Disclaimer: As always, if I owned him I'd have better things to do with
all our time.
A/N:
** Raoul's thoughts **
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Plots Within Plans" by AngelCeleste85
Chapter Two - Warnings
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The room was not really much more than a deserted storage room with a small cot on the right side and a writing desk against the left-hand wall: the desk had an oval mirror in a crude wooden frame nailed to the wall above it. Beneath the mirror was an inkwell and a left-wing quill pen - she was right-handed and could not afford the luxury of a right-wing feather, which meant that she had to live with a pen that pointed straight into her eyes any time she tried to write.
To the left of the inkwell was a tall, slender vase of cheap glass. It held nothing at the moment. Beyond that, against the wall, were the cosmetics that so much of her salary went to so that she could perform on stage.
Maybe soon she could afford that right-wing quill, as Carlotta's understudy. Of course, it meant she had to deal directly with the odious woman daily rather than every once in a while...
She felt the presence through the mirror behind her a moment before he heard him and straightened, puzzled. Surely it was not time for a lesson!
"Christine," the disembodied tenor whispered.
The singer turned and faced the mirror. "Erik," she returned quietly, trying not to picture the ruin of his face.
"Christine, be careful," he said softly. "You did too well at rehearsal yesterday."
"Too well?"
"This place is dangerous for you now. You are aware of Carlotta's new contract, are you not?"
A person's contract was supposed to be confidential, but the rumor had of course spread nearly overnight that Carlotta Giudecelli had somehow contrived to force a lifetime contract with the managers. In the week since, neither Andre nor Firmin had denied it, and Carlotta only smiled with that insufferable smugness of hers whenever the topic of contracts came up.
"I had heard the rumors," she said carefully. It was so much easier to think when she could not see him.
"They are true," Erik confirmed. "But that is no comfort to a woman like her, when she sees a potential rival. When she sees someone to whom she will always be held in comparison and might, in time, be found wanting in that comparison - A woman like her can be dangerous. Carlotta has nothing to lose now. Be careful, mon ange."
And as quickly as that, his presence faded.
~@~
Raoul was in the flower market purchasing a bouquet for Christine when he felt a tugging on his sleeve. Instantly he whirled, dropping the flowers back on the table before the surprised merchant: from his feet there came a startled cry of pain.
Lying on his back on the dirty cobblestones was an equally dirty boy dressed in near-rags that hung on a too-skinny frame. Under the filth, he might have been about nine, but it was difficult to tell.
Raoul bit back the snarl he would have unleashed on an older thief. "What are you trying to do, boy, pick my pocket?"
Instead of answering the question, the urchin stammered out, "M-Monsieur le Vicomte?"
How had the little rat known who he was, the noble wondered. It was obvious he was well-off by his clothing, but he wore no distinguishing jewelry and the carriage did not bear the de Chagny crest. He doubted this filthy boy would have been able to read the sigil anyway, but it was not there to be read. He nodded impatiently. "Yes, boy." Immediately the boy handed him a note.
It was written in red ink on white parchment. The hand behind it was obviously educated, though some of the letters were formed in a strange manner: the writing was smooth and flowing copperplate. It was the same writing that had been on the two letters addressed to the managers a week ago, and on the letters to him and to Carlotta as well. This note read:
"Monsieur, I do not believe I need tell you who I am. If you care for her life, you will meet me on the rooftop beneath the lyre immediately following tomorrow night's rehearsal, alone. I play no games with you now. You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her."
There was no signature this time.
"He said you'd give me the other half when I delivered it," the boy broke in sullenly.
Other half? Other half of - of course. The boy had accepted half of a fee as a courier. Raoul pulled out a few francs and pushed it into his hand. "As much again if you can tell me who gave this to you."
The boy pointed up the street in a direction that would with a few corners turned bring one to the Opera House, and the nobleman looked up just in time to see the flash of a black cloak disappearing around the corner.
** So, my clever friend. You think to play your games with me directly this time? **
He pushed another handful of banknotes into the boy's hand. "Get yourself something to eat and some decent clothes, he muttered absently, re-reading the note.
** "You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her." Very well, clever friend. I will play this game, if Christine is in danger. But I will play it according to my own rules. **
Raoul picked up the flowers for Christine and headed back to the carriage.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Feedback?
AC
A/N:
** Raoul's thoughts **
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Plots Within Plans" by AngelCeleste85
Chapter Two - Warnings
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The room was not really much more than a deserted storage room with a small cot on the right side and a writing desk against the left-hand wall: the desk had an oval mirror in a crude wooden frame nailed to the wall above it. Beneath the mirror was an inkwell and a left-wing quill pen - she was right-handed and could not afford the luxury of a right-wing feather, which meant that she had to live with a pen that pointed straight into her eyes any time she tried to write.
To the left of the inkwell was a tall, slender vase of cheap glass. It held nothing at the moment. Beyond that, against the wall, were the cosmetics that so much of her salary went to so that she could perform on stage.
Maybe soon she could afford that right-wing quill, as Carlotta's understudy. Of course, it meant she had to deal directly with the odious woman daily rather than every once in a while...
She felt the presence through the mirror behind her a moment before he heard him and straightened, puzzled. Surely it was not time for a lesson!
"Christine," the disembodied tenor whispered.
The singer turned and faced the mirror. "Erik," she returned quietly, trying not to picture the ruin of his face.
"Christine, be careful," he said softly. "You did too well at rehearsal yesterday."
"Too well?"
"This place is dangerous for you now. You are aware of Carlotta's new contract, are you not?"
A person's contract was supposed to be confidential, but the rumor had of course spread nearly overnight that Carlotta Giudecelli had somehow contrived to force a lifetime contract with the managers. In the week since, neither Andre nor Firmin had denied it, and Carlotta only smiled with that insufferable smugness of hers whenever the topic of contracts came up.
"I had heard the rumors," she said carefully. It was so much easier to think when she could not see him.
"They are true," Erik confirmed. "But that is no comfort to a woman like her, when she sees a potential rival. When she sees someone to whom she will always be held in comparison and might, in time, be found wanting in that comparison - A woman like her can be dangerous. Carlotta has nothing to lose now. Be careful, mon ange."
And as quickly as that, his presence faded.
~@~
Raoul was in the flower market purchasing a bouquet for Christine when he felt a tugging on his sleeve. Instantly he whirled, dropping the flowers back on the table before the surprised merchant: from his feet there came a startled cry of pain.
Lying on his back on the dirty cobblestones was an equally dirty boy dressed in near-rags that hung on a too-skinny frame. Under the filth, he might have been about nine, but it was difficult to tell.
Raoul bit back the snarl he would have unleashed on an older thief. "What are you trying to do, boy, pick my pocket?"
Instead of answering the question, the urchin stammered out, "M-Monsieur le Vicomte?"
How had the little rat known who he was, the noble wondered. It was obvious he was well-off by his clothing, but he wore no distinguishing jewelry and the carriage did not bear the de Chagny crest. He doubted this filthy boy would have been able to read the sigil anyway, but it was not there to be read. He nodded impatiently. "Yes, boy." Immediately the boy handed him a note.
It was written in red ink on white parchment. The hand behind it was obviously educated, though some of the letters were formed in a strange manner: the writing was smooth and flowing copperplate. It was the same writing that had been on the two letters addressed to the managers a week ago, and on the letters to him and to Carlotta as well. This note read:
"Monsieur, I do not believe I need tell you who I am. If you care for her life, you will meet me on the rooftop beneath the lyre immediately following tomorrow night's rehearsal, alone. I play no games with you now. You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her."
There was no signature this time.
"He said you'd give me the other half when I delivered it," the boy broke in sullenly.
Other half? Other half of - of course. The boy had accepted half of a fee as a courier. Raoul pulled out a few francs and pushed it into his hand. "As much again if you can tell me who gave this to you."
The boy pointed up the street in a direction that would with a few corners turned bring one to the Opera House, and the nobleman looked up just in time to see the flash of a black cloak disappearing around the corner.
** So, my clever friend. You think to play your games with me directly this time? **
He pushed another handful of banknotes into the boy's hand. "Get yourself something to eat and some decent clothes, he muttered absently, re-reading the note.
** "You will not be harmed, but you may have a chance to prevent harm from coming to her." Very well, clever friend. I will play this game, if Christine is in danger. But I will play it according to my own rules. **
Raoul picked up the flowers for Christine and headed back to the carriage.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Feedback?
AC