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Post by Riffael Dureau on Sept 25, 2008 1:23:16 GMT -5
Riffael waited in the shadows, well behind the group of men that huddled with burning torches like frightened children, their faces set in hard lines of courage even though they shook. Some of them had known Buquet, known what a burly, strong man he was. He was a scoundrel, but not a coward. He had met a horrible end, and the stagehands never forgot he. He never forgot it, nor ceased to wonder if it would be above the cruel devil to hang a woman. A graceful white neck, smooth under his lips... he sighed at the beautiful image, and then flinched at the image of it cracked, tossed at an odd angle, those beautiful eyes no longer sparkling. The very thought struck him in the gut and lit his blood with fear and fury. It could not happen. He would marry Mori, she would be his, and they would be happy. Poor, perhaps, but happy--he would not have her harmed or live under a constant cloud of fear.
The police inspector, M. Faure, stood at the head of the group shouting orders. He had a map that he had split into many different sections and he was splitting the volunteers into groups accordingly for the search. No names were taken down, which Riffael found odd. Perhaps it was because Faure had been a stagehand once, and a criminal; he understood that many of the men here preferred to have no names and no written evidence to hang them by.
Armand's eyes blazed. This was his chance. Alive. A reported sighting, enough to have the managers file a police report. His teeth clenched. Finally. Revenge.
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Post by Jean Jondrette on Sept 25, 2008 19:32:34 GMT -5
The night was dark, making it very difficult to see, even with the flames of the torches glowing like beacons of hope. Jean had come here wanting to help capture the Opera Ghost that supposedly haunted the the Opera Populaire all these years. There was many men there, a good number from the Opera, stagehands, but there were also private citizens that had come there to help the mob.
He was the only noblemen there, most likely, but he wouldn't be easily recognized, for he wore very common clothes that made him blend in very well. The Marquis listened intently to the Inspector, M. Faure, the man behind this whole expedition. From what he had heard, he had a brother and sister-in-law that were killed in the fire, which explained why he had been enthusiastic about the whole Phantom search.
Jean didn't know if he believed that the ghost was still there, after all, why would he if he had the entire city on his case? There were always personal reasons, but it would be foolish to stay there. Looking around, Jean made certain that no one he knew was there, and if they were, he would just dodge them the entire night.
Hana had been hesitant about letting him go, but she understand that no one can be contained and therefore sent him off, with silent hope that he'd return unharmed. He promised her that he wouldn't be in any danger and then he left their apartment. Jean would be careful, he wanted to live to marry Hana, to raise Marie, to start a new life.
He continued to listen to the plans given, he listened to the passion and excitement in Inspector Faure's voice. Jean had been placed in his group and headed over to them. Another man gave him a torch and he accepted it. The fire danced on the wood as Jean watched and held it up into the night.
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Post by Byron Maxemillion on Sept 25, 2008 21:10:39 GMT -5
Byron stood close to the back of the party he'd been thrust into, his tall form moving alongside other men his height. He did take time to put on his acting for a slouched back, he'd been suckered into this one with another nobleman who'd joined the other small party of men. It'd been a dare amongst comrades over a few drinks, one man's 'mistress' so happened to be one of the chorus girls. Informing them of the hunt for the mysterious Opera Ghost.
Max had laughed out-right at the tale it was too funny, too bizarre to even think a truth or a reality. Now as he stood in his worn clothing he'd taken from a stable-hand bum that was almost his height and build. He could smell the horse manure wafting up from his boots that he had made very dirty and purposefully stepped in the stuff to make his stench all the more believable. Uncertain if he'd last the night like this other men either were used to such smells as they walked as a unit down the corridors. Or they ignored the smell.
He was handed a torch with his head bowed, a scruffy cap keeping his features shadowed beyond recognition. Byron's height offered him an upper hand to hold the torch high. If he was going to be a patron he could also get in on some fun, action with his pistol at his hip ready to be a smoking gun. A good shot but he was much better at fencing than a cheap shot at a distance.
A magician his friend had said, a madman who'd gone crazy with love for a chorus girl. Later half burning the Populaire into Ruin. If such a man did exist he needed to be dealt with, Max wasn't going to waste money on repairs that could be easily remedied by a removal of a madman.
Asylums were full these days adding another to the mix seemed humane.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Oct 28, 2008 20:36:11 GMT -5
Damien stood in the crowd of men outside the Opera Populaire, the torches gleaming in the dark night. He looked around and saw a variety of volunteers, from stagehands, to chorus boys, to the carpenters and even a few private citizens. The only reason he was here was to prove that there wasn't a Phantom, that all the rumors were pure hogwash and old wives' tales.
He grabbed a torch from another man and walked towards a group he was assigned to by M. Faure. The baritone kept his eyes open, though they were covered by shadows, which made them glow a ghostly color and frighten a few people. He was from the streets, raised like a cat some would say, it was only fitting that he adapted to some habits. --- Lucien stared out the window of the dormitories down at the crowd. It was amazing at the number of people who turned out for the event. A Phantom hunt and he was confined inside! It was almost a crime for them to do so, leaving him with only a small book to read and his music. He had memorized the music nearly halfway through the first lesson with the other chorus boy and girls. Of course he didn't giggle among them, so that was the main reason.
The small boy noticed all the older boys sleeping soundly, which made him come up with a plan. Lucien rose from the bed and walked over to the coat hook to grab a black overcoat meant for cold weather, as well as a small fedora that hid his face. His uncle couldn't see him, otherwise what he'd do would hurt Lucien very severely. He would wait until the crowd had begun their trek, then he would join them in the back so Armand in the front wouldn't see him.
"All good things come to those who can wait..." --- The Marquis looked around as the crowd began to push forward and begin to journey down into the catacombs beneath the Opera Populaire. The legendary underground world of Paris had been around since before anyone could remember. The Middle Ages it was there, twisting and spiraling down to hell, where gypsies and tramps would roam free without worrying about persecution. The British claimed the London East End was hard, try walking down through the muck and rats and saying that!
Jean had wondered what would come from this quest, this descent to the underworld. Would they possibly meet Hades and his imprisoned bride Persephone, maybe Satan would be laughing in their faces? They were dealing with the Phantom, so either way, he couldn't be too far off with his guesses. --- Music was softly playing in the house on the lake, slowly and vainly trying to help Erik escape from the world he was in. It seemed to be useless for him to try, as much as the world loathed Erik, it couldn't live without him. So many things he needed to do for the world, from helping Celeste reach the limelight and ridding the stage of Christine for her, to dealing with the ragamuffin crowd that had gathered around the outside of his domain.
Never had he seen such a mob, not since that dreadful night of the fire. It amused him a bit, having such a crowd go after him after all this time. A police inspector named Faure was the supposed master of it all, Erik had seen him wondering around the Opera on duty, sometimes accompanied by a small child who was also part of the chorus, most likely a son or something.
Nonetheless, c'est la vie, there would always be mobs and policemen leading them. Erik learned to take it with good humor, after all, humankind couldn't realize it's own flaws and imperfections, so it was always good fun to watch them try to get over them and fail the attempts. Perhaps he could have a little fun with them, make them squirm under his power.
If anything, you mustn't toy with a Phantom, especially one who can create worse incidents that a shattered chandelier...
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Post by Armand Faure on Nov 11, 2008 23:46:43 GMT -5
Gerard Deloncre hated this whole, sordid business, but was determined to attend anyway. He had anticipated that some patrons might come along, though had doubted that any of them were as good a shot as he and in the end might not get the job done. For the sake of his money and his reputation, he had donned clothing less suitable to his tastes and trudged down into the hellishly wet and disgusting tunnels beneath the opera house. He had decided against concealing his identity, for as he saw it, his age and position in society would elevate him to 'brave hero' on the tongues of gossips while the younger crowd of men would be called vagabonds and thrill-seekers. Knowing this, he searched among the ruddy faces for a smoother complexion, a sign of nobility-- His eyes alighted on the face of Jean Jondrette as a torch was passed to him, illuminating the planes of his features perfectly. Oh, he did look so dreadful! Gerard did not want to think about what he must surely look like. He thought that he saw Northumberland, but he could not say, having barely ever caught sight of the man. He was forced to conclude that it must not be him, for no Duke could stand the smell that emanated from that man. Moving close to Jean, Gerard took a torch of his own from Faure and began to speak in a jovial tone. "Balleroy!" He exclaimed, calling the man by his title. "My, it has been such time. How is your wife? Mine would have been out for my life if I had gone two years to Japan," He said with a chuckle, leaving out the fact that his wife would have preferred him dead at any time during his marriage anyway. "I dare say Nicolette has ill used me, being such a good school-friend of Mlle. Deloncre and then neglecting to call at all when her father was in the country." --- Riffael was watching the back of Armand Faure closely as their group travelled. The Marquis Deloncre was talking loudly to his fellow nobleman, who did not look at all like a noble. If he recalled the name, it was the very same man who had left his wife to go live with his mistress and make a huge scandal. Deloncre was probably poking at that open sore for the sake of being a bastard. Riff's gaze shifted around to take in as much of the appearances of the other men in their party as could be made out in the terrible light. He knew a few of them. There were two fellow stage hands, Faure, Marquis Deloncre, Marquis de Balleroy, and the tenor M. Babineaux. He felt a chill and thought of the Phantom--of those blazing eyes, full of hatred and fire and a joyous threat that would mean the end of Riff if he did not succeed in destroying the demon first. He found himself wondering if the Phantom was yet watching them (for surely he would come to do so) and if so, from where. It was very dark. With a soft click, Riff prepared his pistol.
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Lucien Faure
Chorus Girl/Boy
Children be seen and not heard? Don't make me laugh.
Posts: 43
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Post by Lucien Faure on Nov 12, 2008 22:38:27 GMT -5
Lucien watched as the men headed down towards the sewers from his window and checked the dormitory one more time, to make sure that everyone was indeed asleep and his disappearance would go undetected. He walked out of the room, drenched in the darkness and unseen like an ancient specter, as he began his journey to the Rue Scribe side of the Opera Populaire. The young child remembered his promise to both Mlle. Mori, as she told him to call her, and his uncle about not getting into trouble and wandering around the Opera.
This was just more of a reason not to get caught. Lucien could obey this, but that wasn't him, after all he was a curious child. But he finally descended the staircases and reached the front doors of the Opera. A biting cold nipped at Lucien's cheeks, but he shirked it off as he walked along the walls of the building. The mob had gotten pretty far, but Lucien could hear their cries in the distance.
"Revenge for Piangi! Revenge for Buquet!" they yelled.
Lucien knew that this was no place for a child. However, he was not a child, for he had grown up a long time ago... he had faced the world's cruelties and came out stronger and better than before. Not all children could wish for a better world from a fairy godmother, those children existed only in faerie tales and his life was no faerie tale. It was quite a shame that Lucien had lost his possible childhood before it began, as some may see it.
But Life is a dangerous gamble... you must play all your cards right and Lucien was winning the jackpot. He did not intend to stop now... ---
Jean was shocked that he had been recognized, but the person who recognized him was not someone very well liked in his family. It was the Marquis Deloncre, the supposed archenemy of Nicolette, considering how he treated his daughter, poor Nicole, who was God only knows where now. But their families knew each other well, Jean actually growing up familiar with the Deloncre clan.
But still, he put on a fake face and smiled, "Monsieur Deloncre, odd to see you here. But Colette is doing just fine, thank you. Little Marie is fine as well," he explained. Whether or not Deloncre knew about his affair didn't concern him, nor did he care about his opinion in the matter. The other Marquis was not well liked in the high society, but they all pretended as they would at a masque.
"But tell me, sir, how are you doing?"
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Damien kept to himself as time passed slowly, not wanting really to communicate with anyone right now. He heard the cries of revenge and rolled his eyes, realizing that this wasn't really a creme of the crop group of crime fighters... just a bunch of men who were drunk for revenge against the Phantom for taking the life of a mediocre tenor and a perverted drunk of a stagehand.
He could see why Victoire did not take so kindly to men. They were a race that seemed to screw up the world, with the exception of a few such as da Vinci, Alexander the Great, and many others. Strangely, the had all preferred the company of other men.
The crowd moved onward, down the rabbit hole into the Wonderland that graced the bellows of hell. Let them find this Phantom, let them realize that their hopes of an actual apparition be dashed with the discovery that he was nothing but a man. It was a truth they would have to learn once in a while and sooner was better than later.
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Erik grabbed a heavier black cloak and heard the loud and rambunctious cries of the men on their way down to kill him. He sighed at the pitiful attempt, after all, stories live forever, but the Phantom never dies! They could yell all they wanted, they could swear a bloody revenge until Death knocked on their door, but it would be no use for them. It would just end with their blood staining the stones of the catacombs.
Le Fantome got on the gondola and pushed off the shore with a pole before embarking on a journey across the underground lake. The large iron bars were lifted so he could escape his prison and row towards one of the many exits of his home, instead of one of the few treacherous entrances.
The water gleamed in the light of the candles and torches, glimmers that were broken up with each move of the pole through the water. Erik smiled to himself as he plotted what to do with the unwanted guests. Shall it be by Punjab lasso or possibly scared to the grave? Either one would surely kill someone or some people, but he just wanted them out of his home.
Erik killed for good reasons... not for just any old reason that popped into his mad mind...
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