La Muta
Understudy
Parlare Non Male
Posts: 70
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Post by La Muta on May 12, 2008 18:21:44 GMT -5
La Muta sat upon the base of one of the statues of angels upon the roof of the Opera Populaire. Her dark eyes stared ahead, glossy and withdrawn, onto the labyrinth of Paris. A thousand or so dreams lay beneath her inattentive gaze, a thousand or so heartbreaks and disappointments and miracles, and she knew not any details except that they were indeed happening. She was a firm believer in miracles, despite her lack of one.
In her lap lay a sparkling skirt for a ballerina, and a tear was being skillfully mended by her small, graceful hands and shining needle without meriting even a glance. The soft, glamorous fabric made a stark contrast to the rough smudge of cloth on which it lay, which was her only skirt. By her side were twelve twin skirts, all needing to be appropriately mended and embroidered with new floral trim by the next Sunday. The deadline did not worry her, as she had little else to do but stitch and stitch. Her little thimble was worn with use and her fingers were calloused and pricked. They were the hands of a working woman.
La Muta was a woman of little circumstance. She was past the prefered age of marriage and was unconcerned with such. She was lucky enough to have such a highly marketable skill, as though her wage was meager, she was given room and board here in one of the loveliest places on earth. It almost seemed to her that she was not all woman--that saying, she was not the picture of femininity. She was of the working class, simple another being of Paris, neither a lady nor a gentleman nor a ruffian or a prostitute. She was just she, a spot of gray on a gray canvas. Yet when she saw these ladies of the Opera, shining and brilliant, it was as if they had leaped off from a different canvas entirely. A world of color, light and sound, music.. She felt at times when she stitched velvet and silk that she had been handed a rainbow to fashion for a queen.
A chill wind blew, and a skirt from the top of her pile went flying. In horror Muta placed the skirt she had been mending with the rest of the pile, removing her shoe in haste to keep those rooted (she placed it upside down to spare the fine cloth a stain) and raced after the skirt as it danced enticingly across the roof, toward the opposite edge. She stuck her needle into her cloth wristband with such ferocity that she pricked herself badly, but took no notice as she lifted her skirts a bit and chased the swaying bit of gauze.
Her heart raced and she saw red as the bit came to the edge, floating there as if teasing. She stopped, too afraid of heights to chase it, and despaired. The wind is such a misgiving little ballerina!
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 14, 2008 19:30:35 GMT -5
Raine climbed up onto the rooftop looking for some peace so she could think about her latest story. As she climbed the staircase she had a thousand thoughts going through her head and didn't notice when she reached the top. For a moment she stood there until a breeze whipped her hair around her face.
Startled Raine looked up and saw someone running around chasing a brilliant skirt. Raine thought it looked perfect for a ballerina. She soon realized that the skirt was caught and the women wasn't sure how to reach it.
Hesitantly Raine walked over to the woman and stopped not sure whether or not to climb up and get the skirt...
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La Muta
Understudy
Parlare Non Male
Posts: 70
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Post by La Muta on May 16, 2008 14:19:01 GMT -5
La Muta stood near to the edge of the roof, watching the skirt through narrowed eyes. To think that she had been lovingly imagining designs to embroider, for such a rebellious little scrap of cloth. No roses for you, little skirt. You deserve nothing less than weeds! Despite her threatening attitude, she remained where she was, struggling not to succumb to vertigo. She clung to the base of the other angel statue as if afraid that the world would suddenly tip and send her stumbling helplessly toward the edge. She had an unreasonable fear of heights.
Suddenly there was another woman beside her, looking between Muta and the skirt as if unsure what to do. Muta guessed that she was a dancer of the Populaire, seeing as there were so many of them and it was a safe enough guess, and the girl had an air of grace about her. She seemed unconcerned by her proximity to the edge. With a wild gesture--with only one hand of course, the other being glued to the statue--she gestured wildly at the skirt, and then at the woman, suggesting that she might grab it for her. She then placed her hand on her heart and made a supremely grateful face, to show how happy it would make her if this favor was done.
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 16, 2008 17:28:41 GMT -5
It took Raine a few moments to muster up the courage to speak. She finally managed to whisper out a few words after doing some shy gestures. "Umm would you like me to get the skirt for you?" Raine wasn't sure if the woman could hear her or not over the loud wind.
Shyly Raine looked back at the women unsure whether or not to speak again. Just then the skirt moved again and Raine saw it fluter by to another high place on horn of a gargoyle. Raine managed to stammer out, " I c-can get that for you if y-you would like me to ma'am."
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on May 16, 2008 22:18:40 GMT -5
What an intriguing first week for him it had been! Never had he met so many interesting people in one building. This was going to be a lot entertaining then he had thought. Angel mischievous smirk played on his lips as he stared out onto the city lights below him. He had been up on the roof for quit some time thinking back on the earlier events. All of them made him pleased at becoming a patron, except for the meetings with the stiff managers that he had managed to always be late to. Hopefully the place would keep his intrest and all the fun wouldn’t stop after a month.
The shimmer of a fluttering skirt reassured that it wouldn’t. Glancing up he saw the runaway ballet skirt and quirked an eyebrow at it. What in the world was one doing up here on the roof? Standing up from his spot in the shadows he stood on the bas of one of the statues and caught the skirt with the sliver griffin head of his cane. Carefully bringing it down so that it wouldn’t fly away again he stared at it a moment perplexed before deciding to look around. Ah! So he wasn’t alone. He that thought as he spotted the two girls. When they get up here? He must have been too preoccupied with reminiscing to have heard them before.
Putting on one of his most charming smile he hoped down from the statue and walked toward them in the most gentleman like way. Basically not looking like he was preying on them, as he was sure that some more virtues girls in the Opera House had spread some rumor about him. They were very infamous for doing that.
“This skirt one of yours Mademoiselles?”
He asked examining the skillfully done skirt then glancing between the two girls with an innocent smile.
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 17, 2008 11:57:59 GMT -5
Raine jumped at the new unexpected voice. She was too busy thinking of how to talk to the seamstress that she didn't see the skirt suddenly rescued. Looking up Raine saw a young man looking down at them with almost an innocent but mischievous smile.
Afraid to say anything Raine just stared stupidly at him. Realizing what she was doing she blushed at looked back down at her shoes. She slowly looked at the seamstress not sure what to say and finally managed to utter, "Oh the skirt, it-it's hers Monsieur." Raine quickly looked back down thinking she sounded rather foolish.
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La Muta
Understudy
Parlare Non Male
Posts: 70
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Post by La Muta on May 17, 2008 16:44:51 GMT -5
Her gestures ceased when Raine spoke. She seemed so hesitant and shy, Muta wasn't sure what to do. She was shocked. It wasn't the common ballerina attitude, surely--hesitancy to speak, that is--but then, maybe she wasn't a ballerina, or maybe she was just a very different one. She seemed to be just at a loss of communication as Muta was herself. The two women stared almost dumbly at each other as the object of their conversation was rescued right from under them.
A young gentleman made his appearance known to them and Muta's head snapped around in surprise to see a very well-dressed man with her handiwork in hand. Her eyes widened, something not too flattering for her, since she had rather large eyes from the start. She looked either like a very frightened doe or a frog that had just heard an invaluable bit of gossip from the lily pad court.
The other woman stuttered, indicating Muta, and the latter woman took a defensive step back. With the way that these two were acting, it may look as if the man had caught them in the midst of a crime. La Muta nodded her head furiously, holding her palm flat and mimicking stitching with the other, then took in a shaky gasp of a breath and fell down into a curtsy deep enough it would satisfy a monarch. She was half sure that she had just run into a prince. Half of that half was sure that this was an enormously good thing, for he was very handsome and charming and it was almost fairytale-like; the other half of that half was absolutely horrified because it was not proper for such lowly staff to be sighted by a patron, nor was she supposed to be on the roof at all. Oh, and yes, she rather dreamed that if she ever met a prince she might be singing over a wishing well in a lovely gown of gold about true love and such. She watched that little girlish fancy lift like a skirt into the air and dash itself violently on the muddy streets of Paris (figuratively, of course).
Muta remained in her curtsy, mouthing innumerable curses at herself that were hidden by her bowed head.
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 17, 2008 19:55:49 GMT -5
Taken back that La Muta had suddenly curtsied Raine felt that she must to the same. She quickly did so keeping her head down for she was afraid to look back up. Raine quietly chided herself for speaking and totally forgetting how to act.
Raine realized that she and La Muta could get in trouble for being up here on the roof, especially if the Monsieur thought so too. Thinking of a million excuses for being on the roof, Raine thought that she ought not to say them. Maybe the Monsieur would not want to hear them. Raine felt as if she should defend La Muta thinking that most of this was her fault for speaking without thinking as she so often did.
Still in her curtsy Raine felt herself blush, for she felt quite naive, like a young schoolgirl getting caught to committing a crime. Thinking about it some more Raine thought that she and La Muta did nothing wrong, the roof was open for quiet thinking. Ready to defend herself and La Muta, Raine quickly backed down; chickening out as usual.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on May 17, 2008 22:03:52 GMT -5
Had he intruded on some secret meeting? He couldn’t help but think that as he looked at the blushing one and the wide eyed one. Never had he received such dumb struck looks before in his life! To suppress the urge to chuckle he gave a warm and welcoming smile. He did not dare take another step forward and any sudden moves, they might run away like a couple of spooked animals. So he merely waited for one the women to speak or make the first move which was the one that looked embarrassed more then frightened. What in the world had he done or interrupted to have flustered them so?
Looking back at the woman with the saucer sized eyes he was about to speak when she started making exaggerated gestures. Both Angel’s eyebrows rose as he watched the woman mime out the story of the fly away skirt. Why was she doing that? Could she not speak? And why so frantic? He hoped that the woman wasn’t mentally ill because after his ‘mothers’ leap over the edge he couldn’t be around them. He was about to speak again when she dropped into the lowest curtsey he had ever received. Then the other dropped. This time it was he that stood looking at their bowed heads baffled.
His confusion though turned into a chuckle and he shook his head. It was obvious now. These two were probably the shyest people he had met, and for all he knew he could be the finest dressed man they’d seen. At least that’s what the long low curtsey told him. With an amused smile he placed the skirt over his shoulder so not to crush it and gently and cautiously took one of the two women’s arms and brought them up.
“That must be the most flattering thank you I’ve ever been given. But please Mademoiselle’s don’t soil your knees for me.”
He said kindly with a hint of laughter. Truly the Opera House held such different and remarkably amusing people. Sliding the shirt off his shoulder he handed it out to the doe eyed girl.
“Yours? You have lovely needle work Mademoiselle.”
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La Muta
Understudy
Parlare Non Male
Posts: 70
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Post by La Muta on May 18, 2008 0:10:18 GMT -5
Muta gasped--yes, mutes can gasp--as she and Raine were lifting from their deep curtsies. She stared hard at his shining shoes, then at his cane, then his immaculate coat, then up into his eyes. Her eyes were not so wide now, but still large. She was shaking slightly. Please don't have me fired, Signor, she thought desperately. He said something, only a few words of which she understood, including 'thank you' and 'mademoiselles'. She knew hardly any French at all. Her eyes flickered to the skirt over his shoulder and stayed on it with longing as he held it out to her. Her graceful little hands fluttered out and took it from him gently, eyes back up at him like a forest creature unsure if a delectable offering is going to be withdrawn or not.
When it lay fully in her hands, she sighed with relief and dropped her eyes to his shoes again. She decided that she would embroider the head of a griffin on this particular hem to remind her of the prince who had saved it and the extraordinary cane that he carried.
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 18, 2008 17:47:50 GMT -5
Raine was shocked as she and Muta were gracefully lifted to her feet. Looking at the man's face she tried to read it, but found it difficult. She was confused because people's faces were usually easy to read, like a book. But whoever, he was he masked his face well. And, the young man spoke excellent French. The only French Raine knew was pretty poor since nobody really taught her how to speak.
As La Muta slowly took her skirt, Raine relaxed a little. At least he was kind enough to give it back. Really looking at him now Raine noticed the odd cane he carried and wondered why. He didn't look like he needed it, so why carry it? When the skirt was safely back to La Muta Raine wondered what would happen next. The young man looked like royalty.
With this new thought, Raine began to wonder why he was at the Opera house. Was he a runaway, or did he enjoy watching plays and managed to sneak up to the roof. A story began to form in Raine's mind. Yes, this would make a good story. But it still baffled Raine that Royalty would be at the Opera House other than to watch a play.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on May 19, 2008 21:53:51 GMT -5
Glancing between the two he had half expected for one of them to speak, well not half but fully expected it. Yet they stayed perfectly silent. Did he need to leave? This was awkward even for him. They must be just very shy, had to be, he didn’t do anything wrong in fact he had done just the opposite. Usually he had always had a girl ready to chat with him or at least say more than five words to him. Maybe if he stayed silent for a while that would force one of them to talk, however he was impatient and preferred noise to silence.
But still it was bothering that both seemed to be a little more at ease now that the skirt was in the owner’s hand yet she looked at the ground and the other was…studying him? If she was he didn’t do the same. Usually he would have but he’d rather not frighten the two little does, as he now nicknamed them, any further. Giving a small hardly noticeable sigh he tilted his head to the side and twisted his cane around. Maybe they didn’t understand him? There were a couple of people that came in from other countries and barely spoke French. Worth a shot asking. If anything he would look considerable.
“I am Comte Angel Marcellinus, and pardon me asking but since you are so quiet do you speak any Français…English…Español…Italiano…Deutsch?”
Angel had swept a bow worthy of the one they had given him trying to make himself seem more approachable, which he always found humbling oneself worked. He rambled off the languages he had studied the most in hopes that one of them they new. The girl that spoken knew French, but just by her pronunciation he could tell it was poor. There was a little bit of hope in his eyes that he might be able to be considered a nice acquaintance to them, even if he had to bumble through it.
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Post by oscuroangelo on May 19, 2008 23:33:14 GMT -5
Raine jumped as she heard a new voice. She was so deep in thought that she hadn't heard the Monsieur speak. And, he gave his name. As he gave his name and bowed so low Raine was shocked. Maybe he wasn't royalty,....but what was he doing here. As he rambled off a few languages Raine recognized a few. Growing up in the orphanage Raine heard alot of different stuff. She could speak English okay, and knew some French. Realizing that La Muta was still silent, she thought that she should speak.
Slowly and a bit too quiet she said as best as she could, My name is Raine Champney, I speak some French and English. It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.
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La Muta
Understudy
Parlare Non Male
Posts: 70
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Post by La Muta on May 22, 2008 23:02:05 GMT -5
La Muta listened silently, a small wry smile coming to her lips. She looked a bit knowing and sly now as Raine began to speak, confident that the attention was off of her for a moment to let her look at him. He was incredibly handsome. She guessed that this one had women swooning at his feet all over the place. Not her. It didn't matter, anyhow, she was not built for romance. Especially not here, because not only could she not speak, she could not understand, either. That makes much to form a relationship on.
A mutual love of sharades?
No. Besides, he was far out of her reach even if she could speak. She wished that she could yell Italiano! at him, but she couldn't. As soon as Raine completed her introduction, hardly any of which Muta had understood, Muta gestured at her throat and shook her head to indicate that she could not speak. Then she took up the skirt in her hand and pointed out on it, in slow succession, the colors of the Italian flag. It was a long shot, but he looked smart enough. She couldn't imagine how he had the patience to put up with all of this, though.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on Jun 3, 2008 22:40:18 GMT -5
Success! In a small way at least. Though her voice was just above a whisper to him and a tad basic he was glad that she at least introduced herself rather than just stand there looking at the ground. There was hope for a conversation! Having been shut up by his father in his room for most of his childhood and then shutting himself up for his hobby, Angel craved attention and had to have some sort of conversing going on. Otherwise he gets the uncomfortable feeling of being alone.
So when Miss. Raine Champney finally spoke the twitching to push back his hair in a nervous habit dissipated. Giving a very revealed yet utterly charming smile he nodded his head in acknowledgement of her introduction and understanding.
“Pleasures all mine Mademoiselle Champney, and I’ll speak whichever language you know best for I am fluent in both French as well as English.”
This time he had spoken in a French accented English trying to see if she knew that one better. Plus it was a chance to flaunt his multi-linguistics. Glancing at the other plain, but still quite lovely for being plain, silent one that started making more gestures without words. Throat…no…? Ah! So his suspension was correct. A mute. He’d never actually met one before. How interesting to have finally met one!
Concentrating back to what the mute was indicating on the skirt he wondered at what the next charade would be. The colors green, white, and red. Christmas? No, that didn’t make sense. The discussion was introducing each other and languages. A name wouldn’t need three clues, so language. Country, flag, Italian! Oh what fun this was.
“Italiano, Si Signorina? I speak…poorly…Italian…but I will try. You…have name?”
Angel spoke slowly with a grin of amusement at his attempt to speak Italian in some sort of coherent way. However his brow became furrowed as he thought of some way for her to write out her name. He moved the dirt around that lay on the roof but there wasn’t enough. Then he remembered a game that he had watched his sister and her friends played when they were younger. Holding his hand out palm up he indicated with his head to it.
"Spell name out…on hand?"
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