Chapter 8
"Christine, are you seriously thinking about going to that silly New Year's
masquerade ball?" Raoul scorned, while examining his manicured fingernails. He lifted a
blond eyebrow.
"Of course! Where else can I dress up like a princess?" she smirked.
"On the stage of the Paris Opera," Raoul replied, debating whether or not his nails
would look good painted. He stopped and then answered, "No, you're right. Why get paid
to dress like that when you can do it for free!"
Christine reflected, but more like a mirror would. The phrase just didn't sink in.
"I know!" she exclaimed. "Why don't we go together! We can BOTH dress up as
a pair and go!" She laughed at her genius and clapped her hands.
"Oh superb," Raoul said, not realising Christine's suggestion, now seeing that he
might want to have his nails done hot pink. "Why don't you suggest that we go as
dominoes?"
Christine's eyes widened.
"Raoul! That's *exactly* what I was going to say! Can you read minds?" she
asked suddenly and excitedly.
Raoul started.
"What the hell do you think you're talking about? I'm not some damned loony!"
Christine was aghast.
"Raoul, such language!" she shook her finger. "I'm surprised at you. I've only
ever heard Erik-"
Raoul cut her off.
"Erik? Who's Erik?"
Christine smiled.
"Don't you remember? I took you to his house."
Raoul shook his head.
"Nope. Don't recall."
"But you must! Remember, he kicked us out!"
Raoul took out his nail file and started filing his nails.
"No, doesn't ring a bell."
Christine was disappointed.
"Well, you did . . ."
"Christine, how do you think my nails would look painted?" he asked abruptly.
"Uh . . ." Christine trailed off.
"How about hot pink? Or orange?"
"Well, I usually like pastel pink . . .it's so pretty . . ."
"But I like *hot* pink!" Raoul whined incessantly.
"Whatever you want, Raoul," Christine sighed. He was just like an annoying
brother. Or sister, for that matter.
Raoul humphed.
"So are we going to the masquerade ball?" Christine implored.
"Oh fine, " Raoul spat. "I don't care."
"Splendid! I'll get started right away on our costumes. But you! Such a temper
today, Raoul! Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
Just then Philippe burst into the room.
"Raoul! I need to-" he stopped when he saw Christine. He visibly shuddered and
asked, "Who are you?"
Raoul jumped in.
"This is Christine Daae. From the Opera. You remember her, don't you? She
triumphed as Margarita!"
Christine waved.
"Oh. Yes. Well, what is she doing here?"
"She's over for . . . er, lunch? No wait, it's after noon, so she's here for tea. Or
maybe it's dinner . . ."
Philippe squinted his eyes. What an odd child, he thought.
"Why didn't you tell me? I might have had plans for us tonight."
" 'Us'? What if I wanted to do something myself?"
"You can't do that!"
"Why not?" Raoul asked stubbornly.
"Well, because. . . because I say."
Raoul pouted.
"Just because you're older than me, means you can rule my life?"
Philippe reflected.
"Yes, pretty much. Hey, you're smarter than I thought."
Raoul looked very flustered.
"Well, if that's the way you think -"
"Yes, I do think that way. It's because I have to. See, if I let you run off and do
whatever you wanted, you'd be in the gutter right now."
Raoul shuddered.
"Gutters. Ew."
"Exactly my dear boy. I can see you now. You and some harlot," Philippe said,
leaning back and closing his eyes. "I can't believe you Raoul! See, that is why I take care
of you, understand?"
"Er, uh, how about . . . no!" Raoul shouted suddenly.
Philippe jumped back as if he was physically struck.
"What?! How can you say that? Perhaps you *aren't* as smart as I once thought
you were . . ."
"That's not nice! You can go shove a stick up your -"
Philippe slapped Raoul across the face.
"Don't dare use that language with me, little boy!"
Raoul burst into tears.
"How can you do this to me? My rough childhood with you, and now, this?"
Philippe crossed his arms, and just barely looked at Christine. He shook his head,
while Christine sat and pondered this episode.
"Raoul, you went to a naval academy. What is so rough about that?"
Raoul covered his face with his hands and mumbled.
"What? I can't hear you."
"I said . . . oh it's too horrible, Philippe. I had . . .I had to . . ."
"Bloody heck! What did you have to do, Raoul, spit it out!"
"I had to undress in front of other people!" he yelled, and began sobbing again.
"Raoul, Raoul, I'm sorry . . ." Philippe walked over to Raoul and lifted his hands
away from his face. "But that's just a fact of life you have to learn to accept!" He slapped
Raoul on each cheek, and Raoul was stunned.
"What was that for?" he stuttered.
"For being a sissy, you little girl!" exclaimed Philippe, disgustedly.
Raoul stood up and poked his brother in the arm.
"I'm leaving. Come along Christine. And Philippe, you won't see me around
*here* anymore." Raoul grabbed Christine and ran out the door.
"I give him a week," said Philippe.
"Nah, I give him 11 minutes," laughed the butler.
"Christine, are you seriously thinking about going to that silly New Year's
masquerade ball?" Raoul scorned, while examining his manicured fingernails. He lifted a
blond eyebrow.
"Of course! Where else can I dress up like a princess?" she smirked.
"On the stage of the Paris Opera," Raoul replied, debating whether or not his nails
would look good painted. He stopped and then answered, "No, you're right. Why get paid
to dress like that when you can do it for free!"
Christine reflected, but more like a mirror would. The phrase just didn't sink in.
"I know!" she exclaimed. "Why don't we go together! We can BOTH dress up as
a pair and go!" She laughed at her genius and clapped her hands.
"Oh superb," Raoul said, not realising Christine's suggestion, now seeing that he
might want to have his nails done hot pink. "Why don't you suggest that we go as
dominoes?"
Christine's eyes widened.
"Raoul! That's *exactly* what I was going to say! Can you read minds?" she
asked suddenly and excitedly.
Raoul started.
"What the hell do you think you're talking about? I'm not some damned loony!"
Christine was aghast.
"Raoul, such language!" she shook her finger. "I'm surprised at you. I've only
ever heard Erik-"
Raoul cut her off.
"Erik? Who's Erik?"
Christine smiled.
"Don't you remember? I took you to his house."
Raoul shook his head.
"Nope. Don't recall."
"But you must! Remember, he kicked us out!"
Raoul took out his nail file and started filing his nails.
"No, doesn't ring a bell."
Christine was disappointed.
"Well, you did . . ."
"Christine, how do you think my nails would look painted?" he asked abruptly.
"Uh . . ." Christine trailed off.
"How about hot pink? Or orange?"
"Well, I usually like pastel pink . . .it's so pretty . . ."
"But I like *hot* pink!" Raoul whined incessantly.
"Whatever you want, Raoul," Christine sighed. He was just like an annoying
brother. Or sister, for that matter.
Raoul humphed.
"So are we going to the masquerade ball?" Christine implored.
"Oh fine, " Raoul spat. "I don't care."
"Splendid! I'll get started right away on our costumes. But you! Such a temper
today, Raoul! Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
Just then Philippe burst into the room.
"Raoul! I need to-" he stopped when he saw Christine. He visibly shuddered and
asked, "Who are you?"
Raoul jumped in.
"This is Christine Daae. From the Opera. You remember her, don't you? She
triumphed as Margarita!"
Christine waved.
"Oh. Yes. Well, what is she doing here?"
"She's over for . . . er, lunch? No wait, it's after noon, so she's here for tea. Or
maybe it's dinner . . ."
Philippe squinted his eyes. What an odd child, he thought.
"Why didn't you tell me? I might have had plans for us tonight."
" 'Us'? What if I wanted to do something myself?"
"You can't do that!"
"Why not?" Raoul asked stubbornly.
"Well, because. . . because I say."
Raoul pouted.
"Just because you're older than me, means you can rule my life?"
Philippe reflected.
"Yes, pretty much. Hey, you're smarter than I thought."
Raoul looked very flustered.
"Well, if that's the way you think -"
"Yes, I do think that way. It's because I have to. See, if I let you run off and do
whatever you wanted, you'd be in the gutter right now."
Raoul shuddered.
"Gutters. Ew."
"Exactly my dear boy. I can see you now. You and some harlot," Philippe said,
leaning back and closing his eyes. "I can't believe you Raoul! See, that is why I take care
of you, understand?"
"Er, uh, how about . . . no!" Raoul shouted suddenly.
Philippe jumped back as if he was physically struck.
"What?! How can you say that? Perhaps you *aren't* as smart as I once thought
you were . . ."
"That's not nice! You can go shove a stick up your -"
Philippe slapped Raoul across the face.
"Don't dare use that language with me, little boy!"
Raoul burst into tears.
"How can you do this to me? My rough childhood with you, and now, this?"
Philippe crossed his arms, and just barely looked at Christine. He shook his head,
while Christine sat and pondered this episode.
"Raoul, you went to a naval academy. What is so rough about that?"
Raoul covered his face with his hands and mumbled.
"What? I can't hear you."
"I said . . . oh it's too horrible, Philippe. I had . . .I had to . . ."
"Bloody heck! What did you have to do, Raoul, spit it out!"
"I had to undress in front of other people!" he yelled, and began sobbing again.
"Raoul, Raoul, I'm sorry . . ." Philippe walked over to Raoul and lifted his hands
away from his face. "But that's just a fact of life you have to learn to accept!" He slapped
Raoul on each cheek, and Raoul was stunned.
"What was that for?" he stuttered.
"For being a sissy, you little girl!" exclaimed Philippe, disgustedly.
Raoul stood up and poked his brother in the arm.
"I'm leaving. Come along Christine. And Philippe, you won't see me around
*here* anymore." Raoul grabbed Christine and ran out the door.
"I give him a week," said Philippe.
"Nah, I give him 11 minutes," laughed the butler.
