Dreaming of Beauty - Private OnexOne

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

“I see little reason why not...”

If her pulse had been unsettled before from her audacious prodding and the uncertain reception, effect, the edges of tension at feeling the at-hand boy’s eyes catching on her dismally transparent face? It caught completely, then fluttered back to excessive life at once at that settled flip of the coin— At the decision in that irreplaceable man’s gaze when if slid over her, managing to silently say so much in that slight, shifting pass around, back to the piano, Marguerite left with no more than a frozen breath’s moment to react at all- To find any balance between the shot of disbelieving delight and sudden, concrete awareness of potentials ignored when agreement was just a possibility. Oh, she knew enough of why not… Or at least the possible reasons for why not, as she was just of conscious of how much she remained ignorant of- The expansive blind spots between that one bare experience and the barely dared declarations of others and her own basic sense, quite honestly, as much to blame for her prompting as Charles’ much grander, wider innocence. And perhaps the outline those bare points made should have made her hesitate, speak up, retract what she had already done despite all that it had almost certainly cost her lover, what it might well cost him to endure the premature termination!

… But… She wanted to hear. To know- For. She was certain there was something much more to this so carefully evaded gift than what she had heard, for. What she had heard had been heartbreak and grief and enough to drag men into the depths of the ocean. It had made her want to drown, to scrape her own mind out to rid herself of the risen feelings- If not the voice itself, never the voice. And, even with that distinction, how could Christine have shown such reverence in a few, basic words, for something entirely excruciating? How could Erik sound so sublime simply whilst speaking, yet his apparently chief talent not naturally build upon that? And… How could she, endure the temptation to test the point, to know for herself, when the chance was right there… And even the would-have-been greatest concern, that she might lose her mind to the knowledge, seemed so asinine? No, he would not have agreed and chanced that… Not with the boy there, still uncertain of what was happening but so clearly pleased, and as innocently attentive as ever… Not when what that had bloomed between them thrived so on how he so often seemed so, reverent, of her unbidden affections. No… Her breath might catch to see him shift, poise to play, begin a phrase. She might straighten herself from her recline without daring to move any muscle she needn’t, but however she felt the adrenaline of looking over an edge into an unknown, endless chasm? The fear of falling, just would not rise.

“Una furtiva lagrima negli occhi suoi spuntò: Quelle festose giovani invidiar sembrò. Che più cercando io vo? Che più cercando io vo?”

No. No fear… No thought. Just beauty.

The doubts faded away- The boy with his unseen wide-eyed awe, the room with its sheen of dust hovering in the air, even the piano notes fading away into a dull, listless, background reality as everything filtered in on the back, the slip of profile of him, and the sound- The music that exuded from him, so clear and thick and expansive that it would have been unfathomable that anyone could contain or cater such a force… Had she been capable, of fathoming it. No, there was no room in her for doubt or concern, all tension of thought and muscles caught in the resonance and smoothed away, from her mind and center and coursing hot and fast through her being like blood, poignant and beautiful and so vital. It took her thoughts with it and edged at her senses with a soothing, churning, insistent touch as heady as a drink— But she would not fall into it. No… The ecstasy of the voice stole her comprehension of the half-known tongue, leaving only bits and pieces of meaning to decipher by word but the relief and triumph and joy and love of the song breaking through nonetheless on a tide striving to pull her under, she would only let it soak her, strike her where she stood… As she stood, aware of but utterly uninterested in her own movements. For she would not drown however the waves cried out of heaven, for she would not fall within her own mind. Could not- Not when he was there- The provider of that incandescent grace. That beloved soul, so often layered beneath shadows that never hid, only teased its existence, peeking out between the bars of song or a sweet word or dear touch… Suddenly there, practically aglow, right in her reach, glorious to touch, iridescent…

“Meg?”

The call of her name— So tenuous, staying, clearly loathe to speak, even perhaps a fraction as charming as that song had been? It shattered through Marguerite’s mind, a rock through glass, her awareness forcibly thrown out in an agonizing blink. For the shift brought on the natural instinct to self-assess, know one’s own state… And address what she already knew, as she should have. That she had moved, come up behind Erik where he played… Had not actually been satisfied with just looking and savoring. Her hands had crept up, curled over and shaped themselves to those slim shoulders so tenderly, earnestly. And where that might not have been so much, unobtrusive as it was, and he so caught in his song… She had begun tilt forward. Lean in. To do… Who knew. She remembered, clear enough, but… She had just ached to be close. To embrace. How had been an irrelevant whim, and… And that bare, still, analyzing breath, she could not swear if… When, her want of the person would make her risk the loss of the voice.

But the spell had been broken by a young boy just as caught, but more aware by nature and perspective— And alarmed enough as it were by the lady’s apparent intention to interrupt that he had done so himself by natural compulsion… The result he got in Meg’s instant stall, a stilling that clenched with its passing- That baffled him as much as her move had, the music that had struck him unknowing, unprepared, still ringing in his young ears like a warm dream. And leaving him as dazed, stilted in his own reactions as the lady he watched, blinked at as she so slowly, carefully removed her touch again- Reminding him of the way he had seen maids hand vases and little statues and other priceless things back home.

Only then did Marguerite, mind fighting against its own want to remain frozen in the moment she had already lost, lean back up… Trip slowly backwards one step, two, squeezing her own hands to aching before her as she fought for her voice, for reality, to not retreat or reach out again and the boy was right there and… All she could do was stare, unable to process her own wonder or bliss or, exposure and… Where both listeners' eyes were moist, struck, Charles remained half-caught in his own memory, half the affairs right before him… She, between the deep seated, lingering need to return to him, and... Back away, before she could bend to it.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Eternal Love [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ /succumbs

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

"I palpiti, i palpiti sentir, confondere i miei coi suoi sospir..."

Though his chest ached, his lungs creaked beneath the effort of skills left untapped but certainly never forgotten, the sensation proved as much a relief as the first, liberating gasp of fresh air upon returning to the surface of a deep lake. A suffocation long since ignored, barely so much as even acknowledged beyond embittered indifference throughout the years of self-imposed silence, cast away in a single phrase, a single breath, and suddenly, Erik could truly recall the simple yet naturally fulfilling joy of utilizing that unique gift... An exercise so often partially tapped in the way of finely tuned instruments, just as beloved but never quite as satisfying as the apparatus all his own, something impossible to reproduce beyond the confines of his own self. "Cielo! Si può morir! Di più non chiedo, non chiedo." And oh, there need not be room for the begrudged, the despairing, not 'lest it came of his own will-- for the tool once deigned profane, blasphemous in its grandiosity by both those beyond as by himself, it was as capable of inspiring passion, beauty, as it was of pain, fury, or reigning its misery down about any who may hear. And when given reason to truly believe in a melody's benevolence, its gentler meanings? It could soar to tremendous heights, just it did upon the rising tides of his confidence then, there in that little, dust-filled room, where the world beyond became a brief, flickering memory of the past as thoughts of love, of elation, drove on the languid rise and fall of that incandescent sound.

Yet where Erik's awareness of those who remained in his company never shuddered once from existence, the music, the indisputable pleasure of it clouded his focus, and little else beyond the sound, the feeling, could truly penetrate the tranquil reverie of that most unanticipated of extrications. That is-- Little else than that girl or perhaps the boy themselves. And so it was with an acute, perhaps even painful level of awareness to which his mind greeted the sensation of a presence near-- of hands at his covered shoulders, sending sparks of electricity through his nerves with Marguerite's sudden appearance there. But he did not cease in sound, did not falter, for nothing in her behavior suggested that to be her goal.... Should there have been any goal in mind, in the first place.

"Ah, cielo! Si può! Si, può morir! Di più non chiedo, non chiedo." Some distant part of his mind was not entirely deaf to the risks of this particular fiasco, however... For, oh, he knew the impact that same voice could wreak on others, even without purposeful intent. Some people were far more susceptible, he had found, whereas others were drawn, yes, all but captivated by the sound, but still capable of rational thought despite it. Never had he tested these particular boundaries, not with Marguerite-- and should she be within the former number, then... How would she feel for it after the trance was done? And what of Charles? Children were enraptured, naturally, but had never been so dangerously affected by it as far as he had ever seen-- a little fact he had always chalked up to the innate discrepancies in the human mind that came with the loss of complacent innocence. In the end, however, the reactions that were to come were inconsequential by then... For the song had already begun, the gift revealed, and the damage-- if there were any to be had-- already done. Yet, the entire line of thought seemed... superfluous to him, even then... Still caught within the realization of potential, only further spurred along by that earnest touch which made no move to interrupt, to discourage, save for a lean in that Erik was only partially even aware of just moments before that final, culminating phrase:

"Si può morir! Si può morir d'amor."

Yes I could die! If I could die of love.

“Meg?"

Charles' concern was but a punctuation too early into the concluding lilt of the song, the voice, proceeding a sudden break in contact as the lady pulled back and Erik found himself returned to the present, the company which he kept, the airs of sound and feeling settling in a cascade of fading melody all around them as he simply lingered for a beat... Caught somewhere between gratification and slow, simmering doubt as he stared numbly upon the back of the piano, his hands still once more at the keys still shaking with the mild but forgotten press of reverberation at their tips.

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . .
music . . . Una furtiva lagrima [ Donizetti / Bocelli] ♫ and Eternal Love [ ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Whatever spell had been there, moments ago… It was gone.

It had broken the moment that divine voice had ceased in the wake of the boy’s excruciating innocence. A move Charles regretted instantaneously, his efforts to stay the familiar woman’s incomprehensible approach undoing what he himself had been thoughtlessly striving to preserve, and the self-inflicted failure made him catch, tense with the loss of something he had only just discovered, frowning from one profile to the other in utter incomprehension at why he felt such a way, for all the beauty that clearly prompted the feelings… And for the way they acted, barely moving, neither turning, neither acknowledging that they were living, mobile beings for all that he was concerned. But no… the count of ever more surprising talent was as still and numb to the world as if focusing on something that took even more concentration than the euphoric music he had just unfolded for their pleasure… And Meg—Meg was clearly, undeniably focused outward, yet…

The loss had been just as instant for her, and jarring, and where she intrinsically expected the world to right itself again to a state of stability? It refused. Her mind and senses had been instantly released back into her keeping once more with the break of the music… But the thoughts when the notes still rang through the air had been as much her own, as well. The reasons for them, the emotions hooked and pried to the surface as much from her heart as her mind, and they just kept expanding beyond the waves that prompted them, and… She couldn’t push them back. Even as she stumbled in silence there, paces away, she couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere but the back of that motionless head. Couldn’t steady her inexplicable breath or the vertigo that made the ground uncertain beneath her feet, or erase the sensation of a luscious burning throughout her hands, fingers, every part that had made contact with Erik, even when what warmth she might have even found had been more than covered by the layers upon his shoulders… It didn’t stop that sensation from pulsing in her hands, matching the bliss that had come with the song, still echoed so distantly throughout her being…

But with no outlet, nothing to be done with the strange feelings, half-familiar yet utterly unknown? The passion was left to only cast a shadow in its own breadth, mirror back at her within the reality that surrounded her right then. That the only eyes, the only reception offered her was that of a young, bewildered, but all too attentive boy. To feel him looking at her, and look over to find those wide, amber eyes on her? It was all she could do to shut her throat against the breaths that had been coming, short and tried, cutting off her own oxygen with an audible, muffled gasp. The effect only mirrored all else she attempted- To still her expression, blink the fog from her eyes, to make not a sound until nothing would give away what rampaged out of control within her own mind, slamming a lid down upon all of it with such mental ferocity she could practically hear it… And it sounded strikingly like the lid of a piano, to her dazed, dizzy mind.

But her efforts were, struggling, at best, and clenching about herself was no real resolution— A point Charles all but highlighted when the silence went on too long, and he cut into it with a sharpness that might well have been irritation in any less charming being, but from him came off as sheer, utter perplexity. “Sorry I talked, but… It was pretty. Why are you upset?”

“----no one’s upset,” Marguerite answered, for all the boy had clearly been speaking to both of them. Even as she felt the mistake of daring to try to speak, heard how haggard with withheld breath her own voice was around her try at a chuckling tone that thus came off as no laugh. Whatever the impulse, however it allowed a crack in some abstract dam that prompted color to flood her face, for the smile she offered the baffled toddler to likely come off as unnerved? To let him speak, right in that moment… She didn’t want to test what would happen. “We just— It was an unexpected privilege to hear, more than you know—” She certainly hadn’t known, but, even if she had been… How could she have ever been prepared?

For starters, though, she wouldn’t have listened with the child, right there. That had proved a mistake in a way she never would have considered. And still he stared, looking ready question more, to expect logic and sensibility and calm and explanations, and the very idea of it weighed on her endurance with a threatening creak, and with a bare, tense, skittishly quick glance at Erik again – as if fearful what even looking at him would do – it was sheer instinct to not let it happen. She turned on in a full circle and more right into a retreat, straight to the door without even looking back in an effort to make her excuses any clearer on her exit, haphazard as they already were by nature. “But— Now that it’s passed— Madame Perrault—” was all she even bothered saying, slipping out of the door without even an acknowledgement of the wordless, baffled squeak of a noise Charles had made at her back… Before, by sheer process of elimination, he could only turn the same incredulity, merely enhanced by the exit, on the only other remaining occupant of the room.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Hanedanın Düşüşü [Müzikleri] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ -charles-

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

Silence pervaded in the aftermath of the melody's end. And yet, Erik could not quite bring himself to consider the rest of his company just yet-- his mind still reeling not with the music nor the timbre of a voice all too familiar and natural to himself, but instead for each and every implication that came with the sublte approach and feel of a lady he had never once even looked upon during that strange performance. Oh, he knew the range of reactions his 'work' had inspired within various individuals in the past, but so little of it could be gleaned as ordinary nor easily interpretted, save for when that gift was used in specific, rather purposeful ways. But this had been void of intent-- malicious or otherwise-- and had been done simply for act of doing, of complying with the requests of his companions, and through it all-- the sheer practice of having implemented that under-utilized gift once more still left a buzzing in his own ears.

But-- He certainly was not expecting an apology of all things to form itself on the tongue of the young, observing boy... And the sound of it, as it tacked together its meaning within the fabric of Erik's gradually clearing mind, drew that calm, inquisitive regard once more. A sharp brow creased and quirked beneath its porcelain cover as that veiled expression inched toward the perplexed, as if the man was uncertain why, precisely, the boy thought--

"----no one’s upset,”

--The half-formed inquiry never did find itself fully realized on Erik's tongue... Not for a lack of ability, but certainly for the distraction of that sudden cut-in from a woman clearly frazzled enough to provide the very answer. For Marguerite was clearly unnerved to such a degree that the man himself was left furrowing a scrupulous expression on her, halfway between understanding, dismay and bewildered hesitation. For he could remember the way she had acted throughout the song-- only to appear so disconcerted, so flustered after its completion? The concept was not truly so unexpected, but it was certainly on some muted level the dreaded outcome he had so feared. And as she struggled to feign her way through clarity, wry, distracted humor and quick attempts to dominate the air with the sound of her own voice, leaving little room for interjection from any other only to dismiss herself from the room with the feeble excuse of Madame Perrault-- he felt the cold sting of regret come seeping through his bones, darkening his expression to something brittle and simmering.

Yet-- had there been any way to ever truly prevent her from being victim to that sound? The woman was among the most curious he had ever been given the pleasure to meet, and surely it was only a matter of time before she would feel comfortable enough in his company so as to come prodding for that so far untapped but quietly known fact to his person. And oh, when that time came he would prove too weak, too enamored, to deny her wants for fear of offending her trust-- just as he had been then. Better for her to know the full implications of this 'man' and all which set him apart from the ordinary, albeit far more delightful fools she could have chosen to bestow her affections upon. Perhaps this, ironically enough, would be the final straw. This glimmer of strange, overwhelming beauty on its ugly, ill-fitting landscape, where she could accept, embrace the repulsive and yet could not bear to stand the contrary nature of its voice. But then-- such worries were little more than dry speculation... For Marguerite had already surprised him far more times than he could come to count, and only time would tell what, precisely, would come of this.

Nonetheless, it was clear that she had evacuated that space with the desire to evade, and despite the curdling displeasure it inspired within him, all be it for Erik to deny her that wish. Besides, a drifting gaze from door to the rest of the room proved an unveritable reminder to his continued company... To the boy still but a pace or two away. "It is... For the best. I am certain Isabella would like a reprieve from her watch over Madame Perrault, after all." The remark came on a dull, idle tone, quickly scraping away all indication of disquiet from his expression so as to adorn something distant but arbitrarily gentle. Yet as that yellow gaze lingered on the boy, pale jaw clenching and releasing in consideration, he continued. "... Perhaps that is enough music for one day." Turning away from the keys, he nonetheless remained seated for a moment longer, his mind grasping for something-- anything-- to say, if only to divert their attentions for a brief moment more. "I should like to hear you play again, however. I am certain, should you continue to find such enjoyment within it, you will be a great musician one day."

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . /Erik
music . . . Hanedanın Düşüşü [ Müzikleri ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

“It is... For the best. I am certain Isabella would like a reprieve from her watch over Madame Perrault, after all.”

The would-be reassurance only baffled, and Charles could only stare up at the count with a numb, incredulous sort of look for the very idea that he would actually back up the insane turn of events. Yes, the boy could have accepted the claim that Meg needed to look in on the ailing old lady, but even he could see there was something too soundly weird going on to be dismissed like that. Meg had been acting too odd before she left, and moreover had not even really commented on the music they had just heard— And without his excuse of someone else’s bizarre behavior distracting him from it, himself. Why had she been staring at the count so strangely? Why had she touched him like that, and tried to interrupt his singing? Why did she bolt like she had been caught up to something the moment it stopped? It was just too much to believe!!

And it looked like Monsieur de Mansart was insisting on doing it, anyways… Or at least that was all Charles could gather. Though, the brief flash off expression behind that mask… Perhaps it was just that he was being weird in his own right, just like Meg! The very idea, that the cause of behind both of their manners might be the same, prompted the boy’s skepticism to dissipate before a general, wondering speculation, staring up at the far more composed count with a steady seeking sort of air… Something of the man prompting a spark of anxiety, concern where there had been none before. But the cause, such as it was, was buried before his eyes within a blink, and it was all the boy could do to let it pass by into uncertainty and focus on the disappointment of the lord’s call to end the session there, prompting a quietly obliging “Yes, monsieur…” whatever he felt… Though really, if simply Meg leaving was the cause, as he suspected, he couldn’t see why they couldn’t just go find her, figure out what’s wrong, and then get her to come back so they could have another song.

Alas, the boy was too well taught to actually protest against Erik’s call, much less deny him when he directly asked him to play instead. It was a vaguely tense thing, after the strange turn of events to be going back to taking up the instrument himself, but his earlier performances with the missing lady at hand had at least paved the way to feeling comfortable enough to play in front of the old tutor again, even alone. But, the state could only go on so long, both distracted in their own way from the event. And while Charles might not have been a boy prone to tempers or sharp moods? The slightest of mistakes in one of his songs had set him into a still, clearly self-scathing silence, however patient his audience might have been, and the trip up had proved to be infectious, breeding on itself until he simply couldn’t be prompted to lift his tense little hands off of his lap anymore… At least, not to do much more than rub at a downcast eye in a gesture anyone could have read, however unfamiliar with children they might be.

A fine player and patient lad he may be, but he was still a child of only two, who had gone too long without his nap.

Naturally, it was only expected that Erik would put aside any other concerns, at least until he was returned into the care of someone who was versed in tucking the child in for his rest. Yet, despite the initial suggestion, hesitation had clearly wrung at the idea of returning him to his mother… Given, as Charles pointed out, she had been spending the day in Madame Perrault’s room herself. But that also meant that his father was the one watching his baby brother by default, and well… Whatever hesitance might come from that point, a choice had to be made.

And so, not long after, Charles was following the good count up to the door of the room with the boarded up window that Marguerite had once used, waiting for the door to be quietly opened for him before slipping inside. Within, as he expected, was his father, slouched in the room’s sole chair in a resigned sort of exhaustion, looking a touch haggard with no tie or jacket… Just his shirtsleeves and a golden waistcoat. Once he noticed their entrance he most certainly jolted— But tried to repress the reaction as much as possible, incapable of moving too quickly without disturbing the still swaddle of blanket in his arms. Raoul’s curly haired miniature fidgeted from even that most subtle jump of his father, a little pale arm stretching out with a whimper of a whine before he blessedly went silent again, prompting Raoul to release baited breath in relief… Even if his sagging posture lasted only a moment before he looked back up, over the head of a quietly approaching Charles at the long shadow in his wake… The scathing, suspicious distaste he always had in his eye when he looked at Erik largely sedated by a reigning perplexity, as if he couldn’t make what he was witnessing add up. “—how did he end up with you?” he asked, a predictable disapproval of the very situation evenly mixed with a hint that Raoul had apparently expected someone else in specific to be with the boy.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Hanedanın Düşüşü [Müzikleri] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

The shift in performance, as unorthodox as it may have been, allowed Erik time to detach, to think and reflect on the events that had otherwise sent him spiraling only moments before. But oh, he could not allow Charles to see too clearly the dismay, the confusion, the entire event had inspired in him perhaps as equally as the boy himself-- and so he was glad to remain silent, attentive, as the child played if only for a short while following the event. Yet despite his drifting thoughts, Erik certainly did remain acutely aware of the boy's every move, every cue... Well up to and including the little fumble in what was clearly the boy's waking energy. He may have been rather inexperienced when it came to the direct management of children, of course, but even he was not so daft as to not recognize the meaning behind it.

Of course, he was in no position to take such liberties as laying the boy down for a much deserved rest, either... Not to say that he was incapable of it, by any stretch, but-- would it even be right to do so? Perhaps, for one of the few times in his most recent memory, the notion of propriety struck oddly at his nerves, perhaps even unnecessarily. For it may have been one thing if it were a fully grown and perfectly aware adult who conceded to his ways at the expense of their own, personal social standing-- or, alternatively, if this boy were not simply his own flesh and blood but also his own to treat as son-- well... Erik knew far better than to believe that such rights were his to take, much less in the eyes of the child already in his company-- a treasured soul, certainly, but little more than a sparsely known familiar all the same. Already the self-appointed Count could conclude boundaries had long been overstepped, from which there could be no feasible recovery, but... That was no reason to evade at least a remote effort going forward.

Yet-- for all the few, truly precarious options available to him in the moment that soon followed, escorting the little lord through the manor's hallways in search of a respectable place to lay rest, only one seemed to be the lesser of all other evils... A conclusion that, though sound, did not go without its fair share of embittered reluctance. Still, if any comfort could be found in the notion, at least Erik could rest assured that Charles would be content with the destination in mind.

Normally, in the previous weeks since the little family's uninvited 'stay' had first begun, such little visits from the boy would be curbed by Marguerite herself, who was at the very least at a far better standing to deliver the child to wherever he was best suited to be once the exchange had reached its natural end. But-- She had gone, without so much more than a few nonsensical excuses and a flustered regard, without a word or thought to the subsequent events of that meeting. Perhaps in any other situation, one would think to bring the child to his mother, particularly when the acting 'father' was far from amiable toward one's self. But-- Christine was no more a comfort in thought, and it seemed logical to assume that if Marguerite had returned to Madame Perrault's bedside, then the house's entire female populace would be cloistered into a single room... A veritable trap Erik was not so naive as to wander into. No, he would far more prefer to weather this particular storm in its place.

"—how did he end up with you?"

And thus, it was not the man's initial jolt which would have drawn Erik's attention upon entering just the very door frame of that room-- those yellow eyes instead favoring Charles' trail for a beat or two longer-- it was the Count's words that finally drew that masked regard. What short measure of softened regard his stare had held when lingering upon the child, however, was quick to dissolve into a hardened composure, nonetheless unfettered by de Chagny's implied and yet clearly evident displeasure. "He came searching for Marguerite, some time ago. " The supplied information was true, succinct enough, punctual in nature as he studied the man, taking note of his disheveled, apparently exhausted state. "He was, evidently, searching for some form of entertainment. So I allowed him use of a piano in one of the backrooms." Oh, he did not feign any true pleasantry as he spoke to the man-- but Erik saw little point in properly mirroring that same virulence cast upon him when it had been he who had entered that space to begin with. "Marguerite, of course, was pulled away to address matters elsewhere in the house, but it would seem Charles has since tired. And what with Christine being preoccupied--" He paused, something cold prickling away at his nerves if only for the peculiarity, the indignation, of having to explain himself to this of all men... And yet knowing, on some level, its necessity.

And yet, to speak the next words on his tongue, to utter that admittance he knew to be too true of its own right and yet so damning when spoken in the face of his once-rival, it took a great amount of effort he was not at first certain he was willing to expend. Nonetheless, one additional, skirting glance to the little pianist and the resolve to proceed grounded itself firmly within Erik's inclination.... Even if it came with a returned and particularly pointed, meaningful stare to the young but clearly tired father. "-- I determined that, perhaps, you would be the best suited to see to the boy's care."

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . Erik: /sohelpmeifyou'resmugaboutthis (Also: I decided to just augment what I already had and just not fuss over the minute details like I had been. x.x)
music . . . Sur le Fil [ Teiersen ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Walking into the room as he had, Charles had paid little mind to the details of what would likely happen when they made it to his father, or even the instant tension that sprang up fast enough to moment the room’s occupant had become aware of who had come into the space. He was just too tired, too set on gaining the seated man’s attention to properly notice, hoping to catch his eye and let Raoul know that he wanted something to eat… Or a story, perhaps. Maybe a walk? It didn’t truly matter— The whim was borne more of habit than want, a natural impulse to fight the inevitable drag on the edge of his senses in whatever stalling manner he could… Even as he was more than willing to actually seek out Raoul in the process, all but dooming his efforts to failure from the get go.

But everyday quirks were quickly dashed, as even the sleepy toddler couldn’t miss the tone in his father’s voice when he spoke up- Not to him, but to the count who had brought him along, looked to pass him on now that their music time had ended. The question made the boy pause, blink his tired eyes to confused awareness and turn them from one adult to the other, and it dawned on him, seeing how still and distant his company was, hanging barely within the room— His father tense and looking ready to pop up from the edge of his chair— The last time the two men had been together with him, they had attacked each other. Charles’ eyes went wide at the memory, the boy going stiff there, a few feet from his father, as he looked from one to the other with an alarm clear in him that had been utterly absent a moment before.

Thankfully though, the boy remained completely silent in his belated recognition, allowing Raoul to miss the reaction for at least the time being, leaving him to focus on Erik himself. For oh, the young once-soldier certainly hadn’t forgotten the incident for even a second, and had circumstances been different he would have been up in a flash, put aside his new babe as fast as could be safely possible in an effort to get the boy he thought of as nothing else but his own firstborn, all counter awareness aside. But… Any instinct to instantly place as much space between him and either child was… Troubled, by the fact that he had just as quickly registered that Erik had been clearly been alone with Charles… And brought him back to him, voluntarily. The, idea of it was… Not, inconsistent really, when he considered it for even a breath, but that didn’t change that the sight ran completely contrary to his every instinct, sat side-by-side with his complete distrust of the masked abductor without truly washing away such suspicions… Just, coexisted, in a state that left the man staring at his shadowy rival rather stymied, all things considered. Oh, he certainly didn’t by any means begrudge the safe return of the boy – even if the question remained why he hadn’t gone to his mother and stayed with her, as he had promised earlier – but… What was he to do, when the man he could trust to act the snatching, murderous villain continued not to follow through? Never truly proved himself safe in the least, just… All the more unpredictable?

Yet his considerations were on a level too high, too dramatic for what was actually said among the hard stares, explanations of the boy’s actions and how he ended up in Erik’s keeping of all people only further confounding, but certainly providing something of a focus. A backlog of movement that prompted Raoul to give Charles a sideways, assessing look for the report of his actions, only to stall when he caught a hint of the alarm on the boy’s face, even as it was dying away in the face of no fighting breaking out between the men towering over him. No… Much as his hands itched to raise in anger the moment he caught sight of that blasted face in the mask, Raoul had only caved into that urge in the face of suspected abduction… Not unexpected deliveries… And he had enough sense not to go looking for it again, at least without reason, or with little Philippe still dozing in his arms and Charles looking on like that. But, the fight certainly still stewed below the shallow surface of his contemplative front, stemmed and at least partly turned inward on the idea that he would have to find the Giry woman sometime soon, and share his opinion of her running off and purposely abandoning the boy with him of all people. She might have been proven right on the outcome she presumably expected, but that had certainly not been her choice to make, whatever the circumstances! Which led to the other thought that he would have to have a private talk with Charles about having to stay with him or Christine, if he couldn’t be trusted to go where he said he was going and stay there, but—

“-- I determined that, perhaps, you would be the best suited to see to the boy's care.”

The distant consideration was muted by the words of the man Raoul had never fully looked away from, the largely minded figure given full attention with a frozen, uncomprehending stare. Or rather, an unprocessing one, for did he… It was a shock no matter the case but, did the old devil just, acknowledge that Raoul could handle Charles’ need for rest better, or was he truly acknowledging more than that? What the words themselves so easily implied? That— That Raoul was the boy’s father, and accepted that it was better that way?

It was a surreal point to be caught on, and only all the more for the fact that the young count simultaneously knew that he could no more trust whatever Erik was thinking than he could understand it. But it was what it was. And it was the two men, staring at each other with a weight to suffocate for a bare breath before Raoul carefully spoke, edging forward with his answer with the care of a fencer prepped to parry at the first sign of a surprise thrust. “…good of you to bring him back, then…” But the said child, having been since reassured of no imminent violence, had come up to Raoul’s chair, his glance and entire air and initial reach for him implying a want to be picked up, perhaps implore for his usual pre-nap demands, but even the boy had recognized the trouble in interrupting for that… Even if it was remembering the baby in hand rather than respect for a largely non-verbal exchange going on over his head. The move did at least prompt Raoul to glance down, shuffle his grip on the infant carefully to ruffle the boy’s head before he quietly pointed out that there was a biscuit jar on the table by the bed. The result was near instant, Charles moving to likely devour all of the contents while Raoul minded the other adult again, his effort to keep his tones civil, undefensive far too clear. “He said he was going to Christine when he left— Clearly he didn’t… But won’t be a problem again, once we leave.” The point could have stood on its own— A line in the sand of such an impromptu opportunity not coming again. Yet, as Raoul took his eyes off of Erik to watch the boy move, a frown etched on his face… He brought himself to overcome the chance to leave it there, drawing his point back into ambiguity with an unenthusiastic explanation. “Normally, we would have brought his nurse with us, and she would be keeping him from wandering off alone. We just expected to be here a few days, like before.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Sur le fil... [Tiersen] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ There is no relief there is only inner turmoil.

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

If time and experience had not proven the choice a foolish one, Erik would have half suspected the man to attack, of all things-- if nothing else then in a lashing out of sheer confusion and startled, albeit needless defense. Nonetheless, where an assault was nothing to be feared in essence, such violence would have been entirely counterintuitive to the masked man's actual presence there. And yet it was in the brief, skirting glance to the child in transit from one man to the other-- that sudden fear, that recognition flashing itself hotly across the boy's features-- that was all he needed to suddenly realize the potential dilemma before him. For if de Chagny truly was so discombobulated that he would jump into action without a moment's consideration to the minutiae of their unusual meeting, then what was he to do? He could not guarantee that his temper would not flare, would not get away from him as it so often did, but in doing so, he would only be further alienating the very child who inspired him to such a sweeping gesture as this in the first place. One that, in truth, was quie plainly justifying the stupid man's role as sanctioned father, by all accounts-- even in that of the biological eye. Would he really be so ludicrous as to overlook that humble concession-- that would-be respect, be it born for the man himself or-- more accurately-- the boy who tied them together willingly or otherwise?

No-- Erik was no longer interested in fighting this man. Not when such a confrontation would only further estrange a child who he'd no right to but would like nothing more than to be allowed to see on occasion, should he even still breathe to do so. If only to observe as he grew and appreciate for the unlikely perfection that he was. And yet, Erik was not so blind as to go without recognizing the very barricades that would, properly and for sound reason, bar him from ever doing so once that little family had ventured once more beyond the walls of his home. But perhaps most importantly among that understanding was the undisputed truth that Raoul de Chagny, ironically, was the veritable gatekeeper to such luxuries he did not expect to receive, but could not bring himself to completely relinquish. For if he were to be prohibited from such benefits? He would not be so without the right to know, on some level, that it had not been for a lack of some effort on his part to concede... However caustic it was to his pride. For the knowledge struck deep that even if events had ran a different course, there was no challenge between the two men as to which was better suited for the stability, the security, that a child required... Something of which one of the two-- far too damaged, too polluted by blood, by madness-- had never known and thus could most likely never give.

It was to that point that a flat relief gradually edged over the tension in his bones as Erik watched the hostility in the man's face diminish itself, if only marginally, beneath the heady weight of a baffled disbelief. While the bewilderment was no surprise in and of itself, it certainly was an indication that the man had not gone completely deaf and, more importantly, had caught the implied meaning to stymie his aggression into something wary in its place. For if the old ghost's assumptions had been left in doubt prior, they were only further justified by the eventual allowance-- the cautious, edging acknowledgment-- from Raoul himself before he eventually turned his proper attention down upon the imploring child and affectionately tended to him, briefly, as only a true father rightly could. The sight left a cold mass in the older man's throat, a sharp burden on his shoulders only sparingly evident 'round the corners of crisp, lingering awareness in those keen, yellow eyes. Otherwise, the disquiet was never once allowed to display itself too openly as he heard the would-be 'assurance' that such an exchange would not be a bother again... A vague but certainly plain restriction that did not immediately draw that attention which, too, had idled a moment longer on the child in question as the boy went about amusing himself with the indicated jar.

“Normally, we would have brought his nurse with us, and she would be keeping him from wandering off alone. We just expected to be here a few days, like before.”

Such an explanation however-- albeit strained in its underlying caution-- proved enough to draw the masked regard to the young man once more. Left to ponder the absurdity of this bizarre confrontation's strangely casual turn, Erik could only stare for a beat, warily incredulous for the remark's context, be it merely spontaneous or somehow deeper, before he edged forward with a discreet but thoughtful "Yes, well..." Before a pause took his voice into a brief, but passing silence. Swallowing back a wintry distaste, Erik sniffed a brief and dismissing sound, gathering together his disquieted nerves into something steadfast and anesthetized. "While the extent of your stay was unforeseen, certainly, young Charles has never been a bother." No, that much was true-- the boy had already proven himself more or less immune to Erik's usual sense of preferential isolation... Able to appear without word or warning and go without inspiring the same acrimony as most others. And yet the alleged Count was left with an unsettled doubt coursing through his veins where a dreadful silence was left in the air between them... Two men caught in this unusual exchange, both equally as perturbed as the other and yet completely uncertain as to what 'this' truly even was. "Though... I do suspect even his nurse may encounter trouble in keeping him put. Still, curiosity is but a sign of intelligence."

Another beat of silence passed, the man's severe regard somehow inquisitive upon the young father before he grimaced back that forced civility and finally shifted in his eerie stillness to glance from man to boy and finally the hallway just at his shoulder. "Regardless... I trust he is in, capable, hands." Still, the remark was pitiless upon his dignity-- though the wavering in that regard was hardly evident beyond the scowl cast into the shadows of the corridor. There was no point in drawing this on longer than it need be-- and so Erik bowed his head in a vague and acknowledging gesture before uttering a final assent that would prelude his departure, lest it go interrupted. "I will leave you both to your rest."

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . So, I wasn't expecting those feels. Woops.
music . . . Sur le Fil [ Teiersen ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Whatever his own internal struggles throughout his own swaying tries at conversation, Raoul was not blind to the impression the old, masked nemesis made simply by standing silent, in the door. If anything the young count was overly aware of the bearing of the man— How he held himself, where his attention was pointed, what his expression was, Raoul’s wariness of what the slightest twitch might forebode making a single aspect impossible to miss, so long as the unprecedented company presented it to be seen in any sense.

Not that that awareness came with any extra insight into what any shift meant, and in the long end of things likely only caused him a great deal of unnecessary tension… The fact remained, though, that he noticed the shift that had come in tandem with his own comments, how those eerie eyes had pinned themselves to the spindly little lad climbing up onto the bed to better reach the nearby treats, how dully his initial, would-have-been-if-quickly-detracted threat of cut off contact fell upon the black figure’s ear… And of course, how he finally met his eye again with evident indignation for where he eventually went with his words, and. Under different circumstances, it all might have left Raoul quite ponderous… Wondering for the perspective of his own worst enemy, if only for the contemplation of what it must be, to have to see one’s own child, never known but so suddenly introduced fully formed, claimed by another. In its basest form, the concept had already long since occurred to Raoul— But as an explanation of a likely worst scenario, still blaring loud and clear in his mind despite everything. For, that was just it, wasn’t it? If it were him, what he would want to do most, but claim back what had already slipped through his fingers far too long? What could be so easily lost for good? And Erik— What had he done before, but act on all too similar points with Christine? No— While he might be a monster, Raoul had certainly never seen him as unfeeling. Weren’t feelings what prompted his despicable acts, in the first place?

And yet… As far as Raoul could see, the strange ghost-turned-peer had acted on very little at all since Christine had started wandering back into his sphere, dragging the rest of them along with her. She had been the one continually seeking this insanity… Wretched as it was to admit… And Charles himself, apparently, kept tripping back into contact with the man, far more innocent as his involvement might be. All Erik had done, thus far, was continue to bring him back. Practically ignore them the rest of the time, really. And frankly, that suited Raoul just fine. If they could simply get this insanity with the Persians finished and done with, he would be more than happy to pack up the boys and Christine and go back to Nice, never to come back again. And yet… However the ache formed from Christine’s efforts might not have never eased, the black expectations he had expected to come from them continued to, not follow through. Instead, the man seemed as aware of the necessity of protecting the family status as it stood, as he himself… Even as he made no move Raoul was aware of to toss them back out of his world once more, as he had done before, down in the cellars.

Where that left him, them, he could not say… And as suffocating as that grey unknowing was, it was becoming ever more familiar, and staring into it in the form of a twisted mirror of his own confusion in Erik’s gaze? Raoul could only look on, numb yet restless at once, waiting for reply to his so-called innocent observation with a resigned sort of sternness about his face, nothing of Erik’s attempt to paint himself willing to Charles’ approach shocking him enough to even glower for the implications, or the all but obvious claim that the boy’s nurse would even struggle to keep up with him. No, it was only the dodging, evasive comment – “I trust he is in, capable, hands” – that pulled even a twinge from the count, a reaction too abstract for understanding as the visitor moved to withdraw from his guests’ room… And Raoul could have just let him go. But in the same token, Charles, largely unaware of their discussion, made a noise of struggling, prompting Raoul to look over, note the boy’s struggle with the glass jar’s tight lid. Standing and moving over to the bed without comment, the young father placed his infant son in the hamper-turned-bassinet upon the covers and moved to take the jar from the boy, speaking over the quietly threatening protest whimpers coming from Philippe. “Did you thank him for letting you use the piano, Charles?”

The question, flat and dismissive, made the boy blink in a delayed comprehension for the tone, before he shook his head and looked beyond Raoul, seeing the figure already moving to leave, apparently before the lad could make up for his apparent breach of etiquette. But really, self-impressed urgency only made his young pipe of a voice sound more enthusiastic. “Thank you for the music, Monsieur de Mansart. And the songs- Can we do it again later?” Whatever churning confusion Raoul felt for the differentiation in Charles’ thanks froze in light of such a question… And yet he while he went still, tense as a bowstring, he recovered again without a word of comment or moving to look at the figure in the door again, keeping his expression hollowed and numb and his back to Erik as he opened the jar and set it aside, poised to hand Charles a pre-nap treat the moment he had his answer and inevitably noticed it was right there, waiting for him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Sur le fil... [Tiersen] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ depressing men all over the place

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

He would have thought that was that should nothing more have been said, and oh that would have suited Erik just fine, to leave the room without so much as another word exchanged across the rigid, uncomfortable air of the little room for as far as it concerned that man. But as he overheard Raoul speak once more, a sound that at first could have been just as easily dismissed as some basic, passing nicety for the resident "Count's" departure as a show of proper etiquette for the children, the man's sentiment only went on to be realized in a fuller context upon the sudden piping up of that young voice--

"Thank you for the music, Monsieur de Mansart. And the songs- Can we do it again later?]"

That brought the ever shadowed figure to an abrupt pause in his step, turning a bit on his heel so as to cast a side-ways glance back on the pair through the held doorway. But where he would have fully anticipated a quick and cutting dismissal on the young father's part to promptly intercept, to re-route the simple request-- innocent if surely ill advised as it was-- there were no such efforts to speak of. Instead, the man just stood there, silent and taut as a strung cord but lacking in any immediate opinions on the matter, instead wallowing in a self-evident truth that it had been he, to some degree, who had instigated that final exchange between loathed man and beloved child to begin with. Of course, Erik did not require the power of clairvoyance to perceive a pervasive strain for the idea all but radiating off of the man-- one he himself would not be so innocent of if the tables had been turned-- but, for whatever reason, there was nothing. However vague the message may have been, it rang clear enough that perhaps-- on some level-- the men's mutual turmoil had been a moment of uncanny, unexpected reflection, the facts of the unfortunate circumstances and the family's place there in the bizarre house shining a stark contrast to the actions of a man who, once upon a time, would not have been entirely beyond the very actions the Count de Chagny so silently feared. But then, Erik was no longer that same man, was he? ... And despite vast, fractured differences, poisoned hostilities, the fact of the matter remained demonstrated well enough there, in that little room, that in present time-- like it or not-- the two shared a mutual interest for as far as the little family, and most of all, that remarkable little black-haired boy between them, were concerned.

But it was not without a suspicious, passing glance that he eyed Raoul's turned back for a moment longer, observing for even the faintest sign of movement or speech, only to finally drag that yellow stare away, allowing it to diffuse of its former severity into something muted, subdued, as it settled discreetly upon the child... And when no word to the contrary came? When it seemed, by whatever bizarre turn of events, Chagny saw it fit to allow his alleged 'peer' say on the matter? Erik felt as the burden upon his shoulders shifted from one borne strictly of morose resignation to something stymied with bewildered but crisp deference, unstable in its confidence but no less worth the treacherous effort of testing its boundaries... And thus, he soon supplied a warily subtle, nonetheless inclined compliance: "... Of course, whenever you would like."


- * -


Little else was said, after that... For Erik was not terribly keen on lingering too long, much less in giving the already rickety scenario time to sour in all its glaringly rare equanimity. And yet, in walking away from the pair, it all proved as troublesome as it had been ambiguously uplifting, the unforeseen exchange having raised far more uncertainties than it had managed to put to rest. In some part demonstrating that doors once assumed to be forever, indisputably locked, were in fact a margin less secured than previously thought, and thus, potentially, implausibly, accessible on some strict, barely conceivable level after all. Nonetheless, he was rather certain that such a fleeting glimmer of vague passage was likely just as prone to prompt and ready blockade with little more than the drop of a pin or moment's notice, should the slightest of wrongs rear their ugly heads. It was all the more reason to extricate himself then, there, with little more than a frugal consent to the boy's seemingly harmless request and an additional, solemnly obliging adjournment for the other man, ensuring his due part in preserving that unanticipated lull.

It proved somehow... Problematic to while away the subsequent hours in any proper observation of the gloomy, all-consuming deliberation that may have taken him otherwise, having found a surprising measure of dulled resignation within himself for whatever consequences or upheavals remained in store for him following that day's unusual turn of events. Perhaps it should have come as no surprise, given the usual rise and fall of tumultuous emotions, interactions, that seemed to follow him in tandem wherever he may go, never to be trusted to expectation. But the sheer composure of it was something to be marveled at, in and of itself, given weeks-- months-- of a tendency toward stark, white-hot alarm for far lesser of crises, particularly in regards to a then-wayward woman, all the more curious to him even in times of unrest. No, in fact, Erik felt inclined toward a numbed acceptance of all things in his return to preparation for the days ahead, the aches of dread little more than a distant, throbbing pain that nagged at the very edges of his every action, but did nothing to entirely divert him from the tasks at hand-- from dredging up old accoutrements which may prove useful to reconvening briefly with Nadir and properly reassessing the state of the manor, its occupants, and what could be expected of it in the coming tides of an imminent conflict, just on the horizon.

Yet, in time, sensibility would eventually make way for time left to idle in necessary patience, to wait for later development, the subsequent unease that sought to fill the gap of lacking preoccupation a contrast to the early evening's deceptive stillness as it fell over the house. It was only a matter of time before restlessness would lord its ever-victorious hand over him once more, as it always did eventually, effectively luring the elusive master of the house from its distant, secluded corners to wander, to search, if only on a blind but no less desired impulse to locate an individual whose absence had proven a flagrant displeasure in those passing hours, no matter the amount of distraction. So many times before, Erik would have thought to label such a withdrawal by the woman a clear request to evade, to avoid-- thus making certain to allow that distance, if only out of his own jaded pessimism until she herself saw to it otherwise. But such inclinations had proven laughably, painfully counter-intuitive before, and in the time that followed his initial decision, the trailing of shadows and warm light cast by a setting sun between tall, corridor windows in his walk-- his mind plagued with realities of imminent disasters awaiting just beyond their doorstep-- he found himself all the more inclined to confront and thus resolve any probable discord sooner, rather than later... Especially once considering the grim but prevalent likelihood that in times of such strife, there remained a consistent risk that there may be no 'later' time to truly speak of.

And so, after having little success in coming across the subject of his bias in the first rooms by which he had passed, Erik had been left to dully wonder on the irony of his search-- the absurdity in the mirror-image of days past, where he had encountered Marguerite herself embarking on a similarly futile hunt for a man who, at one time, had not wished to be found. Yet before he could begin to truly consider the legitimacy of a rising doubt for his efforts' worth, just as he had begun to near the end of that particular hall so recently allotted to his favored lady as a space of her own, movement beyond a partially askew doorframe caught and held that keen attention fast, drawing the long line of shadow closer. It was not until the entry could be pressed wider however-- revealing the little room beyond, all but filled to the brim with specks of light and glass borne from the very collection of wares acquired so recently abroad, illuminated and glittering with the caught rays of a nearby window in all its materialistic splendor-- that his suspicions were confirmed... For there she was, bustling about the space as if she'd quite the work cut out for her-- both lovely and alarming in her tangible presence before him, a breathing, thinking reality to that which could so easily turn between dread or reprieve. "... There are only so many ways in which they may be reordered, my dear. If you'd prefer a new cabinet or two for them however, that can be easily enough arranged."

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . Hopefully it's cool I assumed she was messing around with the glassware itself. xP I can always alter it if you had something else in mind~
music . . . Sur le Fil [ Teiersen ] ♫ into Courting [ Arnold ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

“... There are only so many ways in which they may be reordered, my dear. If you'd prefer a new cabinet or two for them however, that can be easily enough arranged.”

It was bizarre, how her mind could clear of that residue haze and her heartbeat settle into something approaching calm, and yet the first breath of that voice set her pulse racing with the same, initial cause, ever barely dormant.

At the very first syllable uttered in that otherwise quiet room slim, pale hands nearly let a little violet, blooming vase slip from their grip to shatter on the floor, recovering only just barely in time and bringing the priceless piece up close to the protective brace of her chest as Marguerite steadied herself. She was still once more, back turned, by the point of that calm endearment, her head tilting instantly with a splay of stray black locks until, capable of little else without moving, she could just see the blurred, recognizable line of Erik’s form there, just in her peripheral… And her ear just to him, catching every breath that followed. That urge, that was nothing new… An age old impulse left undisturbed– No, perhaps even reinforced by what had happened then, the last time she had seen him. However her nerves set afire simply be knowing he was actually there, not just a constantly drumming thought in her mind but truly there, aware in her company? It was not an unpleasant sensation, not by any means. Just… Not a calm one.

And that entrance had only reignited what had haunted her for hours, the song that had marked her last exchange with her lover echoing in her ear well into the hall and back up to her rooms, into the bedchamber that she locked behind her the better to feel safe to practically swoon, there on the other side of the door, bracing her hands upon so recently stained the carpet the better to withstand the passion that wracked her the moment she allowed herself to give in, to feel instead of stifle. She had to— There was no burying that beyond the length of the desperate escape she had made from cause, and would-have-been witness…

And yet, even alone, even with nothing facing her or disturbing her beyond her own mind, it took some time before anything sensible made its way through her mind, the time between spent in a dizzy meditation, in hazed pacing, a proper awareness of herself only coming once she – in an age old habit well neglected but still imprinted in her bones – found herself at her writing desk, scribbling nonsense onto scraps of paper… Until she realized and read back some sense among the ramblings and her mind blazed with bewildered tension once more, ending in her folding the papers up, stuffing them between the pages of a Dante volume she had set herself to study and pressed the tome back among its peers on her bookshelf… Left standing in the silent knowledge she could not deny there, perfectly alone in her own room, yet flushed as if she had been caught in some compromised position, fidgeting beneath nonexistent eyes.

It had all, slid away from that point. Inane as her efforts to express herself to herself might have been, her feelings had been raved in ink before her own eyes, and she could not shy from them any further… Her body and mind separating from one another in effort as she began to thoughtlessly tidy up her mess of a room, delicately folding and stuffing away clothing under the silent monologue of feelings she, certainly, had not been unaware of an hour before, but still left wondering with a new awareness- Of a measure of passion she had never tapped before and brought her own for the instigator into a new, stark relief… And in a manner that stripped her of any sound front or composed façade within herself or, perhaps yet, with others… Why, if it had been anyone but Charles there- If it had been any adult, anyone with even an inkling of understanding, what would they have seen when they looked her in the eye? The idea had been a disconcerting one, and yet… Came with a resignation that was somehow tinged with, relief, in an odd way. She couldn’t even quite explain it to herself, but as time allowed her the chance to properly process, Marguerite found herself strangely at peace with the awareness of such an Achilles’ heel to her discretion- Such as it was.

That sense could not quite cover how that voice had touched her, though, nor answer any of the questions that took over the focus of her mind as she finished doing what she could with her private room and finally dared to go beyond once more, wandering into one of the few other spaces in which she felt a complete freedom to manipulate what she found- The ‘storage’ room for all of those priceless gifts that they had brought back to France, despite the odds. The exquisite, elaborate, delicate glasswork that drew her notice in her passing hours in a manner that, if she were honest, went beyond the simple point of keeping her busy. When she began to order the countless pieces, then reorder, and reorder again by size and use and maker, she touched one here and there with the purposeful intent to go back, remember when she first came across the beauties, as if the contact would help her recall a clearer mind, a different perspective. Another moment that might grant her insight, and answers where she didn’t even quite have a question.

But no, in the end it was all a distraction, for there was only so much ground she could cover in her own, incomplete awareness, and playing with the glass merely filled the time for her spirit to cool and her dear to return with the missing pieces of what had happened, of her. And once he had, so suddenly and so fluidly, there was nothing for it but to strive to gather herself, slowly right the vase within her hands until she could safely turn, face Erik in a bated silence where she was left still, uncertain, mute for some time yet, among the hesitance looking directly at him with an open, wide interest and question and the essence of a smile she dare not fully give. Not when she didn’t know, what he had thought of her exit. If he knew…

“—I’m not certain there’s much room left for them, in here,” she finally answered, bemused at herself at how easily the words flowed, clearly disconnected from the intrigue in her eyes and the nerves that lit the wane tilt of her lips before she moved to replace the vase upon the nearest table, among a mesh of similarly shaded vases as Marguerite had apparently started ordering by color… And just recently started undoing it again for who knew what. “I was actually thinking I might set them up for a regular switch-out, you see. Perhaps decide places for decorations, and then switch around what I put there each week- Or when I get bored of one? As impossible as it may seem…” She finally trailed off, the stillness of her form eventually infecting her voice before she slowly looked back up at Erik once more in place of the settled decoration, searching him as if looking for something, or for a sign of what he was thinking, or as the case may be, what she should breach. It was only bad enough, after all, that she didn’t even know how to describe what had happened, be it out of a lack of vocabulary or… The discretion not to use it. Yet she couldn’t let it lie, not when it threatened to bubble out uncontrolled if left untended, and… So, she looked away and just down from him, towards a painted bowl in a gesture that could well be called demure before she reached out, rolled her fingers over the contents of colorful glass marbles with a quiet chorus of chinking to accompany of her attempt, checking yet… Apologetic, delicate, at the same time. “I hope I didn’t upset you… Or Charles, leaving so suddenly.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Cara Mia (Piano) [Tiersen] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ gaaaaah what playing this girl does to me.

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

Perhaps he should have been more candid in his scrutinizing her, given the context of that uncertain meeting and the impossibility in predicting what, exactly, to expect now that they were once more face to face. But the man made little effort in hiding his plain, unabashed interest as she seemed to startle herself to proper attention upon hearing his voice, nearly fumbling the fine piece of glass in her hands at first and then going all but perfectly still. No, Erik was intent upon gauging her reaction, watching the faintest of twitches in what little of her face he could at first see from his vantage point there in the doorway, searching for the vaguest of shift in her demeanor which could potentially betray relief, happiness, apprehension, upset-- dismay... And yet finding none of it for a time, the continued lack of substantial evidence toward her earlier departure leaving him wary, careful, even as he awaited a response and languidly traced a few soundless steps further into the room.

Yet his own demeanor would cast little to nothing of an opinion without more concrete answers, warnings or reassurances whatever they may be, and that masked face lingered in its reserved, somewhat distant interest... However piqued and truly intrigued it remained as yellow eyes prickled a line of profound consideration along the curve of her shoulders, the wayward black tendrils of hair that did little but further obscure her from his view, until finally she had turned to speak a defense that was unfettered itself, friendly and free enough, but still spoke volumes of a disturbance just below its surface. But soon, that silvery gaze had dropped away from him all over again, leaving him to mirror the gesture If only for a few, fleeting moments as he allowed that soft yet all the more penetrating stare to drift downwards, vaguely perplexed-- perhaps even dejected in its own right-- following the line of her hands, her reach, before his steps took him to a nearby arrangement of smoky, violet hued glass atop a set of drawers. There, he leaned vaguely at his waist if only to peer dully, distantly, into a play of light and color that would have been fascinating in and of itself at nearly any other time... And yet even as he lifted a spindly, gloved hand to idly nudge at an elaborately curled handle so that it would shift and catch the light in a particularly incandescent way, reflecting in all those others within its immediate vicinity, the little display was hardly the focal point of his thought, his words no more preoccupied with the subject than what he would show otherwise. "I suppose that would be a good as method as any to properly enjoy them. You know the house is as at your disposal."

No, that answer-- regarding her earlier leave, her current state, none of which concerned decor-- was not truly realized until he could practically sense the return of her gaze, an ever welcome warmth upon his back, upon the otherwise cold, calculating nerves that so often directed him and thus drew his own proper diligence all over again, just in time to catch the prompt but somehow, timid, aversion she demonstrated all at once. Yet where the avoidance was a resounding source of raw frustration within him, inspiring a crackling of tension through his spine, it along with her words posed an alluring enough notion in their extended meaning... And so Erik was left staring, studying her features from below a furrowed brow, ever concealed beyond that hardened facade as he strove to make sense of her uncharacteristic quiet. Yet just where he had hoped to have spotted the chance at answers, perhaps even a resolution of sort, he found only more questions-- and a mystery still in need of more direct unraveling, though unrelenting in its need for discretion. "... No, it is, fine." A lie, perhaps, but a harmless one for as far as he could see... For what good would it do to say anything else?

Still, that strangely unorthodox timidity there upon her, something borne from what he could only identify as, potentially, regret, had already begun a slow but impressive show of chipping away at the cold resolve in his composure, softening its rough, sharpened edges beneath a cautiously, regrettably fond stare. But despite what she may have said thus far, despite what she may have done or portrayed back in that room hours ago, he was not so blind as to be left completely naive to what incident had inspired her flight in the first place, regardless to its full context. And though she seemed willing to wander that trail, it had been left more or less unsaid... And the emptiness of that reasoning could only find room for a growing sense of doubt within him. "Perhaps, I should have known better than to..." Oblige? The words caught on his tongue, turning sour and irrelevant to everything he had hoped to do upon locating her again. No, apologies-- regret, guilt-- they would do little to help further along his endeavors for a return to peace, should it even be possible, and so he simply breathed a crude sigh, scowled into the air just beyond her face briefly, then focused his yellow stare upon her with a measure of guarded concern as he pressed on. "Are you alright?"


Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . .
music . . . Courting [ Arnold ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Even with her eyes cast down, catching on the play of tiny reflections shifting and flickering in the round glass under her fingers, Marguerite could not mistake the sense of such attention focused on her. It had not been there before, just moments ago, when she skirted her own gaze away to strive for even that simple broach of a comment without the distraction of being drawn into watching Erik move, as she often was… But she could practically hear the shift of his form, would have been certain of it even without the aid of a hint of movement, just outside of her clear vision, the certainly noted change causing her touch to still within the bowl as he offered a simple, excusing allowance. A… relief, at least on the surface, but it left her with little more to go forward with save a small, slow nod and quiet “Good… That’s good” as she racked her brain for what else to say.

It would only be so easy, if she let her tongue run wild, but she… She didn’t want to broach the issue with just anything, and chance implying the wrong thing or, the right thing in the wrong way. Not until she was certain her reaction was not, unique, and that he knew of it already, or not. But, the self-denial of impulsive voicing cost Marguerite her natural approach, naïve to near any other she might take, when she didn’t even have words for half of what she felt she could say… And there was no telling how long she might have let the silence hang, scouring for what to say, before she inevitably snapped and took the path she already deemed ill-suited—Had Erik not blessedly intervened.

“Perhaps, I should have known better than to...”

It wasn’t even a complete thought, but it was more than enough. It nodded enough towards, some level of awareness, and even more than that the strangled, uncertain effort to reach within that beloved voice hooked into Marguerite more than any words ever could. Her downturned, striving concentration flickered, cracked beneath a sudden outward focus, a recognition that painted her expression uncertain, searching as she finally raised her gaze again, met his and a warm strain thrummed through the question in her eye at what she saw, the signs of a grand inner conflict within him, not just her. And where she had gone still, expectant, until it became clear he could not finish his thought and traded it in with a careful inquiry of her wellbeing? She couldn’t stand it. Even as a dozen questions struck her for why he looked that way, what it meant about what he thought, what he knew, she couldn’t take the time to investigate when her first instinct was to make it stop.

“-yes, of course I am” she finally managed on a rush of breath too long held, her words tripping over themselves to reach him the moment she came unstuck. And a twist of a smile grew on whim and relaxed into itself on a certain tenderness, managed largely on the point to prove she was capable of it, whatever he feared for her. For, awkward though the approach might be, intense as the experience had been, something of Erik’s question left her wondering, did he think her disturbed? By the shock, or the peculiarity of what his song had produced? If so, well… Under different circumstances, she might well have had to giggle at such a worry. But, as it stood, her reaction were still too raw, and he- Tense, careful in a way she rarely witnessed any longer, when they were alone together. Even… Even if it made her nerves tingle faintly in an odd echo to do so, she squashed their effect on her composure as well as she could as she took her hand from the bowl, slid her touch over the table edge as she made careful, watchful steps closer to the man among the array of playfully reflective surfaces, some of the color even catching within the white of the mask that covered his face as she came close enough to notice, stilling just a spare foot or two back as she fumbled for words. “I just, needed some time to gather my wits about me…” It was silly how even that vague description made her throat catch, playing softly over her face as a sort floundering for expression before she finally let the smile go again in favor of a pursing of her pale lips, yet never breaking her barely blinking, unabashed look up at him, her words flowing gently, unperturbed, perhaps even a touch nervously amused… Even if her gaze struggled to not drop again and had to flit back into place with a clear effort to contain some emotion, whatever it was prompting a touch of a color to pale cheeks. “Really, I should have known that… Well, I should have at least given you a chance to warn me. That it would be better for you to sing with Charles, without me there… Or, if I were there, without him…”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Castle Went Dark [Armstrong] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

"-yes, of course I am"

Her answer left so little time to ponder-- to doubt-- and though it did nothing to fully diminish the cloud of tension itself that had trailed close at both their heels for the last few hours-- a fog made only stronger once united with its counterpart-- the knee-jerk response she had to deliver certainly had its effect in resolving a measure of worry from Erik's own regard. But where it provided an inkling of relief, an assurance that for however afflicted she had been from the display it was not enough to truly disturb her in too drastic a way, it managed to raise an array of other, just as intriguing questions... Questions that plagued him, left him just as cautious if not still on edge as the distance between them began to grow slimmer, narrower, with each of her steps closer. Alarming as the potential explanations that remained were, however, the man's first impulse was certainly not to withdraw by any stretch of the imagination, for if anything her proximity was something of a balm. And so he lingered, watching with an expanding, warming fascination, ever fraught with the subtle intensity for her that would so often color yellow eyes whenever she managed to capture his full attention... Which had proven rather frequent, after all.

"I just, needed some time to gather my wits about me…"

Erik did not speak, did not so much as allow his gaze to falter, much less shift anywhere beyond the soft contours of her face, as if the answers to those very dilemmas would appear there at any moment, but would be gone just as fast and so easy to miss if he were to so much as blink. The imminent dread which seemed to have followed his every step that day had all but vanished, but oh the alarm was ever present, if not growing with each of her vague, skirting words and glances, all of which did nothing but further compound a vexation among so many an unconfirmed suspicions, all of which were threatening to boil over within him. It could have so easily proven itself beyond his patience if he had been left to his own devices, if he had been expected an answer to that alone, a remark on her behalf that had relieved him of fear, perhaps, but had given him so little else to work with that would not involve unrightfully assuming one of his less substantial of impressions in hopes that it was the correct one... Yet where Marguerite's further expansion should have proven a comfort, Erik found himself spun away from the 'most likely' of scenarios-- or perhaps what he had settled in his mind as the 'safest' of scenarios to assume-- and was instead left staring down on her with blank incomprehension.

“Really, I should have known that… Well, I should have at least given you a chance to warn me. That it would be better for you to sing with Charles, without me there… Or, if I were there, without him…”

A sharp brow genuinely furrowed against the cool surface of the mask which barred it, perplexity bringing yellow eyes to narrow and peer down on her incredulously where she had come to pause just before him, close enough to touch and yet so bewildering in her latest sentiment that he could not bring himself at first to do much more than squint warily down at her. If she had known... She would have had Charles there, without her, or--- her there, without Charles? If it had proven such an alarming experience, why then would she have wished to be there at all? With or without the boy present? "What do you mean?" The inquiry was out of his mouth before he could truly consider it for what it was... Or how it could very well betray him for as thrown as he had hoped not to seem, despite his plainly flummoxed understanding. Yet, in the moment that immediately followed, he was not allowed enough time to consider or silently reprimand the clumsy stagger of his own words, for in his mind's scouring for information to support or better explain her remark away for what it was, he suddenly recalled the brief moment of awareness which had occurred to him during that song... A moment in which she had approached, in which she had reached and touched and--

It had been then that she had broken away... And only at the cut-in of Charles' curiosity. It had been then that she had fled. Oh, he had always known how the nature of his voice could, at times, draw those about him-- that had never been a mystery to him. But the reasoning behind that magnetism or what, precisely, it truly compelled one to feel upon hearing it? Such technicalities had never been so clear. Moreover, it seemed to change depending on the individual, and so often, the after effect of realizing just how disconcerting it had been for that poor soul, it could at times subsequently repel with all the strength that it once entranced. But if she was not rebuffed when she had been allowed some hours of clear thought...? If she now thought to consider it as having been better without the boy present--? A slow dawning of realization began to unravel on his veiled features, yellow eyes growing distant and fogged with a revelation he was not at all keen to accept...To such a degree that he must have pushed it from the collection of possibilities from the very get-go, simply because he was oh so loathe to believe for one moment that--

No. It wasn't feasible-- more importantly, it was lurid for him to even consider it as much even then! ... Or was it truly so wrong, when the pieces seemed to fall comfortably into place at such a notion? He was not necessarily repulsed by the idea-- why, not even remotely-- but to project such an interpretation onto her... "I mean..." The weight of the silence threatened to suffocate him, and though still caught somewhere between self-admonishment for the sheer thought and a logical, intellectual line of reasoning to somehow support it-- Well... he suddenly found himself obliged to speak, to say anything so as to push the conversation forward, to prevent a complete and utter stand-still where she would so likely seek from him some sort of answer... If only to buy himself some more time to think...

But oh, the unanticipated spin-- borne of his own wicked imaginings or otherwise-- did little more than sharpen his expression, lure that gaze away in a critical scowl toward nothing in particular as he grasped to make sense of it. And yet so little of what came next resounded of anger or even dejection for her herself-- but instead, of all things, he seemed... Exceptionally flustered in his own, rigid way. "You had no way of knowing what to expect, beyond what you were unfortunate enough to witness on that pier months ago. I was careless this afternoon, yes. But the boy seemed unaffected enough beyond perhaps... enthusiastic... And if you are fine, then... Perhaps..." Then what? He wasn't making any sense, and oh he was acutely aware of that floundering, a vague sneer tugging at his lips. "Perhaps... It would be best to be more cautious, in the future."

Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . Lolol, Erik's equivalent of "Oh. Oh...... OH. Wait, no..... Maybe? WhatdoIdowiththis?"
music . . . Castle Went Dark [ Armstrong ] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

It had been struggle enough to dare strive and vocally nod towards what, exactly, had been the real trouble with him singing in front of her and Charles… Imply her own willingness to, certainly, try again without the chance of young, witnessing eyes on her, if only to discover what exactly may have happened had the boy not innocently interrupted events, Marguerite still herself, uncertain what may have happened… Within a few, logical potentials. But, to have him search for clarity with a bounce-back comment of “What do you mean?” It really only made her color the worse, struggle so to keep his eye that her barely blinking silvers flickered down, up, down again before she steadied herself enough to solidly meet that gaze again, whatever the struggle to even form words clear in the glance. For, what was she to say? She knew well enough what had happened to her, if not why, or where the line truly was between her own heart, mind, inclinations… And his music… But to, speak of it? However she might have once made some quite tawdry jokes, now and again, in the company of friends, that was long before Marguerite had anything to work off of save deep extrapolations built on her own most shallow understandings and the many shared words of others. She had never talked about such a thing in relation to herself, jokingly or otherwise… Had never directly discussed anything along such lines even with Erik despite how their relationship had developed and continued to solidify, flourish, mutual willingness and other essentials never, needing words…

But the expected yet abrupt consideration of if she need do so, then, finally, if she were to properly explain herself? It stuttered into a hanging silence when the baffled, uncomprehending look on Erik’s face truly registered, clicked in her mind with meaning beyond the basic question. For, if he had to ask? If he fell into such an instant, still introspection? The lady’s own clear conflict fell away beneath a smoothing, honing stare of her own, caught in a quiet marvel to realize that, he didn’t know. Hadn’t known, at least, until a moment before, going by the tense, stumbling struggle she witnessed unfolding right before her eyes. And yet, where she might trip over herself in a whole other round of wondering what Erik would think of her, once he know, Marguerite could only fixate on the wonder of how he could not know. She knew it could not be just herself, who felt such things when he sang- Had the same chords struck within her soul, whatever might reverberate through the strings of others’, where she herself fixated upon the singer. Christine, had said, even before Marguerite knew to understand… And loathe as she was to linger on the idea, even that was turned on its head at the wonder that, Erik did not realize how the power he exercised through his voice actually touched the listener.

And yet… That discovery was openly unnerving him, drawing the girl out of the dazed shock of her own thoughts to marvel at the man himself once more, as he stood, disconcerted in a way she couldn’t swear she had ever seen before. And where the young woman might have skirted looks and dodged questions, she could only stubbornly stare up at the man who looked away from her, falling into dismissing her self-admonishments with a graceless try for words himself. Why, to look at him one would think he was embarrassed of himself, for how she reacted to his gift. Or… Again, struggled to even accept it. And, the mention of the pier, it dropped grain of doubt in her mind, a question that, did Erik think that was what his voice always did? That raw injection of emotion that dragged everything buried in the darkest corners of the mind up to the forefront? When that, as far as she could guess then, was the variation? He had not known what he was doing, earlier, thus… How she felt when she heard him sing just before… That was its true nature, wasn’t it? It was such a mess of uncertainties, of gathering her own thoughts and guessing his and realizing that between the two of them there was still so much fogging a full understanding… And yet, seeing him struggle with the revelations of how he had touched her in a manner she never had, even when she first ran from the sound, urged her to press the buzzing of unknown aside, if only to hook into the lead of consolations and considerations he offered with a faint smile to counter his own, troubled expression.

“Perhaps... It would be best to be more cautious, in the future”

“Well-- You certainly might want to watch who you sing about, now that you know something of your own strength,” she allowed with no speck of real concern. Why, even perhaps a touch of, it was too weighted, too gentle for humor, but there all the same, mixed with a dazed sort of edge, a numb wonderment at how her own words mirrored back at her. “As you say, Charles seemed just fine, and I imagine many others would be. Just not…” Well, the limits not remained uncertain to her, beyond simply anyone who would remotely react as she had. A point she could not even bring to possible words, yet, as she considered the experience, whilst looking up at the countenance behind the mask? Saw how troubled he was beneath it, considering perhaps that he need caution against his voice’s use even further? She could not let it stand, whatever her own processing wonder. Not without some comment, and “But. I am not… Disinclined to avoid it, myself…” spilled out without great consideration. And once it had? Her struggle to go on, to soften the words and yet in turn lull into a wonder of whether she should likely emphasized the depth of meaning more than anything else could, that same demure that had shone upon his entrance gently rearing its head once more in a quiet that was not so unexplained any longer.

And really, it was all she could do not to laugh at herself, once she caught up to her own manner of dropping gaze and careful carriage, sniffing out a breath before she raised a twist of a smile back up towards him, took a bare step closer. “In fact, I cannot believe, even under the circumstances, that I haven’t yet said… It would be a waste if you tucked it away too thoroughly. It is too sublime for that. Really, I’ve never known anything like it…” Such simple, true words, and yet whatever wry, simple start she began with, Marguerite felt warm, dizzy with the words within just a few syllables for how her appreciation was colored, how he knew… But she could not compartmentalize her comments, and she would not keep them from him simply to avoid the potential discomfort it might put upon him, the further evidence of what he sneered at, but striving all the while to at least not allow her praises drown in that awareness. No, better to ignore how her own breath stuck when she reached out, caught his fingers in hers so that she could curl as well as she could around them, tenderly pressing the thin digits between her fingers and palm as if to imprint the shape of them in her own flesh. “Though, honestly, I should have known how truly exquisite you could be. It only follows…”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Fakhr :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Castle Went Dark [Armstrong] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ /me