whispered, haunted.

"Do you understand that it is never, in any version of reality, alright to take something out of your mouth that has been stewing in your saliva that you at one time had the intended to eat?" Christine was starting to get the disgust centered around her action.

She stared at the greenish glob on the plate in abject horror.

"Nevermind you did that, you ate the palate-cleansing jelly before you had anything that you would need to cleanse your palate of!" No wonder it tasted so bad. M. Ahmadi was shaken out of his stupor at that.

"Ahy! I'm sorry."

"Just," he sputtered, "do not do that again." She looked miserably around.

"Can do." She pushed the remnants of the once edible substance to the edge of her plate.

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M. Laurent was terrified. The girl he had agreed to teach was less well-mannered than he thought. He tried to look at the silver lining but was not one to hunt out the happy bits among the desperate depression situations he had encountered.

But, he could see all the benefits in having her learn from the ground up.

She had seemed pleasant enough when she came to the dining table and complimented the meal his chef had made. Then, of course, the tables had to turn and she spat out that gelatinous blob.

At least she didn't seem to be afraid of him anymore, but he could still tell her stare lingered on the mask.

"I will have to go over manners with you as well as teaching you to speak. Can you manage that?"

"I 'ant to improve." he nodded his head, considering.

"So, Mlle. Daae, to get to the root of the problem," she squinted at him, "I must know exactly from what place you come from. This is how I will detect your linguistical error ." It was necessary to know just how garbled her language patterns were.

She looked at him suspiciously, a though he were ready to pounce. For some reason, he felt a tinge of regret at how he treated her yesterday.

"I'm from Sweden." Now that he thought about it, the admission made complete sense. If she learned a lowly form of French after carrying a thick accent, then yes, of course, she would not be able to carry proper diction.

"You do have yourself in quite the predicament there," he put a hand under his chin while contemplatively, and rather dramatically, and looked off into the far corner of the room, "Quite the predicament.

"Whats ma predicament?" She looked puzzled. I decided to put her out of her misery.

"Why it is because you can not speak well," Erik said in the monotone. Her face fell. Amir shot him a glance.

"I bloody 'new that!"

"Well, it is true. You have an accent." She slumped in her chair.

"Oh, fine." She was sick of it, he could tell. She leaned her elbow on the table. He rushed to correct this terrible behavior.

"Do not," he was practically simmering, "touch your elbow to the table!" He knew he was a monster, but at least he had table manners. It made him feel at least some semblance of humanity. So if he could do it, so could this young lady next to him.

She quickly retracted her elbow from the table, once again adjusting her posture.

"See? Better already." Erik He took a bite of peas while no one was looking. He couldn't bear to subject anyone to his dead mouth in the act of eating.

The three sat in silence, until Mlle. Daae piped up.

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"Do ya normally have students?" Christine inquired. She was quite sure that he either scared them away or had never taught a person anything in his life.

"You are an unusual circumstance, Mlle. Daae. no one wants to be around me much longer than you have now, besides the fool Daroga." M. Ahmadi looked highly unamused. "Even so, since you haven't fled...yet, I'm sure my reach for perfection will have you crying."

"Yes, yes, Erik we all know of you reach for perfection." he leaned a little closer to her, "and his reach for insanity." Christine had to laugh a little about that.

"It is not insane to reach for perfection, Amir."

"But truly, what even is perfection but just what is most pleasing to your mind's eye?"

"That is enough, Daroga."

"It is highly subjective to the viewe-"

"Do you know how to quiet down? I am just saying that I won't give up even on the most… hopeless cases." he spared a brief glance at Christine. She scowled.

"Stubborn as always, Erik. why don't we eat? The food is getting quite cold." She was the only one that was eating during the conversation. She didn't feel the need to waste the warmth on her food in exchange for frivolities. Or arguments between, what she could figure, old friends.

Christine found M. Laurent to be one of the most eccentric men she had ever encountered. Between the mask and whatever else he had going on. She had never seen him take a bite of food throughout the entire meal. It was illogical to assume he hadn't eaten at all, because morsels every now and again disappeared after she wasn't looking. He also set his fork down occasionally, a sure sign of food consumption.

Once she ate a substantial portion of her meal, she began to stir up conversation. Christine wanted to know everything about the strange inhabitants and habits of the household.

After all, she was a woman with uncontrollable curiosity.

"Do ya 'ave people over at all?"

"No. I prefer no guests." The dining room was a large place. The table went from one end to the other and could seat maybe 15 people. It was a shame that they never had anyone over. They could easily have prepared food for thirty people.

"'ow long 'ave you been living 'ere? Both of ya?" M. Laurent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She didn't feel bad in the slightest with how scared he made her earlier in the day. Instead of answering, M. Ahmadi answered for him.

"I have just moved here for the moment, maybe two months ago. I obviously plan to stay until after the six months of lessons," he turned to Erik, "I wouldn't miss it for anything." He said with slight amusement towards his friend.

"Of course you wouldn't," he grumbled, almost unintelligibly. "Of course you wouldn't. You only like to see me suffering."

"You know that's not true, Erik." M. Laurent bolted straight up out of his chair.

"Aha!" he cried, "and if I'm miserable, you'll have to be miserable too! You'll still be in the same house as me, and the same house as her."

"Erik! She is a pleasant young lady, not someone who wants to hurt you. It would do both of you well if you treated her kindly." M. Ahmadi was resigned at this point.

"Hmm."

"Why don't you answer her question?" M. Laurent was clearly uncomfortable. Something about her question threw him off. This was odd because to her it was a harmless little piece of trivia she could remember for later. Maybe not completely harmless… she still wanted to know about the person who would be teaching her.

"Fine! Fine. I have been in this house for about a decade, wouldn't you say, Amir?" He feigned comfort. Though his voice was as serene as a carefree wind, his fingers were clenched tightly.

Christine was greatly relieved, but she did not know for what reason. the question she posed could not have been answered in anything but numbers, benign little things that could spell no wrong in that scenario.

Ten is a perfectly wonderful amount of fingers and toes to have. It is also, however, a bad thing to answer when you've asked someone how many people they've thrown in their local river.

"Yes, that sounds about right."

More awkward silence ensued.

"'ow many maids do ya 'ave?" She could bear to sit in silence. Even asking useless questions made her feel better and much less nervous.

"Questions, questions. What a curious creature you are. Don't you think, Daroga, if she asks any more detailed ones, I shall surely go mad."

"Maybe…" he looked skeptical of his friend.

"I couldn't take it if you began to ask about each individual windowpane."

"I don't think I 'ould either."

"Good. we are on the same page, then." He was growing bored of this conversation. "I think this a perfect time to leave and not be bothered until morning."

"Ya still 'ave to evaluate me." he exhaled deeply.

"Fine. meet me in my study at, say, seven o'clock." he turned on his heel and left quickly down some dark corridor.

Christine trudged up the stairs, feeling very exhausted from that conversation downstairs. Who knew talking to M. Laurent would be so draining. She flopped on the bed like a fish. And just like a fish out of water, she was beginning to realize just how different she was from the other people in the household.

She contemplated writing her father a letter detailing her first-day experiences. She was sure that he would enjoy hearing from her. She could do that now- she had the money for postage! Christine would be sure to send him some stamps as well if he wanted to write her letter of his own. Or is M. Various would be so kind as to transcribe what he had to say.

Her worry had not waned when it came to her father's health. If she sent a letter every day, and he responded, then she would know he was all right.

Christine sprung up from her plush bed, and set to work formulating a suitable letter at once. She probably should have written it later, but she had no reason to expect that M. Laurnet's evaluation would end before some absurdly late hour. M. Amandi hinted at his perfectionist nature, and she was less than perfect.

Well, that was if she wasn't kicked out promptly due to lack of any promise. She scrunched up her face at the thought. She knew it was illogical, but it made her nervous still.

She could find the fountain pen and the paper easily enough. It was high quality stuff. She couldn't quite find the envelope or the coveted postage. Not to mention her issue of being unable to write on the envelope in French. Though she could write in Swedish just fine, she had a feeling that the postal service would not find it an easy task to decipher what she meant.

She called in Madame Giry, and got her to add the address in French. She was helpful and agreed to take it down to the post office for her.

Now all she had to do was not spontaneously combust during her lesson.