The Phantom of the Opera.
A title that strikes wonder and fear and mystery into those who hear it. The man himself couldn't help but grin just a little when he heard it. He hoped the name spread. He hoped that people would think twice before entering his Opera House. He hoped that if they do enter, they would do so with trepidation.
Even the Ace of Spades has a certain something about it. It demands peoples respect and inspires awe. The Phantom doesn't feel he deserves this title yet but he still has played around with the idea in his mind. He's been feared as The Phantom for so long, he wonders if he can really just take on the persona of the good guy so quickly. He doesn't feel comfortable in the name yet, just like he doesn't feel comfortable in his new clothing.
They're both a far cry from his real name. He hoped people had forgotten his real name. To him, the boy with that name died the day his father died. He didn't laugh like that boy anymore. He didn't smile, or live or muster up the courage to care anymore. With everyone he cared about dead and Wonderland being sucked into twenty years of The Red Queens horrors, what was there to laugh about anymore? The old him is buried somewhere deep in the rubble of the fallen half of the Opera House. . . or so he thought. The name, apparently, wasn't buried deep enough.
The Phantom stares down at his fake back story and, more specifically at the name that has now flown back to hit him in the face like Hatters stupid boomerang hat.
Erik Destler.
What does that name conjurer up? What kind of fear or wonder or mystery is in that name? There isn't any. It lacks in pretty much everything The Phantom is aspiring to be. Mysterious. Heroic. A man of presence. The name Erik does not strike fear in enemies or wonder in strangers.
It makes him feel...ordinary. Like the common people. A pawn.
There are other things he doesn't like about the set up. His back story is as follows: Erik Destler owns the building the music shop resides in. He goes in there to sometimes record music in a room that is behind glass in the evenings. Disturb him at your own peril.
As dull as his cover story is, the people who aren't Madame Giry have fallen for it. Meg Giry, her daughter so far is the only one who has been there by herself at night to sort out orders and even calls out a farewell to 'Mr Destler'. He's been told to talk to nobody except Christine so he hasn't replied. Meg is nothing like he expected as far as being a Diamond was concerned. They are usually stiff people- cold almost. The role they play (and that her Mother played wonderfully) are that of being unbiased judges, exacting economists and flawless lawyers. Meg, oddly enough is too happy and cheerful to be a Diamond or maybe she just needs more training. She's even younger than Christine.
The man in line to be the White King and to lead the White Knights is one Raoul De Changy and doesn't look too prepared for his role either. He's cocky, slightly arrogant and likes the ladies way too much. The exact opposite to what a White Knight is supposed to be. They were brave, wise men who worked hard and had a strong sense of loyalty. The insolent boy has much to learn.
As for The Club and his friend, Nadir Khan, he has hardly changed. He is everything his father was and more. Silent, solid but a damn hard worker. The Phantom looks forward to hopefully meeting with him again soon. His father was in charge of building the Opera house which meant the two boys worked together and played together for years. He's happy his friend has not changed- as odd as it seems to use the word 'happy'.
At the moment though, as The Phantom plays on his Halfmoon, filling his world and theirs with music, his focus is on Christine Daae. The oblivious Queen of Spades.
He doesn't remember much about her mother when she ruled. He met her a few times. She had a voice like an angel, she played the Lusterrell like nobody else and Christine looks exactly like her. Long, dark curls, large deep blue eyes and a frame that looks more fragile than a glass whisker. She's kind and a good worker but that is not to say The Phantom finds her without faults. She's shy. A shy queen is the last thing the Spades need coming out of the Red Queens rule and she has a sadness about her. According to the notes Cat gave him, she lost her father not even a year ago and is now on her own. Quite simply, he is overwhelmed at the task before him.
Tonight will be the first time she is alone in the shop and he has to speak to her. . .as Erik Destler. He shudders at the name, continuing to play as he listens to Meg and Christine talk.
"You know what to do Chrissie?" Meg asks. "You're okay by yourself?"
"Yes. Fine, thank you." Is the quiet reply. Meg beams a smile.
"Awesome! I have my economics exam tomorrow so I'm off to study though. . .thank goodness because Raoul had another go at asking me out. I told him to quit asking unless he wants a tuba for a neck. . ." she laughs at her own joke and even The Phantom accidentally chuckles, the sound of it startles himself just as much as the two young women. Meg looks up at the mirror and waves. "Glad you approve, Mr Destler. Happy playing." She was then out the door with a flick of her blond hair. The Phantom may not think she's ready to be a Diamond but she is still very entertaining and has more than once over the week had him smiling. He has no idea what a tuba is but he too would like to see something drastic done to the young De Changy boy.
Now though, it's just Christine, aware of the Phantom. . .no. . .Eric Destler's presence in the next room. She cleans and rearranges the shop, unaware of the intense gaze of the man behind the mirror.
The Phantom starts a new piece of music, only because he is yet to think of what to say to Christine. What do you say to someone when you aren't allowed to talk about Wonderland or what her future holds? She doesn't even know who her mother was, what she did for people and how much she was adored by everyone. The music grows deeper and darker...complicated. He finds his halfmoon can almost mirror exactly everything going on in his head. . . losing hours in thought and sound. He all of a sudden stops playing.
He cant afford to lose hours. He only has a small window of opportunity to talk to Christine. . .about what though? He looks at her, noticing she's paused- suspended in activity. She then looks up at the mirror and he flinches. It feels as though he's looking directly at her but she isn't, she can't be. The Phantom, holds her gaze into the mirror and clears his throat.
"Is something the matter, Miss Daae."
Despite him attempting his rarely used soft tone, she still jumps, shaking her head.
"Sorry. . . Sir, I . . ."
"Sir?" he asks confused. Only very high-ranking men are called sir in his world. Still. . .it's better than Erik.
"Sorry, Mr Destler, I mean. I was just. . ." She looks down at the floor, standing close the looking glass, a small smile on her face. Is it a smile? He wonders. Surely not. He edges closer to the mirror slowly, head cocked to the side. "You play very well. . .I was just. . .lost in the music and then you stopped. . ." she looks at the mirror again, clearly seeing nothing but her own reflection. "I forgot where I was a moment."
Phantom stands there a moment. He's not used to his music affecting other people. . .it's only been him the last twenty years. He's had none to play for or with. Christine, after a while of getting no response, turns away to keep working.
"Do you play anything, Miss Daae?"
She spins around and nods, still looking a little startled.
"Um. . .the piano and. . .and the violin, a little. . . though not as well as you. I've never heard a piano played like that."
He looks at his half moon, named after it's shape and with three layers of keys on it. It takes years to master one layer let alone all three. It can hardly be compared to the simple piano she is talking about but describing the musical instruments in wonderland is not on his list of approved subjects so he leaves it alone.
"Yes. . .years of practice and a few modifications will do that."
She just nods and smiles gently.
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr Destler." She turns back to her duties and the Phantom paces the length of the mirror a few times, his hands behind his back in thought. He's been observing her and the other from behind this glass for just over a week now and she still barely speaks half a word to the people she works with yet here she was, though painfully shy still willing to talk and why? Because it was about music. His language. He smiles at this, his faith in The Spades' future a little stronger now so he stops pacing and turns to the mirror again.
"Miss Daae?" Again she gets a fright and spins around. Phantom finds himself smiling at this slightly.
"You should come with a bell Mr Destler. I thought you had left." This is said quietly, with read cheeks. He takes a step back, picks up a bell and rings it at which she laughs. She has a raspy laugh, again, like her mother's. He'd forgotten her mother laughed like that until now. He smiles at the good memory. Grief- the fact he's smiling! Since when does he smile.
"Miss Daae, would you do the honor of playing for me?"
The laughter stops and she steps back, shaking her head.
"No, please. I . . .my skills fail in comparison to yours. Please sir."
Sir again. . . all this time and no mention of Erik. This isn't going as badly as he thought.
"A deal then. . . I play if you play."
"Please. I'd rather not. Why don't you just play and I'll work. The last person I played in front of was my music teacher and even then. . ."
"We'll then. . .it can't be too hard. You can't see me. Pretend I'm not here."
The Phantom watches as she begins to waver, ringing her hands.
"You promise you will play something also?"
"You have my word."
She paces a little more then stops.
"Can I play in the dark?"
This gives Phantom a moment of pause and he steps closer.
"Pardon?"
"I play better when it's dark. I . . .it makes me feel. . .the music better. It sounds weird, I know but. . ."
"You don't have to explain yourself, Christine. You're speaking my language. . .a rare thing."
"Really?" she smiles, looking relieved.
"Go ahead. . ."
He'd never heard the piece of music before and it bothered him that he couldn't see her. He could feel it though. Boy could he. You can understand a lot about a person by how they play. She started off slowly, shyly, making mistakes but eventually, as it happens with him, it started to flow smoothly, filling the air with a music that felt like sweet sticky warm honey. He would love to teach her the halfmoon and every and any other piece of music her could teach her. Perhaps he could in the future- maybe even the near future. She plays with emotion.
It's the key. Some people approach music like a mathematical problem- like a color between the lines set of instructions. She plays how Phantom does and how Spades have been taught to play. Because of this, there were thousands of versions of the same piece of music going around. People translated it to sad, triumphant, disparages, lonely, happy, angry. It was how you told people how you feel. She has mastered this almost to a tee. In all this wonder, he forgets he hasn't said anything yet. Both just sitting in the dark, silence surrounding them. A specific silence. Only musicians get it. It's that rest after something to give the music time to. . .escape? Is that the word. To leave it's mark.
"I was a little shaky in the start." she says quietly. He continues staring ahead of him.
"A little." He admits.
There's another long silence and he hears movement. The light comes on in the music shop and a nervous Christine stands there, awaiting a verdict.
"It didn't end happily. Does that happen often?" Phantom asks.
"Pardon."
"Your interpretation of the music. It stayed lonely and. . .sad. Is that often your choice of music?"
She looks down, a small frown on her face.
"Yes." she admits. "My. . .I lost my father last year. Little for me seems to be ending happily lately. . .I hope I didn't depress you Mr Destler."
Phantom sits on his chair, in front of the half moon and shakes his head, stunned at how somebody else's music has made him feel.
"Not at all, Ms Daae. . ." he begins to play a few soft notes on the half moon. "As I said. You speak my language." he then lets himself fall head first into a piece of music. . .something he hasn't played before. Something he feels he should be writing down. . .he doesn't though. He just plays. . .and thinks, unsure what his Future Queen is doing to him.