A/N: Thanks for the reviews. It's nice to know there are people (okay… a few people) out there. I put work into my chapters, and I would hate to think I work for no one. What use is this… if not for someone else to read? My apologies for the late update – I've been unable to get online for a few days, due to technical probs, which are now solved.
Amaruk Wolfheart, Galasriniel, and The Green Khronic: Thankyou so much for your funny and encouraging reviews. They bring smiles to my face. I love to see when you've left me a long, strange message, and know that my craziness does not go unmatched in our strange world. Seriously, I love hearing from you – so stay in touch! -Mwah. :X
Thanks to everyone else… there are a couple of strange reviews that I can't really understand… but uhh, thanks all the same ;)
Okay, well I hope you enjoy this chapter. Perhaps I did this to spite all those that had come to assumptions based on the last chapter, perhaps it was always the way it was intended. The muse has struck… and the words came forth from my fingers to the screen. Hope it keeps you on your toes. –Mwah :X
Chapter 11:
WITHOUT PERMISSION
Kari had moved from the 'dining area' to sit at Eriks piano, and was randomly pressing keys when she heard Monique and Erik approaching. Audible, by Moniques incessant babbling.
Kari quickly switched from random key pressing to running up the scale, matching each note with her voice. Erik strode with purpose towards the piano, "You must stand…" he instructed, pulling her from the stool. Kari looked guilty a moment, then pulled herself together, slipping into 'perfect singing posture'. "And you must not let those shoulders rise." He murmured, his mouth momentarily close to her ear, as he ran his gloved hands across her shoulders to remind her where they should be.
Kari was finding it a difficult task to relax with Eriks closeness, and his hands upon her shoulders. Her thoughts drifted in unhelpful directions. She shivered slightly, the caress had felt as though he were sliding the sleeves of a dress of her shoulders, and down from her body. Despite the stone surroundings, she felt a warmth move through her, looking at Erik from the corner of her eyes, she let her jaw drop, her voice trilling in a wondrous form of vocal gymnastics. Eriks eyes closed for longer than a blink, and he inhaled deeply, as if somehow her voice were some delicious aroma he was taking pleasure from. A smile played across Karis lips, and her confidence surged. "Sing your song for me." He interrupted her scales, moving to the piano to play the accompaniment for her.
Kari obliged him, and sang the song – trying to concentrate on the little things that Erik had asked her to fix the day before. But as she finished, she was greeted with a new list of things to concentrate on, or to think about. And so she sang the song again. And again. And again. Growing tired, Kari took all his constructive criticisms, and prudently given praise – to fuel her next sing through. In her tired state, even his constructive criticism with patient manner were starting to grate on her, and she felt a flame of anger burn up inside her, but tried her best to stifle it's glow. Erik eyed her intensely, "Don't fight it…. Use it." His voice barely above a whisper. Kari's surprise moved over her face, 'the angel sees… the angel knows' she thought. "Sing." He whispered, this time giving her no accompaniment, but her starting note. And so Kari did what she was asked. And she sang. With the flame the burnt inside her, with Eriks list of pointers in her minds eye, with the desire to have the part of the aria and nail it – and the room began to fill with her song.
Erik paced around her as she sang, daring her to project wherever he walked on a whim. She followed him with her voice, like a heat seeking missile. Just as she was about to move into the songs climax, and hit the very top notes; Erik was behind her, and very close once more. Karis heart began to race, her flesh prickling with the sudden heat, as if any moment, she would begin to glow in a sheen of perspiration. He was making it nearly impossible to concentrate, but she forced herself to find the words from somewhere deep inside her brain, and just as she had reached a mindless rhythm Eriks hand snaked around her waist from behind. Kari couldn't help but look down at the delightful contrast of his black gloved hand, pressed palm down against her white blouse. "Chin up." Erik murmured throatily, using the back of his other hand to stroke underneath her chin to lift it to be parallel with the floor. Karis nerves were on edge, the slightest little touch put her flesh to flame, and it wasn't just because she knew the hardest section was coming up.
"Relax…" he seemed to purr into her ear… or into her brain, she couldn't quite sense the direction of the sound. But he was everywhere. 'How am I supposed to relax with you this close?' she wondered. Kari took a deep breath, and just as she prepared for her climactic high note, Eriks hand pressed firmly against her stomach, forcing her to correctly use her muscles to push forth the strong note required. Kari tried to congratulate herself for getting the note so easily, and having it so strong, but knew full well she owed thanks to Erik… but neither of those matters took precedence in her brain – it was occupied, instead, by wondering if Eriks palm had burnt a hole through her clothes, through her skin and into her very being. As she finished the song, she let her posture relax once more.
"Well
done." Eriks silken voice interrupted Karis thoughts. He stepped
back from her, which left her slightly unbalanced and swaying for a
moment, before collecting herself to regard him doe-eyed.
"You
think so?" she asked.
"Yes. You have a wonderful and well-trained voice. But when you remember to control everything as needed… you sing like an angel." He replied.
Kari stared. That was the biggest compliment she'd ever received, and could ever hope to receive in her life. The angel of music had just told her that she sung like an angel.
"Thankyou Erik. Seriously, thankyou for nit-picking at me, thankyou for making me sing it over and over… criticising me to the point of wanting to throttle you, and bringing the best out of me." She grinned, then launched herself at him, giving him a fierce bear hug, almost choking the air right out of him.
Erik did nothing to respond, but as this was his second unrequited hug of the day, he found it easier to bear. Maybe all he needed was experience. Maybe all he needed was to humble himself, let himself be vulnerable and accept human affection. No… maybe all he needed was to be lifted of the mantle of physical ugliness.
Kari broke
the hug and released Erik from her grasp, "You know, you don't
have to be frightened of me… of us… " she trailed off. "You
don't have to be scared of showing emotion, through words or touch;
Lord knows men are too much like that these days already!" she
laughed to herself.
Erik took her comment deep into his brain,
beginning to analyse it from every angle. He didn't reply to the
comment, just let the thought turn over and over in his mind, for
close inspection.
"I
have to sing this afternoon for the Director. She wants to hear me
and Yekaterina sing it one last time before she decides who she wants
to sing it for the weekend gala." Kari explained.
"I have
confidence in you, my Diva. But for now, you must rest your voice,
but always keep your mind on the song. Everything is that song…
and that song is in everything. Understand?"
Kari could've fallen asleep listening to his velveteen voice, it didn't matter that he was instructing her, he could've been asking her to his bedroom for all she knew. Kari nodded, "Everything indeed. If I don't get to sing this part for the gala, I'll probably have to sing chorus. Then, no one will hear me. No one will see me and I'll never get a part for the end of season performance." She bemoaned.
Her internal dialogue paused, 'my Diva? He called me his DIVA?' A smile spread across her lips. "I'm your Diva?" she asked.
Erik froze, he had done it again. His lips had betrayed him and spilt his secrets. He was getting careless.
Kari
laughed, "Go onnn… tell me. I'm your Diiiva." She smiled in
a teasing, flirtatious manner, her previous worry forgotten.
"You
must rest." He instructed.
Kari stepped up close to Erik,
tilting her head back to stare up at him, "becausssee…. I'mmmm
YOUR Diva." She raised her eyebrows.
He tilted his head to one
side. She was impossible. But then, could she really be any other
way? For she was a Diva… his Diva… and that was the nature
of the woman.
Finally he humoured her, "Yes." He stepped closer to regard her very seriously, "And, my Diva, you must rest. For this afternoon, you shall sing for me… " One gloved hand reached out and stroked across her throat, where her voice box lay. But that mattered not, for she felt it right in the pit of her stomach, as a ball of boiling flames. Kari licked her lips unconsciously, gazing up into his eyes with wanton awe.
His hand
raised slightly - fingers creeping along her jaw line. "And you…"
he slightly adjusted her chin, "Shall sing like an angel,"
he whispered huskily from the back of his throat, his lips barely
moving.
Kari stared at his lips, almost hypnotised… her own
lips, fallen apart, in a wide-eyed, innocently abandoned expression.
Her insides writhed. She was well and truly alive. Desire, was well and truly alive.
Meanwhile:
-
Monique
had amused herself by further exploring the Phantoms lair, and more
importantly, his belongings. She had heard Karis voice, interspersed
with Eriks echoing back and forth across the stone walls, and took
that as welcome invitation to entertain herself. And entertain
herself she did. She had found many paintings, mostly portraits that
Erik had obviously 'borrowed' from the Theatre in the days of B.C
– before Christine, and carefully analysed the faces. Some were of
opera divas, leading men, opera scenes and lastly, some paintings
labelled with the names of benefactors. Monique dug through them
furiously, wondering if perhaps she may find a painting of one of the
well-known figures of the theatre, she passed over paintings
analysing their faces to see if she would feel a pang of familiarity
– but none really did anything for her. She put the last portrait
down, then noticed the writing on the back:
Prima Donna Soprano
Monique gasped, and turned the picture back over. "Raoul didn't mention she was that fat…" she breathed. She put the picture to the side, making a mental note to show Kari when she was finished with her lesson. Monique moved on from the paintings, pausing before a large set of shelves, that looked to have been hand-crafted; probably by Erik – each shelf fully laden with statuettes and ornaments or varying theme and size. She found the gold sphinx ornament that Kari had been looking at the day before, she ran her fingers across his cool, smooth surface – her eyes closing, and catching a flash of Eriks mask in her minds eye. Startling herself away from the image, she picked up the sphinx, it was deceptively heavy… a good weapon indeed, had they needed it yesterday. She placed it down once more, and pawed through the other shelves; feeling the need to touch each item of interest.
Monique had moved on from the many ornaments, statuettes and hideously expensive antique jewellery to what appeared to be a curtained cubicle. Monique pulled a curtain aside and revealed something interesting – it appeared to be a closet of Eriks clothes. She ran her hands down the sleeves of a black velvet dress jacket, played with the ruffles on a cross-over dress shirt, tossed a black satin scarf around her neck. The paused, "Oh…" she breathed, and reached out hesitantly towards the very prize she hadn't expected. The lush red velvet 'Red Death' suit, that Raoul had described as:
'the hideous crimson cloth of the devil,
topped by a grotesque skull masque,
in a vain attempt at hiding the monstrosity
that had disturbed our happy masquerade.'
What the HELL had Raoul been talking about? Hideous? Grotesque? Cloth of the Devil? The man was a lunatic. From what she could see the jacket was exquisite. A beautifully tailored garment, of rich, plush fabric, with striking brocaded detail on the cuffs, buttoned edges and the large folded lapels. Monique ran her fingers slowly across the textured surface, her eyes fluttering closed imagining running her hands across the shoulders with Erik actually wearing the jacket. She tried to shake the thoughts of Erik from her mind, and took a quick peek around her, there was no one around, so why the hell not? She pulled the jacket from it's hanger, then quickly whipped it on.
She smiled, looking down at herself, smoothing the jacket across her body. Of course, it was many sizes to big, but it felt nice to wear, though heavy. She did up the buttons that were obviously meant to be across her chest, but hung further down towards her abdomen with no manly chest and shoulders to fill the garment. The central part of jacket where it buttoned up cut off at what was meant to be the waist, then curved shallowly towards the back – into the 'tails' fashion of the time. It was meant to finish at the knee level of the gentleman wearing the outfit, but on Monique it went down to her mid calf. She somewhat resembled a child dressing up in a gentlemans' clothing - It felt luxurious, but she looked ridiculous.
She ran her hands down the velvet absently, then spotted something still on the hanger. It was an extra-long, chiffon-like crimson 'scarf'. Frowning, she pulled it from the hanger, then held it up and draped it around herself like a shawl. "Hmm… probably not how he wore it." She giggled to herself. She looked at the shoulders of the garment, then spotted on the left shoulder, just beside where the large lapel sat was a gusset in the material. Monique pulled the long 'scarf' between her fingers slowly, then came to a matching gusset towards the end of the material, which had two small clips, not unlike bobby pins attached. She put the two gussets together then clipped it into place. "Oooh…" she moved over to a curtain covered mirror, and pulled the large drape aside. Granted, she did look ridiculous, but she couldn't take her eyes off the garment. A metre long section of the 'scarf' hung over her left shoulder and down her chest, while a section of approximately 3 metres hung over her back and dragged across the ground behind her. She toyed with the material, imagining Erik wearing the suit, imagining him getting ready to 'disturb their happy masquerade' . She felt a pang of sympathy for Erik, as he would have heard all the happy commotion above him as the opera house was readied for their masquerade ball, all the guests chirping about their clothes, their escorts, the decorations. They would've been happy to be invited, excited at the upcoming event, meanwhile Erik would've lay low in his dark chamber – with no one to talk to, no invite, no escorts. She felt sorry for him – arriving at the masquerade ball, to be greeted with horrified silence, rather then eager happy shouts from friends.
Sighing she moved away from the mirror, and walked toward another shelf of ornaments – deciding not to take Eriks jacket off, she felt too good in it. But then she heard a sound behind her. But she was much too late. Quick as lightening the red material whipped across her face, landing unfelt across her other shoulder. But the pull from both sides of her body was not unfelt. Monique finally turned, her shock rendering her completely helpless to the force against her. Erik had looped the 'scarf/cape' around her body, and by holding both sides of the loop used it to drag her towards him. Monique stared up into his eyes, her look of surprise not fading. Eriks eyes glittered in the flickering amber candle light, his pupils were huge and threatened to take over the pale colour of his eyes. Monique vaguely wondered just how much trouble she was in.
"Do you always pry through peoples belongings without their knowledge or permission?" he seethed, staring at her dead in the eye, very matter of fact.
Monique stammered, her lips moving to form words, that never actually made the journey from thought to vocalisation.
"Well?" he growled, louder and jerked the scarf around her, sending a shockwave through her body.
"Why are
you going through my possessions? Wearing my clothes? Is it not
enough for you to invade my home, but also to invade my privacy and
the sanctity of my private belongings?" he demanded.
"I..I ….
I.." she stammered again, for some reason her voice wasn't
cooperating with her.
"You.. you.. you?" he raised his
eyebrows, mockingly, leaning in closer.
"I'm sorry!" she finally spat out, motivated by a rush of anger.
He didn't
even acknowledge her apology. "Take it off." His eyes dropped to
the jacket, and he dropped the material he was holding.
Monique
nimbly undid the buttons of the jacket, shrugging the jacket from her
shoulders, "Anything else you'd like me to take off, your
majesty?" she mocked with a sneer.
"DO NOT SPEAK BACK
TO ME!" He roared with an intensity that shocked the anger right
out of her. He grabbed the jacket roughly from her hands, and she
was so shocked she was sent right off balance and tumbled to the
floor, cowering from him as if she were afraid he would strike her.
He turned and placed the jacket on the hanger and back in it's rightful place, seemingly calm. He cast a deriding glare over his shoulder, "Get off the floor, you insolent child." He snapped, stalking away from her.
"Fuck you!" Monique spat, glaring at his retreating form. She pulled herself from the ground, and with a scream of anger, grabbed the candelabra that had been her guide and threw it furiously at the ground, it landed with an almighty echoing crash.
The flames extinguished and a pool of darkness descended on her immediate surroundings. But she saw him. And he knew exactly where she was; and he had her in a mere second. He forced her back against the wall, her hands planted roughly on her shoulders.
"You are a guest in MY home… however much the surroundings may not cater to your taste." He seethed with fury, "I request that you: do not destroy what I have worked hard to create, nor have the audacity to speak to me in such vulgar language, unfitting of even the lazy, whoring, drunk, stage hands that manned this theatre. You are supposed to be a lady. In my home, you shall at least do me the favour of acting as one." He pressed his palms harder against her shoulders, forcing her back further into the grinding stone behind her. Unconsciously she whimpered.
"If my requests bother you, you are welcome to leave. For it is yourself, not anyone else, that holds you here." His face was so close to hers now, his tone barely above a very serious, partially menacing whisper.
88
88
Okay?
Yeah…
now you do some writing!
Down there!
V
Ta!
