A/N: Bella and Erik deserve a break from all the drama! More Hell on Earth to come… but I need to insert some fluff! And I still deeply apologize for any typos that you still find. I have been revising and checking everything constantly, but my eyes… still miss stuff.
Arabella stood uncertainly outside her grandmother's tent, staring around her and waiting for someone to demand what was wrong with her face. She'd been confined almost entirely to Tsifia's tent for over a week with nothing but Erik's voice in the neighboring tent to keep her entertained – as her grandmother couldn't exactly be considered entertainment - and she wasn't sure how well the now old injuries would be hidden behind the powder she'd applied. She hadn't had a mirror to assist her, and Tsifia had gone to open up her fortune-telling business earlier than usual. Arabella suspected that the older woman was trying to be kind; by giving her a few moments of alone time to greet Erik.
She would have died of boredom without Erik, who had managed to create miracles for her - even though they couldn't see each other. He bought a lantern from the local village that made so much light she could see it through both the walls of their tents. With the brilliant light undoubtedly blinding him, he'd been able to stand in front of it and show her his form as he told her shadow stories, sang, or played his instruments. Even though the double walls created two shadows that overlapped, it was much more than she'd have ever hoped for.
Eventually, her bleeding had stopped – although there hadn't really been all that much blood to speak to begin with. Her bruises faded to injuries that could be almost completely concealed.
She had been trying the entire time to think of a way to keep from returning to her father's tsera, but nothing had come to mind. Even Erik, when she brought the subject up, seemed unable to use his brilliant brain to come up with any ideas… unless he was keeping them to himself.
She knew he'd taken several trips into the nearest town for supplies and provisions of one kind or another - without ever mentioning them to her. The movements of the greatest source of income the entire camp had were followed by other gypsies, and her grandmother often caught wind of them and shared them with her granddaughter.
When she asked him what he could find in the village that her camp could not provide, he never answered her. It was Tsifia that observed how the gypsies still thought of Erik mostly as a mulla, who would never dare risk being exposed to evil spirits by doing business with him. A large number of them still warded off the evil eye every time he passed. The idea made her bristle with rage on his behalf, but since Erik wouldn't speak of his continued troubles, she could think of no way to change them.
He also wouldn't tell her why he went into the village at all; what he did there, or of the things he brought back. They had become so open with each other… but Erik still had his secrets. It didn't take long to understand that he probably always would.
When she'd awakened that morning, knowing it would be her day to return to the public eye, Erik had greeted her the moment he heard her and Tsifia murmur their morning greetings. He had a surprise, she claimed, but would give no hints as to what type it would be.
Arabella had put her hair into a tight braid, twisting it into a knot at the back of her head and decorating it with tiny dried flower buds from her grandmother's box of ingredients. An off-white blouse was mostly covered by a midnight purple vest, and her long midnight blue skirt was embroidered with silver thread. She'd taken a little more care in her appearance than usual, considering the leftover bruises. Unless someone looked very closely, she hoped no one would notice them… especially Erik. She didn't want to remind him of the trauma that still enraged him.
"Are you coming out soon?" she called with mock impatience after several minutes of waiting. "We both have performances today!"
"That's what the surprise is about!" Erik admitted, his voice indicating silent laughter.
"Erik!" she sighed, bouncing on her toes. "I'm not going to wait all day! I want to get back to my dancing!"
He pushed his way from the tent just far enough for his head and shoulders to appear, one hand hooking around a tent flap to keep it out of his way. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of a bronze mask covering a majority of his face. It looked as though it had been molded to fit the exact contours of his bone structure, while ignoring his deformity and giving him the appearance of a metallic Adonis.
If that was what he'd have looked like without the deformity (sans metallic skin tone, of course) she never would have had a chance to meet Erik. He'd have been well on his way to conquering the heart and mind of every female in existence. The idea of having never experienced his dazzling genius and affections made her shiver.
"I was under the impression you didn't really like dancing." He stated. "I mean… after your outburst last week…"
Arabella shook her head, trying to hold onto her smile at the memory of her rant by the riverside.
"I love to dance." She objected. "It's one of the only things that have ever made me happy. I just don't… I don't like how even the most innocent dancing makes people from your world think I'm a trollop."
Erik nodded briefly in understanding before ducking back into the tent. Arabella groaned in exasperation, marveling at just how close she was to stomping her foot like a child.
"Erik!" she whined. "No more waiting! Please?"
He bellowed laughter, the sound like clear cathedral bells.
His laugh was probably one of the most beautiful sounds he was capable of making… at least in her opinion. Sometimes, his exceptional music couldn't even hold a candle to the sounds Erik made when he was happy. Although she wasn't particularly good at it, she often found herself trying to make him laugh, just so she could enjoy the sound of it.
Two more minutes passed before he came striding out of the tent, surprising her by the outfit he wore. Apparently, he'd spent a near fortune on clothing to wear during his performances. She'd never seen such fine tailoring before, or such a lavish costume. He was in what she imagined a wizard's robe would look like; black, long, and billowing. But it was the design he spun to show her that took her breath away.
It had been embroidered with shimmering thread and sequins that depicted bird. A set of wings spread across his shoulders, gently curving lines leading through a slim body, swooping into a widely splayed tail much like that of a peacock. But even Arabella recognized the mythical creature with its head just between his shoulder blades. Its' mouth was open wide in a cry of rage, pain, or song.
"A phoenix!" she gasped, stepping forward to run her fingers over the design.
Erik's shoulders tensed slightly, and Arabella froze with her fingertips still touching the place just between his shoulder blades where the birds' head was. She took in a slow, deep breath, feeling beneath her tentative hand as Erik did the exact same. Then, with a sigh, he made the tiniest sound; a sound she couldn't decipher.
She pulled back at the first minute sign that he was about to move.
"Correct." He praised, turning back to her with a smile showing teeth beneath the lowest rim of his mask. It was impossible to miss the pride warming his eyes, and she found herself warming slightly at his silent applause. Still, he said nothing about what she'd just done so unconsciously. "I wanted a very magical creature with immense power. So… what is greater than the ability to rise from the ashes of one's own death?"
Arabella stared at him. It had been a genuine question. But she knew so little of legends and mythos outside of her own culture that she only knew the vaguest details. Everyone knew about mythical beings like unicorns, phoenix, and gorgons… but all of the details were usually hard to grasp when one was illiterate.
"I… I don't know." She admitted, glancing down at the ground.
Erik stepped closer and reached out to cup her chin on the side of one finger. She allowed him to lift her head until their gazes met, and she saw his smile still existed. There was even more pride gleaming in his eyes as she stood still, enduring his touch even though it was so simple.
"According to legend…" he explained softly. "The phoenix has great healing powers… with its tears and its voice. They are supposed to have a song so powerful that they can soothe the most tortured of souls. I imagine that just the opposite must be true as well, considering they are beings of a very destructive force. Can you imagine the damage a phoenix might be able to do with its voice if it wishes to?"
"No." she sighed. "I can't imagine at all. I don't know enough about them."
Erik dropped his hand from her chin, tilting his head slightly as he examined her.
"I can teach you." He offered. "I'll read you anything you wish me to… and teach you to read on your own if you desire."
Arabella blushed a little more, shifting uncomfortably for a moment.
"That would be nice…"
Erik nodded simply, and then clapped his hands together in a way that clearly said he was ready to get down to business.
"I have a gift for you, ma belle."
He held up one finger to plead a moment's more patience, then turned and vanished briefly back into his tent. Arabella was ready to loudly scold him for keeping her waiting yet again, but he returned far too quickly; carrying a long strip of orange-red fabric across his arms that shimmered in the morning sunlight like it was embedded with thousands of tiny fire opals and rubies. It was nearly impossible for Arabella to mistake the fabric for anything other than a Spanish dancing dress, due to its skirt of many tiers, and the small cap sleeves to match. It had a slit up one side she knew would be virtually invisible unless she wished her leg to peek out and reveal skin up above her knee; but gypsy girls were modest about their lower bodies. She couldn't imagine showing more than a flash of calf.
"Oh!" Her hands flew up to her face in delight and surprise. "Erik, it's gorgeous!"
As she stepped toward him with outstretched hands, Erik carefully laid the garment in her arms with a tender smile.
"I'd have started with something smaller…" he admitted quietly. "But I was afraid you – or at least those around us – might get the wrong impression if I brought you something like a bracelet or necklace…"
Still flushed with pleasure and slight embarrassment, Arabella peered up at him with wide eyes that had glazed over slightly. The sight of her watery gaze made him jolt slightly as she dropped her eyes to the fabric in awe.
"You aren't going to cry, are you?" he asked worriedly. "I was only trying to-"
"I'm not going to cry!" she hurried to promise him with a watery laugh. "I'm … I'm touched, Erik… It's really beautiful…"
He fidgeted slightly, but it was all too clear that her words pleased him beyond measure. He gave her several long moments just to shift the fabric in her arms one way and then the other, allowing one hand enough freedom to stroke the dress. It was softer than anything she'd ever touched, and felt like something that could tear as easily as cotton gauze. The jewel-like embellishments flashed brilliantly as they reflected the sun's light. She was truly dazzled by the artistry it had taken to make the costume.
"Thank you." She whispered when she looked up at him again.
Erik pressed closer to her, leaning down so that his words were between them alone.
"Do you want to really thank me?" he asked with a teasing challenge.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"If you think you're getting a kiss for a dress-"
"No!"
One of Erik's hands flew up to his full-faced mask as though it had nearly fallen off, and he took two quick but short steps away from her with a twist of his hips. "No, I don't expect a kiss."
Arabella froze, startled by the vehemence of his response. She stood staring at him with apprehension. Although she'd only been trying to tease him, her mind had briefly wondered just what her response would actually have been in response to such a deal. Could she have brought herself to give Erik a kiss – even only on his cheek – if he'd asked her for one?
Erik visibly calmed himself before lowering his hand with a heavy breath.
"I'm sorry…" he told her quietly. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just…" He shook his head. "Never mind; no, I wasn't going to ask for a kiss. I would neverbargain for a kiss. That would be… beyond unfair."
"Well… then what?" Arabella whispered, wondering at the momentary grief he seemed to reveal. The more they spoke of kisses, the drier her mouth seemed to become. He had no way of realizing that in spite of her long-gone virginity, she had never actually experienced a kiss.
Slowly, his smile returned.
"Come to my performance today… wearing this."
Erik let the gasps and screams wash over him, closing his eyes against the horror-struck stares that were everywhere he looked. His fingers went limp in resignation, allowing the bronze mask to drop with a soft scraping sound to the stage, where it slid almost without notice off the edge and into the grass. His music that morning had been brief; as he'd begun experimenting with the lengths and order of his performance activities to see what kinds of shows brought in audiences.
He would have freely admitted to anyone who bothered to ask that he was becoming greedy; feeling he had every right to demand payment that equaled the abject humiliation he subjected himself to each day.
When the cries died down, he took a deep breath and slowly peered out through slits as he forced them back open the merest fraction.
A flash of vivid orange-red caught his attention at the fringes of hi audience, moving slowly behind first one avid gawker and then another.
His eyes snapped open, his humiliation draining away to be replaced with nothing but honey-golden warmth. It astounded him how Arabella's mere presence could remove the darkness that often enveloped him. His hands rose slowly up to stretch straight out before him, fingertips dipping towards the ground in a gesture of welcome that exposed his pale palms to the crowd.
"Come!" he called in Spanish with a suddenly booming voice, although he hadn't put a hint of command or menace into it. "Arabella Lyberia; jewel of the community… will you honor us with a dance?"
The people standing directly within the aim of his hands and voice parted abruptly like the Red Sea had done for Moses. All in his sight pivoted to see what had gained his intense attention, confusion flickering across the dozens of faces at his use of a native tongue.
Arabella flushed hotly the moment he called her name, and she peered around at the suddenly redirected stares of the crowd in surprise and confusion. Eyes flashing fire, she turned a withering gaze onto Erik, who had begun to smile with his face exposed to the once-cringing crowd.
"What are you doing?" she demanded in Romani.
"Welcoming you onto my stage, ma belle!" he answered, not a hint of shame or repentance noticeable in his entire being. "Please… join me up here, and dance for us! I will be more than happy to provide you with accompanying music!"
She set her mouth into a severe straight line, although he knew instantly that she actually found appeal to the prospect. He'd sung or played an instrument while watching her dance in their short past, but very quietly and without much enthusiasm. They had been attempting to keep their leisurely fun to themselves, hoping not to draw the wrong kind of attention from the gypsies surrounding them at all times. The idea of being able to share their different joys in music was appealing to both of them, and what better excuse than to claim it was for a performance?
"Mandâmes et Messieurs!" he announced abruptly in French, spreading his arms out to either side so as to encompass a now very curious audience. "S'il vous plait, aidez-moi à convaincre cette belle danseuse de monter ce qui arrive les anges sont donnes a la terre!"
For a minute, the crowd simply stood there; as confused as Arabella by his words, even though a majority of them had understood him quite clearly. With a sigh, Erik began clapping rhythmically, in a way that all humans seem to recognize as a way to playfully goad a desired effect. It took less than six claps for several onlookers to join in, and soon the entire crowd was enthusiastically catching on.
"Bel-la!" Erik entreated again, this time in a chant that the crowd picked up on instantly.
"Bell-a, Bell-a, Bell-a!"
Her face infused with so much blood that he actually feared her head would explode – or at the very least that her hair might catch fire. But, slowly, ducking her chin towards her chest, she began to stalk her way through the isle that had been created for her towards Erik.
With a whoop of exuberance, Erik leaped off the front of the stage and caught her by the waist as she approached, simply lifting her up onto the platform.
"Erik!" Arabella shrieked with laughter; but it was over so quickly that her heart didn't even have time to skip a beat from being touched in such a seemingly intimate manner.
"Dance, Bella!" he encouraged again, hopping back up onto the stage as nimbly as he'd leaped off. He reached for the violin that he'd deliberately brought with him the moment she agreed to appear in the fiery flamenco dress.
As he lifted the carefully tuned instrument to his chin and pivoted to face Arabella, he gave her a smile.
"I'm afraid I don't have the correct instruments to do your style of dance justice with only one instrument… but I will do my best!"
Sighing, Arabella rolled her eyes at him.
He astonished her by pausing, pulling the violin back down slightly and adjusting his grip on the bow. He examined the crowd a moment, and then plucking at the strings, almost making it sound as though he were playing an extraordinarily small guitar. It was impossible to mistake the gypsy flair he put into the staccato tune, during which she began to alter the way she held her body and stood on the balls of her feet. It was easy to walk in a circle to position herself, skirt swirling and flipping as her feet kicked upward and back to accent his notes.
Erik tapped his heel on the stage to a beat she never would have been able to mimic, and the crowd amazingly managed to catch on once more with rapidity while also creating a perfect counterbalance. It was as though any time others joined in with Erik's music, he magically conducted them and created masterpieces with other human's as his own personal instruments. Her own heels had begun to find some flamenco beat within the pounding and clapping.
After nearly a full minute of this Romani mixed with Spanish style plucking, he lifted the violin once more to his chin and Arabella held her breath.
At the first stroke of his bow across the strings of the violin, the crowds cheering and clapping vanished, electricity seemed to fill every square inch of air, and Arabella felt something inside her - paradoxically - grow still as the blood began to race in her veins to the rhythm of her pulse.
She almost felt pulled like a puppet on a set of strings. His music and rhythm told her every move she needed to make. There was no wrong step she could take that would make either of them look like bumbling fools. It was as simple as being able to anticipate everything her musical partner did, just as the crowd seemed able to do once the clapping slowly began again to the altered melody.
Her mind conjured up a combination of the melody and the clapping, along with the colors of the dress she wore and the mask still lying in the grass. It was an illusion of a wildfire licking at everything around her… as though she herself was a flame being embraced by other hot flames that created even as they destroyed.
Things became even more intense when Erik's playing and stomping was joined in by his voice. She opened her eyes briefly to stare at him in simple awe. How he could do so much all at one time, his hawk like eyes locked onto her as she moved across the stage, amazed her. All she could do was what his violin and voice commanded. Her limbs, her hair, even her pelvis, was moving and undulating in strange new ways in answer to his sirens call. In spite of how much she hated portraying herself in any sensual manner, Erik's music virtually demanded it. There was no room for any other interpretation in his cues… and her body answered without any thought. Her mind, although aware of what she was doing, seemed to have lost any control or opinion… ruled as it was by Erik's music and her bodies reaction.
Beyond them, the audience was growing very distant and unimportant. A chant had begun in the crowd. They had begun a chorus using a word from Erik's song… although she hadn't a clue what it meant. As far off as they all seemed, the noise of their combined voices drove her on as Erik's music became more frenetic. Her heart had begun to beat in time with his thumping heel as he sang, his voice rising into a tone that seemed unearthly – and not due to its' purity or octave. It was something primal.
"Montée! Montée! Montée!"
She locked gazes with Erik, feeling his eyes pouring over her like a constant deluge of water that seeped into her every pore. He had moved toward the center of the stage, giving her plenty of room to dance in circles around him. In each direction she went, he began stalking in her direction, never once losing track of the beat his feet needed to keep up. His music was making her dance faster and faster, turning the chant of the crowd into an even more unintelligible but deafening hum. It pulled her closer and closer to him until she was nearly in the way of his playing, her hands skimming the air around his arms and shoulders as she moved. It was impossible to keep eye contact the entire time, but they didn't let their gazes remain lost to each other for long.
With the final notes she found herself prone at his feet. She had tossed herself to the ground, letting her legs slip out from under her so that they stretched in one direction while her torso went the opposite way. Her arms were flung up over her head in utter surrender to the music as she panted for breath. Sweat was trickling from her forehead into her braided hair, on her upper lip so that she tasted salt, and beading over nearly every inch of visible – and invisible – skin. The salty beads refracted the sunlight shining down just as the decorations on her dress did, making it look as though she'd been set aflame.
Everything was trembling.
Silence slammed down over them as though God had decided sound was no longer permitted. She couldn't even hear Erik breathing as he stood over her, staring down into her startled eyes. He was not smiling now. His arms were stretched out to either side, violin in one hand and bow in the other; as he bent slightly over her like a bird of prey over game. Every muscle in his body was locked tight, turning him into a statue that heaved silently for air as his eyes scorched her.
Then… abruptly; as he lowered his violin and bow to one hand and leaned down to offer her assistance in standing, the crowd erupted.
She barely noticed them as she slid her hand into Erik's until they held one another's' wrists. He effortlessly pulled her in one smooth motion up onto her feet, stepping so close to her that their chests nearly touched. Arabella found she couldn't take her eyes off of him… and thought he just might be feeling the same way.
A cry came from the crowd, echoed again and again in words that didn't quite manage to become a chant. Without Erik's masterful manipulation guiding them, they had lost all sense of harmony.
The cry that arose wasn't a call for more.
"La belle et la bête!"
The words made Arabella jerked in astonishment, forcibly breaking her gaze with Erik so that they stared together out at their almost forgotten audience. It wasn't only the crowd of locals staring at them, either. It seemed over two-thirds of the gypsy camp had made its' way to the makeshift stage, including Arabella's grandmother and parents. Sarima was there, staring with absolute shock. They all were. Even Yaakov looked nearly humbled by the display he'd witnessed.
"La belle et la bête!" The onlookers continued calling.
The words were close enough to the ones of her own native tongue that she understood them faultlessly.
Erik looked at her slowly, a gleam in his eyes of amusement… even pleasure. It was almost as if… almost as if he'd planned for this exact reaction. She wasn't sure how to feel about the possibility of what he'd just accomplished – on so many levels… but the heat in his eyes made her forget to be concerned about his deeper possible manipulations. She knew how well Erik could play with the crowd, as though each person was one of his own personal toys. Making her a part of that manipulation certainly wasn't something she could hold against him… until later, if she found out she didn't like his motivations.
But she could also admit that she recognized something much more primal in him as well, beyond his pleasure at the crowd's applause. Never had she danced like that for a crowd. Without Erik's music, she doubted she ever could have. She was far too aware of that primal emotion… and could even feel it herself in that moment, although it wasn't half as terrifying as she'd expected it to be.
"La belle et la bête!"
They were calling Erik and Arabella the Beauty and the Beast…
There was a beast within each beauty, just as there was a beauty within all beasts – however dark the beauty might be.
Her beast was a man… and as his beauty… she was a woman…
She'd never thought it would be possible to so thoroughly recognize that fact, until he convinced her to dance for him…
It was no wonder the crowd had exploded.
Neither of them could have hid the way they fed off one another on that stage.
Arabella blinked slowly, still stunned as these revelations managed to burn through her.
She had felt something other than disgust at her own sexuality… or Erik's, for that matter. There was no question he'd exposed his own sense of masculinity in his music. Without laying a finger on her, Erik had wakened her to desire without fear.
"Erik…" she croaked softly.
He nodded, lifting his hand to her cheek. The brush of the backs of his fingers was brief, and like the touch of a feather.
"Well done, ma belle." He breathed.
Arabella closed her eyes, and leaned into his hand. It was the tiniest step imaginable… but she had taken it… and she wondered if she would ever pull away from his hand on her face again. Already the spell of their music and dancing was fading, allowing her normal trepidations to leak back into her… but she would always hold onto the memory of the musical fire he'd used to possess her.
"Thank you… Miri kom." She sighed, before pulling away and turning to acknowledge the crowd.
When she turned to make certain Erik received his rightful applause, he came forward and took her offered hand and silently insisted they take a bow together. His face was towards the crowd, but she didn't miss how his eyes remained frozen on her… and that they gleamed with the slightest hint of forming tears.
He'd heard her sigh as though she'd shouted it at the top of her lungs. The heat in his eyes was even hotter than moments before… but there was a subtle difference. This was warmth of emotion… not just passion. He had recognized her Romani words… and he had pulled them into his heart and locked them away there.
Smiling slightly, Arabella gave his hand a squeeze.
Madame's et Messieurs! S'il vous plait, aidez-moi à convaincre cette belle danseuse de monter ce qui arrive les anges sont donnes a la terre : Ladies and gentlemen! Please, help me to convince this lovely dancer to come up onto the stage and show you what happens when angels are given to Earth!
Montée: Rise
Miri Kom: My Love
To Clarify... Mir-I is a masc. form of address - such as Mon is in French. Mir-A would be fem., as in Ma in French. (Mon cher vs. ma cher) I am certain you will see both variants at some point from now on, although Erik is ikely to stick to his French roots.