Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Apr 11, 2008 7:07:26 GMT -5
This was an amazing opportunity. She had been to only one masque before, and while she had understood the importance of these dances and social events to the opera and to the individual ballerinas never had she understood so clearly as she did now. This was a chance at patronage. This was a chance to mingle and flirt with the elite without concequence or risk. She could be free for this one night to do as she please, to capture interest and perhaps then backing for her carrer and her endevors in the opera. Many before her had done it, but Celeste was sure she would be the most successful of all. She always had and eye for success after all because she knew it from having it herself. She was alluring, she had studied the older ballet girls for ages and could see their flaws and common mistakes. Celeste knew that in order to capture interest at these events; in order to trap a patron, one had to be extraoridary and different from every other girl on the floor rich or poor. Celeste knew that she must stand out in order to gain success this evening. It was for that very evening that preperation for the ball had been her consuming chore for so long. Since the day Madame Giry had announced the ball to the girls Celeste had worked and worked to become one of the chosen few that got to mingle and hob nob around the elite. Of course she was picked, but that was the easy part. Celeste only had her mother's meager pay and her own small account to pay for a dress a mask and all of her accesories. But this is where her genius and thrift helped her. Celeste used her small stipend to pay off a stage hand to steal and old costume from storge. Celeste used the rest of her pay to by small pieces of trim and then her mother fit the scarlet satin perfectly to her frame using extra materials from the costumes from the latest opera and modified the dress to make it look new and modern to the point where it was so chic it was past fashionable in Celeste's opinion. For her mask, Celeste took a small plain one from the prop room and used the extra trims and some loose feathers from the costume departement to bring the mask up to style. To compleate the look Celeste managed to steal from the props office some false diamonds of excellent quality for her wrist, her neck, and her hair as well as a pair of red heels to match her dress. All this preperation had been done in great care and now the most excellent moment had come; this was the day when everyone would truely see how magnificent she was. In this place she was not just a ballet rat she was as good as any noble or aristocrate of wealth and she would prove it over and over tonight. Perhaps she would even fast track herself to fame and fortune and secure a patron, or at least a few men interested enough in her to become a patron. Celeste smiled brightly at the thought as she secured the last of her hair into a Gibon's twist and used the diamond pin she had stolen to secure it safely so it would survive the rigors of the evening. She had already used all the makeup she could secure to give herself a natural warmth and glow that complimented her skin and brought out her dark eyes and her stunning dress. All that remained now were the finishing touches. With a type of slow serious cerimony to her actions, Celested picked up the comendiered necklace and secured it around her neck, feeling the cold weight drop around her slim neck and lay shining against her warm creme skin. She smiled slightly, securing then with the same ceremony her earrings and bracelet. Finally her mask was all that remained. This was the most important of all. It was her passage into the world that would grant her a future that she would control. This mask would bring her destiny and she knew it. With that thought in mind a confident and cold grin spread across Celeste's lips as she carefully lifted the scarlette mask to her face and tied the bow in the back with the greatest care. Now, she was ready. A few simple steps took Celeste from her dressing room to the main ballroom. She stood at the top of the stairs for a moment and serveyed the scene carefully. She could tell who was who. The managers were easy to spot and the current diva. The woman should have stayed out of things after the burning. It was her fault it happened after all. She had provoked the phantom. She had denied him little innocent twit. She could have had power, wealth, a man to care for her that she could easily control and she through that all away. For a title none the less, but her carrer would be harder now. Ever so much harder to be a titled singer than just a singer. She should have just retired and sat on her spoils for all their sakes. Still, now was not the time to ponder over such things. She had all evening and time was still of the esence. She had to find out as much as she could, attract attention, mingle. Slowly with all the trained grace of a dancer and the confidence of a queen Celeste decended the stairs still picking out faces from the crowd. Her mind was quick to distinguish: dancer, dancer, chorus, married, married, drinks, manager, taken....It seemed like suprisingly low prospects. She would not choose one of her own number. The managers were tricky and she could do much better than those two however tempting it was, both were handsome and well mannered, but she knew there were bigger fish to bait. She would deal with those. Celeste swept through the crowd continuing her search, rolling her eyes at the clumsiness of one girl and the compassion of the diva. Compassion was foolishness in her opinion. She would never fall for that. She smiled prettily despite the discord in the orchestra. It struck her as strange to be truthful. They hardly ever hit a false note and Monsieur Reyer was a tyrant when it came to their practices. They had been working for months and now to be out of tune?? It made no sense to her until she heard a man's laughter. She remembered that laughter. She had heard it last time she was at a masque, before the burning. Le Fantome del Opera. He was here. It certaintly piqued her interests. To be the girl to gain his patronage no matter how strange and monstorous he may be. That would be a boast indeed. A coupe in fact. It gave Christine her position, but of course, she had no choice in the matter. The phantom had to make his own decisions, his own selections or it would be death. She knew this as well as anyone and that was one border she was not willing to cross. Still, the thought was intriguing at the least. Nonchallantly Celeste moved through the crowd, partially out of curiosity, toward where the laughter had come from. She should have known she would not find the source, it was the phantom. If he did not want to be found he would not be found. Celeste smiled seductively none the less when she spied a man she was not familiar with. Perhaps he was worth a venture of some of her time. No one seemed to be talking to him. He seemed to be keeping to himself, as uncomfortable as anyone else with the strange laughter and the out of tune orchestra. Celeste looked him over for a moment and let her coy smile widen as she walked toward him with an air of confidnece. "Pardon me Monsieur, I was wondering if you knew why everyone was acting so strangely just now...It is as if everyone is afraid of something, walking on glass almost." ((Celeste's outfit- img225.imageshack.us/img225/486/celestesball1vr1.jpg))
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Post by Constanza Deville on Apr 11, 2008 20:42:33 GMT -5
Looking down on the guest from above the musicians Stanza thought she saw a long kind of glint of light right below her. Glancing down at the quintet she saw nothing, at least not until a couple passed by and there was another waver of luster. “Was that…?”, but her thought was interrupted when a girl came sobbing over to the seat beside her. If she had her information straight then it wasn’t just some ransom girl, but a close relative of the managers. A niece or cousin.
Casting one more suspicious glance with her keen eyes at the musicians she dismissed the stray shimmers as the sparkles from her mask. After all she’d never wore something jeweled so close to her eyes and no one else seemed to notice them; though that really wasn’t a good reason. Stanza learned how to spot things that untrained eyes were blind to? How else could she pull off her stunts and be a successful thief? Maybe she’d inspect it later and see if it wasn’t just her eyes not used to all the glamour and lights.
Lowering her fan to her chin she made her way over to the cousin of the Leroux’s with a kindly smile flawlessly replacing the smirk when the girls eyes made contact with her face. “Seems like you had a bit of a stumble.” She said soothingly while looking at the damage done. Ripped dress and a fair amount of blood. She’d seen worse. “I’ll find something to help stop it.” Having a good acquaintance with someone close to the managers could prove to be beneficial.
Slipping off she looked for a group of men to flatter and retrieve a handkerchief from. The task was easily done but when she started to head back there was someone else tending to the girl. The old Prima Donna Christine something or other. Well at least she was there because when the horrid sound of the mistuned music leered out Stanza completely forgot about the girl. Rushing to look over the banister she saw the musicians looking embarrassed, nothing to have caused the ear bleeding mishap, and uncomfortable looking guests. “I knew it.” she grumbled under her breath, “Strings.” Stanza had her own knowledge of using strings to be able to decipher that. Just then the chilling laughter echoed menacingly through the room.
Stanza’s anger flared up. How dare someone beat her to it! Pulling tricks in the Opera House was now her self-proclaimed job! And someone was trying to take it from her. Her eyes flamed as she scanned to crowd below her. “I’ll find whoever did that.” She swore through clenched teeth. Constanza Deville was going to be the one to terrorize, whoever did this was going to pay!
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Post by eliza on Apr 11, 2008 22:25:35 GMT -5
"I'm glad you're alright, it looked rather painful," she admitted.
Christine smiled slightly as the girl addressed her, and a blush rose to her cheeks. So at least one person knew her, eh? Or was willing to speak to her after what had happened... Christine wasn't so sure about believing what Meg had told her - that nobody had blamed her for the incident. After all, if she had not been the object of Erik's obsessive love, then how could that monstrous event have occurred? Perhaps it may have happened to someone else, but... it hadn't, obviously. And Christine still felt as though she was partly to blame. Perhaps if it hadn't been for her fear and her determination to reveal him to the world, the opera could have continued and nobody would've known? It was beyond Christine's imagination, which was rather surprising considering her imagination had a tendency to get carried away on certain occasions...
She sat down next to the girl and smoothed her red, patterned skirts, placing her mask in her lap. "I am flattered that you have so closely studied my experience, Mademoiselle," she replied, slowly at first and then gradually growing more comfortable and confident with her speech, "but may I have the honor of knowing who it is I would be telling?" She flashed a small, but dazzling, smile at the young woman and brushed a few curls away from her face.
Her smile fell slightly. "And after that, if you could tell me what you have heard about my... 'ordeal'," she added, "because I would like to know what has been said, especially when it involves someone that I was, or still am, somewhat close to. Not that I am implying anything by that statement," she laughed slightly - the last thing she needed was to reveal that she had actually chosen Erik that night. She could've smacked him for the outcome. Had he not realized that she'd chosen him and had refused her, allowing her to go with Raoul any ways? Even though she'd shrieked and tried to get back to him, she'd still wound up in the position she didn't want to be in. Not that she didn't love Raoul, of course she loved Raoul! He was so dear to her, but how could she love someone in such a casual way when something so powerful, so spectacular, had been offered to her?
"I just feel as though it would go against what I morally believe to simply answer you 'yes' or 'no' to that question." Her eyebrows knit in slight annoyance. "After all, if you have heard half of the tales those little ballet rats weave about him, there has to be some fiction scattered through everything."
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Post by evera on Apr 12, 2008 10:27:18 GMT -5
Evera had never really liked balls. Of course she loved shopping for dresses and getting ready for it, but she could barely stand sitting through it. She stood before her mirror, taking the last rags out of her hair, allowing the curls to fall down her back. She stood in her undergarments, corset laced tight, jewelry already on, her dress and mask glinting at her from the wall behind her. She had decided to go with a theme, a phoenix. Ravens were beautiful, elegant, mysterious, everything she wished to be. Also, a phoenix burned its body and rose anew from the ashes, much as her time at the Opera Populair had done for her.
She pinned up her hair the way she wanted it before turning to her dress. She took it off its hanger regretfully, afraid she would not be able to bring the gown's elegance to its full potential. But it was too late to turn back now, to late to call in sick. No one would believe it, as most of the chorus girls and ballerinas had seen her getting ready earlier that day with a glow about her face. She slowly, elegantly pulled it on. She adjusted the skirts as she saw fit, allowing them to fall around her then pinned her mask to her face. With a sigh, she left the room, heading towards the sociality below.
She stopped outside the door, composing herself and catching a sidelong glance of herself in the mirror close by. Her dress fell about her petite form, accenting all the right places, an contrasting with her flawless, pale skin. Her mask was pinned to her face, and her hazel blue eyes glinted out like turquoise diamonds from behind it. Her face had a pleasant blush, her lips a rosy red, her features poised and showing every bit of high breeding she possessed. And still, despite it all, she felt so unattractive. She felt her nose was too long, her legs to thin, her body to curvy, her lips to thin, she couldn't find one thing she liked about herself. She sighed, taking a moment to compose herself and put a believable smile on her face, before plunging into the depths of society.
She moved into a group of men discussing business, flowing into the conversation easily, hoping to be asked to dance, at least to keep her mind off of it all. Her chocolate hair caught the light, setting off its different contours. [/blockquote]
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Post by hermionelms on Apr 13, 2008 0:56:20 GMT -5
A small, child-like hand slid up the marble pillar, one of many that marched along the furthest wall, leaving the walkway behind them in shadow. The pillars stretched from the tiled, glassy floor to the mosaic ceiling. She had never seen anything quite like this smooth pillar. She had never seen anything so flawless. Her dark eyes studied the thick pillar that safely concealed her; her thought process was that if she couldn't see them, they wouldn't see her. But she wanted to see them so very badly.
Her outfit was her everyday, fuschia overskirt, ragged petticoat, and off-the-shoulder blouse. Dark eyes peered out from beneath a discarded piece of sheer black fabric. Her black curls fell loose on her shoulders and she looked every bit the mysterious character.
Esmeralda was not exactly sure what had brought her here today. She had always wanted to go to a ball, just like a fairytale, but someone like her did not belong at a ball. She turned and pressed her back to the cool marble. She shouldn't have come. This was not a place for people like her. She was a street urchin. She had spent her day pickpocketing in the same dress she wore now. If someone realized she wasn't supposed to be here, she could be in some serious trouble. Big deal. She'd done a few nights in prison before.
It was the sudden thought that, because this was a masquerade, they might just take her raggamuffin outfit for a costume, that persuaded her that perhaps she could show her face. But she'd still feel out of place. Nonetheless, she turned again, gracefully on her dancer's feet and slid her arm around the pillar, now standing beside it. At last, a view of the full room, unobstructed by her attempts to stay hidden.
It was simply... overwhelming. A mass of color and music, so much that she couldn't focus on one particular thing. Bodies turned in fast sucession, in a carefully choreographed dance. Men and women philandered about, and then someone in particular caught her eye. Perhaps it was the girl's dimunitive stature. A child, with an older woman. Esmeralda diverted her stare, not wanting to draw attention to herself with her focus. [/color]
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Post by inactive on Apr 16, 2008 20:59:36 GMT -5
Meg made her entrance onto the marble floor of the ballroom. She had heard once that arriving a few minutes late for a party was fashionable, but it didn't make her feel that way. Looking at the sea of ballgowns, she felt like she missed out on something coming late. Meg was usually very punctual.
She couldn't help but envy everyone's masks and ballgowns. Ten minutes ago she thought she looked stunning, with her blonde hair laying straight and shining in the light. Her blue dress drew attenton to her eyes and she absolutely loved the bow that she tied perfectly in the back. But after seeing the grand and extravagant elegance of other dresses, she did not feel so gorgeous anymore.
Meg looked harder at the color of the ladies' hair and body shape. She was looking for Christine's long ringlets, but was having a hard time spotting her. After standing alone awkwardly for several moments, she saw her sitting next to Maggie. Meg walked around a large crowd of people dancing and met up with them. Arriving at parties were always a little uncomfortable for her. Of course she wanted to be asked to dance, but she couldn't look like she was waiting for someone to ask her! She thought making small talk with her friends would ease her anxiousness."Christine! Maggie!" Meg enthusiastically greeted them. "You both look absolutely beautiful!"
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Post by margretleroux on Apr 17, 2008 18:44:51 GMT -5
Oh. Of course! I’m Margret Jane Leroux, but most people just call me Maggie. Almost as if to prove this Maggie turned to see Meg shouting their names. Meg! You look absolutly gorgeous as well! Maggie smiled, but inside felt a twinge of jelousy. She knew it was wrong, but Maggie couldn’t help but wish that she was beuatiful like Meg or Christine. But maybe, said a small spark of hope, I will be beuatiful like that someday, Maggie thought. Wasn’t it a question of age anyway? Maggie hoped so.
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Post by Celestine Leroux on Apr 17, 2008 23:58:50 GMT -5
Celestine waited for Margret to return, but when she did not Celes began to wonder where the child had gone. The mysterious laughter that filled the air made her uneasy so she went off to look for the girl. Making her way threw the crowed she found Jacob. "Jake" she said coming up to him. "Have you seen Margret?" she asked looking around the room as if hoping to find the girl. She had seen so keen on showing Celestine her book she wondered what could have been holding her up. "Where is your mask Jake?" she asked wondering this lack of attire, tough she knew all to well that he didn't like these things.
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Post by eliza on Apr 19, 2008 16:48:28 GMT -5
Christine smiled and stood as Meg ran over. She'd been waiting for someone she knew, but as she did so, she'd made a new acquaintance as well. One who was apparently interested in her story.
"Meg!" She giggled happily and took her friends hands. "You look stunning, my friend!" Flashing a dazzling smile, Christine sat down next to Maggie again. They would have to discuss this another time, she knew. Personally, Christine hadn't thought it to be completely appropriate to discuss Erik in public, any way, and now that Meg was here... Well, Christine knew how Meg felt about Erik, and now Meg knew how Christine felt. Even though Meg had seemed to be understanding about it, Christine couldn't help but feel that she hadn't been totally accepting of everything she'd confided in her friend. But then again, under these specific circumstances, who would be?
"And it is a pleasure to meet you, Maggie," she spoke quietly with a smile.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 19, 2008 18:45:54 GMT -5
The amusement that crossed over his features from his hidden area was priceless. Really these people were so easily judged in how they would react! Nothing compared to their faces however, when he stood the stage. When he had taken to the stage and stood alongside his believed, beloved. His Christine. That little witch had cast him out, revealing his deformed face for the world to see, and you'd think after so many times of his demands. After being seen, being heard, that they would know better. They could not easily remove a Ghost from his throne, a Phantom from his seat inside HIS Opera House!
Leaving the musicians to sort out their instruments and the people to stir like dolts in his wake. Erik quickly let the strings fall away from his hands, he had other plans for ruining this grand ball. Why the managers could put this off, and still they could not pay him his salary? Especially since they owed him for months of waiting in part to the renovations, it wouldn't be long before he decided to start collecting interest. The night was young still and he had plenty of time to unleash the rest of his little quirks into play. For the now he might very well just enjoy himself? What was a Ghost without surveying his patrons, and yes his performers.
Stepping out onto the stage for that is what Erik thought of the world: A stage. Everything was an act, every moment had to be performed to the greatest of ones ability. He could never let himself feel an emotion for anyone, Christine had destroyed that he knew. In his mind there was no way of redemption for her, there was no way she could ever find his mercy if ever he had any left. Straightening his suit, Erik, carefully moved a hand over his wig, the rich brown hair shinning naturally in the light of the candles. A hand checked his mask of new leather, greatly resembling flesh and he had fabricated his story of course.
It wasn't long that he stood on the floor, when his eye spied the rustling movement of crimson caught his attention. A smile so coy and sultry crossed the vixen lips, that were as ruby as the rest of her attire. Glittering in elegant jewels, her near ebony hair decorated to the finest, nothing short of breath-taking. The soft air in her voice, making it delightful to the human ear, more delighting to the trainer ear of a master, genius, and madman.
"Pardon me Monsieur, I was wondering if you knew why everyone was acting so strangely just now..It is as if everyone is afraid of something, walking on glass almost." He chuckled then, his better side of the face seeming appealing to an extent.
"Ah then Mademoiselle, I would place my bets on a memory that should remain very fresh in anyones mind. Especially those here in attendance, then again..I can always be wrong." Erik finished with a slight grin. "Ghosts don't exist." At that, he took her hand lightly, his own were white-gloved, leaning in semblance of respect over her ivory knuckles.
This is for Celeste Gerras
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Apr 20, 2008 15:13:17 GMT -5
It was almost too good to be true. The man she had picked to question had taken the bait of her conversation. The side of his face not covered by his mask was handsome to be sure. His eyes were the most captivating. His eyes were a strange shade of blue. They were not bright, but almost clear in a way. Almost like water, not the water of the bluest sea, but just the slight blue of a murkier water. Yet, they were intense. The way they focused on her she could tell he was, in many respects, hunting for something. She was not afriad however because she was as well.
There was also something in the way he spoke. She had not seen him before and yet he knew of what happened during the last ball. He knew of the Phantom. Still, it was excusable. Many foolish souls had flooded to the opening of the Populaire just because of the myth of the phantom. Of course, they all thought it was a myth. She and the other performers were of course better informed on the subject. They had been there during the last ball when he had appeared as red death. They had been there during the performance, though some of them, such as herself, had not seen his face. She just remembered the screams of the gathered who had seen his face. Then they were all forced to flee the scene of the betrayal.
Still, that was in the past. Most believed the Phantom to have died in the fire, or disappeared. They all reasoned that it would be foolish for him to return or that he would not wish to since he had been betrayed by his own diva. It had been foolish on her part. Celeste hated Christine for it. That girl in one foolish moment had halted her career. She had been forced to dance for the Comedie Frances. She would never be forced there again. The diva just being here was a threat. Any man would want revenge for such an act. She for one did not doubt the return, but she would have to express her opinions on the ghost under disguise. After all, she was acting against her normal nature which would similarly be revealed as the conversation progressed.
With the greatest skill Celeste kept her appealing grin, only letting it contort to a softer more thoughtful visage when he said the Phantom might be behind the orchestra's fault. She smiled in agreement and nodded, letting her smile reform to her alluring crimson grin. "Indeed Monsieur. I had not thought of that though it certaintly may be a possibility." She paused and tried to brighten her smile a little more. "Though Monsieur. I'm sure if that were the cause of everyone's nervousness they would be keen to disagree with you. Many would say after what occured that they do." She smirked teasingly and raised an eyebrow before dipping into a graceful practiced curtsy with her head slightly lowered in case this man was a new patron.
She raised herself with the greatest of care and smiled prettily, her eyes sparkingly with playfulness and curiousity for she was most intriuged by this man. Celeste was often intrigued by that which she did not know. She knew most things after all being both in the ballet and having the hearts of most of the stagehands in the opera house even without soliciting them. She tilted her head slightly to the side and considered him for a moment before opening her bright crimson lips to ask the question most forefront on her mind. "But if I may be so bold Monsieur, may I ask your name?"
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Post by caitlinthemiller on Apr 29, 2008 15:16:37 GMT -5
The party was an affair not to be forgotten. Johanna went all out, using all the rest of her clothing money on her lovely white dress and checkered mask (see below). It was unusual, albeit, but she loved it. When she looked at herself in the mirror she hadn’t recognized herself, but now she had second guesses. Her long white/gold hair was so obvious it was stupid to think that no one would recognize her, the one with the lightest hair at to Opera, sans the elderly servants.
Johanna walked in right after a lady in a blue dress she recognized as Meg. She looked nice, nicer than Johanna. No one she knew was near, so she went off to the side of the great room and leaned as gracefully as she could against a marble pillar.
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Post by Kathleen de Montant on May 1, 2008 15:43:44 GMT -5
Dress-- i138.photobucket.com/albums/q279/Sillybobbit/Rp%20pics/_wsb_301x410_A0736A.jpg The only sound in the deserted hallway was the click of heels and swish of skirt. Kathleen restrained herself from hurrying down the hall and towards the swirling gaiety. Strains of a string quartet could be heard echoing throughout the lonely hall as she came closer to the grand staircase. She clutched her yellow silk mask in her slender fingers, careful to not crush the delicate fabric. In her other hand, was a feathered fan of the same color. The end of the hallway was in sight, and the music now overpowered the sounds of her finery. Glancing around, Kathleen spied a door which she was sure held a full length mirror inside. Though she was late, this had to come first. The final check. Knocking gently, and hearing no reply, she opened the door slowly. Inside was several couches, a Persian rug, and of course, the mirror. Obviously set near the Ball Room for her intended purposes. Anxious to get to the Masquerade, she now jogged across the floor, praying silently for the safety of costume. As she came into the view of the mirror, she stepped forward and examined herself with a critical eye. How she loved this dress! Placing the mask on a small oaken table beside her, she smoothed down the creamy bodice with both hands, the embroidery running smoothly under her fingers. She didn’t touch the skirt, no; the wrinkled and ruffled sheer overlay was made to be the way it was. Underneath that layer, was yellow silk. The same as the mask. On each wrist was a silver bracelet with intertwined circlets. The dark hair was piled on top of her head, curled, with only a couple of ringlets hanging about her face. Positioned on the right side of her head was a feathery headpiece with no other occupation than to be a decoration. All in all, she hoped desperately that her effect was, stunning to say the least. She may not have the expensive jewelry some of the women had, but she hoped it would suffice. She tied the ribbons of her mask on; careful to not muss her hair. With a slight tweak at her eye makeup she collected her mask and exited the room. Nearing the staircase, and the music growing louder, butterflies in her stomach made themselves known. Why was she using the main staircase for her entrance? There were many side doors she could use where no notice would be taken of the late girl in yellow silk. But, deep down, she wanted to be noticed and to get over her cursed stage fright. Sour and off tune string notes jarred her thoughts and she forgot her shyness and rushed to the banister to peer down on the dancers below. The trick, obviously meant to make the string players look bad, brought one person to her mind. Erik. Was he alive, could he really be? The last time she had seen him was when he kidnapped Christine. But she had visited his lair many times since, recalling the music that had flourished there. Music that he had shared a small portion of with her. Bluntly he had told her she would never be great, but he could teach her enough to suffice for solos and the chorus if that was what she desired. Glancing about the swirling dance floor she searched for Erik. He was of course, well hidden. She ignored the thoughts that told her it may be someone else. Only he would do such a thing. And the laugh. It was without a doubt, Erik. She was completely certain. Surprisingly, all thoughts of nervousness fled away after these thoughts. As she descended down the stairs with her hand resting lightly on the rail, she gazed over the joyous crowd for the form of Erik. Was that him dancing? It must be, though she wasn’t certain. She almost went to him immediately, but stopped herself. There would be enough time for that later. For now she would just enjoy the music and fun of the ball. She put on a demure smile and snapped her fan open, waving it in front of her face.
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Post by Isabelle Larousse on May 1, 2008 15:50:18 GMT -5
Dress- i138.photobucket.com/albums/q279/Sillybobbit/Rp%20pics/_wsb_335x425_H0694A.jpgIsabelle stood quietly near the string quartet, her gloved hands behind her back and humming along with the melody. She enjoyed dancing, but the pull of the music was far too strong. The past hour she had mainly been here, except for the quarter of an hour she had been getting a drink. For the entire Masquerade thus far she had been alone, not that she minded all that much. Unlike many of the other women, Isabelle preferred to be inconspicuous and discreet. The gown she was wearing had been a miracle, had it not been for her brother, she wouldn’t have attended at all. It had been her mother’s, one that Isabelle had been supposed to receive as part of her birthday gift. But her father had forbid it in one of his drunken rages. But now, on hearing of the masquerade, her brother had sent it to her. It was the most beautiful thing she had owned in a long time, with the black satin skirt decorated with crystals that glittered with the slightest movement. The bodice was equally lovely, with even more crystals embellishing the gown. Her mask was plain, a simple white eye mask. Borrowed from the prop room for the short time. White slippers adorned her small feet and could not be seen underneath her skirt dragging on the polished floor. Having no hairpieces that complemented the dress and not recourses to purchase new, she left her hair alone, allowing it to hang freely halfway down her back. A wreath of white rose-buds sat on her temples. For her jewelry she wore only the silver locket she kept with her always. Gradually she moved around the border of the ballroom floor and secretly hoped someone would ask her to dance.
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Post by Jean Jondrette on May 15, 2008 22:59:56 GMT -5
Jean walked into the lobby of the Opera Populaire with Hana by his side. He was wearing a navy tuxedo with a mask with stars and a moon painted on. It covered the upper half of his face and tied with a thin black string.
Hana looked beautiful in her dress and mask. Her black hair shined in the light of the chandelier, as well as it did in her deep black eyes. He smiled and kissed her lips as they walked to the ballroom down another hallway that branched off the lobby.
They walked into the ballroom and were dazed and impressed by the eloquence of it. The mini orchestra was playing above them on the balcony, people were dancing and drinking the champagne, laughing gracefully.
Jean felt like he could relax here, he didn't need a cover. As long as he kept to himself and kept his mask on, no one would recognize him as the Marquis Jondrette and not know he wasn't here with his wife. No one knew Hana, either, at least he hoped she never made friends with people when she roamed outside.
He turned to her. "Looks wonderful doesn't it?" he asked.
"Yes, I've never seen anything so beautifully decorated," answered hana with a breathless voice. She seemed to be taken in by it. "There were nice parties in Japan, but none like this."
"Well, then," said Jean holding out his hand to Hana. "Shall we dance, my love?"
Hana giggled a little, flirtatiously, "Yes, monsieur, I would love to."
"Then come," he said drawing her to the dance floor. "Lose yourself to the dance..."
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