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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 30, 2008 18:26:41 GMT -5
He walked like death across the catwalks above the stage in the Opera Populaire. Erik had willed himself to rise from the depths of Hell itself for he'd not allow these simple fools to take over what was his. Never would he consider the Opera Populaire less. Mazendaren was his, as was the palace of Constantinople. All of it was his, and the little creatures that considered themselves their own were his toys.
Erik returned mostly on the remark that Daae had returned once the rebuilding had begun. Ironically they were preparing to premier Hannibal again. Like some sort of re-write in history itself they would start anew the dolts that called themselves managers. They were better off in the junkyard that they made their precious Francs off of. These new owners were proving to be..too predictable.
Moving along in the darkness, the half mask glowing a dull and eerie gray in the shadows. Erik would play an even harder game this day-Rehearsals had begun just beneath him. Christine had yet to arrive and the hard labor that had gone into the erection of the many backdrops were just the things he wanted.
A knife glittered in the pale light, a flash that lasted less than a breath or a skip of a heart beat. It sliced into the braided threads of the back drops, slowly causing one to sway with the sawing motion which he increased. He'd already done the job of loosening one side and no one seemed the wiser.
Joseph Buquet was not about to interfere, nor was he there to look stupidly for his home within the cellars. No one would look there, for the Ghost had many a home and the cellars were just the peak of it. He'd moved his belongings lower than ever before, to the bowls of Hell he'd strove.
But his organ, his precious piece of music had remained. Like some artifact from an ancient time it stood as constant as the stones surrounding it. That was his sanctuary, and breathing the recollection of his insane playing. Erik loosed the rope, and the catwalk rocked as the heavy set Heaven scene fell to the stage below.
Sending screams, and ballet rats scattering how he'd missed that sound. Chuckling darkly he watched them like little ants. They didn't know what to do.
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Post by margretleroux on Mar 30, 2008 19:08:39 GMT -5
Certainly this could not be happening. Maggie had fallen victim to writer's block and had come to watch to watch the rehearsals for Hannibal. And of course she had sat in Box Five originally, (where else would an aspiring writer sit?) but as soon as she heard the crash she almost jumped off the edge of the box. Then thought better of it and ran down the stairs. She would not be able to see the Phantom with a broken neck.
He had to be in the catwalks she told herself. So that would be where she checked first. But she soon realized that even after many months of exploring, she did not know the way to the catwalks. Maggie panicked, what if he disappeared before she got to see him? Or speak with him? Yes what a story it would make to speak with the Fantome deL'Opera himself!
She noticed someone rushing by, and asked him in which direction the ladder to the catwalks was. He pointed in their direction, Maggie thanked him quickly and ran off in that direction. The man who told her must not of known who she was, or he would not have given her any information what-so-ever that might lead her to the Phantom of the Opera.
Maggie soon discovered the ladder which led to the catwalks, and she paused. Why was she hesitating? Why wasn't she rushing up the ladder to speak with the ghost she had wondered about for so long? Dear reader, it was because she was frightened. Suddenly all the stories of Joseph Buquet came back to her and she found that she could not go another step.
Maggie just stood there for a moment, awaiting a sudden burst of courage. Finally she shook her head and told herself to be strong. What was the chance of the Phantom being so heartless as to attempt to kill a little twelve year old girl. And if he did... Well, she would certainly have a story to tell! Maggie climbed the ladder and sat down cross-legged at the top, watching the model of so many of her characters chuckle to himself. "Hello." Maggie stated, in lack of anything else to say.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 30, 2008 19:27:40 GMT -5
Cold eyes watched the bodies race around, the rats never finding order and somewhere within the orchestra pit the musicians had vacated their chairs. In all it was a beautiful chaotic scene that brought back every delightful memory in terrorizing the Opera House. Something he just might take up as his own past time considering that now he was supposedly dead. Making the little rats, and stage hands safe? Not likely.
Pushing through the sea of bodies, a girl no more than a child herself, made her way up into the walks. He of course did not mark this, and so smirking to himself Erik slipped back into the darkness becoming one with the void abyss that hung around the cat walks. Just as the stage hands found some way of being valiant, and rising to the occasion to check into the depths that the Cat-Walks held. Placing himself between the two separation beams, Erik lowered a hand. Pulling up on one of the release bars that sent a few bags of sand tumbling down on the men.
Laughing darkly, he watched them slowly retreated when the shouts of warning reached his ears. Ah he still had so much time of meddling stage hands, ballet rats, and Divas to toy with. Moving back along the walk he began to make it sway slowly as he neared in the darkness. Making the iron and ropes creek in protest, using his abilities of ventriloquy to send his voice behind anyone he felt like singlnig out in that moment. What was wrong with a little fun? Absolutely nothing.
"Hello." The voice of a girl reached his ears, and Erik was momentarily distracted from his form of 'fun'. Straightening to his full height, he looked down at the child that sat with her legs crossed. Even though her voice was lacking most anything, the way she was looking at him in an ideal of complete curiousity had the famed Fantome scowling darkly.
"Hello? Dear Child, Hello to you, and a Good Bye. I've no time to baby-sit, nor have I patience. Get a long...I'm busy." Erik stated quite simply, his pale blue eye, and golden eye regarding her. A child had snuck up upon the Fantome. He must be getting old!
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Post by margretleroux on Mar 30, 2008 19:39:14 GMT -5
Maggie frowned, she had no intention of leaving what-so-ever. She planned on befriending the Phantom. Though somewhere inside of her she knew that she couldn't. Maggie wasn't so naive as to think that all of a sudden someone like the Phantom would want to be friends with her. "My name is Margret Jane DePaul, but I don't like to be called that, I like to be called Maggie. What's your name? Everyone just calls you the Phantom here. Everyone is scared of you, but you don't look so scary." Maggie found herself rambling, not noticing or caring by the looks of things that she was putting herself in a very bad situation, "My cousins are the managers, I guess you didn't like the past managers, but my cousins are much better. I write stories, and someday they're going to be operas. Do you write too?" Maggie finally stopped talking, as this was a question she was truely curious about. Maybe he would like to read her stories! Maggie couldn't help but grin at this thought.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 30, 2008 20:45:06 GMT -5
The girl returned to him a frown that bespoke every thought that past through her mind mainly, the thought that she wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. It only added to make him scowl deeper, more easily seen in the poor lighting of the walks. Although he didn't seem to be getting anywhere with his scowls, either that or the child simply could care less. It was not in him to harm a child, or anyone really unless...well...Unless he felt damn good about doing it. Erik, was in no straights to hang this little scrap of a girl by her neck in a noose. Even if she'd deserve it by the end of this little staring game. Things were quieting below, the blubbering of the rats, Diva, and whatever else was down on his stage barely drifted up to his ears. Instead his hearing was absorbed by the childish voice.
"My name is Margret Jane DePaul, but I don't like to be called that, I like to be called Maggie. What's your name? Everyone just calls you the Phantom here. Everyone is scared of you, but you don't look so scary." The child was saying and Erik had to shake his head a moment. Maybe he'd heard wrong, very wrong. The child was quite openly talking to him as though they were seated at some tea-party. Did she NOT know that he could kill her any moment he chose? Certainly a child falling off the drop, and easily blamed for the happenings for playing would not raise alarm. That is of course until she included her relations.
"My cousins are the managers, I guess you didn't like the past managers, but my cousins are much better. I write stories, and someday they're going to be operas. Do you write too?" Erik was concluding that this girl was not at all right in the head, at least sane enough to know she was treading on egg-shells. Crossing his arms before his chest, the dark, gentleman's suit he'd taken from the dressing rooms fit him nicely. His cloak resting against his shoulders, in a long cascade down to barely brushing the metal walk-way of the catwalk. He glared down at her, annoyance written on every fiber of his features. The famed Fantome, having a conversation with a child. How bizarre.
"Your cousins are no great managers, they are as poor as the other two. Worse I'd wager. I still await my salary, along with interest and for the past months I've been away. They're behind and owe me a large sum, of which I'll help myself on collection as I see fit. Now then Mademoiselle DePaul, whether you have a care to be called Maggie, or Silly. I'll do neither, as I have no time to prattle like a woman with a child." With that Erik pointed a finger back at the ladder whence she came.
"Be gone. You think to write an Opera with a story? Ha! I have written text beyond your capacity little one. Go on away and be a child, go play far from My stage." With that he turned away from her to direct some of his attentions to the torment of the sniveling persons below.
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Post by margretleroux on Mar 30, 2008 21:12:06 GMT -5
Maggie just blinked. She stood up and walked over to him. She looked over the edge. "My cousins are the best managers this place has ever seen." Maggie stated calmly, "And they already paid a lot of money to rebuild the Opera House. Nobody knows why you want their money, since they're the ones who own it." Maybe Maggie was going a little to far now, but she couldn't stop talking now, this was the most interesting conversation she had ever had. No matter how rude the Phantom was being. If it was anyone else insulting her cousins and her writing she would have kicked them in the shin and spat in their face. But this was different, much different.
Maggie looked down over the edge and saw everyone running and yelling. She had to suppress a giggle. Although she had liked that particular set very much, she thought it hilarious that everyone was so afraid of someone who seemed so harmless. Maggie was even beginning to doubt some of the stories about the Phantom. But then she saw someone on the floor sobbing, and Maggie felt a twinge of guilt for laughing at their misfortune. Could this person be hurt? Or just very frightened. "Is she alright?" Maggie asked pointing at the sobbing person.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 30, 2008 22:46:58 GMT -5
He had dismissed her several times in the past few seconds and neither of his dismissals were being taken to heart, or even seriously. His annoyance level was reaching one of proportions that he was well accustomed, and something he could easily control. Lucky her that she had no prior reasonings for him to hate her, or anything other than she was a disobedient child. To his great distaste she came to stand beside him, as though being at his side was the safest place to be. Never had anyone shown him such forwardness or even trust in the fact he'd not harm them. A small gift at being an innocent?
"My cousins are the best managers this place has ever seen, and they already paid a lot of money to rebuild the Opera House. Nobody knows why you want their money, since they're the ones who own it." She said, knowing everything and Erik glowered down at her. His eyes icy, as he leaned to look into her tiny face a moment. His face snarling slightly in displeasure.
"Listen Mamselle, your cousins may own the Populaire. They may have paid for the cheap renovations, and they might very well in your mind be the best managers. But know this." He said, looking back over the railing of the catwalk. Dead eyes taking in the scene as the chaos was starting to calm somewhat. Unable to let that happen, he moved over to the side, as though he knew the Populaire inside and out, which he did. To that he said darkly. "They did not build it." At that he smirked evilly, looking to the sobbing girl on the stage as the child: Maggie asked if she was alright.
"Why should I care? Let her fall, she is like everyone here. Replaceable. None can however...can replace the Ghost don't you agree little....Maggie? Was it?" Pulling on a rope, Erik, let a bag fall loose, drawing one-side of another scene up oddly just as the bags fell near the girl who was blubbering on the stage. To which she shrieked and bounded away with great ease, marking that she was physically fine. Everyone was physically fine except him! Him! Why him,what evil did he do as a child to be...this Monster?
Angry now, he drew a knife and cut a few more bag lines, and a drawing of a pulley that held onto a lower walk. Sending that slanting half down.
"This is MY opera house."
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Post by margretleroux on Mar 31, 2008 9:11:52 GMT -5
((Sorry if I spell anything French wrong, my spell-check only has the English dictionary))
Maggie grinned and ran back to the edge of the catwalk where she had left her notebook. Maggie knelt down and scribbled down 'The Phantom built the opera house!' She then scurried back to his sighed as her continued speaking. How could he have built the entire Opera single handedly? Maybe he wasn't single-handed. Maybe he had help! Maggie's head filled with questions- and this was never a good thing. Why should I care? Let her fall, she is like everyone here. Replaceable... Maggie was shocked at this. This one brief sentence caused Maggie to completely forget what he said next. Even the moment he called her by her nickname, which made her want to smile in itself. "No human being is ever 'replaceable'! Not one, because, you don't know what they might do later on. Everybody makes a difference somehow! Even if that difference is bad something good normally happens in the end. For example," Maggie stared at the Phantom of a moment, thinking that by kidnapping Madame Changey it had made her and the Viscomte de Chaney fall in love. But it nothing good had happened to the Phantom in the end, "er, never mind..." "Besides." Maggie said, hoping to take his mind away from her fist comment, "If this is 'your' opera house, why not just tell them that you built it?" Maggie never understood why adults could not ever talk things out like mature adults!
She watched the bags fall and the sobbing girl screech and run off. Thought Maggie was glad she was feeling well enough to run, she still planned on going to ask that girl about it later. She wanted to point out that people that are hurt can sometimes have sudden bursts of strength in the face of more danger, but she decided that this sounded incredibly stupid.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 31, 2008 21:24:57 GMT -5
"No human being is ever 'replaceable'! Not one, because, you don't know what they might do later on. Everybody makes a difference somehow! Even if that difference is bad something good normally happens in the end. For example." The girl's chittering never ceased, and nothing amazed him, nor did it intrigue him. Nothing she could say, could of course do that, the childish naivete was written in every innocent word, and aspect in the way she viewed life, she viewed herself, she viewed him. If only he had been so stupid, but even as a child he had held no quarter for any human, any animal. He was for himself and no other. "er, never mind.." She said and Erik gave her a scoff, before remarking darkly.
"What's the matter? No happy ending in that Fairy Tale you were about to tell?" He inquired, simply not expecting a child to ever understand. She attempted, feebly to take the course away from what she might've said. A faintly good idea of the topic sifting through his calculating brain, as her tiny voice filled the air around them again.
"Besides, If this is 'your' opera house, why not just tell them that you built it?" She asked simply, and he looked down at her pointedly.
"One does not just tell another that they were the architect, and that they know every crook and cranny. One does not give an Opera House to a Ghost, to a Monster. Little Girl. Perhaps when you are older and you are somewhat wiser, you'll understand." Erik said plainly, shifting from his fun at torturing the persons below. He'd lost his humor for it, the child at his side was like a plague he couldn't evade. She was stuck on his like stink was on dung, and it annoyed him even further.
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Post by margretleroux on Mar 31, 2008 21:28:31 GMT -5
Maggie shook her head. She was wise enough to understand anything he could say. She found nothing wrong with telling the managers that the Phantom had built the Opera Populair. And if he wouldn't, maybe she would. That might end this entire misunderstanding. Or on the other hand, maybe not- life might be very boring without this entire misunderstanding.
Maggie then thought that this meeting was not going anywhere. 'A good story is not made entirely of dialog', someone had once told her, she forgot who, but it was probably someone very dill-witted. So Maggie took a moment to look over the Opera Ghost, and saw that she was right in say that he didn't look very frightening. "Well, you don't look very much like a ghost. You look more like an old man in a mask." Maggie cursed under her breath, realizing that what she said must have sounded awfully rude. Maggie was not a rude person, in fact she was often very considerate- but everyone in a while, something slipped out before she could shut herself up. "Maybe if you left the mask behind you wouldn't look like a murderer on the run from the police. Oh! Or at least get a new one." Yes, this was one of those moments.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 1, 2008 18:00:19 GMT -5
Erik let a long, heavy, evenly measured sigh escape his lips as the more presentable side of his face was given to the girl. The ivory mask was cast into shadow, the large, deformed bottom lip resting securely in the shade of the mask. He listened with the boredness of a father having to hear a child tell the tale of three billy goats, gruff for the millionth time. It was all he could do, to not lift his hands up and rub his temples with annoyance. A fact that a child was the only thing capable of getting away with being so forward in tone kept Erik at bay. A child. He recalled little Meg Giry for a moment, as a child growing up.
He'd watch the blond haired girl while her mother instructed, he had been a childish imaginary friend. Insisting after a time that he was real and he had left all contact with her. Her imaginary friend, that was as close to being a fatherly man in his life and he almost regretted those years. As for the little git before him, she had tried his patience beyond good humor. Locking his jaw, causing the muscles to roll, and twitch a moment beneath his skin. Doing this to keep from lashing out as he was soon called an old man.
"Well, you don't look very much like a ghost. You look more like an old man in a mask." She said pointedly and Erik had his fill. Taking three even strides to her as she continued to speak. He grasped the back of her dress, spinning her around and holding onto the fabric began to shove, or drag her towards the edge of the cat-walk. If she screamed the better, a bigger repute as a murderer.
"Maybe if you learned to be a girl and know your place. You speak out of turn little one, and know little of an 'old man in a mask'. It is time you went on your way...Oh...and." He reached for her book, and without remorse rent a page out tearing the paper easily in reference to him. "A murderer as you say on the run from the police. Can't have a child with a very BIG imagination take...incriminating evidence now can he? Hmm..." Looking at the torn page, he tossed it aside, still encouraging her towards the ladder.
"Pity...It would've made such a grand story,Maggie."
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Post by margretleroux on Apr 1, 2008 19:32:56 GMT -5
Maggie let short shallow breaths escape her mouth as the Phantom strode towards her. She had never expected to make him angry. But, in truth, she hadn't really expected anything. Now she cursed herself under her breath for climbing to the catwalks at all. But it was inevitable, with Maggie's curiosity she knew that she would run into him sooner or later. 'If only I had run into him in a place a bit closer to the ground.' Maggie thought.
She couldn't help but let out a tiny wail when he grabbed her dress. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Maggie did not like being touched, and terrible things happened when she was. Maggie was not a violent person in any way what-so-ever, in-fact she strongly disapproved of any physical hostility, but there were times when she totally lost control.
"Pity...It would've made such a grand story,Maggie." This was the last thing she heard him say, before she felt her elbow flying through the air and jabbing him hard in the gut. 'Oh no, no, no, no.' Maggie turned around opening her eyes just a bit.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 5, 2008 3:00:40 GMT -5
Erik had no time for a child, nor had he time to speak his worldly woes to any such person. The Opera Populaire had, had a reprieve from himself, and from his 'tricks'. Only then he'd been merciful, then he had been capable of holding onto a thread that was his heart. Now? Now Christine De Chagny, no longer Daae had destroyed that one minuscule portion of him that could've been human. He cursed her silently, to Hell, to any place but where he wanted her to be: In Heaven, in his arms, anywhere and everywhere away from him, from De Chagny, from any man. She'd killed him, with a single kiss, she had killed him.
That little wail that escaped the lips of the once, very curious girl had him in delight. Holding her back the back of her dress, escorting her personally away from his catwalk, to where she could leave him in peace. Yet the child seemed to have a different idea in store for him. Unprepared for the elbow deeply striking his abdomen, causing him to release her in his shock and momentarily expel every bit of air he'd carried in his lungs. Le Fantome deL' Opera cast a murderous look in her direction. Righting himself he began to advance on her foolish little frame, glaring into those eyes that looked at him in terror.
"Now you have gone too far little story writer. It'll be hard to write when you are splattered there upon the stage don't you agree?" He snarled darkly, taking two strides forward he was intent on getting her the Hell away from him. Hand outstretched, he grasped a slender shoulder, swooping around with agility he always maintained: Old man or no. An arm crossed over her breast crushing her back against him, while the other hand quickly made use of covering her mouth for any screams she might choose to omit.
Leaning over her, he whispered into her ear as he gave her a shove towards the railing of the cat-walk. Smirking, his cheek of his good side brushing her neck a moment, before allowing his hot breath to caress her flesh. The dark, dangerous, tone of his voice to assail her hearing.
"That was a stupid thing to do little one. Tell me....Look down. Do you think you'll survive that fall Little One? Hmmm? Answer me. You can nod to a yes or a no question. Humor an..old man, with a mask who doesn't seem so dangerous. Your answer might provide the proof that an old man, with a mask can be as dangerous as his mood is inclined. Be warned..Maggie...You've put me in a bad mood." Erik said, chuckling coldly to set more fear into her.
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Post by margretleroux on Apr 5, 2008 11:28:59 GMT -5
Maggie had stopped breathing after she had hit him, but now she doubted she could keep herself standing upright. Maggie never screamed, it showed weakness, which was a feeling she would never stand for. But maybe, she thought, this could be worth it. Maggie let out a screech as loud as her twelve-year-old lunges would allow. Jacob! Celestine! Andr...! She was forced to stop screaming when she felt a hand clasp over her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to listen to what he said. Jacob and Celestine must have heard that scream, if not Andrew and the rest of the stage. Maggie remained quite still as he spoke to her. Not daring to make a move afraid that it might set him off. She wondered how indeed she would be able to write as a crumpled little rag doll, which could easily be thrown over the edge.
The odd thing, which she told herself she would mull over later (hoping that there was indeed a later), was that the only person she was angry with was herself for being so stupid as too come up here in the first place, and then to hit him. And now she had gotten herself into a web so tight that she couldn't even use words as a way to explain that striking him with her elbow was an instinctive reaction to being touched, which she had little control over. He was touching her now, was what he would point out. Maggie would reply that there was little she could do in the way of harming him in her current position. And now she wished desperately that she had her notebook so she could write all of this down. Finally Maggie nodded, then shook her head for a moment and then nodded again, lastly she shook her head quite sure that this would be her answer, but thinking about a little more in depth she nodded. She continued this back and forth movement, perhaps simply to stall or perhaps because she honestly could not make up her mind.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 10, 2008 2:10:52 GMT -5
Erik was not a man to play games, especially ones with a child like this one. She had pressed her luck coming this far, but now she had crossed his lines of fury. A fool would not have crossed him as this little girl had, and in annoyance, the Fantome grasped her slender frame. Dragging her back against him, and just as her little screech reached out in a pitiful attempt. Erik clapped a hand tightly over her mouth, his flesh, flush against her lips. The strength of him pushing the folds of pink back against her teeth, while his finger tips dug at the softness of her cheek to keep her jaw from working properly. He chuckled deep in his throat, feeling her tremble against him.
Her genuine fear was like an addict getting his fix after being deprived of it for so long, he was reminded why he loved his power. This illusiveness that a Fantome had, the agility it was to be a Ghost rather than a man. Inquiring her further out of his own amusement, Erik barked out a laugh when she began to nod her head, then shake it negatively. In truth the fact that she was so far in her own straights that she no longer knew what to say, much less would she know what to write. Had Erik grinning from ear to ear.
"Ah, silly little git. Have you lost all your sense? All your wit? Hmm? Pity...." Releasing her mouth and stepping back Erik had moved so fluidly, that the Punjab lasso in his pocket was out, and wrapped about her slender throat without skipping a beat. Drawing it up with his height and his hand, lifting it so it bound her throat, and threatened to constrict her airway, and her life out of her if she screamed. Erik sang eerily into her ear.
"Hush little baby don't say a word...." Then without further-ado, he pulled out a pin-bolt on the railing. Causing it to slant and for them both to teeter on sliding down with it. The only thing holding them was the other pin-bolt, and his two feet balancing them.
"Was this adventure worth your while Maggie?" He asked, as her note-pad went sliding down, tumbling to the stage.
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