Thanks for the feedback! Some plot finally picks up now. And there's a bit of semi-fluff in here.
Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein
The masked man lay on his back, half sunk in snow, staring up at him with disbelieving eyes. The creature waited for an answer, refusing to break his gaze. He had shown the other his face in full, in all its hideousness, and he would do more if this was not settled then and there.
But the masked man simply stared, his eyes mirroring the creature's own, as if struck mute with terror. Not terror, recognition. His cheek stung, where the cord in the other man's hand had struck. And yet he could feel the blood clotting already.
"Who are you?" he asked again, louder. "I must know."
He extended a hand toward the fallen man. The other made no movement, but the yellow eyes flicked, and he soon felt that bony hand in his own. Even gloved, the fingers felt like they would snap the second he touched them. He pulled the masked man up.
And for the first time, he finally heard the masked man speak.
"A traveler." It was a voice dipped in honey and laced with velvet. Had he ever heard one so sublime! Two simple words, two perfect words- perhaps that was why Daae was so drawn to him.
De Lacey. The first man who could have shown him kindness; the old man, in his blindness could have changed his entire being with a simple word, but Frankenstein's son had been too rash. De Lacey rarely plagued him now that he had resigned to reject the human race. But those two words! If he had approached De Lacey with this man's voice, perhaps acceptance would have come without a single pause.
The hand in his palm tensed, the other sensing his aggravation. He let go of the masked man's hand and the two continued to exchange stares.
"That is not the answer I wanted."
There was a wary edge when the masked man spoke again, "Then what do you want?"
"Tell me why you hide behind the mask."
The other pair of golden eyes narrowed to slits as the man tightened his grip on the lasso. "You know."
"I know about the girl. If you wish to know, follow me and I shall tell you all I know."
"I do not take well to being commanded."
Both drawn to their full heights, he still towered over the masked man, surpassing him in strength and prowess. One would be the master and the other would follow. There would be no compromise.
You cannot fight me. He said nothing, gaze trained on the masked man's hands. The other silently tucked the lasso back into his cloak before bending to pick up his displaced hat. Their eyes remained on one another the entire time.
"Come."
The masked man nodded. He took a step towards the winter woods, only then noticing with faint surprise that they had been conversing in French the entire time. In his haste to speak to the other man, his ironic mother tongue had let loose. The masked man spoke it flawlessly, that language he so loved and loathed.
Gustave sighed, wiping a smear of frost from his mustache. He wondered how long the carpenter's daughter had been lost in the snow. If any of them had arrived earlier, then perhaps there would not be another death. The poor man was crying in his shop, being consoled by Jorgen and his remaining children, all too young to understand the fate of their sister.
The sky was darkening, its bleak grey tinged with purple. It wouldn't be long before all was black, save the snow itself. Frederik seemed to notice his growing discomfort. The other man put a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't take it too hard, weren't nothing to be done."
"I know."
He shivered. "Frederik, sometimes I wonder- what if it really was the monster- perhaps this really is haunted."
Frederik said nothing, both men staring at the villagers passing by, eager to go indoors before the dusk took its toll. The monster's form was still in Gustave's mind, a blur he once considered to be a fevered nightmare. That must have been it- he must have dreamed that the creature had attempted to accost him. But he remembered the smashed violin. Perhaps there was some truth to the horrors that the mongers spoke of.
"Gustave, I say this as a friend, don't leave Kristine alone."
The words felt like lead. He wouldn't know what to do should anything happen to his wife.
Erik knew a struggle would be useless. Damn the weather. He hoped the large man couldn't see his form trembling beneath the cloak. They were a safe distance from Daae's home, surrounded by nothing but bare trees and a frozen stream covered with snow.
"I am no man," the other said, his gaze intense.
He has a nose. Erik said nothing. The voice was deep and throaty, as if the hulk had damaged his throat somehow. There were stitches on the area, after all...
"I suppose in order to obtain your trust, I must disclose some of my own secrets. I have never spoken this tale to anyone, my friend, for I do wish that we can address each other as such."
He was eloquent, and in spite of the nightmarish scene that Erik found himself in, he wanted to hear this tale. Friend. He had none. Not anymore.
"You see me as you would see a corpse. Long ago, I do not count the years, a young German tried to play god. When I speak of him, only the bitterest of anger and sorrow allows."
The speaker's breathing grew rapid, fuming. "From the bodies of dead men, he strung them together, to be proportional and magnificent. He succeeded, and this is the result, this hideous countenance. When I first opened these eyes, I sought acceptance from my father and was only scorned in return."
An owl hooted. Erik felt his guard drop, as an emotion he hated returned, the second time in one day: empathy. This man, this creature, this wretch told a tale too wild to be believed and yet so close to his own childhood, so painfully believable, so painfully wrought with emotion.
"Go on," he said quietly.
"He abandoned me... I was left to fend for myself, unaware of my appearance, unaware of anything. The world is cruel, my friend, and I learned firsthand. Much abuse have I suffered at the hands of men. For a time, I thought benevolence could win them over. I tried my hardest to win the love of the most virtuous of French cottagers."
He laughed, a sad dry sound. "Even now, I still call them that. These memories are too painful to speak of- perhaps another time. But know that my appearance drove me away, and I turned to cruelty for lack of love. I sought to undo my creator... to destroy his happiness."
The man's voice was breaking, as if forcing back tears. "I did. I won our battle. But it was only then that I knew I had gained nothing. I tried to die but this man, his name was Victor Frankenstein and I shall never be able to call him father, had made me better than the race. I was more durable than I could ever imagine, stronger, and all for naught. There is no use for a strong body if it is one like this, one as wicked as this."
"I wandered for a time, searching for a better path. There was none. I came here four months ago, where a man's music saved me. It was here I fell in love. And it is here that I first saw you, my friend."
He understood the man. Erik understood. The tale was too strikingly familiar and horrific- he believed every word. Every single word. His heart went out to the man, an action he had hoped never to do again.
"I beseech you, prove to me that I am not alone, that I do have a place in this world. My companion, take my friendship and you shall be my first."
Perhaps this man saw the sympathy in his eyes. Erik did not know. He did not consider himself a compassionate man and rarely had he pitied anyone other than himself. Perhaps this man was looking for the wrong friend- two monsters would do the world no good-
The daroga had complimented him. The daroga had offered him tea. The daroga had laughed with him.
The daroga had wished Erik would change. Of his own accord, Erik lifted the man's large hand and shook it, with a grip more forceful than he had ever intended.
"What is your name, my friend?" he asked.
"I do not have one."
He smiled beneath the mask. "Another thing we have in common. The name Erik found me."
"Erik... Adam. I prefer the name Adam."
Gustave knew something was terribly wrong as he walked through the forest, struggling to see in the dark, even with Frederik at his side, as if the demons of the night had finally come out. He had always believed in the myths and Gustave knew for certain something beyond the natural was happening.
The demon who killed the girl. Yes, there was a demon at work.
"Do you hear that?"
Gustave listened. There was a faint chanting barely in earshot. Something about it bothered him. The voices were in unison, chanting a phrase in rhyme.
"Forest spirits?"
"No." Frederik's eyes grew panicked. "People. I hear them. This doesn't feel right, Gustave. We should go the other way."
Gustave nodded, following his friend's lead, the chanting growing dim in his ears. It was odd. He hadn't heard the chanting before this night and he dared not venture to find out when it was just him and Frederik. He was sure it was no holy chant.
Forest sprites. Imps. Demons. Monsters.
Erik had revealed nothing about himself and "Adam" was touched by the man's sincerity. He had not expected to win Erik's friendship so easily nor had he expected to see such emotion reflected in the man's eyes.
They were standing by the frozen stream for what felt like hours, saying nothing and looking into the pitch sky. Perhaps he would not need to test Erik after all. Perhaps his... friend would reveal all to him in time.
Erik shook beside him, the trembles becoming increasingly frequent. Adam frowned. Was the man ill? If they really were of the same kind, ailment would not plague Erik's health. He wouldn't dwell on it.
His eyes were still glistening from tears that he had shed over the man's acceptance. Years, lifetimes, he had waited for it and finally it had arrived. His companion was not the bride he had once demanded. It was the man standing by him, without a trace of fear or loathing, only the utmost understanding.
"That girl you found. There was a group of men this morning, carrying masks in my image, and stalking about the woods."
Erik nodded. He knew what happened then.
"As reluctant as I am to do so, we must part ways now."
"Goodbye, good man."
He swore the masked man was smiling. Erik turned and walked back the way they had come, seemingly perfectly accustomed to the darkness, his cloak moving with each brisk movement, his body struggling not to sway. Ill.
Adam watched him move, repeating those words in his head, in Erik's horribly smooth voice. Good man. Good man.
Thanks for clicking! And reviews are always welcome!
So at this point Erik and the creature seem to be on the verge of becoming good friends... except Erik didn't tell him that he doesn't plan to stay in Scandinavia. The Erik in this fic is primarily Leroux-based, which might look odd because of how he's acting so far, but don't worry- I've got a plan to set him "straight."
Next time: Gustave makes some disturbing discoveries and we find out why Erik's been feeling so cold (Adam was right)