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Post by Damien Babineaux on Sept 27, 2008 21:12:18 GMT -5
Damien stood backstage in the darkness. Rehearsals had ended for the day and now he wanted to experience some peace and quiet. Few people stayed behind after rehearsals, so backstage was the perfect place for that. The day had gone... well, it had gone less than perfect, considering it seemed that they couldn't get through a scene without Mme. de Chagny getting into a fight with the choral instructor, Mori, or cast members squabbling. It was mainly the dancers and minor leads along with Christine. The male lead, M. Rousseau didn't get involved, thankfully otherwise it would be a horrifying experience.
He couldn't and wouldn't dare complain, if he did, certainly fate would conveniently make a turn for the worst and he would end up on the streets again, begging for scraps. Then again, that's where he would be if this production didn't stop acting like children! Even the children of the chorus we better behaved, but that was because their mothers were breathing down their necks telling them that they brought a paycheck home and if they wanted to eat they better keep to themselves.
The brunette stood behind stage, closing his eyes momentarily when he knew that he was alone at last. This was all a welcome change, but still he felt nervous and bitter. He couldn't really believe some of the people here, people that were so... aggravating. Damien had befriended no one and he was happy with it, he didn't mind being alone. Ever since he was a child he was on his own and doing quite well.
A drunken stagehand had passed him and he rolled his eyes at him. "Really monsieur, drunk on the job? It's not even that late in the day."
The stagehand didn't mind him and passed on. Damien reached out and took the bottle of wine that was held by its long neck with his hand. He placed it on top of a shelf that held costumes, which the stagehand was too short to reach. He mumbled and walked on, complaining of the man who stole his drink. Damien couldn't help it, he detested such behavior, and had seen enough of it most of his life.
Damien put those thoughts out of his head and returned to the quiet, glad that he was.
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 27, 2008 21:46:00 GMT -5
Victoire stumbled into a drunken man in her haste to get off stage, and he bellowed in anger about a man, drink, and chorus sluts. "I am a dancer, Monsieur," she corrected quickly, a scowl on her face. She needed to find Anya or Henri. Someone who could talk almost sensibly. De Chagny was infuriating, the blonde what's-her-name never let anything go, and the ballet mistress felt the need to halt everyone if anyone could not get along. The whole day had been a long, ineffectual mess, and there was nothing that she could do about it without jeopardising her job. Furthermore, she had been tripped and cut her thigh. She had done a good job of hiding it by removing a petticoat from a pile of costumes backstage and wrapping it so that it would neither stain the costume or win her fawning, false kindness.
She limped along, shoving when necessary to get through, thoroughly disgruntled. Reaching back, she pulled her bun loose and her golden hair fell in waves over her shoulders, before she sat down on a crate of goodness knew what and turned her eyes to a bottle of alcohol placed on a high shelf. There was no way that she could read that. Her eyes shifted to the tall man beside the shelf, the lead baritone, Babineaux. She had never spoken to him, but had no qualms with him, either. He kept away, generally. He was from the streets, like the Leblancs. It was almost like an unspoken code not to inquire or to sympathise in such a case.
"Might you hand me that bottle, Monsieur?" She asked him, pointing to the alcohol.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Sept 27, 2008 22:13:48 GMT -5
Shortly after the drunken stagehand had left the scene, Damien was joined by another staff member. Limping to where he was, unaware that he was there, was Victoire Leblanc, one of the dancers and sister of one of the tenors, Henri. He heard through the grapevine that she was also from the streets,which explained her infamous attitude. People called her The Bitch, but she was from the streets, what did they expect? Damien didn't mind her ways, he was used to the behavior of women raised outside of high society.
She inquired about the bottle on the shelf and Damien gave her a certain look that wondered why she would want it. "Mme. de Chagny has caused you to drink so close to after rehearsals are over? It's pretty understandable after all she does," Damien took the bottle down with one of his arms and threw it the short distance to Leblanc.
He didn't know her well, nor did she, but they both shared the common background and that was something. They were also musically adept, him with singing and from what he saw during rehearsals, her and dancing. Victoire had seemed like the girl that Damien was used to, for he didn't have time for the girls who were taught to be lady-like and formal. Girls he preferred were smart and had a tongue like a whip. If Mlle. Leblanc was any of these things he would find out.
"So what do you think is worse, the fact that the production is a mess or that the Opera can't hire men who can't save the bottle until after hours?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 27, 2008 22:36:57 GMT -5
Victoire scowled at his hesitation and comment, but said nothing, just caught the bottle. She had very quick reflexes and skilful hands. Popping out the cork, she swirled the distasteful liquid around, raising in to eye-level to scrutinize it with expert care. Yes, it would do. "Don't look." She said flatly, and pulled her long skirt up to the top of her leg and began unwrapping the petticoat from the wound. She placed the bloody bandage beneath her leg to catch the falling liquid and then began to pour. Her jaw tightened and her head fell back with a sharp intake of breath then, as it burned terribly. She took a quick swig of the little remaining liquid to help with the pain and then tossed the empty bottle and cork to a watching stage hand, who had been watching her long bared leg in fascination and now caught the bottle with a look of shock.
She re-wrapped the now damp petticoat around her thigh and relaxed against the crate behind her, making a makeshift seat back. "The fact that the production is a mess. The more drunken men that fall from great heights and perish, the less drunken men there are," She said nonchalantly, gritting her teeth again as another wave of pain hit her. Henri would be upset that she hadn't run to him, for he would be sure to carry her to a doctor and threaten his life. She would, unfortunately, just have to deprive him of that opportunity.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Sept 27, 2008 23:08:33 GMT -5
Damien did as he was told and looked away as the dancer bowed to tend to a wound she had gotten somehow. Pouring alcohol on the wound was good idea, few people actually knew it was a good thing to do, but it hurt like hell when you did it. Damien had to do it to arm and leg wounds he got when he had upset the wrong person and got into a brawl in the street. Finally Victoire had given him a sign that he could look and when he did she was leaning against a crate.
When Damien got a look at her in the light she was currently in, she was a beautiful girl. Her blonde hair seemed to glisten in the small bits of light that shined through the rafters and gables above the stage. Her body was thin, as a dancer's would be from the hours of rehearsal, but she wasn't boney skeletal. She had a figure that was normal for a young girl, something that most men wanted.
"Same thing with me. After all, the ones who kept their wits about them stand on top when the drunken idiots fall. I, for one, am part of the former and wait for a chance to get to the top."
Damien had gotten the need to be the best from the streets because, out there at least, the best survived and didn't die from lack of food or shelter. His mother was one of the best, but she grew weaker with sickness, being in jail didn't help her so she hung herself for it. She had failed herself and Damien and she couldn't take it. Too bad she didn't know that she hadn't failed, but what could he do now?
"Unfortunately the ones who will be sane enough to go on will be diminished if the majors falter. If this production fails then it won't be so good for any of us. We'll be out on the street corners, asking for spare change from 'Christian' people who 'would help if they could.' At least I would be, would you, Mlle. Leblanc?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 27, 2008 23:31:17 GMT -5
Victoire listened halfheartedly, more concerned with analysing his extraordinarily perfect face and fighting down the pain. She listened a little more closely, however, when he spoke of ambition and then street corners. Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed a bit; it seemed as if he were prying. "I would not," She snapped, turning her face away to stare at a pair of giggling, gossiping ballerinas still occupying the stage. "Just as surely as I do not give alms." After all, hardly anyone else did either. She could not expect it, did not require it, must not need it. She would steal, of course, and there were other ways in which she pulled in money, even now.
Even so, his comment about his own ambitions rose her brows. He was a very successful man, in the way of things. As far as rank went he was just below Rousseau and her own brother; and the Viscountess, of course. He had been elevated to that position only recently and was probably depending on the success of Roméo et Juliette for the monetary income of a person befitting his new position. In that case, his ire was perfectly understandable.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Sept 27, 2008 23:45:04 GMT -5
Damien heard the giggling ballerinas nearby and his eyes rolled at them. They were very childish, most likely would marry rich once no male patron wanted to watch them dance and would turn his gaze and focus on the actual opera. It was true that male patrons mainly came for the ballerinas, their wives just believed that their husbands were perfect and that they tamed them. Ha!
"At least you're honest about not giving alms," said Damien now simply leaning against the wall instead of the shelf. "You can never depend on kindness of strangers, I say. The only reason you wouldn't steal is because a policeman is nearby and has a close eye on every person that cannot bribe them off."
There were many a time when Damien saw a policeman caught a bourgeoisie teenaged boy stealing some trinket for a girl that they were trying to impress, but got off the hook because of the last name attached. He could never give his own name, mainly because his grandparents had denied having a grandson after their daughter having died at sixteen of an illness with no cure. That's why he would often say that it was a coincidence when people asked if he was related to them. Maybe if he became a success at the Opera they'd accept him. If they did that, he'd spit on them and walk away with a second thought.
The ballerinas were still staring and giggling at him and Victoire. A headache was coming on so Damien figured it was best to get rid of them. "Excuse mademoiselles, the patrons tend to confer in the main entrance. Try digging there and you might be more successful in your hunt."
He said this with a mocking smile and watched them walk off in a huff and a look of shock. It wasn't gentleman like of him, but he was only a gentleman to those who could act it.
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 28, 2008 0:21:22 GMT -5
Victoire tipped her head at his cynical point of view. Yes, it was true. Though there was no reason to be so bitter about it; it was merely a scientific fact, like that electricity travelled well through metal. She was not particularly religious, but she had found the 'seven deadly sins' a very good summary of human nature. The only motives for anyone ever doing anything, she was sure, could be found on that list. Greed, sloth, lust, gluttony, wrath, vanity, pride. Sometimes even a mixture of both. She'd never hoped for anything better, and therefore had never been burned.
"You should not do that," She commented at his foul treatment of the ballerinas. "They can make things very difficult for you. It is better to simply let them be foolish." She had to silently admit that she did not always follow that rule herself. At times it became irresistible to harm where she felt the most harmed. The very nature of them aggravated her, for their ignorance and their security, for their success despite it all.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Sept 28, 2008 8:40:07 GMT -5
It was a horrid fact, but it was true. The ballerinas, surprisingly, had a lot of creditability to them around the Opera Populaire. They could easily ruin someone's reputation with a few words, something that did not scare Damien. But their foolishness was not tolerated by him, he disliked any kind of it.
"That is true," he said with a nod. "It's just that growing up, I was taught that foolishness was a sin, excuse the phrase, because if you are careless then you endanger everyone around you."
There had been many a time where Damien had to spend a night in prison because someone was careless and led the police directly to the lair of the street people. That's why Damien, at age 13, had stopped roaming about with anyone else, relying only on himself and skills he could pick up. He had done well for himself, alas, he did not have expectations. It was less of a chance he could feel disappointment, more so.
As he looked at Victoire, he was slowly finding out whether or not her reputation was true. She did have a bit of a sharp tongue and she obviously detested most of the ballerinas and most likely other cliques around the Opera. But he had never seen her accompanied, she was probably like him, too different to befriend anyone, but didn't care about it. But, she was talking to a red headed girl from the orchestra, they seemed to be friends. Maybe Damien was truly alone.
He took out of his pocket a small card that had gilded edges and border, with fine calligraphy that was confusing. Damien could barely read, he could only read the signs in the street and a few other phrases. He could write, but really only his name.
"If it's not too much, would you mind reading this to me? I would, but I can't. Some noblewoman came in with her daughter and gave one to me and M. Rousseau. She said we were invited, but to what?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Oct 6, 2008 22:00:26 GMT -5
Victoire reached forward and took the scrap of paper even though she could not read nor needed to. There was no reason to reveal that information. She glanced over the card, looking at the intricate, shining designs. Ah, the noble class and their grand expenditures. Handing it back to him, she nodded. "It is a masquerade ball to take place four nights from to-night, celebrating the Opera and the return of its infamously wealthy patron, the Marquis." Her brother had received the same invitation already, and had received help reading it from another cast member who had the talent.
"You should attend," She offered, for lack of anything better to say. She herself had not received an invitation, though it was to be expected. The ballerinas (with the exception of the renowned) were not among the treasured cast members of the Populaire. She would attend, however, on her own terms and for her own reasons. "It will offer a great many opportunities, I am sure. It would be ideal to get in the good graces of the Marquis and his wife."
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Oct 7, 2008 16:25:31 GMT -5
Damien took in the information that Victoire gave him. He really needed to teach himself to read, he managed the lyrics of his part based on what Mlle. Carlisle had told him, understanding his situation, but he realized that it wouldn't always be that easy. Taking the card back, he put it in his pocket and returned his gaze to Victoire.
He couldn't get over what a lovely girl she was, it was just that she wasn't the girl men talked about much and he didn't expect her to be that beautiful. But she was by far one of the prettiest girls that he had seen since he came here. But Damien pushed those thoughts out of his head and came back to the conversation.
"I most likely will attend this affair. Might as well if the rest of the staff is going, plus it would be good to get aquatinted with the Marquis and Marquise. Especially if they're generous patrons as people say they are, more of a chance to get higher up," Damien said, realizing that he sounded like a greedy and careless social climber. It wasn't his way, but he did want to be a success, and unfortunately, that included clawing his way to the top.
"Victoire, you speak highly of this party," Damien said after long abandoning the proper title that was supposed to go with her name. "I take it you'll be going as well? It seems like a good time, and if not... well it would be no different than sitting in the dormitories staring at the ceiling."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Oct 21, 2008 19:25:40 GMT -5
Victoire smiled wistfully, preparing to lie. She was very good at it. Sometimes she wondered if she might make an excellent actress, though she had never been given an opportunity to test those particular skills on the stage. "A common occupation of mine, unfortunately," She droned, one dark brow arched delicately, a crooked smile just barely brushing her lips. Placing a hand gently over her wound with an absent-minded air and leaning back, her face turned away from him as she murmured, "I was not invited, so no--I do not plan to attend." She shrugged one thin shoulder and glanced back at him beneath her lashes, wondering. Could he be of any use to her? She internally cast the idea aside. He was far too clever--and too handsome--to involve, or to become involved with (in any way). He would only pose a danger to her.
She stood slowly, not sacrificing her grace to favour her unhurt leg, and inclined her blonde head in a gesture of geniality. A few golden locks slid snake-like over her shoulder to hang by her face, shining beside her eyes. She had always thought that she had the appearance of a Grecian statue; Aphrodite perhaps, or Eris. She would make a lovely Medusa. Laughing at her own joke she turned and began to make her exit into the dispersing crowd.
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Post by Damien Babineaux on Oct 25, 2008 16:47:23 GMT -5
"Pity. Such a lovely girl not invited to an extravagant event. A tragedy and a crime, really. But without an invitation, one would not be able to get in," he finished off the sentence with a devilish smile. Victoire was most definitely not like the other prancing and giggling ballerinas. She was different, an outcasts like many there at the Opera. But she was also a danger, history told the many downfalls of men because of women. Adam was cast out when Eve took to the apple, Pandora released all the evil in the world of man, and so on. She was a danger, forbidden danger...
He stood up straight and looked at Victoire with hypnotizing eyes, a habit that he knew about and exploited frequently. "Until we meet again, Mlle. Leblanc. May no misfortunes fall upon you before then..." He said, walking away in silence. Damien was never one for games, then again, life was just a game and he was a player in that game. This part of the game was tricky and must be dealt with delicately, or it'll hurt in the end.
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