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"And in this labyrinth
Where night is blind,
The Phantom of the Opera it there--
Inside your mind..."

"Sing, my Angel of Music," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to hear her pure, beautiful voice echo throughout his underground domain. It was far too intoxicating to hear their voices mixing together, and he needed to try to maintain even a tiny bit of clarity. He could not allow himself to become so enraptured that he forgot everything.


((Thus comes the part with Christine's extravagant vocalizing, and then I get to go straight into Music of the Night with the freaky Christine dummy. You'll have plenty of time to work through your writer's block when I get to that post. *sigh* That is going to be the post from Hell.))

((I'm probably going to be basing this more off of Michael Crawford's performance because I like how he's not immediately feeling all over the girl. Though perhaps that had something to do with Brightman being ALW's wife at the time, but it doesn't matter now. Since there's so much singing I'll put the song lyrics in italics.))

He had not noticed immediately when they arrived at his home, but suddenly he became aware of the very familiar surroundings. They were in very real, physical surroundings. It was as wonderful as any dream he'd ever had, but what was happening was very real. The simple knowledge that it was real made it seem more spectacular than anything he had ever imagined or dreamed.

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne...
To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music...
Music...

"You have come here for one purpose, and one alone...
Since the moment I first heard you sing...
I have needed you with me, to serve me, to sing,
For my music...
My music..."

Reluctantly he released her hand and walked further into his home. He removed his cloak and dropped it rather unceremoniously onto the floor before slowly approaching her again. She took a few steps further into the house as well, seeming uncertain of whether this was reality or some sort of bizarre dream. Her full attention returned to him, however, as he began to sing once more, but this time it was much gentler than his previous singing. It seemed to draw her closer to him just as it pushed her away, and with such a feeling she found that she could not move from where she stood.

"Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defences"

"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it--tremulous and tender
Turn your face away from the garish light of day"

With these words he gently reached out and placed his hands over her eyes and pushed her face away. She did not resist him, and with the next words he slowly moved his hand beneath her chin and pulled her face back to face him. Their faces were barely more than two inches apart.

"Turn your thoughts from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night."

He drew away from her quickly, his heart pounding so rapidly in his chest that he thought it might be about to explode. He walked over to the other side of the organ, watching her as she listened to him with an almost transfixed expression on her face. Never before had he given her such a demonstration of his voice. It was the one thing that could make people forget about his mask for a moment or two. When they were caught up in his voice he could almost control them like they were puppets, but he was not singing to control her. He was simply singing for her.

"Close your eyes and surrender to you darkest dreams
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!
And you'll live as you've never lived before...

"Softly,deftly, music shall surround you
Hear it, feel it, closing in around you
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight
The darkness of the musci of the night"

Unconsciously he had begun to approach her again, but she did not seem to have noticed that he had moved at all. She was too deepinto his voice to notice him at all. He circled slowly around her as he sang. Now he was behind he, his growing more powerful and compelling. He seemed to be building up to something.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before
Let your sould take you where you long to be!"

The force of that word was almost overwhelming in its strength and force. It was almost like a physical blow to the mind, but he quickly back away from it with the next phrase. His voice quickly became much softer but no less compelling or beautiful.

"Only then can you belong to me...

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write--
The power of the music of the night..."

One could almost have sworn that there was a full orchestra hidden somewhere and accompanying Erik, taking over as he became silent. That momentary break in his singing seemed to suddenly release Christine from some strange spell as she collapsed against him. For a moment he struggled to keep from falling over as well from the unexpected addition of her full weight resting against him, but finally he managed to lift her into his arms. She was not a heavy woman, and for a moment he considered simply holding her in his arms until she awoke. Reality intervened however as his arms quickly began to burn from holding the full weight of a human female. Being careful not to knock her head against anything, he carried over to the bedroom and laid her down gently.

He stood looking at her for a moment as she slept. She looked even more innocent asleep than she did awake. Truly she must be what angels looked like in Heaven.

"You alone can make my song take flight
Help me make the music of the night..."

Slowly he backed out of the room as he continued to sustain the final note of "night". He was singing it so softly that one could barely tell when he had stopped singing at all. Quietly he shut the door to the room and walked over to sit at his organ. There was no way he could sleep after everything that had happened tonight, but he would allow Christine a few hurs of sleep and not play the organ yet. It was all too wonderful.


((I guess I gave him more of a house than a lair, but that's not such a bad thing. I also did not have the dummy in there because it never really made sense to me.))

((You don't want to do an uber-long post from Hell.))

Erik's mind was still racing from the events of the night. He rose from his seat at the organ and began to walk around the house as though hoping that it might help to clear his mind. No such luck. Every time his mind began to clear he would remember that there was a scantly clad woman lying asleep in his house. A member of the opposite had never set foot in his home before. He'd never even allowed Antoinette into his home, but he had so willingly led Christine to his home without hesitation.

It occurred to him that he had provided her with everything to betray him to the world. She knew that he was not some divine being, and now she even knew where he lived and how to get there. Glancing at the closed door of the bedroom he wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake in leading her to his home. Maybe he could sneak her back up to her dressing room before she awoke and pass the whole thing off as some sort of dream. "No..." he whispered turning away from the door. "I'm going to have to trust her. I can't expect her to trust me if I cannot trust her."

((I think we're waiting for your rendevous with Christine to end, but I'll blunder onwards with my characters if no one else is gonna post...>.>....))

((Sorry Unromantic. I didn't know if I could play Buquet or not. I shall do my little bit and I think the plot can advance then. Musicangelchristine bugged me on it. XP))

It had taken her a few minutes to secure herself into the dormitories on the second floor above the halls of the Opera House. Several people had stopped her, inquiring on about Mlle. Daae. She waved them all off, saying she thought the girl had gone home for the night after nearly fainting on-stage. Antoinette was very tired and only wanted to settle the ballet brats before going to bed.
However, when she entered the dorms, several girls came at her side and cried out in terror, clinging to her arms and nearly knocking her over. She tried shaking them off, but there was nothing to do that would console their childish tears.
"Mother Giry! Mother Giry!" Both cried in unison, "Mother Giry! That mean old Joseph Buquet is telling stories again! He's frightened all the little ones into their covers early!" Antoinette sighed as they began sobbing childishly and running off to tell a girl who came in behind the old dancer. Grasping her cane with one good hand, Antoinette followed the sound of cries and the small crowd of girls.
Joseph Buquet was a tall, lanky man. His muscles were larger than most men's you'd find on the street only because he was the chief scene-shifter and worked harder than anyone else in building, repairing, and setting up the scenery and backdrops during rehearsals and performances. His age was unknown, though he was most likely about forty-five. Older than Mme. Giry, anyhow. His grey hair was disheveled and unkempt from the night's work. His clothes sweat-stained and dirt-covered. A bottle of whiskey was beside him, but he drank none of it. The man wasn't a lover of the drink. He merely liked attention such as the kind he was getting from the corps de ballet right that moment as he told the saucy tale of the Phantom.
Waggling his fingers dangerously, he peered about at his female audience and gave a great grin of danger. "Oh yes, he is very thin--a skeleton in dress clothes!" The girls gasped at this, a few leaning in closer in anticipation. "His skin is like a corpses--in fact he is a walking one! Oh yes, a dead walking man in dress clothes. His mask cannot conceal his terrible ugliness. His eyes are sunken deep within his skull and his nose--why there is none to be had!" The girls screamed. One fainted away and her friends began fanning her furiously. "But be careful! If you're caught alone in the halls with him--SNAP!" Another scream from the ballerinas. "He will catch you with his Punjab lasso and hang you above the very spot you saw him! I was lucky enough to get away alive.." To this a few girls cried and clung to him in pity. He had seen the ghost and lived! Oh how terribly lucky and poor was Buquet!
Swishing her skirts with one hand, Antoinette snarled and growled at all the exxagurations Joseph had put into his little act. Erik was nothing like that! If anything he was as handsome as any other man his age, minus the deformity behind his little white half-mask. She admitted it was horrifying, but she could withstand looking at it. Her sight was going anyhow.
"Joseph Buquet!" She growled dangerously. The girls that had gathered--upon seeing their ballet mistress--ran for their beds as Joseph tried grabbing at one to get a good grope at her tiny form. "You do not know of what you speak, you drinking fool! If you knew any better, you'd shut that old mouth of yours and get out of the ballet dorms. When the managers hear of this--"
She was cut off as the fairly port man slunk right into her face, his dark eyes glinting in mischief and his cracked lips turning upright to reveal his nasty yellow teeth. His breath was foul.
"Ah, but Madame Giry, you know of what I speak is terribly true. You know the Phantom better than anyone. I heard you just this afternoon, talking to him backstage. I wonder what you've done with him when no one was looking. Perhaps that would explain your daughter's scrawniness--"
Slap!
The sound of her hand contacting his face echoed in the eerily silent room and all stared as Antoinette glared daggers and more upon the man. Raising her index finger to him, she pointed at his chest accusingly.
"Get out of my dormitories, Monsieur. And keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"
Joseph, a bit disgruntled at the raw feeling of his cheek which still carried a hand-print, slunk off out of the only exit to the dorms. When the door was shut, whispers filled the room. Did Mother Giry know the Phantom? Were they having some odd affair? Just who was Meg's Father, anyway? Antoinette could only feel her already boiling blood rise in heat as she turned swiftly and almost inhumanly quick on her heels and stared fire at them all.
"To your beds, now!" And the girls scattered.

Moncharmin had left Box Five, of that he was certain, surrounded by familiar faces, clothing styles and bad powdered wigs, Andre was certain that this room somewhere in the backstages of the opera, where gaiety and good-will sorrounded him, was not Box Five. This entire building was slowly becoming familiar to him and his partner and he understood, through a constant review of it's history (business history that is, rennovations and repairs, original bulding times and periods, previous owners and of course their patrons). This is how the art became alive to him, it breathed with profit for him and he understood....understood.

"But really her dress was exquisite, she looked so beautiful. I bet if that dress were mine I'd be beautiful."

"You already are dear."

"Oh hush you're just saying that!"

"Of course I'm just saying that what else am I supposed to say?"

"Ha, really Marie, it's an opera singer, you wouldn't want that dress! What would people say knowing you'd stolen the thing off the poor dear??"

"Oh hush Sharon!"

"It's ridiculouse to say she'd steal it off her I'd buy it for her."

"Oh, see! I knew you would."

"Of course the rich Messiur Beauregard would buy it! Sharon just meant that throwing pennies at these opera mongers would almost be the same as stealing it!"

"Ha, Fine jest my boy!"

"Oh Gilles You really are too cruel!"

Supply and demand, the rules of economic prosperity and personal business philosophy, he knew these things, they were all mathmatetical formulas. Each person had a place and each person peformed a function and even if a few people had to have their arms twisted to perform such, the position was filled; but Andre's mind still reeled on the incident within box five. Firmin was right, it wasn't so horrible...it wasn't so strange, but M.Moncharmin major faultline lay in the idea that he could comprehend and understand everything that had been put in his path. Theories were always out there, too large to be proven. Yes, too out of hand to be proven.

Somebody offered Moncharmin a drink and he took it.

"But really Messiur Beauregard you don't truly believe in the efficiency of this opera house do you? it's a dying antique! Your investments will only spoil when these two scrap men ruin this house, it's gone down hill ever since it was built!"

"Really Maurice, you're too seriouse for you're own good."

"I'm looking out for you."

"But mainly his money!"

"Oh Gilles, you're so cruel!"

"But my weasly investor may have a point, where was La Carlotta tonight?"

"You're asking the rat where the weseal was?"

"Gilles!"

"Where does it matter where that woman totted off to? Mlle. Christine Daae was there to fill her place wasn't she?"

"And to wear that beautiful dress too!"

"But why was there a space to fill Gilles, that's the question! It's poor management Messiur Beauregard, If you were wise you wouldn't investment."

"You shouldn't call him wise if he hired you."

But nobody had handed M.Moncharmin all the mysteries of the universe, knowing with his astute observations that he would slowly uncover them, that the stars would open up their hearts and let M.Moncharmin peer inside becuase he could wrap his mind around things faster than light, becuase Moncharmin was ignorant. This is the death of every business star that doesn't accept the art of circumstance and possibility. Moncharmin could theorize but he didn't know and he didn't understand that he didn't know. So Moncharmin theorized without the light of the heavens becuase he didn't need them to understand.

Andre had been offered several drinks by this time, and he drank every one.

((You should have asked Utakan. I was wondering why nobody was posting and nothing was happening, but that doesn't really matter anymore. We're moving on.))

As the cool air hit the right side of his face, Erik spun around staring at Christine with an expression of mixed shock, horror, and fear, but it quickly turned to fury as he saw her eyes widen in fear and revulsion and she stepped away. What had she thought lay beneath his mask? Had she thought that he just wore it for show? Nobody had done such a thing to him since his days in the Gypsy carnival.

"Damn you!
You little prying Pandora!
You little demon--
Is this what you wanted to see?

"Curse you!
You little lying Delilah!
You little viper--
Now you cannot ever be free!"

God, why had she felt so compelled to see what lay beneath the mask? Now he knew it was hopeless. No one could ever love a monster, and with that thought he was suddenly very close to tears.

"Damn you...
Curse you..."

He said speaking more to the God who had cursed him with such a face than to the woman who had pulled his mask off.

((Yes, I realize that my last post was yesterday morning, but since that time I have not been able to get anywhere near a computer with internet access. Only just now have I been able to, so I'll continue.))

He watched her as she gawked at him wearing an expression of fear and morbid fascination. Yes, he remembered that look quite well. When people had come to see him they would always scream, but after the screaming was done they would always look at him with that same expression. How he hated that look. Slowly he began to draw closer to Christine, making no attempt to hide his face from her now. He wanted her to see what he looked like now. If she was going to give him that infuriating look she had better have something damn worth giving that look to.

"Stranger than you dreamt it
Can you even bear to look
Or bare to think of me:
This loathsome gargoyle,
who burns in hell
But secretly yearns for Heaven,
Secretly...
Secretly..."

His expression softened slightly. He could not stand to stay angry with her even after what she had done to him. He still loved her, and even now he still hoped that she might be able to love him.

Perhaps she could come to see that he really was not a monster once one was able to look beyond the distortion of his face. He was just like any normal man if one could see past it. He had all of the same desires as any other man. The only difference was that he'd had the misfortune of being born with the right side of his face looking like that of a rotted corpse.

"But, Christine...

Fear can turn to love
You'll learn to see
To find the man behind the monster:
This repulsive carcass,
Who seems a beast ,
But secretly dreams of beauty
Secretly...
Secretly..."

"Oh, Christine..." he said in a barely audible whisper as he held out his hand towards her. He was not offereing to help her up from the floor so much as he was asking for her to hand back the mask that she still held in her trembling hands. Even as he hoped that she might still be able to love him he could see that it was impossible. The Vicomte de Changy was also in pursuit of her affections. He may have stood a chance before she knew what lay beneath his mask, but now there was no way he could compare.