Disclaimer: I own not Le Fantome de l'Opera or Labyrinth. Nor do I own Japan, though that would so rock.
Chapter Seventeen: Paper Cranes and Unexpected Visitors
Erik
Soon letters from Danielle's admirers came flooding in, and so did visits from those admirers. Erik was perfectly content when women gushed over Danielle's talent while standing in her dressing-room, but he was not so pleased when the visitors were handsome, young, wealthy men. He didn't appreciate the old wealthy men, either. He had known it was coming, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to watch them flirt with his beloved. The green-eyed monster within him always strained at its bonds when he thought of how much he would love to have the luxury of wasting time complementing Danae on her lovely eyes, silky hair, and beautiful face just like these pompous cretins. Somehow he always managed to contain his more feral instincts, but it was only with extreme difficulty.
The most persistent of Danielle's guests was none other than Monsieur Mathieu Latrec, idiot extraordinaire. That boy with his perfect hair and even, white teeth would come to every performance, and then bother the "most acclaimed soprano in all of France" afterward. He invariably came with that wretched Luc. They would stay for hours, severely interfering with Erik and Danielle's music lessons. He would have gladly rid himself of the parasite, but he knew Danielle would never forgive him for it, no matter how much she detested him herself.
Danielle was ever the gracious hostess during these unfortunate visitations. That is until Latrec had the audacity to come alone. Erik looked on as the filthy little fop sidled into the room unaccompanied. The weasel was as oily as ever, detailing her genius in the most sickening of terms.
Judging from her reception of him, Danielle had not appreciated his lone call.
Erik had become accustomed to the warm, inviting, charming Danielle he had seen so often since their lessons began. He had observed that she even went so far as to cheerfully converse with her fellow performers and the other various opera staff, leaving everyone with the notion that success did her good, instead of poisoning her like so many others. He had all but forgotten the cold, professional girl that had intrigued him all those months ago, but once Latrec stepped into that dressing-room without her brother, Danielle had recovered the harsh mantle of ice that she had been wont to wear before Erik's music entered her life.
Why was Erik suddenly feeling so hot under the collar? He loosened the cravat around his throat a little, but in vain.
"My thanks for your kind words, Monsieur Latrec," she muttered sardonically through clenched teeth. "You are too amiable."
Danielle's eyes were two unforgiving, grey storm clouds as she stared daggers into Latrec's suddenly uneasy eyes. Her displeasure was more apparent as time wore on. Danielle's arched eyebrows dared the fool to remain another minute. He was more imprudent than Erik had previously estimated.
"I would do anything to encourage the application of your miraculous talent, Mademoiselle," he assured her gallantly.
"I need all the encouragement I can get, I am sure," she said with an ironic smirk. By now, even the most thick-headed of men would have taken the hint, but the dandy would not be availed upon to comprehend. Matters became no better for Latrec when he decided to discuss the ball that Danielle had attended while she had been unaware of the fact that the scum she saw before her had been the host. Though he obviously thought that this would give them some common ground, he hit upon a subject that made Danielle's nostrils flare in offense.
"There was a couple there that night possessing unspeakable rudeness and bad taste," Latrec drawled with an attitude of great superiority. "Did you happen to notice that there was a couple who danced almost every dance together for several hours straight? You would expect them to dance together two or three times throughout the whole night, but not twenty or so. And partnering so many times in a row," he exclaimed, shocked at their impudence. "I would be mortified if a partner insisted on dancing as few as twice in a row. Their astounding cheek nearly ruined the whole evening."
Erik was certainly enjoying this entertainment. The arrogant wind-bag had no idea that he was speaking to one of those uncouth individuals at that very moment.
"Perhaps they especially enjoyed each other's company, Monsieur," Danielle reasoned icily. "They might be happily married right now because they happened to fall in love on your dance floor."
"I should hope not," he sneered, "for I would hate to see such low-lives beget progeny."
Erik growled a bit at the back of his throat as Latrec finally left at Danielle's (oh, so subtle) insistence that she had to rest for the following day. Erik snorted in amusement as she practically shoved Latrec out the door, which she slammed shut behind her.
"I thought he'd never leave," Erik called out to her from the little trapdoor from which he had witnessed the whole scene.
"How do you think I feel," she retorted irritably, taking her hair down from its braids in front of her vanity. "You weren't the one who had to deal with him."
"Perhaps not, Danae, but I'm the one who had to stand here waiting for you to do it."
"At least he's gone…for now," she sighed, pessimistically.
"You shouldn't be so polite, Danielle," Erik advised. "Speak your mind. Tell him you despise everything about him."
"It isn't quite that easy, Erik," she answered wearily. "A performer will either live or die by society. I have to keep up the most congenial appearance I can, no matter how much I detest the person standing in front of me. It would be a grave mistake to make no attempts at courtesy even if the man is just nouveau riche. He is still above my station. It was risky to be as hostile as I was. We can't all enjoy the same brazen insolence that you are fortunate enough to entertain. It would be career suicide to go right out and tell him that he is the vilest creature I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."
"You don't necessarily have to be that harsh," Erik chided. "You could simply tell him that he is the vilest creature you have seen this month."
That got a laugh out of his sour-mouthed little songbird. "Somehow I don't think he would be much less offended with that statement than with the other. Besides, if I want to be rude, I might as well be at my worst and get it all out of my system," she explained.
"Have it your way," Erik said. "Will you be up here long?"
"No. Go back without me," she answered, undoing the clasp on her necklace. "I'll be home shortly."
Erik made his way through the damp tunnels to his subterranean chambers. Somehow, it seemed much brighter down there after Danielle had called it home. The more she did so, the more hospitable the lair became. He prepared a small meal for her. She would probably be famished by the time she got back. First a performance until ten, and then a visit from the most repulsive thing on two legs; Danielle had certainly been through a trying evening.
Erik finally heard the lady of the house coming along one of the passages. They enjoyed their quiet supper-for-two, and then Erik suggested rest. Surprisingly, Danielle wanted to stay up a bit later. They sat in the den and discussed whatever came to mind. Meanwhile, Danielle was busy folding paper.
"What are you doing," Erik ventured.
"Origami," she said simply.
"I can see that, but how did you ever come to know of something so utterly oriental?"
"My mother had discovered it somehow when she was a girl, and I happened upon her book of instructions one day in the attic," Danielle replied absent-mindedly, intent on her work. "I have no idea how she heard about it, but I'm very glad she did. It was a highly satisfactory way to pass an hour or two in my dull home."
Erik watched for a few moments. She had made fifteen paper cranes in the last five minutes. "Do you know the story about the thousand paper cranes," he asked her.
"If I fold one thousand paper cranes in one year, I will be granted a wish; is that it?"
"Yes, that's the one. Do you know the legend," he inquired politely.
"You know, I don't think I do," Danielle responded, playing along with him.
"Well, if you fold one thousand of those, you'll be granted a wish," Erik said with a completely impassive face.
"Is that so?"
"It is."
"How lovely! I shall have to think about what I want. Perhaps a new dress. Or a blue hat," she joked. "I know: I shall have to wish for a lavender parasol."
"If I were you," Erik teased, "I would wish that Latrec were sent to live with the goblins."
"That is quite a good idea," she admitted, "though I wouldn't do it, which is why I'm the one folding the paper cranes."
"Are you implying that I am impatient, my dear," he scoffed.
"That is precisely what I am implying, my good sir."
"Then you may have to start teaching yourself how to sing."
"I'm sure that I could do as good a job as you," she stated saucily.
Christine
The Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny was looking forward to an evening out. Unfortunately, little Phillipe was unwilling to let maman go. He was wailing and holding onto her golden hair as she tried to put him to bed. The poor dear. He couldn't know how much she wished he could come with them and listen to the music.
It had been several months since Christine and her husband, Raoul, had gone to the opera. As a patron, the Vicomte felt that they needed to make the occasional appearance. He would have given up the Populaire years ago if she hadn't begged him to help keep it running. It had been Christine's home for so long that she couldn't think of it in disrepair.
Besides, all that business was long over. At the age of twenty, and already a mother, Christine felt that it was decidedly foolish to fear the nightmares of sixteen. There was also another reason for her efforts to keep the Opera Populaire going: him.
Of course, he was probably long gone by now, but she owed it to him to keep his refuge, his palace, alive. For all she knew, he himself was dead. The least she could do after breaking his heart was to restore the only place he had had any real hope of happiness, even if it had never come to fruition. Christine no longer feared him and no longer wished him ill. All she could do was wish him happiness. She would never forget the way they had parted. He was crying. She didn't think that she had ever seen a man sincerely cry before. She had only seen men cry as a stage trick. And he had cried for her. That was a very humbling thought.
As their carriage rounded a corner, the opera house came into view, glowing as always. Christine was still contemplating all those years ago. She grinned when she remembered Raoul's reaction to her feelings concerning the Phantom of the Opera. He had been very confused and a little jealous, too. The poor man had nothing to fear. She wasn't about to give him up for a ghost.
Upon taking their leave of the carriage, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and the Vicomtesse Christine were immediately greeted by the managers themselves, along with an assortment of other nobles. The evening promised splendor and entertainment, pomp and circumstance.
They were both beginning to regret their decision to come.
One of the unnamed causes for this glorious return was the rumor that a newly debuted soprano was more talented than Christine had ever been. It had sparked a few moments of jealously deep in Christine's heart, but she had passed it over. It couldn't possibly be true. She had been taught by the Opera Ghost himself from six years old to sixteen. This new soprano couldn't have surpassed her when she had no teacher.
Christine wouldn't have really minded had the rumors been true. Her time in the spotlight had ended. She only entertained her family and the occasional visitor. This girl had a career ahead of her and Christine wished her the best.
Raoul
The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny hoped that the evening wouldn't be too much for his wife. She had never exactly enjoyed being back at the Populaire, though she assured him that she was quite happy to return. Perhaps it was just his imagination, after all. He certainly hated almost every minute of being there. He just had too many horrible memories of that building: the man who had once dominated it, his obsession, the fear in Christine's eyes…it was all too hard to relive. It had been difficult enough the first time around; neither of them needed reminding.
Of course, now they were settled and perfectly safe. They had a son, a happy life together, and the peace that suited both of their natures. Surly, a little trip to the opera house couldn't tear it all apart, could it?
A/N: It really would have been considered rude for a couple to dance so much together during the nineteenth century, especially if they partnered two or more dances in a row. The whole goal of these parties was to socialize, not to romance. Some people might have considered it unfair to dominate a person's time because that meant that no one else had a chance with him, or her.
A/N: Did any of you catch my Labyrinth reference? I love that movie. David Bowie makes such a great Goblin King. Everybody should watch it.
A/N: There is a real legend in Japan that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant you a wish. I think it's supposed to be some sort of reward for patience and being zen. Any guesses concerning what you think she'll wish for? Hint: It won't be Erik.
A/N: Is it me or is Christine wishing a whole lot of happiness. She seems to have graciousness oozing out of her ears or something.
