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 Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 1:33 pm
(( I can be Meg. *Points to name* ))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 1:46 pm
((*reluctantly considers* You'd be the fourth person signed up for the part. Would you be consistent in posting?))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 1:47 pm
(( Yep! Just tell me where we are in the story and I'll go with the flow!))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 1:53 pm
((We've just finished with the Prima Donna scene. You can pick up after there but before Il Muto. You're free to have fun with your character until...I (I guess) decide it's time to move back on to the main story. I'm trying to give Fuoko a bit of a chance to catch up before we continue on.))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 2:21 pm
((Alright. I think I've gotten the gist of things now and where things stand... So, on to Il Muto?))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 3:18 pm
Meg fixed her hat just right as she grabbed the silver tray she was going to need.
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 4:11 pm
((*slightly surprised* Very well. If our Vicomte is ready to begin we can get moving with the story.)
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 4:15 pm
Unromantic_Phantom ((*slightly surprised* Very well. If our Vicomte is ready to begin we can get moving with the story.) ((Ouais.))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 6:02 pm
((*munches on dinner* Guess I'll start.))
The journey home had not been a particularly pleasant one for Erik. He'd happened to pass through the secret passages that happened to be a bit too close to La Carlotta's dressing room just as she had belted out a rather piercing note. He'd gotten all the way down to the second level cellar before his hearing had been fully restored, and then he'd found himself to be rather jumpy the rest of the way home. Every slight noise that he could not immediately identify sent him practically diving into the darkest shadows of the cellar. Without his mask to hide behind anyone could see his face, and it was certain that Joseph Buquet would not be so quick to run away if they happened to cross paths a second time.
It seemed that he considered Buquet to be more of a threat than he had first allowed himself to admit. The man had managed to find his way into the secret corridors once before, and that had only been by accident. He might have an easier time of it now that he'd found his way in once before. Even if the man could not manage to kill or hurt him in any way he could still bring hundreds of people swarming into the cellars and eventually into his lair. All the man needed was one physical scrap of proof that Erik was not a ghost as he pretended to be. That was enough to cause Erik great concern. What if the man happened to find his way down to his home while he was not there? He would be able to take anything he wanted to show to the managers and the authorities, and he would have free pick of anything that he wanted to keep for himself. Buquet might be able to loot his home as well as destroy his life at the Opera Populaire. Finally Erik was beginning to see just how precarious his position had become, and he'd just gone and revealed himself to Christine the previous night.
He spent the ramainder of the day closed up in his home. Most of that time was spent creating and discarding new security measures for his home. Some were impractical, and others were just physically impossible. As the night's performance drew nearer he found his thoughts becoming less and less preoccupied with bothersome scene-shifters and more concerned with a shrieking diva and incompetent management.
As he sat contemplatively in front of his organ, he considered whether it might be wiser for him to simply stay quietly in his home tonight and forget about attending the performance of "Il Muto" altogether, but at the same time he knew that he could not do that if he ever wanted Richard and Moncharmin to take him seriously. If his demands were ever to be met he had to carry through with all of his threats even if it meant that he would risk revealing himself. "Christine..." he whispered as he stared into the empty space between two candles. He could almost imagine that he saw her beautiful face right in front of him, smiling up at him with her bright, beautiful eyes.
She was his reason for sending those notes to the management, La Carlotta, and de Changy. If it had only been about the money and Box 5 he could have gone about getting those demands in a much more discrete way. He would not send the opera house into such an uproar over something as trivial as money. If it was all about money he would simply take it. There was nothing that those two foolish managers could have contrived that would be able to thwart him if that was all he was after, and vacating Box 5 was easier still. He'd demonstrated that when he'd sent Moncharmin fleeing in terror from that very box. Demands like those were easy enough for him to make them meet on his own, but putting Christine in the leading role was not quite so easily done. "This war between us is just beginning Messieurs," he muttered with a smirk as he rose from the bench.
Walking over to the table where his spare mask still sat, he frowned and rather reluctantly placed the spare mask over the right side of his face. "If you have nothing else to be thankful for, Erik, you can at least be thankful that your deformity extends no farther than your face. The rest of you is just as normal as any other man." Repeating that just phrase quietly to himself a couple of times he turned and walked towards the boat, grabbing his cloak and fedora ((couldn't resist! fedoras are awesome hats)) as he passed by where they were hung. He had a lot of distance to cover, and he needed to find a new vantage point if he was not going to be able to occupy Box 5 tonight.
((I expect to see people posting regularly again.))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 8:10 pm
((So glad to have this thing moving again. It's been a couple of months.))
This was a terrible mistake that they were making. A horrible, stupid, vile mistake. These new managers knew not whom they dealt with and once Erik heard La Carlotta onstage, he was going to blow a blood vessel and... and... what exactly would Erik do? He said he had a plan.
Good God.
Antoinette stared at her gloves, trying to figure out just what he would do to get revenge. Dropping a backdrop on the Italian tart wasn't enough to shut her beak, it seemed. One of the ballerinas pulled Antoinette out of her commonly-pessimistic thoughts to help her tie her hair back. The pink satin bow was neatly tied as all mothers seem to know how to do and the frivolous little thing was sent on her way with the rest of the girls.
She wasn't sure how tonight would go since it was a new Opera and they were still having trouble getting the sheep used in Act 3's ballet right. Those things had tied eating the sets several times and it was annoying each time because it threw the girls off on their steps.
Rising from her chair, Antoinette stomped her cane loudly just so people would have to turn and stare at her before shying away. Her girls were lined up perfectly on the practice bars backstage, stretching their legs and practicing with simple excersizes and more advanced stretches. Meg wasn't going to be a part of the ballet tonight and neither was Christine. She had no ideas where either was but she was sure they were ready to just get tonight over with. Poor Christine had to perform after this morning's events. Though she didn't blame Erik; she never did.
Once she was sure her girls were going to be alright until she could get to them between acts, Antoinette walked off and found her way around to the front of the theatre's doors where she picked up tonight's performance pamplet and a footstool ((kudos to those who know where I got that from)) before she slowly made her way up to Box 5.
It was empty as it always was before performances (Erik liked to come in the middle of the first Act) and the gas lamp for the box hadn't even been turned on. No one liked touching this Box which was why they left it to her. They thought since she looked like she'd had enough curses put on her, the Ghost wouldn't hurt her. Bah. Fools.
The footstool was put before the right chair and the pamplet put on the table as usual. She didn't know if Erik would show up tonight, but she had to be prepared anyway. Both chairs were brushed off and the curtains fixed, the gas lamp turned on high enough for someone to read the pamplet or anything else whilst the performance went on.
Her menial tasks done, all Antoinette could so was take her place outside the box and wait for the curtains to rise.
~~**~~
Work, work, work. No time for brandy tonight, gents. Joseph had to resist the urge to grab his flask from the inside pocket of his brown vest for the hundredth time since sundown. He had two men manning the ropes upstage left and three upstage right. Others were trying to get the set done up as quickly as possible so they'd be ready for any last minute changes before the curtains went up.
What was Joseph doing? Oh well having a jolly good time trying to sweettalk another ballerina puff into coming home with him. It was a fruitless effort as always, but he was practically immune to the slappings by now what with all the ones he got from that Mme. Giry all these years.
"'ey, Joseph! We need someone up in the catwalks!" Cried one man he forgot the name of at the moment. Joseph snorted loudly and adjusted the gloves on his hands. Where was the guy they usually got to man the catwalks and flies? Was it his night off or had the Phantom gotten to him too? Joseph laughed at that thought, imagining some poor old b*****d getting hung up by that nasty catgut rope o' his somewhere to spook the piss right out of the little ballerinas.
"Can't we get someone else ta do it? I gotta make sure these bollocks down here get the scenery right!" Joseph shouted back, nearly holding in a belch that went with it. The man shrugged and then started shouting at someone else to go get up in the flies. Well, that was taken care of.
Grinning, Joseph pinched the bottom of one of the women from the ensemble, receiving a hardy red handprint on his cheek. It faded after a few seconds, but the stinging remained and made him laugh even more.
"Ah ta hell with it all." He muttered, grabbing the flask and taking a swig as he walked backstage to wait for the curtain's rise.
((I get a kick out of playing that man.))
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 10:19 pm
((Yay for catering to Leroux. *pats the footstool* Alright. Here we go.))
The Vicomte de Chagny made his way up the stairway to the rotunda in the direction of the boxes, his tickets for tonight's performance tucked carefully away in the pocket of his coat. Though he still felt a bit of hotheaded rankling in his emotions, the young man found himself considerably more cooled off than he had been since the absurd circus earlier today involving Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard and their prima donna. Despite the wildly flying accusations -- of which he had taken great offense to -- he still intended on attending tonight's event.
"Indeed, can you believe it?" he murmured softly to himself, echoing his earlier sentiments. As if he would be so tactless and puerile as to write threatening letters to the management using a ridiculous alias. If he had complaints or demands to make of Moncharmin and Richard, then he would tell them to their face and not play some childish and outlandish game.
Though the management was willing to play this infantile scheme with a pretentious madman, he was not at all one to accommodate for such lunacy. Already, he felt nothing but intense anger for this unseen man for what he was doing to Christine. Her late-night disappearance filled him with nothing but sick worry and the thought of her spending an entire night alone with a man of questionable morals was something that nearly undid him with rage.
If anything had been done to compromise her honor, there would be Hell to pay.
'Il Muto' had sold out tonight and he suspected this was due to Christine's glorious debut. He chuckled, knowing that there would be a great many of the audience who may be disappointed to know that Paris' new songbird was shuffled into the silent role of the opera. To this, he was somewhat saddened, but he would still attend, if not only for the delight of seeing Christine once more.
He readied his tickets to Box Five and though they weighed heavily in his fingers, he continued along up to where the infamous seat resided. There had been a bit of a commotion among the employees at the time he had purchased them, but the transaction had been made, nonetheless. He set his jaw with determination, nodding to the other wealthy patrons that he recognized from the salons and after-parties he attended with his brother -- who was thankfully out of town on business for the next several months.
Again, the vicomte was far from willing to accommodate this 'phantom.' He believed in an Angel of Music, but a real angel would never take the liberties that Christine's so-called angel had taken. He was no angel. To further his conviction, in his experience: ghosts did not write notes. This was a man they were dealing with: a madman, but a very real man who had flaws and weaknesses, which would be exploited once he found them.
He turned the corner and outside his purchased box, he spotted Madame Giry. As he approached her, his face was unconsciously solemn.
"Bonsoir, Madame Giry," he said, inclining his head to her in greeting.
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 11:09 pm
((Yes. I couldn't forget the footstool. =P And you play an awesome Raoul, Fuoko.))
About ten people had come peeking around the corner before shuffling into their own Boxes. Box 5 sat on the Grand Tier to the right (or as it was professionally called; stage left) which was opposite to the Box the managers often reserved for themselve which had just good a view. It being at the top of the carpeted stairs only made it better to steal a look to see if anyone was in it. French Aristocrasy loved rumors and this one was turning out to be the most blown-out-of-the-water one yet. Honestly. She almost hit a Baron with her cane.
She had heard from the young man tending the box tickets that the theatre had completely sold out for this evening. It wasn't a surprise. Normally when Carlotta sang it would sell out on the second or third evening, but this was a gala. No doubt they were expecting the charming yet shy Christine. Too bad she had to play the silent role. But, Carlotta got what she wanted as always. Like a five year old crying for a new toy and getting it, she must've had a royal fit all over the Opera House. The woman had left a wake of crazed people not knowing if the woman was coming or going. Then again, it had been like that for months when Erik first began sending the notes on a near frequent basis to better Christine's roles. But Erik knew better than to try and force her to move Christine into the first row without the woman thinking she had the skills first.
Unannounced (as they often came) someone walked up to the last step and rounded the corner to go stand nearly in front of her. Antoinette was off to the side of the door that led into the box, but the curtain was closed. Usually it was only drawn if it was occupied or reserved for someone who had not yet shown himself.
Her steel eyes roamed up to the owner of the fine-tailored suit and she nearly had a heart attack. Monsieur Le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny was standing in front of her, looking about as eager as a schoolboy going out to play with his chums after doing his work. Automatically she straightened her spine, ignoring the pain it was shooting up into her neck, and grasped the silver handle of her cane with both hands.
Her eyes dropped down to the ticket in his hand. Damn those managers! They had sold Erik's Box! Oh she would give the both of them an earful when she was free to do so! Even if it got her fired or her pay redused to only a handful of sous, she would tell them off for ever daring! Her face did not betray her though as it stayed neutral as her mind jabbered on about all the things she would do to the managers with her bare hands alone. And believe you me, they weren't pretty pictures.
"A good eve to you, Monsieur Le Vicomte." She returned his greeting with her normal voice, bowing ever-so slightly to him. How could she say 'shoo' nicely? "The good Monsieur must forgive me, but this Box was not to be sold this evening. Perhaps I could arrange the managers to find you another box before the curtain goes up?" Antoinette hated this. She had nothing personal against the lad, but if Erik caught anyone--much less this poor fellow--in his box he would throw him over the banister and call it suicide.
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Posted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 11:50 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2005 12:18 am
Well at least now they both seemed to be on the same page here. He knew who this box belonged to and he simply did not care or thought he could withstand whatever Erik could throw at him. Well if it was the latter, he was gravely mistaken.
Her eyes were on the ticket most of the time, but out of sheer respect for the higher class she would flicker her gaze up to meet his, feeling no lower than he at this very moment. Every aristocrat carried that look about them when they seemed to address those born to serve their hoity-toity behinds. Whether they meant it or not there was always that look of 'I own you' on their faces. Raoul didn't show it on his face, but she could see a slight aggrivation in his eyes that echoed such a look.
It wasn't that she didn't have a spine or feared Erik, far from it, but she knew the man had rage like no other and if you caught him in it whatever good deed you had done toward him he would likely forget in favor of using his punjab. And since Raoul had done nothing but tamper with Erik's amazingly existant love-life (that was rude, but she had to admit it) and apparently he didn't like that. Bah. Men just fought over everything.
"Monsieur Le Vicomte, whether you purchased the ticket or bribed it out of the fools downstairs is of no meaning to what situation had unfolded before me. It is written in the Opera's Book of Records that this box is not to be sold." Her grip tightened on the cane and she even dared lift her chin to him to imitate the act of looking down her nose at him. It was unwise to do so to a man with a higher status than herself (which wasn't saying much; she worked in an Opera House and he was a Viscount) but she threw caution to the wind and damned it to hell on this one. She wasn't going to be the cause of any deaths.
Straightening herself a little more she added on, "and as a Patron I would expect you to uphold the rules as I do. Now messieur please do find someplace else to watch the performance from. I am the Box Keeper and will not allow anyone but the person this box is reserved for in." Venom coated her words lightly, but enough to leave a sting afterwards.
If he wanted this Box he was going to have to move her or have someone drag her away.
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Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2005 1:06 am
Raoul tucked the ticket back into the repository of his coat with a gentle sigh. This feat was becoming more difficult than he had initially anticipated and for half a moment, he wondered if this silly whim was worth all this trouble. Scarcely had the thought formed when he immediately dismissed it. It was his moral obligation as a de Chagny to oppose tyranny and unjust dominion as his ancestors had since the French Revolution. He only hoped that he would not loose his head in this as great grandfather Alain had. Though, it seemed with that armed with her silver cane, Mme. Giry would not hesitate to do just that.
"Madame," he said softly, wishing not to be forceful. "I respect your feelings, but we cannot be mindless myrmidons in this farce. As a paying patron to the opera, I am allotted my rights. I have paid for this box when he has not. As of several hours ago -- it is reserved on the books in my name for tonight."
He paused and took a step closer, dropping his voice so the others making their way to their seats would not hear.
"This man extorts funds from the opera and yet you indulge him. I may be breaking the silly law of the opera house, but you are breaking the law of society. I think that this is far from reasonable, Madame Giry. If he appears tonight with cash in hand, then I will gladly and give him his box. But until that unlikely instance, I am only going to ask you once: step aside."
To him, her stubbornness and insistence seemed to point to one of two things to him: either fear for this Phantom, or loyalty. One was understandable and one was unthinkable.
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