#Betrayal is the Highest Form of Flattery
By Deep Roller
A/N: Okay, it's been a rough road for me. My fics need doctoring and attention! Also, I have a plot bunny in the works, and Phantom plot bunnies are pretty...Phantom. The main character revealed himself to me during government class. No, it wasn't Erik, he's a new guy. Mwhahahah! Okay, on with this wonderful tale of *mysterious voice* murder and intrigue.
Disclaimer: In case any one actually could think I was Gaston Leroux, I will maintain that the characters of the Phantom are his and his alone. *bats off Frederick Forsythe, Andrew Lloyd Weber, and Susan Kay with a big whiffle bat* Back! Back I say!
Chapter Two: The Funniest Thing....
The nervous tension caused Christine to lapse into a slight sheen of sweat, coursing down her temples and saturating her hands. She licked her lips and sighed, fervently wishing for the night to be over. Moncharmin greeted her and Raoul warmly, and expressed sympathies because poor Richard was ill that night, and could not witness the return, if only to be an auditor, of the good miss Daaé. Or de Chagny, as now was the case. Christine smiled prettily and curtsied before Raoul was directed to their seats. As they settled into the redolent plush, Christine's gaze wandered restlessly around the lace and bright colors of the Opera House. Her eyes caught a snag of vision, and then riveted on a dreaded sight. Had she expected this? "Raoul!" She whispered, tugging on his sleeve in an almost clawing motion.
"What, love? Oh, yes, Ms. Dumbleton's dress is quite a bit extravagant, no?" He chuckled softly, and turned away again. He felt another anxious claw of alarm and he spun a bit in annoyance.
"Raoul! It's Box Five!" Christine pointed, her finger stabbing in the direction of the darkened box. "Empty! The managers never dare fill it up when Erik's about!" She had said it, out loud. Confirmed to herself that fear of Erik's continued existence was a real one.
"Christine, darling, it means nothing." Raoul patted her tense arm soothingly, indicating the entire theater with a sweep of his arm. "Most if not all the boxes are sparsely filled, not a one is completely filled tonight. It's opening night here, but it is also is a rather cold night as well. Many dare not brave it. Also, Perdita Radcliff is not well known enough to have too much influence on people's choice to venture out in weather. So naturally it is perfectly okay for one box to be-"
"But the LIGHTS!" Christine shrilled, her eyes never leaving the box. "The lights aren't up to invite people in, as they are in the other empty boxes. And the current is drawn. Maybe he IS still here!" Her hands flew to her mouth and she nibbled nervously at the velveted tips of her gloves.
"No more doubts, love, it's all in your mind. The curtain is rising now, so let's enjoy." He gave her shoulder a pat and turned his eyes toward the stage. For her part, Christine tried to focus on the opera at hand, a very nice piece indeed. Perdita was a bit of a plain dancer, she didn't do many graceful leaps or spins in the Festival dance, but when she had her first aria, she really shook the audience.
"I call to my love at dawn's first light, and again when day is done,
But my idol does not answer, does not answer."
Then she did an axel pirouette and jetteéd offstage with the chorus, a look of the intense heartbreak her character Lalage felt at being ignored by the only one she loved, Demetrius. At the end of the first act, a sudden resolution welled in Christine.
"Raoul, I must go backstage at the show's end. I need to relive it all, it will quell my fears." Raoul gave a non committal shrug and mumbled something about an agreement. Satisfied, Christine watched the tragedy play out, the surprise ending shocking her, at least a little bit. Instead of the end she expected, the heroine killing herself over the lover, Lalage instead turned her rage upon her father, and the man's insane hatred of Demetrius. The Opera ended with Demetrius and Lalage cavorting offstage, peaceful in one another's embrace and company. Rather disquieting, in a way. At curtain call, Christine applauded Perdita wildly, smiling at the rather pretty plain girl, clearly bred in the Rue Scribe area. She carried that sturdy build in her wiry, bare shoulders. And then, abruptly, Christine dragged Raoul and headed backstage, chugging along determinedly.
"Christine?" A voice in the darkened passageway ahead of her exclaimed in wonder. "Christine, come back?" And before the woman had any time to react, a sprightly form had flung itself onto her and was hugging her tight. Christine soon realized it was none other than Meg Giry. The two soon laughed and hugged again, Christine now joining in the happiness.
"Meg! I wouldn't have expected you'd still be here!" Christine exclaimed, holding the wrists of the excitable woman.
"I'm ballet mistress now, Christine." Meg relayed, a twinkle in her bright wonderful eyes. Those eyes flickered to the scrolled golden band encircling her former ballet companion's slender finger, and she nodded. "To Raoul de Chagny, no doubt? She asked with a jesting friendliness Christine beamed at.
"Yes, Meg, to Raoul." She smiled, and then looked down the corridor. "Would it be alright if I could see my old room? I miss it a bit."
"It's the funniest thing, Christine." Meg whispered, lowering her voice as though in secret. "The door has been locked tight since the day you left. Not even the locksmith, mister DuBois, can open it." A flutter thrilled Christine's heart and she added another tally to her inner suspicions.
"May I see it all the same? It's been so long, you know." Consenting, Meg led the way. Raoul started to follow alongside Christine, but she held him back gently. "Stay, Raoul. I want to revisit my memories, but I'd like to do it in private. If that's alright with you?" She asked sweetly, her eyes pleading a bit.
"If you like, whatever will assuage your fears and prove to you that Erik truly is gone, no matter how much you seem to think otherwise." With a shrug, Raoul put an arm around Christine's waist before he stretched and sat in the foyer and watched her disappear down the hallway.
The door was just as it had always been, paint scraped away, brass knob shining dull with the streaks of sullen green in it. Christine blinked and turned to Meg. "It's been sullen with me ever since you left, like I said. But you can stay here and reminisce all you want outside. Remember when-"
"Madame Giry?" A voice piped behind Meg and Christine smiled. She remembered another time when Meg had called her mother that. "Madame Giry, what shall I do with these flowers?" The girl turned out to be Perdita Radcliff, her brown eyes and frank dark hair marking her out, even onstage. She cradled in her arms a bouquet of roses and baby's breath, some of the petals clinging to her pale blue ballet outfit. Christine waved to Perdita and she waved hesitantly back.
"Come with me, Perdita. This is my friend, Christine Daaé, she used to sing here, just like you did tonight."
"Your singing was wonderful, Perdita. It moved me, truly." Christine confided with a genuine smile, earning a flush from the girl.
"I've seen you sing, Madam Daaé, it is to hear angels call. Praise from you is too much." Meg winked at her friend before she and Perdita shuffled off. Christine was left with a warm glow and a small smile. That girl was going to be talented one day. Perhaps Erik was teaching her? No! Erik was gone, gone for good! Why had the door locked? Perhaps Christine had left the key in the room when she had shut the door for the final time. Only one way to find out. Timidly, she reached out one hand and grasped the cold handle, treating the operation as though it were snake charming, rather than opening a stupid door. She frowned at herself and resolutely turned the knob, breath held sharp against her ribs.
By Deep Roller
A/N: Okay, it's been a rough road for me. My fics need doctoring and attention! Also, I have a plot bunny in the works, and Phantom plot bunnies are pretty...Phantom. The main character revealed himself to me during government class. No, it wasn't Erik, he's a new guy. Mwhahahah! Okay, on with this wonderful tale of *mysterious voice* murder and intrigue.
Disclaimer: In case any one actually could think I was Gaston Leroux, I will maintain that the characters of the Phantom are his and his alone. *bats off Frederick Forsythe, Andrew Lloyd Weber, and Susan Kay with a big whiffle bat* Back! Back I say!
Chapter Two: The Funniest Thing....
The nervous tension caused Christine to lapse into a slight sheen of sweat, coursing down her temples and saturating her hands. She licked her lips and sighed, fervently wishing for the night to be over. Moncharmin greeted her and Raoul warmly, and expressed sympathies because poor Richard was ill that night, and could not witness the return, if only to be an auditor, of the good miss Daaé. Or de Chagny, as now was the case. Christine smiled prettily and curtsied before Raoul was directed to their seats. As they settled into the redolent plush, Christine's gaze wandered restlessly around the lace and bright colors of the Opera House. Her eyes caught a snag of vision, and then riveted on a dreaded sight. Had she expected this? "Raoul!" She whispered, tugging on his sleeve in an almost clawing motion.
"What, love? Oh, yes, Ms. Dumbleton's dress is quite a bit extravagant, no?" He chuckled softly, and turned away again. He felt another anxious claw of alarm and he spun a bit in annoyance.
"Raoul! It's Box Five!" Christine pointed, her finger stabbing in the direction of the darkened box. "Empty! The managers never dare fill it up when Erik's about!" She had said it, out loud. Confirmed to herself that fear of Erik's continued existence was a real one.
"Christine, darling, it means nothing." Raoul patted her tense arm soothingly, indicating the entire theater with a sweep of his arm. "Most if not all the boxes are sparsely filled, not a one is completely filled tonight. It's opening night here, but it is also is a rather cold night as well. Many dare not brave it. Also, Perdita Radcliff is not well known enough to have too much influence on people's choice to venture out in weather. So naturally it is perfectly okay for one box to be-"
"But the LIGHTS!" Christine shrilled, her eyes never leaving the box. "The lights aren't up to invite people in, as they are in the other empty boxes. And the current is drawn. Maybe he IS still here!" Her hands flew to her mouth and she nibbled nervously at the velveted tips of her gloves.
"No more doubts, love, it's all in your mind. The curtain is rising now, so let's enjoy." He gave her shoulder a pat and turned his eyes toward the stage. For her part, Christine tried to focus on the opera at hand, a very nice piece indeed. Perdita was a bit of a plain dancer, she didn't do many graceful leaps or spins in the Festival dance, but when she had her first aria, she really shook the audience.
"I call to my love at dawn's first light, and again when day is done,
But my idol does not answer, does not answer."
Then she did an axel pirouette and jetteéd offstage with the chorus, a look of the intense heartbreak her character Lalage felt at being ignored by the only one she loved, Demetrius. At the end of the first act, a sudden resolution welled in Christine.
"Raoul, I must go backstage at the show's end. I need to relive it all, it will quell my fears." Raoul gave a non committal shrug and mumbled something about an agreement. Satisfied, Christine watched the tragedy play out, the surprise ending shocking her, at least a little bit. Instead of the end she expected, the heroine killing herself over the lover, Lalage instead turned her rage upon her father, and the man's insane hatred of Demetrius. The Opera ended with Demetrius and Lalage cavorting offstage, peaceful in one another's embrace and company. Rather disquieting, in a way. At curtain call, Christine applauded Perdita wildly, smiling at the rather pretty plain girl, clearly bred in the Rue Scribe area. She carried that sturdy build in her wiry, bare shoulders. And then, abruptly, Christine dragged Raoul and headed backstage, chugging along determinedly.
"Christine?" A voice in the darkened passageway ahead of her exclaimed in wonder. "Christine, come back?" And before the woman had any time to react, a sprightly form had flung itself onto her and was hugging her tight. Christine soon realized it was none other than Meg Giry. The two soon laughed and hugged again, Christine now joining in the happiness.
"Meg! I wouldn't have expected you'd still be here!" Christine exclaimed, holding the wrists of the excitable woman.
"I'm ballet mistress now, Christine." Meg relayed, a twinkle in her bright wonderful eyes. Those eyes flickered to the scrolled golden band encircling her former ballet companion's slender finger, and she nodded. "To Raoul de Chagny, no doubt? She asked with a jesting friendliness Christine beamed at.
"Yes, Meg, to Raoul." She smiled, and then looked down the corridor. "Would it be alright if I could see my old room? I miss it a bit."
"It's the funniest thing, Christine." Meg whispered, lowering her voice as though in secret. "The door has been locked tight since the day you left. Not even the locksmith, mister DuBois, can open it." A flutter thrilled Christine's heart and she added another tally to her inner suspicions.
"May I see it all the same? It's been so long, you know." Consenting, Meg led the way. Raoul started to follow alongside Christine, but she held him back gently. "Stay, Raoul. I want to revisit my memories, but I'd like to do it in private. If that's alright with you?" She asked sweetly, her eyes pleading a bit.
"If you like, whatever will assuage your fears and prove to you that Erik truly is gone, no matter how much you seem to think otherwise." With a shrug, Raoul put an arm around Christine's waist before he stretched and sat in the foyer and watched her disappear down the hallway.
The door was just as it had always been, paint scraped away, brass knob shining dull with the streaks of sullen green in it. Christine blinked and turned to Meg. "It's been sullen with me ever since you left, like I said. But you can stay here and reminisce all you want outside. Remember when-"
"Madame Giry?" A voice piped behind Meg and Christine smiled. She remembered another time when Meg had called her mother that. "Madame Giry, what shall I do with these flowers?" The girl turned out to be Perdita Radcliff, her brown eyes and frank dark hair marking her out, even onstage. She cradled in her arms a bouquet of roses and baby's breath, some of the petals clinging to her pale blue ballet outfit. Christine waved to Perdita and she waved hesitantly back.
"Come with me, Perdita. This is my friend, Christine Daaé, she used to sing here, just like you did tonight."
"Your singing was wonderful, Perdita. It moved me, truly." Christine confided with a genuine smile, earning a flush from the girl.
"I've seen you sing, Madam Daaé, it is to hear angels call. Praise from you is too much." Meg winked at her friend before she and Perdita shuffled off. Christine was left with a warm glow and a small smile. That girl was going to be talented one day. Perhaps Erik was teaching her? No! Erik was gone, gone for good! Why had the door locked? Perhaps Christine had left the key in the room when she had shut the door for the final time. Only one way to find out. Timidly, she reached out one hand and grasped the cold handle, treating the operation as though it were snake charming, rather than opening a stupid door. She frowned at herself and resolutely turned the knob, breath held sharp against her ribs.