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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 5, 2008 20:17:50 GMT -5
A calm breeze blew over the city of Paris, a sigh from the heavens that chilled the citizens as they walked home from their daily chores and workplaces. The Opera Populaire would be closing its doors to citizens soon and locking everyone who lived there up for the night. The sun was setting and the warm colors merged into a sea of pinks and oranges, and music of street musicians and their accordions played off the in distance. Everything was tranquil, everything peaceful...
Damien Babineaux stood at the edge of the rooftop, standing next to Apollo's Lyre which stood in its rightful place, watching over Paris and her people like an omniscient god. The statue made Damien feel safe and secure for an unknown reason, maybe because it hid him from the world. No matter how much attention he could garner from being a singer, he would always prefer the quiet sunsets over Paris.
There had been many nights like this one in his lifetime, mainly because he couldn't roam the streets at night due to the darkness, so he fell asleep at this time, the last thing being seen was always the sunset.
Damien leaned on the edge and stuck his face out with his arms resting on the ledge, making him seem more like the ancient gargoyles of the cathedral, Notre-Dame. But Damien never believed he was fully human, he always felt like he had been a specter of sorts, watching on the sidelines of people's lives as a bystander, a member of an elaborate ensemble.
But his quiet nirvana was being disturbed, the door to the rooftop had been opened and closed in a few seconds. Damien didn't bother to face his intruder, he simply stared over Paris with piercing eyes.
"Who's there?"
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Post by eilian on Nov 5, 2008 21:43:44 GMT -5
Not many had to search for beauty, as it was commonly found everywhere in Paris. Especially that very rooftop. Eilian couldn't explain it clearly, but there was something lonely about staring up at the sky yet not being able to reach. Despite how negative a picture she painted, Eilian liked to watch the stars come out before leaving. Of course, it was a rarity she got to see the stars alone since someone was almost always there. But she was positive no one would be around after such a hard work day.
After saying several goodbyes to the late working orchestra members and dancers, she tied her hair back to a low ponytail and prepared to journey up to the roof. The winds liked to pick up on the rooftop with no reasonable explanation. The roof actually reminded her of certain instruments, mostly the harp and piano. They rung with purity in the hands of a professional, but were also able to sound sharp and stern. She secretly admired that.
Eilian quickened her pace, swiftly moving up the stairs as not to interrupt any more late workers. Using the speed she often used on a sword, the door was quietly pushed open and then shut within a matter of seconds. Once outside she almost thought she was alone before glancing up to Apollo's Lyre, only to see a person there. Or was he a ghost?
Either way, he looked rather meloncholy. She knew the feeling pretty well. At the question of who was there, she thought before answering calmly, "Eilian Cyncad... May I ask for yours?"
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 9, 2008 15:46:54 GMT -5
Damien still faced away from the stranger, Mlle. Cyncad, a name very unfamiliar with him. Then again, he wasn't familiar with a lot of people in the Populaire, only really knowing about it's main characters, such as Gerras, Leblanc, Rousseau and de Chagny. They were the ones that everyone talked and gossiped about, mainly because their behaviors were quite intriguing. But he was interested in seeing exactly who Mlle. Cyncad was. Was she a pesky little viper or a sweet little ingenue? Either way, it didn't matter to him, not in the very least.
"Damien Babineux, a singer," he said, including 'a singer' as to clarify that he wasn't a trespasser on the grounds. His clothes often had people mistaking him for a street rat wandering the Opera looking to cause trouble. It was understandable, but it was a reason not to assume things. Assuming led to too many problems and the problems would complicate things even further. "May I ask you, Mlle. Cyncad, why you have come up here? I take it that you wish to view the sunset?" he asked, not really much for chit-chat, but just to see how she would reveal her personality. What could he say, people's personalities interested him.
As he awaited for her reply, he looked out upon Paris again, becoming breathless at the sights of the City of Lights. The old buildings sprung up off a horizon, as if they were destined to be there at the beginning of time. Paris was one of the few cities in the world where magic seemed to exist. If Damien ever left Paris, it would be because he was forced out by the Government, but the likeliness of that happening was slim. The thought of that was enough to make Damien smile a little, realizing that he would be in Paris for the rest of his days, like a prison. Well, it was a beautiful prison...
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Post by eilian on Nov 9, 2008 16:52:57 GMT -5
He wasn't a ghost, Eilian could assure herself of that as her vision was perfect compared to those complete twits who claimed to see ghosts all over the Populaire. That, and she was sure ghosts didn't sing. Silence showed its ugly head, but Eilian was sure they were both used to it. His pause seemed to ask who the woman was, and sometimes she wondered the same thing.
"Monsuier Babineaux," she repeated in a low mutter. Keeping track of names wasn't her strong suit, except for the people no one could forget even if they tried. He looked rugged, which took away from his appearance a bit. Eilian could relate. But a street rat or a tired worker, there wasn't a reason to call Damien out when he was just staring at the sky. Of course she knew people who would disagree, since she had gotten kicked out more than once just for breathing.
After hearing his question, she moved closer to Apollo's Lyre in an attempt to get a better view of the scenery. He asked a question worth asking. The majority saw it as beautiful although Eilian had to disagree. The rooftop scenery provided momentary comfort from where the hell really was, but it couldn't be described as 'beautiful'. Everything; the horizon, the buildings, the murmurs of people beneath were just there. No shivers down the spine, glassy eyes, or relaxed breathing. Finally she thought of a suitable answer to his question, "I don't know..."
The perfect word popped into her head. The Purgatory; a beautiful and supposedly decent place where the souls who weren't evil enough for hell yet not lovely enough for heaven survived. Paris was the Purgatory. Thinking that, Eilian wondered what her parents were doing in Britain... Silence bloomed again, though not for long. A soft request, very similar to a command left her lips. It sounded a little somber, though her face remained dead-panned.
"Sing."
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 11, 2008 15:49:51 GMT -5
"Please, mademoiselle, the title monsieur goes to men with social standing. I'm just a street rat," he explained with a tone of indifference. Maybe he did deserve the title and he just wasn't used to it. It was no use trying to analyze it, c'est la vie. "But coming up here without knowing why is often my situation. Yet tonight, I feel like watching the sun set."
Damien did enjoy the peace and quiet as well. He was far away from the chittering ballerinas, the pig-like stagehands, the greediness of humankind in general. The rooftop was the only place that had sense in the whole Opera Populaire and that said something, considering the size of the opera house. But then Eilian asked him to sing. Singing was something simple that he could do, it just came naturally to him. Then he remembered a song that the poor women would chant as they waited for alms from the wealthier Parisians. It was so vivid a song in his head, that when she requested him for a song, he let out the soft and delicate notes...
"Donnez, donnez, donnez aux pauvres gueux Donner, donner, c'est prêter au Bon Dieu Donnez, donnez, belles dames jolis messieurs Donnez, donnez, c'est gagner sa place aux cieux Faut qu'j'affranchisse les gens d'la haute c'est pas Versailles pour l'élégance mais d'puis qu'on a raccourci l'autr' Versailles, ça manque plutôt d'ambiance c'est pas qu'le dabe qu'on a aux Tuileries soit plus malin qu'le serrurier j'aim' bien sa poire mais qu'en effigie frappée sur les pièces de monnaie vive moi, pas le roi, ça ira, ça ira..."
He ended the song, having sung it with a bit more care than the poor women of his past. He thought of it as a lullaby, really, a lullaby to children to know their situation. It wasn't the best song in the world in his eyes, but it had a sentimental value in his mind, even though Damien didn't delve deeply into sentimental keepsakes.
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Post by eilian on Nov 11, 2008 16:33:38 GMT -5
"Monsuier Babineaux," she repeated as if she didn't hear him, when in fact Eilian just brushed it off. Rich or poor, he was a man. If Eilian felt like being sarcastic at the time she would have called him 'mademoiselle' with her usual monotone and waited for a response. That wasn't the case, of course. However after listening to how Damien felt most of the time when visiting the rooftop, she decided it must have been the same with herself. "So be it. Then I must have also wanted to watch the sunset."
The brunette felt a little selfish and greedy, commanding him to sing like that, but hearing the man start without missing a beat made her think he was probably used to that. And being used was better than being ignored, from her experience. His tone was gentle and soothing, although she quickly recognized the lyrics. Eilian's little sister came home singing that song one day after going out to buy some food. As it turned out, she had given the food to the beggars; which had earned her a good, half an hour scolding. Her family had gone down that road of poverty once, they didn't need to go down it again.
It certainly wasn't a song Eilian expected, but it was far above the screeching arias that caused cracks in glass. But it made her wonder, why he sang it warmer and a little kinder than the women on the street. Yet it was certainly more lovely than the sunset, she could admit that much. Couching occasionally to make sure her voice would remain smooth, she turned her head so her eyes met the floor. Someone must be a complete fool to find nothing even slightly beautiful, except a "street rat"'s voice.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 14, 2008 20:45:45 GMT -5
Damien finished the song and his voice had faded into the air, disappearing and traveling in the gust of the breeze. The entire time he had been facing towards the city and never turning to look at the girl he shared the rooftop with. He didn't care for other people's opinion of him really, never seeking anyone's approval as that was what he hated in others. Why should one base their life on the approval of random civilians? What was important was simply doing well, if you succeed, you succeed and it doesn't matter what others think of the journey to the success.
Mlle. Cyncad had crouched on the ground apparently, considering her shadow had disappeared from the stone ledge. The sun as offering as little light as possible at the moment, but a unique shade of pink and orange cloaked Damien's body and gave him a natural glow. Some may call the glow angelic, but Damien saw it as anything but. It made him seem even more like an apparition, an apparition of evil that ascended from hell, sent by Lucifer himself to drag innocent souls down to the fiery pits.
The silence between the two was filled with tranquility, but there was also a tension. Each wondered who exactly the other was, looks were deceiving as everything was a facade. There was the character and behind them was an actor, playing the role down to a science. Some people believed the mask was their true form, that's how good they were at the act, but unfortunately the beast always lies beneath the skin and will come out when unexpected.
"Strange to hear a street rat's voice here, am I wrong?"
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Post by eilian on Nov 16, 2008 21:55:20 GMT -5
When was the mask going to fall off? Would he give up? Never, Eilian could answer her own question easily. The Populaire was just a giant masquerade, everyone wearing a different mask that was different from the person inside. It was difficult because she didn't know Damien personally but could tell he was similar to herself. A stray cat: restricted, mysterious, and proud. But at least one of them had to give up for the silence to go away completely. It would never happen, she thought while the sides of her mouth twitched upwards.
Her unfocused eyes wandered back to the male, noticing how the sunlight reflected on his skin. Angelic, yet she knew better. They both knew better. Half of the shadow from Apollo's Lyre enveloped the left side of her aristocratic face while the light from the sun brightened the right. After a minute Eilian shifted over so her entire face was in the shade, which she assumed suited herself better.
"Your voice... is fine," she responded in a crisp tone, suddenly feeling withdrawn. For some reason the term 'street rat' had gotten to her. It was no game, but she felt her mask was close to slipping; and even she didn't know what could be revealed. A gut feeling told Eilian he was the catalyst to boot. A part inside of her found that slightly amusing, a hollow laugh leaving her lips.
"Perhaps we were siblings in a past life. It's an amusing thought..."
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 17, 2008 16:53:09 GMT -5
Eilian's comment about his singing didn't make him angry, but it didn't make him happy. Her opinion he really didn't care for, he just wanted to know whether or not it was worth having him sing on the spot. She had asked him to sing, he sang and that was that, he wasn't seeking the approval of her, he would only care if she was offering money for a better job. Then he might care a little more about her opinion.
But her other statement made him wonder a little. She had mused that they were perhaps siblings in a past life, maybe they were that similar? If they were it would make the Opera Populaire less unbearable to deal with. The only other person that really shared his views on some level was Mlle. Leblanc, someone with a brain between her ears. It was always good to know another person with a mind of their own.
"By what do you mean that we possibly siblings in another life, Mlle. Cyncad?"
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Post by eilian on Nov 30, 2008 18:03:26 GMT -5
Eilian did wonder why Damien would keep that talent hidden from the public, but it wasn't hard to figure out a reasonable solution. Once a person was in the spotlight, they never really stepped out. And, it wasn't that hard to find good talent those days; although there were many people considered talentless, existing by doing several odd jobs at once. Like her. "You sing well enough... I may know women who would pay for such a voice. Just put up with their rambling."
"It's only a theory. Perhaps I was exaggerating. There are a few ghosts around here, after all," she replied to his question, tugging at her shirt to see if the tough fabric stretched. Her eyebrow raised in suspicion as thin lips pursed together. Eilian didn't mean the 'Phantom', of course. That phantom wasn't real but there were a few who may have been considered apparitions. She had to admit she was jealous of Damien, since it seemed singers had it easier than the ones with no special ability. Eilian was honest enough to at least admit, other than swordsmanship, she was talentless.
"We may just share a trait or two..."
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Nov 30, 2008 22:21:43 GMT -5
The idea of people actually wishing they had his voice? Ha! The idea was absurd, a foolish thought that made the man laugh on the inside, for he had almost completely lost the ability to do it on the outside. There were better singers in this opera house, Damien had just gotten lucky and was given this chance by an elderly woman who took him off the street. If she had passed on he would miss this opportunity, voice or no voice.
"You say we may share a trait or two?" asked Damien, finally looking towards the girl. "Amusing thought. Is it quite possible that you, yourself, are another intellectual among this ragamuffin gang of half-wits? Forgive my straight-forwardness, but the idea of someone else with a brain in the Opera gives me some hope."
Damien may have been a street rat, but he still had half a brain. He often found himself outwitting quite a few people here at the Opera Populaire and walked away worried about the current state of the world. If he outsmarts a stagehand who controls objects that could easily kill a person, he has the right to fear for his life.
"Tell me, Mlle. Cyncad, what is your duty around the Opera Populaire?"
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Post by eilian on Dec 9, 2008 21:16:31 GMT -5
Watching his doubt, it was difficult to read a book that was closed, she decided. It was like when her little sister asked if she looked okay in the dress she got as an early birthday present. Even when Eilian told her she was fine, it never seemed so in the eyes of the beholder. A child could even feel the nagging anxiety of the world, she dreaded the day when her younger siblings reached adulthood. "You seem to have a rather hard time believing you sing well. Would it have been better if I said you were horrible?"
"Who knows?" she answered simply. Her employers often said she had a good head on her shoulders and was insightful, but jaded and lonesome. Eilian couldn't say she disagreed. "I do not feel like I hold any worthwhile intelligence, yet notice details others do not. Emotionally, physically... either way, you must feel the same. People here run around wearing blindfolds, and cannot see until their heads are cut."
Stone-cold eyes gazed at Damien. It was difficult to speak when Eilian was so used to staying quiet, but the conversation could easily go cold. And although she didn't enjoy talking, his company was welcome. Finally she decided to start talking freely, though unnaturally biased and a little cruel. "I participate the chorus and act when needed, though being a stagehand is much more preferable. May I inquire as to why you wanted to know?"
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Dec 14, 2008 10:47:42 GMT -5
"You seem to have a rather hard time believing you sing well. Would it have been better if I said you were horrible?"
"No, it's just..." Damien thought for a moment. "I've found it very hard to trust people, really. There has been many a time I've been lied to and left behind. It was due to my own foolishness to believe what people told him. Now it's a habitual hesitation." It wasn't his fault it was difficult to trust people, who could when everyone was out to get everyone else? When everyone had a secret agenda? If anything it was a flaw of mankind, a flaw of womankind as well. Everyone looked after themselves, no one cared about Damien.
"I do not feel like I hold any worthwhile intelligence, yet notice details others do not. Emotionally, physically... either way, you must feel the same. People here run around wearing blindfolds, and cannot see until their heads are cut."
"Very much the truth. Some people can be very blind to the things that lie before them. Tragic, really, for we have yet to evolve into a species where common sight has been left out. Unfortunate that when people to do see their error, it's too late to erase it. That is why people shall fall, especially quite a few around here."
Some of the employees of the Opera were very much like this, some of them were smart and keep to themselves, waiting in the shadows for the perfect time to spring out and get their hands on things they wanted. This may have seemed boorish, horrid and unkindly, but that's what you have to be in life to succeed. There was no room for virtue in life anymore, the social ways forbid and there was nothing you could about it. You'd just have to accept it.
"I participate the chorus and act when needed, though being a stagehand is much more preferable. May I inquire as to why you wanted to know?"
"Curiosity, really. Though I rarely have the urge to be curious, after all, it's what took Alice down the rabbit hole and into a disturbing world of creatures, creatures that very much reflect us in a way. Perhaps I asked because of hidden reason I'm not telling you, or I don't even know it myself. For the latter reason, if it was thank mercy, would be more logical of one. I don't like being conspired against, so I refuse to conspire."
The baritone once more gazed out Paris, which was now getting closer into night. The stars were beginning to come out, well the ones you could see through the light, and the large pale moon that sat above them all, looking down upon them. It was doing more looking than some God was, if he was even there that is. But that was a topic that humans knew little about, though they claim that they know Him so well.
"Tell me, Mlle. Cyncad, what are your thoughts on the night? It's a very mystical thing when you get down to it, really. What do you think of it?" Night was created due to scientific manners beyond his comprehension, but there was more depth to it, Damien knew, but did other people know? This question he did have an explanation for.
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Post by eilian on Dec 21, 2008 22:39:20 GMT -5
"I've found it very hard to trust people, really. There has been many a time I've been lied to and left behind. It was due to my own foolishness to believe what people told him. Now it's a habitual hesitation."
"There is nothing more I can do but sympathize. There are others who have experienced the same." Others who are also at the bottom of the food chain, she left out. Damien was probably intelligent enough to figure out they both stood at similar spots in this world. Sadly his short tale was familiar, as she knew he would not be the first nor the last to he played as a fool.
"Very much the truth. Some people can be very blind to the things that lie before them. Tragic, really, for we have yet to evolve into a species where common sight has been left out. Unfortunate that when people to do see their error, it's too late to erase it. That is why people shall fall, especially quite a few around here."
Eyes glinting, they continued to watch the sky but occasionally trailed back to the ground. "Interesting that you should agree, Monsuier Babineux. Where you stand now would be considered... uncomfortable for some. Where you go next depends on your luck and course of action. I would not inquire further, but your personality is intriguing. Do you plan on trying to move upward in this society?"
"Curiosity, really. Though I rarely have the urge to be curious, after all, it's what took Alice down the rabbit hole and into a disturbing world of creatures, creatures that very much reflect us in a way. Perhaps I asked because of hidden reason I'm not telling you, or I don't even know it myself. For the latter reason, if it was thank mercy, would be more logical of one. I don't like being conspired against, so I refuse to conspire."
"You don't seem the type to have animosity toward a person you don't know," Eilian told him. The conversation itself was satisfying and dare she admit it, somewhat amusing. Unfortunately there were way too many young girls in France who were as curious as Alice. "Although I don't know you well either, it wouldn't be worth the trouble. But I like your philosophy."
Watching the night unfold, there was a plentiful amount of stars even with the light from the buildings. The temperature lowered considerably although one could survive without going inside. On that rooftop, the subtle glow of the moon was different than what she saw from her window at home. And it looked as though Damien saw the same sight, though beauty couldn't be defined by just one person's opinion.
"Tell me, Mlle. Cyncad, what are your thoughts on the night? It's a very mystical thing when you get down to it, really. What do you think of it?"
"I can't explain, although I can tell you moments ago I thought there was nothing special about it." It must have been because of the roof, she decided. It made the night sky look that much more vast and mysterious. Somehow the scene made Eilian think of her siblings, and that perhaps they should see it as well. "Strange; as this night has worn on I've become more unfamiliar with myself. Now I can see why people say the moon has caused insanity."
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Dec 22, 2008 16:23:39 GMT -5
"You don't seem the type to have animosity toward a person you don't know. Although I don't know you well either, it wouldn't be worth the trouble. But I like your philosophy."
"I don't really have anything to hide, so I wouldn't have animosity towards anyone, much less a person I don't know. If I do have something to hide it's too distressing for anyone in this world, it most likely could only be heard by divine creatures or Satan, whoever can get to me first and persuade me to give it to them. And thank you, not many people would find my philosophy disturbing, it's too 'real' for them, too 'truthful' and we mustn't have them in the mix." Damien said, finishing off sarcastically.
Well nowadays thinking was a crime and a danger to everyone around, so they would have to keep thoughts and opinions to themselves to keep society from breaking down and burning people at the stake. It was tragic really, that even a street urchin couldn't be allowed to think. Then again, the street urchins often broke the law, so why was this non-thinking one any different? It wasn't.
"I can't explain, although I can tell you moments ago I thought there was nothing special about it. Strange; as this night has worn on I've become more unfamiliar with myself. Now I can see why people say the moon has caused insanity."
"Well at night we become different people. In the dark of the night it's easier to become your true nature and have no one see it. In the dark the truth is hidden no matter what, because the truth is what we never want to see. We, as humans, create illusions, fantasies that please us and we are content. It's because of man's selfishness we do this, the reason Adam and Eve were dismissed from Eden, the reason Pandora released Evil into the world... all humans are motivated by Want. You and I are no different, mademoiselle. To answer your society question, I wouldn't want to. Money makes us all fools. Money, greed and love is what makes us the jester in an insane and twisted court of a King."
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