Yahoo- two chapters in one, because the first one was to short! (waves little flags on toothpicks around) whoooooo...
Disclaimer: I own Jord, not her origins (WHOA… EWW…) (readers: ok that is NASTY! I'm going to wash my hands NOW!)
Part 1: the sad part…
….
Many say that Raoul was the last to see Jord before she went on, but this is far from true, for several reasons; one, she had to run through the crowded streets of Paris to get to the Opera Populaire, and second of all, as she was running, she ran into William.
"William!" Jord stammered, "umm…" William just shook his head.
"I heard everything," he replied, "or at least some of it. I'm not sure what I heard. But I'm not going to stop you."
"Thank you, Will," Jord said, turning to leave.
"Before you go," Will said, "will you just answer one question?" Jord nodded her ascent. "Will I see you again?" For a moment, Jord was silent.
"No," she replied. Will nodded as a pang of surprise and guilt made its way into his gut. "Or at least, it's not likely. We may. We may not."
"You've never been one to exaggerate," Will said quietly before falling silent as well. Jord shifted the weight on her feet slightly uncomfortably.
"I hate to make this a rushed good bye," Jord said, "but long ones never suited me well. I'm sorry, Will." The two embraced tightly. "good bye, Will."
"farewell," Will whispered, tears running down his face. Jord gently kissed her half-brother's cheek.
"Fair journies, Will," she said, "and endless adventures." The two loosened their grip simultaneously. Jord and Will looked into each other's eyes, attempting one last time to plumb the depth's of the other's mind.
Jord turned slowly and walked away without a backward glance. Will stared after her for a long time.
"To both of us," he whispered.
…
And: the chapter you ALL saw coming. Otherwise known as the most common FF POTO chapter ever to be written. Sorry, what can I do.
Disclaimer: YES YES YES I OWN EVERY WORD! I AM WEBBER, THE INSANE, 7TH GRADE ROBOTIC NUTZO PHANGIRL!
Ha ha. Fooled you for a moment there. I own only the original stuff. (cough, cough)
Fore note- I apologize if anyone gets pissed at me for religious references, but if you're into Fan fiction for the 'angle of music,' then you should be used to this sorta thing. Sorta. You probably won't notice, but if you do… don't bother me.
Post forenote: Erik doesn't think like this I swear… You'll know what I'm talking about once you get there. Seriously. Just a comment that came out veeeeery wrooooooong…. actualy, two...
…
Even the dust had settled at this point. Not a vapor of mist dared to move. Endless papers simply lay scattered, and not a tuft of wind dared disturb Erik's vigil, and had not for uncounted years. He bothered not with trying- he just didn't care as time whittled away at his bones. Occasionally he would throw fits, hurling the remnants of the Punjab, putting old sheets of paper alight for no reason or throwing anything and everything he could get his hands on, but even that had stopped now. He just waited- for absolutely nothing at all.
The slightest movement in the dust drew Erik immediately onto full alert. He had been perched perilously on one of the dime-sized rocky outcrops of the cavern walls, but immediately bolted up and peered into the mist. For several minuets, only faint rustles could be heard, but soon enough, a fait splashing followed. So the boy wishes to finish his business, hmm? Stupid fop.
It occurred to Erik that it might just be another stage worker eager to prove that the Opera Ghost did not exist, in which Erik acquired his next idea. Silently, he agilely navigated on all the other dime-sized outcrops of the wall until he was shrouded in shadows in another alcove, but this time of ingenuity and consequence.
Having studied music his life, Erik had his fair taste of sound engineering. Though he did not know what he had learned, he had discovered the principles of destructive and constructive interference and the law of reflection (the angle of incidence is equal to the the angle of reflection, people). He knew of 'dead spots,' where sounds coming from a certain point would not be heard, and other spots where he could impose a fly's wing-shudder over an entire theater and overpower a full orchestra. Using his knowledge, he had constructed this niche for this one purpose- to frighten away unwelcome 'visitors.'
To his own rage and delight, Erik recognized the faint outline of his gondola. Every pillow was still in place, as if still willing to carry down Christine as gently as one would on a cloud. Erik refrained from sighing, as the noise would carry throughout the lair. More and more now, as the contours of the gondola became firmer and details began to form, Erik felt himself thinking wistfully, a picture of his angel forming slowly in his mind. Almost ironically, he felt at the same time seeing the gondola as Helios' fire chariot, a conveyor of the god's sacred word to bestow upon the Greeks, or the holy conveyor of the messiah, or simply the dinghy Dante took across the river Styx, to proceed into the next ring of hell. (Don't tell me you've never read Dante's Inferno? Never even heard of it? oh come on!)
Concentrate Erik, he told himself, it's just a stupid boat. Erik refocused his eyes to find that his guest was practically on the shore, and as they arrived, to Erik's surprise, didn't cause the irritating grating sound the bottom of a boat makes when it slides over sand- something that, to his knowledge, only he had been able to do with that gondola (he could literally hear Raoul as he docked on the other side). Peering outward, he was able to make the faint outline of a young woman-
Which was greatly illuminated as she lit one of the candles that had long since gone out. She lit a just few others, some around the organ and the others from what remained of his candelabras, creating only enough light to cast shadows. Totally confused, Erik just gaped at her, before shaking free of his state of stun. He took a breath to frighten the corset off this unsuspecting victim-
(guess what comes next?)
"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation- darkness stirs and wakes imagination... Silently, the senses abandon their defenses…" (never guessed, did ya?)
Erik's lower jaw immediately detached itself from the rest of his skull as he swore he was not hearing what he was actually hearing- it was, quite frankly, completely impossible! The music of the night was gone! End! Fin! Finito! Over! For good! Never again to be sung by lips of any angel, phantom or man.
And now some stark mad stage-crew teen girl punk was singing it. Erik decided that his waiting had paid off and he really had gone off his rocker.
But his mind could not hallucinate La Musique de la Nuit. It was gone from him, gone for good, or at least never to resurface.
"Slowly, deftly, night unfurls its splendor- grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Hearing is believing for music is deceiving, hard as lightning but soft as candlelight… Dare you trust the Music of the Night…"
Even as Erik resisted it, he felt his whole being become that of a musician, not a figment of dieing memories. A little twang went through him as he realizes the words were not the same as he had written them.
"Give your mind to the music, forget all you've seen, and all that you have been judged for… In the darkness sin is no more than memory, and the present is worth far more…"
As the girl paused, Erik realized he was furious- she changed the lyrics! Altered his music! Sure, it was over, but one cannot change the past… no more than memory…
"Softly, deftly, music shall surround you. Hear it, feel it closing in around you… Open up your mind! Let your fantasies unwind! In this darkness which you know you cannot fight- the darkness… of the Music of the night…."
Same lyrics… different lyrics… make up your mind! Something in Erik clicked though, and he could not bring himself to stop her. Even if it meant this torture, the brutal mutilation of his music, he would not stop her from trying.
Brutal mutilation? Honestly Erik, you are crazy! The fact was, she had sung it perfectly.
"Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange, new world, close your eyes, for truth is not what you wish to see… In the dark it is easy to pretend… In the dark, it is easy to be free…"
No consistency with the lyrics, Erik mused, but a nice touch there… combining the two stanzas. The effect of each is lost, but good ending line... Erik shook his head. This is insanity… Regardless, Erik itched to hear the next stanza- it would, indeed, be her ultimate test. Erik grinned at the idea of her flinching at her own words, or a look of distain passing over her features.
"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication… touch me- trust me! Savor each sensation…"
Ah well, Erik thought, No flinch… a bit of a wince over by 'touch' though... tee hee… Yes, I am a madman now… little teens… pfft… Enough flashbacks, please!
"Let the dream begin! Let your darker side give in, feel the power of the music that I write…. The power of the music of the night…"
Erik bristled. Shut up shut up shut up…. I wrote it... Another little voice sprang up in his head. But it isn't yours anymore, is it now? You gave it to Christine and now SHE'S dead… so this twat gets it. Don't complain. The girl glanced around in the darkness, for a moment a sitch of doubt in her eye.
"You alone can make my song take flight..." She walked over to the organ, looking it over. She stroked the keys, piquing Erik's blood stream, before choosing five. "Help me make the music of the…" As she took a breath, Erik realized that this was her chance to prove herself- not that little acting bit. It had been easy for Erik to say, considering whom he had been saying it to. She was just singing it into the darkness, where only the Opera Ghost was.
She hit one of the keys, and the next moment stifled a gasp.
"night…"
...
A/N: I hate cliffies too (grin) I'll have this updated in a jiffy, which is an actual unit of time...