|
Post by Andrew Leroux on Apr 6, 2008 15:14:55 GMT -5
"Make sure that you don't spill that champagne!" Andrew snarled in an undertone to the man pouring champagne, he hovered nervously about the champagne fountain that several of the waiters were handling. The man nodded meekly, continuing on. A quintet played a lively piece he was unfamiliar with in the corner of the room, in the area designated for dancing; young couples, dressed in garish colors with masks concealing their faces, swung around gaily--also to a dance he was unfamiliar with. Andrew sighed, he was an expert at conducting parties and functions after all the years of climbing the social ladder. But how many had he actually attended for pleasure? Eh, foolish thoughts, he dismissed them, going to the bar and taking a brandy from the bartender, he took a long draught to steel himself against the arduous tasks ahead of him Walking over to the quintet he motioned for them to stop, as the music stopped the people in the room paused and looked up. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for coming this evening!" He declared in a loud booming voice, "Tonight we're gathered to celebrate the reopening of, undoubtedly, one of the grandest attractions in all of Paris. So, please, enjoy yourselves, later on this evening some of our finest opera stars will give a performance. Thank you, once again, for coming." He bowed and motioned for the quintet to continue on. Now, he thought to himself, to the task of mingling. Sucking in a breath, he wove his way through the crowd, saying hello to the Marquis So-and-so, Lady de Ho-Hum, and so on. It was going to be a long night.
|
|
|
Post by margretleroux on Apr 6, 2008 17:29:09 GMT -5
Maggie snarled up at he tiny maid, trying in vain to fit Maggie into a large and poofy dress. Maggie was certainly suurprized at her strength, the maid had pinned Maggie down on the floor and was now trying to shove the dress over her head. Finally she had to call for reninforcments, and Maggie found herself surrounded by little fat maids, who seemed to find pleasure in almost sufforcating her. But eventually, they did suceed in dressing her. But when they finally stood up, looking very pleased with themselves Maggie scowled and chased them out of the room. Maggie tried desperately to pull the dress off but failed miserably. She sighed and examined her reflection. She smiled a little, she liked how she looked. The maids had straightened her curly hair and painted her lips very red.
About an hour later Maggie made her way clumsilly into the ballroom. She felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb being the only child in sight. She relied on her hight not to give away her age and her mask not to give away her childish face. She came to the conclusion that she looked very much like an adult. Maggie made her way around the ball room not quite sure of what to do. Instinctivly she reached for the secret pocket in her dress but found that it was gone, as was her notebook. She hissed under her breath. She ran towards the stairs to retrieve it but bumped into a tall figure. She looked up and saw that she had run into Andrew. Hello Cousin!
|
|
|
Post by Celestine Leroux on Apr 7, 2008 22:03:05 GMT -5
Celestine was in aw at the site of the ballroom. Every thing was so perfect and beautiful that she felt like she was in a fairy tale. But this of core was much better then any old fairy tale this was real. She wore a yellow and gold gown. It was a little more on the simpler side but the color and the beads decorating it really made it stand out. On her face she wore a very stunning gold mask, her hair was put in lose curls with the front swept back and clipped with a gold butterfly hair clips with small diamonds on it. In her hair she wore small crystals scattered about which made her hair sparkle.
She listened to Andrews speech and when it was over she made her way over to talk to him. "You have done the wonderful job brother." she said with a smile and gave him a quick hug. "Maggie! you look like a young lady!!." she said happily holding both of the girls hands and all most jumping with excitement. She lived for balls, and while she had been to many good one's. This was by far the most splendorous one.
Her dress Her mask
|
|
|
Post by Constanza Deville on Apr 7, 2008 22:15:17 GMT -5
Now this was what the privileged life is! At least to a person who has spent most of their lives in the slums of the city. Compared to the rancid alleyways the Populaire was a palace. And if this pauper could pull off her charade then she wouldn’t see the sore of the city anytime soon. And Anais, now Constanza wasn’t planning on leaving for a long time. In fact she found the role she was playing much more suited for her tastes.
Already Stanza had loosened a few ropes and pulled a few strings to send things flying. All were tricks she was guessing that the original Opera Ghost had pulled, but she wanted to break away from that. Stanza had her own style for doing things, but they were common misfits. Soon she hoped to be struck with inspiration for new trickeries. For now though she had a little idea of how to shake things up, but not at this very moment. At this moment she was pondering with that lovely smirk hidden behind a feathered and jeweled fan.
Stanza stood at the banister of the stairway with an elegant gloved hand resting on the golden rail while she gently leaned against it. Sharp blue eyes peered out from the mask; that she stole, to gaze on the people below spinning around each other to make a colorful blotch in the center of the ballroom. How she wanted to pull one little stunt! But she controlled the urge to catch a decoration on fire or have a few of her thievish friends meander in. Instead she kept herself contently above the others heads. Maybe she’d bring herself to the shadows of the lower levels.
Smoothing the most wondrous dress she’d ever worn, or ‘borrowed’, Stanza moved closer to where the orchestra was playing and sat down on one the plushed cuchions. To bad she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to dance, or she’d be out there having well…a ball, and making sure her hands hadn’t lost there touch of coarse . She stared at the jewels that the high society was wearing and smirked. How foolish people were to wear such finery for any skillful hand to take.
|
|
|
Post by margretleroux on Apr 7, 2008 22:24:06 GMT -5
Maggie grinned, was this what it felt like to be a 'young lady'. It felt nice, to be looked upon as an equal to an adult instead of a silly child. She took Cele's hands and squealed happily. Thank you. You look very beautiful as well! She wanted despretetyly to speak with her cousin, but she had to find her notebook. Or at least know that it was safe, and no unwanted, prying eyes had seen its pages. She looked over at Andrew. This is marvelous, and I will be back as soon as I collect my notebook! But the smells and the talk would not allow her to leave her spot. She looked over to a tabel filled with deserts and Maggie had to restrain herself from drooling all over the floor. But the thoughts of those tiny, fat maids looking through her most precious works of art. So she steppd forward and bumped into several more party-goers, completely hypnotized by the deserts.
|
|
|
Post by eliza on Apr 8, 2008 17:03:02 GMT -5
[ooc: 'gown' and 'mask' are links]
She cleared her throat nervously as she stood in her dressing room, fixing a few of her curls in the vanity, making sure that each was pinned securely into the bizarre hairstyle that someone had had the bright idea of giving her.
The curls were pinned to her small head in a rather loose fashion (though they pins remained secure, it simply looked loose) and left many of the long strands to spill down her back in an elegant manner. A few of the shorter curls hung freely by her temple, but not long enough to pass the bottom of her ear.
It wasn't as though she didn't like it, she loved it actually, but Christine had usually always worn her hair down, so to wear it up was just... different, I suppose you could say. Nervously, she turned from the vanity and smoothed her gown [/url], making sure that none of it was wrinkled or ruffled in a place that it wasn't supposed to be. Carefully she eyed her appearance in the large mirror. No jewelry was worn - Christine had always liked things to be simple. "Simple simplicity" as Mamma V. had always called it. She smiled at the memory. For Mamma V., Christine had never really gone too far with any sort of glamorous jewels or bracelets. Subtlety was what she preferred, if anything at all. With a small sigh of what was either determination or an attempt at supressing her jitters, she picked up her mask and strode to the door, glancing around her room before walking out and beginning down the hallway, feeling her confidence grow and her nervousness subside with each step she took. Christine paused outside the doors to the ball room and smoothed her skirts yet again, carefully holding the mask in her hands as she ran one of her fingers across the designs etched into it. She placed the mask on her face and slowly turned the corner, carefully making her way into the ball room, meandering through the crowd, smiling at the false faces that she didn't know. Butterflies were churning inside of her. The last time she'd been to a masqued ball had been a celebration for the Opera's new season, and it hadn't exactly been the most... desireable experience of her life. A particular someone had found a way to catch her in the middle of what was probably a trap, revealing to him the engagement she'd made to Raoul. She clenched her fist subconsciously, staring at the floor for a few moments as she stood at the side of the sea of bodies. Relaxing, she flexed her fingers before looking up again and stepping back into the jibbering mass, listening intently to the occasional conversation going on around her as she sifted through the swarm. [/size][/blockquote][/font]
|
|
|
Post by Jacob Leroux on Apr 8, 2008 22:16:09 GMT -5
What an absurdity! People mincing about in their finest while mingling and dancing jovially over the reopening on the Opera House. Really was a ball necessary for the event? Everyone already knew that it was reopened long before this! Wouldn’t a speech or something before the first opera suffice? Obviously not, because here he was in the mist of a jabbering crowd with his nerves standing on end.
How he hated being here. Oh how much he wanted to snap at the men and women who tried to make small talk with him. Jacob plastered himself against the wall in a corner with the least active and planned on staying there for the rest of the evening. He was only here because it was his obligation as a manager to be here. With the normality of his tuxedo, lack of mask, the usual mess of curls on top of his head, and the near death glare you’d think people would get the message.
Yet his obvious displacement didn’t seem to work. Men still came to him for conversation and women came for a dance. Each he declined with a mockery of their politeness and smiles. The Scrooge of the Ball, that’s what he was and he didn’t mind one bit. In fact he’d hope people would spread that around so they’d leave him alone! That’s all he wanted to be, was alone.
With a inaudible sound he accepted a glass of wine from one of the servers. The drink was quickly gone. Jacob usually didn’t drink much, but tonight he needed it badly. Holding the glass up to eye level Jacob peered through it to see just blurs of colors. That’s all they were. Blurs.
|
|
|
Post by Miss Rowena DuMonde on Apr 9, 2008 15:03:53 GMT -5
Rowena sighed, these events were so bothersome! Seeing all of the happy couples dancing, drinking and laughing together made her want to scream. Weaving her way through the crowd, Rowena did all the necessary socializing as befitting a rising opera singer. Flirting with the men, making small talk with the ladies, etc. She had done it so much over the course of her time at the operahouse that now it was reflexive. She could be holding a conversation about politics with a man, or discuss the rising price of silk with a woman and yet her mind would be a hundred miles away. As she was heading toward the bar, some slightly drunken man stumbled towards her, she quickly skirted around him, not realizing she was in another person's way until she felt her back knock hard against someone's shoulder. Spinning on her heel, Rowena had to catch herself from grimacing. The man was none other than Jacob Leroux. "Good evening, Monsieur Leroux," She said stiffly. www.venetianmasksshop.com/images/cm0001.jpg - mask. vodka-juicebox.org/costume.jpg - dress.
|
|
|
Post by Celestine Leroux on Apr 9, 2008 16:36:04 GMT -5
"Ok Maggie, I'll wait for you right here." she said with a smile. She knew the girl would go for the deserts, which was all right since it was a night for fun. But she could not help but worry that Maggie would fell alone in a room full of adults.
"They grown up so fast don't they?" she looked over at her brother Andrew. And in fact Maggie was growing up very fast. It almost seemed like it was just yesterday when Maggie had come to live with them, and in no time she was becoming a little lady.
But she did not want to dwell on it to long. Tonight was a happy night and Celestine planned to enjoy it to the full. She looked around wondering where Jacob was. She knew he didn't like such things but hoped he'd show. She did not see him at the moment, so she thought if he did come she'd find him in time.
|
|
|
Post by aid on Apr 9, 2008 17:17:34 GMT -5
Aiden entered the ball. He was quite pleased that the managers manged to go a descent job at putting it to gather, and there was a big out come. He wore a black tux with a silver vest and a black and silver tie. On his face he wore and black and silver mask. He looked proper in every way, just the way he liked it.
There where many people already dancing and talking. He took a glass of champagne form a waiter walking by and took a sip of it. There where so many people he could talk to he didn't know where to begin. So instead to stood there in place and waited for people to come to him. Hopefully a lady, to whom he could ask to dance with.
|
|
|
Post by margretleroux on Apr 9, 2008 19:14:24 GMT -5
Maggie dashed up the stairs holding the skirt of her dress just below her knees. Though it was mostly out of the way of her feet, Maggie still tripped over her feet and skinned her knee on the floor. She grinded her teeth, and tried to keep from yelling out in pain. Maggie stood up wearily, completely aware of several eyes upon her back. She huffed, trying to look as dignified as a twelve year old who had bloodied her knee. She looked down and had to hold back tears as she realized the she had ruined her dress at the knee. It was now covered in blood and ripped along the seem up to her thigh. Maggie thanked the Lord that no one was looking at her front, but she just knew that Celestine would be so disappointed in her. She ran as fast as her overly long legs would allow her, pushing past passers-bye. Maggie stopped to rest when she reached a spot where she knew no one could see her. She sat down and pulled her knees up to her chest and examined her knee, hoping it might not be as bad as she thought. It was. Maggie’s eyes welled up with tears, she hated herself for not consenting to write with her finger in the air. She could always have gotten her notebook later.
|
|
|
Post by Jacob Leroux on Apr 9, 2008 22:13:20 GMT -5
Well it seems that some force was against him. Torturing him to come out of his comfort zone. Because even though people stopped trying to converse with him the little corner started to fill up. Drunken men and women, and ones about to join them, passed closely between him and the bar. But Jacob was going to refuse to just deal with it. Instead he spotted a nice little area deserted of people in an adjacent room, from there he would slowly make his way toward the office and bury himself in some ‘urgent’ paperwork.
Yes, that’s what he’d do! Yet the displeasing evening decided to stall him. When pushing himself up from the wall a woman collided with his shoulder. Stumbling to the side a little he crumbled a cruse under his breath. Another one that couldn’t hold their liquor. However when he turned to face the uncoordinated being he saw that it wasn’t a drunkard, but a somber Mademoiselle Rowena DuMonde.
Jacob saw that she wasn’t fair of the meeting either. He saw that she had held a look back, not what emotion it was, but he bet that it was the same one he tried hiding. With their brief less-than-sweet meeting in the stable he figured that she wouldn’t try and spark up a conversation like the other women did. ”Good evening Mademoiselle DuMonde. Hope you are having an amiable time.” Just the short polite hellos and he’ll be off.
|
|
|
Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 10, 2008 2:28:20 GMT -5
Erik was not inclined to be revealed just yet, and so when he had heard of the Grand Bal, why it had made him giddy inside for what he could do! Chuckling, he'd went off to the costume room, and written down an order for a costume in his size. No sense in spending his hard earned money, after all the Populaire owed him many seasons worth of wait. As he was the local Ghost, Erik had seated himself in his home in wait. Thinking of what to do, and of course everything had to involve a letter, a note. Something he would have to find, and entrust in a certain creature to have it delivered.
He'd been eying the cast, the instructors for possible loyalties, all of them were young and foolish. Madame Giry would never carry his word ever again, pity, he'd paid her twice as much as the Populaire. The night however, when he'd gone up to retrieve his tuxedo, which had been finished for a false opera. Sleeking back his wig, and placing his mask on securely, Erik was certain with such a young night he'd have at least one person to do his bidding. Mingling was out of the question, but he would of course ruin the evening in style.
To start, he'd gone to the quintet where he'd placed small strings that were hardly visible here and there for the evening. Just as readily where he'd left them, Erik took hold of the strings, and pulled them. Making most of the instruments go horribly out of tune, until the entire sound was more like a train wreck than music itself. It stopped people to stare at the quintet, the dancing completely as they blushed and quickly tuned their instruments again. Chuckling Erik, toyed with the music for the evening, and once there was silence, he laughed. Tossing his voice up into the ceiling to make it sound as though he was there.
[Think Michael Crawford creepy laugh in the OLC recording during Carlotta's performance as the Countess]
"Ha-haha..." It was an eerie sound, making most begin to whisper amongst themselves. Awaiting something else to happen and Erik was too wise to give them that, instead he waited like they did. Slowly did they even venture back to their dancing, very uncomfortable dancing to be exact.
|
|
|
Post by eliza on Apr 10, 2008 15:25:12 GMT -5
Christine's ears perked at the sound of a tear of fabric. She'd made her way to the other side of the crowd again, debating on simply leaving and going back to her room. The majority of the people here weren't recognizable to her, and even the ones that were hadn't recognized her... even when she'd walked up to them and re-introduced herself.
Her muscles tensed slightly at the sound of the laughter. The out of tune music had been bad enough to begin with, but the laughter was just... haunting. She eyed a few of the crevices of the ball room, holding her breath. Quelling her nerves, her eyes flitted to the woman standing on the stairs. Whatever had happened must've been embarassing, considering she didn't even turn and look back at the crowd for a few moments. Christine watched intently as the girl ran out, and quickly she navigated through the crowd with muttered and mumbled "excuse me" 's to catch up to her. Her chest was rising and falling at a slightly faster pace than usual as she stopped. When he breathing was under control and her composure regained once again, she walked around the corner and watched her timidly for a moment before quickly taking a few steps over and slipping her mask off, feeling her curls become slightly frazzled and escape from the style they'd been forced into.
"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" She questioned quietly, still standing a good distance from the girl. Christine didn't want to pry if the girl wasn't exactly in the mood for company. But... Christine could never just let someone humiliate themselves in some way and then get away with it, she always had to offer some form of comfort, even if the situation was damnably awkward. She took a few more small steps towards the woman.
"I mean... with your knee, and such - it looks rather painful, if I may comment," she attempted a small smile. "I felt the need to express some sort of concern, if any," she added rather quickly. "After all, with a tumble like the one you took," she gestured towards her knee, "it would only be proper to ask you if you were alright."
[/blockquote][/font]
|
|
|
Post by margretleroux on Apr 10, 2008 22:28:23 GMT -5
Maggie gasped when she heard someone speak. She looked up, hoping it wassnt anyone she knew. She planned on angrilly shooing the person away untill she saw who it was. Suddenly every thought of her ripped dress and bloodied knee was romoved as every version of the 'original' phantom story. And though the stories certainly varried in accuracy, each and every one inculded the opera singer, Christine Daae. Although Maggie knew that she must have changed her last name by now.
Mademoiselle de Changey! Maggie jumped up. Cringing at the pain she felt in her knee but trying her best to ignore the pain. Maggie pictured what it must have been like for his woman. Maggie's one experience with the Phantom had certainly been... well something to write about. But what Mademoiselle de Changey must have seen. Well that was something worth writing several novels about! I'm quite alright, just a little spill.Maggie wondered weather Christine would want to retell her story or if it was too awefull to even think about.Madame, Maggie started trying to sound as adult as she couldI've studied your story ever since I came here, is what they say true? About, well, the Phantom?
|
|