Just Another Title to Add to the List
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Erik, my friend Thalia and lots of other fangirls... errr, I mean Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber do. Likewise PotO. I'm writing this on a challenge from my dear friend (and Phangirl) Thalia.
Genre: Comedy, of course
Rating: K+ for a little perverse humor. Nothing worse than that (for once), I assure you!
Pairings: Well, aside from the obligatory Raoul/Christine (boooo) and one-sided Erik/Christine? ...None, really...
Author's Note: You know how on pg. 186, Christine says "He gave me his word that he would not be behind the walls of my dressing room again, and I rely on Erik's word. My dressing room and my apartment beside the lake are exclusively mine"? Well, has anybody ever wondered how Erik got himself banned...?
BTW, just as a warning, I'm going to be writing this using "my" Erik. Only difference between him and the stage and text Eriks is that he has longer hair, which usually ends up braided, Edward-Elric-from-Fullmetal-Alchemist-style. If you've never seen FMA, it's... just about a foot-long braid...
---
The Opera Ghost was in an unusually good mood that morning.
He didn't exactly know why, other than the fact that the first thing he'd thought of while sitting up in his unusual bed had been Christine. Of course, that was enough to brighten anyone's day, and he usually thought of Christine first thing in the morning. However, a lot of those Christine thoughts had been poisoned by thoughts of that nosy, annoying, interfering, good-for-nothing Vicomte, that arrogant fly just itching for a swatting. If Erik ever got the chance, he would shut the obnoxious man in the torture chamber, and make sure to bar every exit.
Regardless.
Erik was in an extremely good mood that morning. As he meandered along the narrow corridors he himself had installed behind the Opera-house's stone walls, there was actually a real spring in his step. He hadn't had one of those since the day his parents... well, best not to think of that. Erik was in a good mood and if he could help it, he'd be staying in it.
For Christine's benefit, he had raided M. Reyer's ample stores of sheet music. He'd come upon a few arias that he thought she might like to try, warming up before she had to go practice with the others. And of course, they still had their usual exercises to go through. Even after having worked together for so long, Christine was still soaring through the skill levels by leaps and bounds. Before long, she'd be able to take on the role of Aminta, just as Erik had planned...
Blacker than the darkest shadow, mismatched eyes already beginning to glow amber in excitement, Erik rounded the bend that led towards Christine's meager rooms.
---
Christine Daaé herself, unaware of her rapidly approaching tutor, was standing before her humble dressing closet, worrying over what she was supposed to wear.
This early in the production, would Mme. Giry be worried about her chorus and ballet appearing in costume? Oh, but M. Reyer might want her to practice her role as close in appearance as possible... So should she dress in her plain ballet clothes, or not?
She pushed a hand through her long hair with a sigh. Though she herself did not believe it, Christine was very beautiful. Her smoky-blue eyes peered out of a lovely smooth face, as yet unmarred by the many layers of makeup that could do permanent damage to one's complexion. Her lips were soft and full, her rosy cheeks still reminiscent of a child's in their delicate curves. Her hair was a soft shade of dirty-blonde, falling in waves to her waist, where the tips of tufts became thick, corkscrew curls. She wore a soft white chemise decorated in floral lace, its fabric slightly sheer, and long garters, whose gentle screen obscured the pigment of her legs. Combining her lovely, angelic stature with the power of her voice, it was easy to see how such men as Erik and the Vicomte had fallen for her.
Although strong of character, it must be confessed that Christine was rather... guileless, so to speak, and always believed the best of everyone.
And so, it nearly gave her a heart attack when, without warning, the mirror on the wall creaked riotously open behind her.
As would any girl in her position, Christine crossed her arms over her chest and shrieked.
---
"Good morning to you, Christine! I thought we could do some warming up before you're to go outside to join the rest of the petite br--I mean chorus girls; Erik has brought along some new music and..."
It must also be confessed that despite his unorthodox upbringing and candid manner of song, the Opera Ghost was a fairly honorable, as well as fairly shy, man.
He fell silent upon the sight of Christine in her underclothing and stared blankly for a good five seconds before promptly turning crimson beneath his mask and wheeling around, staring firmly at the stone wall of the corridor. This action coincided perfectly with Christine's shriek.
Stammering, he began to make rapid-fire apologies in a far higher voice than usual: "Erik is very sorry! He has never wanted--never meant--never--urk..."
Christine's own yells almost completely muffled his attempts to appease her: "OUT! GET OUT!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, Erik is sorry, very very sorry..." (He meant it too, poor man. He could sing the role of Don Juan until he was blue in the face, but confront him with a real woman in Christine's current outfit or other sexual situations and he turned into a piece of wood.)
"OUT! ERIK, GET OUT! AND STAY OUT! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU IN HERE, EVER AGAIN!" Still panicking somewhat, Christine found her ballet slippers in the bottom of her small closet, took them into her hands, and as hysterical as she was, took aim.
It simply must be acknowledged that even a woman of Christine's sweet and gentle disposition, when so ruffled, will become temporarily fiendish and defensive in persona for a short period of time. It must also be acknowledged that for a sixteen-year-old actress, Christine had the throwing-arm of a sportsman.
The first missile succeeded in hitting Erik firmly in the back of the head.
"I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT!" Christine shrieked, preparing the second.
The Opera Ghost, quite wisely, beat a hasty retreat, still stammering apologies all the way.
---
When Christine, blood still charged with adrenaline, arrived onstage in her modest chorus clothes, her ballet director Mme. Giry was waiting for her.
"I have a note for you." Not waiting for a response, the commanding woman placed the folded slip of parchment into Christine's hand. Curious despite her ire, the blonde unfolded it. It said:
To my dear Christine:
Erik apologizes quite profusely for the incident this morning, and furthermore promises that he will never enter, nor traverse the corridors behind, your dressing room without your permission ever again. Your privacy and esteem are of the highest importance to me. Your forgiveness is not expected, but would be a blessing upon a wretched soul.
Your thoroughly chastised servant, O.G.
"I hope he does," Christine murmured to herself, shaking her head. "If not..." Her hand twitched slightly, as if seeking the security of a ballet slipper. "I never thought that even Erik would stoop so low..."
:Erik obtains the title of "Peeping Tom":
-owari (XD)-
Note: Erik has so many titles already... and since I'm in love with the Tales of Symphonia title-earning system, I decided to apply it here! Okay, so maybe it's a horrible cross-reference, but I still think it's amusing. It's just one more title to add to the many, after all... wonder if he'd have to put it on his resumé...