I will be able to post several times a week now! through the end of the summer! Yay!

Chapter 12: Dinner Guest

When Christine was seven years old, her father had taken her to Disney World. There were four parks at Disney World, one of which being EPCOT - the Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow. At least, that's what it was supposed to be. Walt's original plan for it was literally an experimental, futuristic community.

Now, it was a theme park. And a big, big chunk of that theme park was the World Showcase. Pavilions that each represented a different country. For example, one pavilion was themed after Japan, with Wayo Kenchiku styled buildings and trees native to Asia scattered around. There were Japanese restaurants, musicians playing traditional Japanese music, and a little museum that featured elements of Japanese culture and history.

One display in that little museum that stuck with Christine for a long time was the samurai, holding the samurai sword. How sharp it was. How it could cut straight through flesh and bone, striking the very heart of the samurai's enemy.

Now, sitting here at Fujiyama, Christine and Raoul on one side, Erik Lenoir on the other, she noticed a painting of a samurai on the wall, the silver of his sword glinting.

And, in this moment, in the terribly awkward silence that had enveloped them, she wanted nothing more than to have that samurai sword lodged in her chest. Anything to end this weirdness.

It didn't help, of course, that two tables away sat Nadir Khan and Jules Bernard. There, most likely, to ensure nothing went sour for their employer. And either they were incredibly engrossed in their menu, finding the offerings of miso soup and Fire Island Rolls very fascinating, or they were listening in on the nonexistent conversation between the three unlikely dinner companions.

Other people around them had looked with interest at Erik for a minute or two, but this place didn't seem to be a tourist location. Most of the guests here were locals, actual New Yorkers, who'd likely seen a celebrity or two, and who'd probably experienced something far stranger than a man in a mask, just on the walk or bus ride here. By and large, they were left alone. No photos or gawking or anything.

Raoul, on the other hand, stared hard at Erik, who seemed rather relaxed as he sipped his hot green tea. He did so somehow gracefully, which seemed honestly impressive given the fact that though his mask left his mouth and chin uncovered, it did cover his upper lip and not one drop of tea seemed to touch the white porcelain. This mask had a thin red swirly fleur-de-lis pattern on the forehead.

Christine knew that Raoul did not stare because he thought the mask was neat.

Raoul looked pissed.

It might have been comical, the image of Erik calmly drinking tea while Raoul fumed, had Christine not been physically at the table and also the reason for Raoul's anger.

"I think I'll get clear soup to start," said Christine in a small voice, staring down at her menu.

"Clear soup does sound lovely," responded Erik absently. "I might do the same. Is the clear soup here very good, Raoul?"

"Why won't you answer my question?" Raoul said immediately.

"I think I did." Erik finally put the tea down and met Raoul's fiery gaze.

"No, you gave me a half-assed response. I asked why you didn't just thank Christine's dad while he was alive, and you answered 'I can't do anything about that now'. That doesn't answer the question."

"Well, it's true. I can't do anything about it now."

"But why didn't you do anything about it then?"

The server, a small, thin, black-haired lady of middle age approached, a smile on her lips. "Are we ready to order?"

"Yes, I think three clear soups would be wonderful, just to start." Erik met Christine's, then Raoul's, gaze with mild and pleasant interest. "Any objections?"

"Whatever. Fine." Raoul then seemed to remember he was talking to an innocent waitress and smiled blandly at her. "Yes. Excuse me. Clear soup sounds great. Thank you."

The server gave a little nod and turned away from them, toward the table where Jules and Nadir still sat inconspicuous.

"Now, to answer your question," Erik said, and his demeanor had changed. He sat a little straighter, eyes a little harder. Christine couldn't deny that she was intimidated, but Raoul didn't seem affected in the slightest.

"Yes?" Raoul said.

Erik continued, "I did not thank him at the time because I didn't know if he would care for my thanks."

It was Christine's turn to enter the conversation - a conversation, she remembered indignantly, that was about her. "What? Why?"

Erik turned his steely gaze to her. Did she imagine it, or did his eyes soften? "As I said, I highly respected your father."

She nodded, waiting for more.

"I was not sure if he respected me."

Christine blinked, taken aback. "He had nothing bad to say about your musicals."

"No. No, very few do. My music isn't the issue."

The mask.

The mask and the way he liked to stay on the fringes of society. The curt way he talked. All the things Raoul didn't like. And all the things Erik clearly knew people didn't like.

He'd even brought up the mask to her at her exit interview, just after he asked her if she wanted him as a tutor.

"My dad didn't have anything bad to say about anything else, either," she said softly. "You didn't really come up…I mean, not in a bad way. But he wasn't really into theatre like I am. He was more just…you know. Violin. That was it. He didn't have opinions about you or any other theatre composers."

Erik looked away, down at his tea. Thinking deeply. About what, she wasn't sure.

"Then I regret never saying thank you," he said. "His music meant quite a lot to me. It was a comfort."

For me too, she wanted to say, but her throat tightened up before the words could make it out.

Raoul noticed the look on her face, and he sighed deeply. "Look. Okay. Let me just…level with you, Erik Lenoir. Just…straight honesty."

Erik steepled his fingers before him on the table, just in front of his little white cup of steaming tea. "Honesty is good."

"Okay. I don't…I don't get it."

"What don't you get?"

"Like…I just…" Raoul sighed, true frustration in the noise, and ran a hand through his blond hair. "This…it's…I don't know, it's weird! It gives me bad vibes. Like, why do you need to say thank you to Christine's dad by creating such an intimate setting with Christine?" He looked at her. "I mean, come on Christine. Genuinely. How do you feel about that? If it was anyone else, how would you feel about that?"

"Um…" Her mind blanked out, feeling suddenly on the spot. She'd just now lamented the fact that two men were essentially making a decision about her, and now that she was part of the decision, her brain decided to go stupid. Wonderful. No idea how to answer, she laughed a breathy sound, knowing her cheeks were pink.

"I'm not trying to be a controlling asshole," Raoul continued. "Seriously, I'm not. But it's just really strange that Erik-" He turned to him. "That you went straight to 'hey, work for me'. And then when she quit, you went to 'hey, be my student'. What if she doesn't want to do that? Are you going to ask her out instead? Like…seriously, doesn't a simple 'I'm grateful for your father's music, and since I can't tell him, I wanted to tell you' suffice?"

Erik cleared his throat. He turned to Christine. "Ms. Daaé. I am grateful for your father's magnificent and soul-touching music. I can no longer tell him, so I feel I should tell you."

Raoul scoffed. "Okay."

"What is it you want?" asked Erik calmly. "I've answered your questions. I accepted her resignation, and I told her that she does not have to take me as a tutor. I have no plans to ask her out. I understand your hesitation. I know what it's about - if I was not who I am, with my name, with my profession, I would be someone anyone would advise their friends to steer clear of. But you are twisting the situation. I only mean to be kind. She applied for a job, and I offered it to her. I am interested in music she might produce because her father produced music - and I offered to tutor her, yes, because of curiosity, but also to be kind. Clearly it is not being seen that way. So I said it before, and I will say it again. If Christine is uncomfortable with the lesson - one lesson - she is under no obligation to attend it. What more would you like from me? Or may I enjoy this strange meal in peace?"

At that moment, the server - who seemed to have truly impeccable timing - arrived with a black tray of three hot soups. She placed them down before them. Out of the corner of her eye, Christine noticed Nadir and Jules watching. She looked their way, and they seemed to suddenly find something extremely interesting to talk about.

The server took their orders. They all ordered sushi.

Once the server had gone to the kitchen, Raoul sighed again for probably the millionth time since sitting down. He looked tired, emotionally and mentally. Clearly, he still wasn't happy about the situation - didn't like it - but he looked at Christine. She looked right back at him.

"Christine," he said, "do you want to have the lesson? After all this, after I expressed myself, after hearing what he had to say, do you want to have it?"

She knew Raoul. Knew his face, his heart, and his soul. Knew that it wasn't anger that he felt, but fear. Christine had no siblings, but Raoul was like her brother. And though Raoul had an actual brother, for all intents and purposes, Christine was his only sibling. Since her father died, she hadn't exactly had the best track record of taking care of herself, of looking out for her own interests, of seeing anything objectively. So yes, he had every right to be worried. And she loved him for that.

But when she then turned to their dinner guest, actually looked him in the eye…she was struck by the sadness, the loneliness, she saw. It was a look that she doubted she'd recognize had she not also felt it, constantly. It was the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon of emotional turmoil. Perhaps she was projecting, or perhaps it was really there. But it was all she saw.

There was nothing menacing about his eyes.

So she turned back to Raoul, an idea sprouting in her mind. "What if you came to the lesson?" She let her eyes dart between them. "Would that be all right?"

"I don't see why not," Erik responded.

After a beat, Raoul nodded. "Sure. Yeah. That's fine."

"One lesson," said Erik.

"One lesson," agreed Christine.

Raoul nodded rather vigorously.

"Now, then," Erik said, "shall we have normal dinner conversation? Since we will all soon be in close quarters yet again, it might do to get to know one another."

No one disagreed, but not a single one of them offered up a topic. Raoul just started eating his soup, clearly in his own head, and Erik reached for the soy sauce. So Christine reached into the old tactics she'd used in college to break the ice.

Call it weird, but one of the best questions she'd ever used to make acquaintances was the very first question from the thirty-six questions that, supposedly, lead to love. Now, she had no intentions of dating either of these two men, obviously, but that first question was interesting and different enough that it always led to interesting answers, which often led to interesting new topics. And the first few questions in the set were meant to get to know each other on a surface level anyway. No one would be swooning over one question.

She cleared her throat. "So…I got one."

Both men looked at her.

"If you could choose anyone in the world, who would you have as a dinner guest?"

"T. Swift, our lady and savior," said Raoul without skipping a beat. Christine grinned. She knew that - she'd asked him that very question four years ago in a philosophy class. Some things never changed.

"I'd want…" My dad. She shook the depressing thought away and went with the answer she'd given in freshman year. "I'd want to have Shakespeare as a guest. I bet he wasn't as stuffy as the English teachers made him out to be."

"So it doesn't have to be someone living?" Erik asked.

She shook her head.

"Then Beethoven. I'm fascinated to learn how he made such music without being able to hear it. As someone who writes music, I would be far too paranoid that what I'm putting out sounds terrible."

"That's a good one," Christine said. Even Raoul gave a little nod. Things felt…okay. Not friendly, but not hostile. And she breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief. Maybe this dinner - and the lesson - wouldn't be so bad.