|
Post by Armand Faure on Aug 8, 2009 19:37:36 GMT -5
Armand had been silent the entire way to their apartment. Not a word, not a single question, had passed his lips. He was obviously in deep thought. They took the usual path, passing through busy streets thronged with workers, vendors and pickpockets, each Faure too wary and too skilled to fall prey, and then plunging into the dark realm of the Parisian slum. Armand had started out an orphan in these very slums, and despite how hard he had fought his way up the ladder, money was always short. The little second-story apartment was small and cramped, but the cleanest and most sturdy in their area.
He unlocked the door and let Lucien pass him, then closed it behind them, sliding the three bolts on the thick door and then collapsing into a beaten up, but still comfortable blue chair. There were bars on the windows that made the little squares of light from the windows fall to the floor in slices. The bolts, and bars, all might seem to the unknowing a paranoid policeman's attempt to keep out the dishonourable; yet the truth was that they were ineffective attempts to keep the little boy so innocently standing before him now inside.
"Lucien--I do not mean to punish you, really, I'm just... confused. Do you realise how very--mn, the word?--singular you are? And do you have ambition? What is it that you would like to do with that mind, that voice?" His eyes widened, and terror crept into his tone, barely concealed. "Do you wish to forever use your genius to terrorise the innocent?"
|
|
Lucien Faure
Chorus Girl/Boy
Children be seen and not heard? Don't make me laugh.
Posts: 43
|
Post by Lucien Faure on Aug 8, 2009 21:12:45 GMT -5
Lucien was dead silent all the way home, trying to figure out what he had just heard. He knew he had a mind, a spectacular mind for his young age that was both powerful and dangerous. It had allowed him to see into the real world, the world of adults at such a young age, which held a heavy burden on him. But now he knew that he had a voice, a lovely voice even, that had brought the attention of one of the world renown opera houses, the Populaire. It was strange to him, but perhaps this was just an opportunity worth taking.
Him and his uncle had arrived at their apartment, or what Lucien called a prison darkly because of the bars on the window. It was definitely something you didn't see often where they lived, but it was still not something Lucien wanted to be stuck inside. The stuffy air, the lack of natural light...it was a horrid place for a children to be spending a day in. He had his ways of getting out, loosening the bars of the window and climbing down the side of the building that was constructed similar to a ladder, pick locking the door, even once he moved through a series of tunnels in the walls of the apartment building that he was small enough to fit through. Was not recommended to do it a second time because of the health hazzards.
Lucien walked into the apartment ahead of Armand and sat on a small wooden chair that had been his in his parent's home. It was small, but he still was able to sit in it without it collapsing. Then he listened to Armand's small lecture (thank God that it wasn't the whole trouble lecture he got frequently.) trying to think of what he wanted to do and say. What would he do with his mind?
"Uncle...I'm a child and do not know what I can and cannot do. I know I can't go on torturing the innocent forever, eventually I will get old for it. But at the moment, I'm not sure what I want to do with my mind and voice. Maybe the Opera will provide the answer..."
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
|
|
|
Post by Armand Faure on Aug 9, 2009 3:16:23 GMT -5
Lucien spoke as if he were an adult commenting on the state of a child who was not himself. Even so, it was he that they were discussing, and the superior quality of Lucien's dialect was unnerving to Armand. It was a child's sweet, light voice that came out of a handsome young face, still plump with baby fat, but the words and tone of a seasoned man. All of Lucien's family, though practically eradicated, existed in some form within him. He had his father's keen intelligence, his mother's talent, and his uncle's petulance.
"The Opera, yes. I think that it is a good idea."
What else could he say, really? For once, he had a strong urge to talk to Lucien about his parents. Armand didn't like to speak of them; Lucien knew, and it was almost like an unspoken pact that they should not bring up the subject. Lifting the chain of his locket around his head and off of his neck, he then held the little golden oval in his lap and stared at it. With a flick of his thumb, it was opened. He stared at the busy press of tiny faces in the frame. Louis crowded close to Annabelle, who held a baby Lucien in her arms. A big, silly grin on his face, Armand was looking down at his nephew as if about to make a funny face, his intention clear in his glinting eyes. It was the only photograph that existed of all of them together.
"Does it ever bother you that I look exactly like your father?" He asked suddenly, looking back up at Lucien. The thought had never occurred to him that it might be odd to Lucien, seeing his dead father day after day in the face of his twin.
|
|
Lucien Faure
Chorus Girl/Boy
Children be seen and not heard? Don't make me laugh.
Posts: 43
|
Post by Lucien Faure on Aug 10, 2009 19:43:41 GMT -5
The Opera was a very sensitive place for Armand and Lucien knew that. Lucien's parents had died there, but he did not witness it. When he had been in that theatre however there was an eerie feel, like someone had been watching him. It wasn't the infamous phantom, but it had been two phantoms that he knew in their lives. Perhaps being within the Opera's walls would do him good and connect him to his parents, so they could watch over him. Plus they would be able to see his success and hear him singing. Armand would only go there because his position called, Lucien believed he wanted little to do with the place.
Then Armand asked him the question of whether or not looking like Lucien's father bothered him or not. Lucien looked out the window for a moment, the bars' shadows spread across his face as he contemplated the idea. It was very strange to know that your father is dead, but be able to see his face everyday, moving about and alive. Armand and his father seemed like two different people to him, but still that face had nearly made Lucien call Armand 'Father' several times, but he always caught himself before doing so.
"Does it bother me that you look like Father? No it doesn't not in the least. I know you're not my father, you're two different people with different faces in my eyes. You're not and never will be confused with my father in my eyes. Sorry if that disappoints you." That was a lie, which wasn't exactly rare in Lucien. He didn't want to show anything that made Armand think that he would be a connection to feelings about his father.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
|
|
|
Post by Armand Faure on Aug 28, 2009 18:22:31 GMT -5
Armand's eyes narrowed on Lucien's, searching for a lie, as always; and failing, as usual. His attention drifted back down to the small portrait in the locket involuntarily, and his brows drew together in the concentration of recollection. He stared each in turn at the stoic, washed out photo-effect faces of his brother and sister-in-law, then at the slightly blurred and much more lively faces of he and baby Lucien. Neither of them had been able to respect the commands of the photographer, and their photographic memories had suffered a sideways smear for it. It seemed almost symbolic; the moving, living faces of he and Lucien beneath the loving, watchful and forever perfectly still faces of the people who had once cared for them. With a sigh, he snapped the brass cover shut and replaced the thick, tarnished chain around his neck, tucking the jewelry beneath his shirt before correcting his collar.
"Your mother was a wonderful singer, you know," he commented idly, grappling for some distant thing he didn't know the name for. Was it a memory? A hint at the mysterious person that lay beneath Lucien's baby face? With a jerky, involuntary gesture, Armand's arm shifted on the arm of the chair and his palm turned upward. His body seemed to know what he wanted when his mind rejected it. So independent, Armand? It is natural to want a hug from your only remaining family, his own thoughts chastised.
|
|
Lucien Faure
Chorus Girl/Boy
Children be seen and not heard? Don't make me laugh.
Posts: 43
|
Post by Lucien Faure on Aug 31, 2009 15:27:25 GMT -5
Lucien's face had been cold most of the time, unfeeling and uncaring. It was simply the way of life he had adopted as his own, after all he had nothing to really care about anymore. His parents were gone, his home was someone else's home now, his uncle was failing at being a replacement for the love his parents offered and this prison cell was just the icing on some poisonous cake. Who would have thought that this was where he would end up? Who knew that this had been his fate? At least, it was his fate until today, when Armand and Mlle. Carlisle had discovered a glimmer of talent in him, the opening of a door of a true future. A wonderful chance...
Armand had been looking at his locket once more, a locket that contained a picture of his mother, his father, himself and Armand. Little did Armand know that was not the last picture that survived the deceased ones, there was one more. Lucien had stashed a faded photograph of his mother and father on their wedding day that he had managed to take from one of their drawers before moving in with Armand. His mother looked so beautiful, even if it wasn't the most expensive dress in Paris, but her face spoke more than anyone could possibly talk. Such soft and gentle eyes, her hair cascading over her shoulder...she was a beautiful woman in life...
"Your mother was a wonderful singer, you know."
"Of course...I got to hear it every night. She sang me to sleep and comforted me when I needed it." Lucien paused for a moment and looked to Armand. "Sometimes I still hear her, in my dreams. Then for a moment I believe she's actually there but then...but then I wake up and she's gone." Then I die a little on the inside...
[/size]
|
|
|
Post by Armand Faure on Aug 31, 2009 23:25:12 GMT -5
Armand nodded slowly, folding his arm to wrap around his middle, as if his stomach ached. Come to think of it, it rather did. Did Lucien really remember his mother's voice? Armand could not remember her voice. He could never forget Louis' voice; after all, he heard it every day. He had never spoken like Louis, though. There was something about tone and inflection that made Armand's voice entirely different from his twins'. It had been nearly three years since their death -- Lucien's birthday would be soon.
"What would you like for your birthday?" He asked, simply trying to keep the friendly conversation going, and turn it away from those that they had lost. Lucien's voice was bitter and cold, and Armand hurt for it.
Conversationally, he continued, "There is talk of a large party soon, for your little friend, the Lady Marie de Jondrette. Now that the Marquis is returned, it is almost expected that her birthday -- it is probably rather close to yours -- should be a large affair. As an apprentice of the Opera, which is so coveted by that family, you might be invited. That is, if the Marquise does not pass away first, for then the family will be in mourning and there will be no party at all."
|
|
Lucien Faure
Chorus Girl/Boy
Children be seen and not heard? Don't make me laugh.
Posts: 43
|
Post by Lucien Faure on Oct 1, 2009 20:55:13 GMT -5
It was torture that Lucien was put through whenever those dreams entered his head, of his mother's beautiful and angelic voice, her face so pure and white as a ghost with cheeks that glowed a soft and natural pink. Her face was the one he last saw before he fell asleep as an infant, when he looked up from his cradle she was there, patiently waiting for him to fall asleep before joining her husband in bed. It seemed the Lucien could never escape that image and he never would, God was punishing him for his misdeed after their death, for the dreams had only begun recently. Or was the Almighty sending him a message? Was the Opera the key to his fate as a being? His mother singing, where she had died, both were allusions to him singing at the Opera. Was there something there was drawn to him, that was trying to drag him there by the hair? Lucien didn't know. It wasn't his business to know.
Then Armand mentioned his birthday and Lucien thought about what he wanted for a moment. There was so little in this world that he truly needed and wanted, he was a boy of the slums and didn't expect much. What could he possibly ask for? No toy could satisfy him, no book interested him at the moment, despite him having read all the books in the apartment already and there was nothing else he could think of. Well there was one thing that he could ask for, but he feared it was too out of Armand's price range. It was a piano to work with, something he had yet to accomplish was playing an instrument and it was a challenge he wanted to face, a summit to climb, a distance to travel. However a piano was not necessary, he could ask for another instrument, another thing to master.
"I want an instrument. Any instrument to learn and master so I can extend my knowledge of music. I can only go so far with singing and an instrument would take me even further. Only if it can be afforded though, I know these are difficult times."
Armand went on to mention Marie's birthday...the girl that he had met in the park and had been separated from. There was no reason for them to be playing wih each other then, but now perhaps because he was with the Opera now there would be more of a reason? No, no, he was still an orphan who lived with his uncle, without a true fortune to his name compared to her dowry which must have been more than the cost of all the apartments within the next three blocks. She couldn't be seen with him unless he made a name for himslf in the Opera, which would still be barely enough to stand in her presence. Maybe he would accumulate fortune elsewhere, Lucien's many talents could go from music to the sciences, the sciences to mathematics and beyond! A party would allow him at least to make small talk and then a nod in respect. But the way the Marquise had looked at the last event was not a good sign of there being any party any time soon. It was unheard of to celebrate any occasion after a death in the family within six months or possibly even more time.
"Perhaps I would be invited. But she is anything but my friend, Uncle. She is of high society and I am scum of the street. She can be considered a patron to my workplace, a connection through wok. Hopefully her mother can persevere through her illness, just for the sake of her family as I'm sure she would be a great loss to them each."
[/size]
|
|
|
Post by Armand Faure on Oct 14, 2009 14:57:49 GMT -5
"An instrument," Echoed Armand thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Armand was not particularly well-paid, but they were surviving, and he had been able to put away little extras. Plus, there was the fund left by the family's joint efforts before the death of Lucien's parents. All had supposed that a fund must be put aside for young Lucien in the case that he was in need of an education beyond what they could provide. It was never projected that they could save enough to actually pay his way, but they could afford enough for very nice clothes and grammar school to help him make a presentation to a generous person who could.
Now that Lucien was in the opera and had expressed interest in pursuing music, could he tap into that fund for an instrument? He supposed so. They had very little room for a piano, and that would probably eat up most of the funds as it was. Still, if he was going to get something, it wasn't going to be a tin whistle. He'd think of something. Armand was no music expert, but he could be practical when he applied himself to the task.
A long, frustrated sigh escaped him at Lucien's words. Scum of the street? Yes, yes, they were called that. Armand knew how it felt to be an orphan, unprivileged and alone. But Lucien was not alone; he just thought that he was. That in itself did not mean that he would not be looked down upon throughout the entire course of his life.
"Lucien, we aren't scum. We are poor. And this doesn't look like the street to me! In fact, it's an upper story." He managed a small smile. "It is not that we are so low, it is that they are so very high. They sit perched in their gilded cages, looking down on us miserable folk. Yet they are truly, the lot of them, just as miserable. They just probably deserve it more." Ah, indulging in the age-old prejudices of the French. "You are quite a bit more intelligent than any of the noble class themselves -- I know, for I must wrestle the foibles of both you and they quite frequently." It was a little jab, but in good fun. He was grinning, and chuckled a little.
|
|