Disclaimer: I don't own them. Don't sue me, not making money off of this.
A/N: Some Carlotta-bashing. No Raoul-bashing, though. This chapter is pure fluff, but it's the setup for the next chapter.
(( Christine's thoughts ))
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh! by AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 2 - ...Has Set My Lady's Heart Aflame!
Erik always asked her to come back to him safely, Christine reflected as she poled the long, narrow gondola inexpertly through the water. He cared so much for her, in the few weeks since that horrible night he had made that clear. It was also clear that her husband feared losing her above anything else.
No, he wasn't her husband. He'd never walked down the aisle with her, no priest had watched them exchange vows and rings... She glared at the band that encircled the base of her finger. A ring for her, but none for him. She was bound to him, a man she did not love, but not he to her. Or so it was supposed to be.
Christine would have none of that.
(( He is not my husband! ))
The fury that roused within her propelled her to the other side of the lake quickly and she made the boat fast to the rock. He had taught her to handle the boat, but she was not as strong as he and the lake could often treacherous. It made Erik nervous, she thought, whenever she told him she would be going out alone.
But it made Raoul even more nervous to know that she lived down there with the Phantom of the Opera. And more angry. He had gone down there to save Christine from the masked man's clutches, and in the end she had been forced to give herself to the monster to save the man she truly loved.
Her feet made almost no noise as she raced as quickly as the lawn dress would allow down the tunnel to the Rue Scribe. Raoul would have an unmarked carriage waiting there for her.
And as she pushed the gate open, she was struck by the sunlight's brilliance, shielding her eyes against the brightness of the warm summer day. There was the cab before her, and Raoul himself leading her by the hand through her half-blindness to the cab, considerably dimmer than the street outside. A thump on the roof told the driver that the passengers were seated, and the carriage lurched into motion at a swift clip.
"Hello, dearest," the Vicomte whispered in her ear, holding her close. Almost too close for decency, at least the curtains were drawn on the windows. "Did you have any trouble... with him?"
Christine smiled and hugged him. She never initiated contact with Erik, and where the word from his lips burned her to the soul, from Raoul it was only the sweetest balm possible. "No, he trusts me to stay his wife."
"You never were his wife," her companion told her roughly, his knuckles turning white where his hands rested in his lap.
"Don't tell that to him." Christine loved Raoul, but one of the few faults she knew he had was the fault of jealousy. He could not stand to have Erik's name mentioned in his presence. Nor was the young singer foolish enough to mention anywhere but in the privacy of her own mind that it was a trait he actually shared with the Opera Ghost. "But I won't have to be back until sundown, after that he'll start to worry."
Sure enough, Raoul changed the subject. It was something she loved about him, that she could count on what he would say or do and usually guess correctly. "Have you decided whether you'll accept the role or not?"
He was referring to the Countess in Il Muto: Andre and Firmin had decided to try that production again, to erase the memory of the last time when the Phantom had ended the entire season by sending the chandelier crashing to the floor.
Christine snuggled a little closer into his arms. "I'm tempted to say no, but it's a role I genuinely like. And if I don't, Carlotta will take it back: you know she's horribly miscast for that role."
Raoul shuddered. "I know it all too well. I have no idea what Andre can see in her, but he flatters her shamelessly. As though her ego is not big enough already, the cow."
They laughed and talked quietly: Christine informed the Opera House's patron of the more amusing misdeeds of the workers - somehow a snake, small and harmless, had gotten into Carlotta's wardrobe and they fell over laughing as she told him about the overly large soprano dancing around, pulling her costume every which way and screeching at the top of her lungs during rehearsal for their last major production, trying to get the poor creature out.
"My sympathies are with the snake," Raoul chuckled, eyes bright with the tears of laughter, "for having to spend any time at all in such close proximity to her!"
In return, he brought her up to speed on the gossip of the Parisian elite: how the Comtess de Bricassart had been reliably seen on the arms of half a dozen men, all in one night, and how a British Duchess was suspected of murdering her husband, as the story went. Christine smiled and leaned into his embrace, happy to be with him once more, and the carriage pulled up at Raoul's chateau just outside of Paris.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Feedback?
AC
A/N: Some Carlotta-bashing. No Raoul-bashing, though. This chapter is pure fluff, but it's the setup for the next chapter.
(( Christine's thoughts ))
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh! by AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 2 - ...Has Set My Lady's Heart Aflame!
Erik always asked her to come back to him safely, Christine reflected as she poled the long, narrow gondola inexpertly through the water. He cared so much for her, in the few weeks since that horrible night he had made that clear. It was also clear that her husband feared losing her above anything else.
No, he wasn't her husband. He'd never walked down the aisle with her, no priest had watched them exchange vows and rings... She glared at the band that encircled the base of her finger. A ring for her, but none for him. She was bound to him, a man she did not love, but not he to her. Or so it was supposed to be.
Christine would have none of that.
(( He is not my husband! ))
The fury that roused within her propelled her to the other side of the lake quickly and she made the boat fast to the rock. He had taught her to handle the boat, but she was not as strong as he and the lake could often treacherous. It made Erik nervous, she thought, whenever she told him she would be going out alone.
But it made Raoul even more nervous to know that she lived down there with the Phantom of the Opera. And more angry. He had gone down there to save Christine from the masked man's clutches, and in the end she had been forced to give herself to the monster to save the man she truly loved.
Her feet made almost no noise as she raced as quickly as the lawn dress would allow down the tunnel to the Rue Scribe. Raoul would have an unmarked carriage waiting there for her.
And as she pushed the gate open, she was struck by the sunlight's brilliance, shielding her eyes against the brightness of the warm summer day. There was the cab before her, and Raoul himself leading her by the hand through her half-blindness to the cab, considerably dimmer than the street outside. A thump on the roof told the driver that the passengers were seated, and the carriage lurched into motion at a swift clip.
"Hello, dearest," the Vicomte whispered in her ear, holding her close. Almost too close for decency, at least the curtains were drawn on the windows. "Did you have any trouble... with him?"
Christine smiled and hugged him. She never initiated contact with Erik, and where the word from his lips burned her to the soul, from Raoul it was only the sweetest balm possible. "No, he trusts me to stay his wife."
"You never were his wife," her companion told her roughly, his knuckles turning white where his hands rested in his lap.
"Don't tell that to him." Christine loved Raoul, but one of the few faults she knew he had was the fault of jealousy. He could not stand to have Erik's name mentioned in his presence. Nor was the young singer foolish enough to mention anywhere but in the privacy of her own mind that it was a trait he actually shared with the Opera Ghost. "But I won't have to be back until sundown, after that he'll start to worry."
Sure enough, Raoul changed the subject. It was something she loved about him, that she could count on what he would say or do and usually guess correctly. "Have you decided whether you'll accept the role or not?"
He was referring to the Countess in Il Muto: Andre and Firmin had decided to try that production again, to erase the memory of the last time when the Phantom had ended the entire season by sending the chandelier crashing to the floor.
Christine snuggled a little closer into his arms. "I'm tempted to say no, but it's a role I genuinely like. And if I don't, Carlotta will take it back: you know she's horribly miscast for that role."
Raoul shuddered. "I know it all too well. I have no idea what Andre can see in her, but he flatters her shamelessly. As though her ego is not big enough already, the cow."
They laughed and talked quietly: Christine informed the Opera House's patron of the more amusing misdeeds of the workers - somehow a snake, small and harmless, had gotten into Carlotta's wardrobe and they fell over laughing as she told him about the overly large soprano dancing around, pulling her costume every which way and screeching at the top of her lungs during rehearsal for their last major production, trying to get the poor creature out.
"My sympathies are with the snake," Raoul chuckled, eyes bright with the tears of laughter, "for having to spend any time at all in such close proximity to her!"
In return, he brought her up to speed on the gossip of the Parisian elite: how the Comtess de Bricassart had been reliably seen on the arms of half a dozen men, all in one night, and how a British Duchess was suspected of murdering her husband, as the story went. Christine smiled and leaned into his embrace, happy to be with him once more, and the carriage pulled up at Raoul's chateau just outside of Paris.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Feedback?
AC