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Post by Henri Leblanc on Sept 1, 2009 4:37:38 GMT -5
His sister was going to kill someone. His sister was going to kill an evil man who had committed the same crime. The man had killed an innocent woman and done Lord knows what else to the other woman, the one who looked like his sister. But did killing this man make any of that right? Did killing this man bring back his dead innocent wife, or erase the horrors from the man's daughter's mind, or save their singing instructor, or the fiancee or any other person this man had hurt? No. No it did not. That would never happen. She could not do it. Victoire could not save a soul by doing this. The only thing she could do was damn herself as he was damned. She did not deserve this. He could not let her do this to herself. She was his saving grace and now she would commit herself to the same hell he lived in day after day after day. He would not have it. But he could not control her so he would just have to forget it. Forget about the murder that was about to happen. Forget about his sister's virtue and how it was going to be lost. Forget about how he could do nothing for her now.
For what had to be the millionth time that evening Henri picked up his drink, stared at it and then put it down with a hard thunk again without even taking a drink. God he needed help. He needed something that was not a drink. He couldn't stare at a single drink, a single whore. Nothing made him happy tonight. Nothing could even distract him. Everything he did right now he thought of her. Everything he looked out or thought of made him think of her or something about her. Or how he was failing her. God he couldn't handle it anymore! He couldn't handle this anymore. He took a deep breath and shook his head looking at the amber liquid in his glass willing himself to drink it, ignoring the strange calls and looks from all of his usual friends and admirers. He sighed and ignored them. He had to ignore them. He couldn't take them and their shallow thoughts. They had no idea. They had not the slightest idea about him. No one did. No one but Victoire. It had never been anyone but Victoire. Looking into the amber liquid all he could say was, "My God....what have I done."
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Post by Marius Rousseau on Sept 1, 2009 13:41:33 GMT -5
Marius was in a grand mood this evening. After all, he had gained attention from the girl, no woman, he felt for, and it had been an overall good day and evening. Of course, he had thought it odd when he had returned to the dormitories that Henri was not there. Yes, he loved pubs, but all the same, no one seemed to know where he had gone. Everyone was there except Henri, and that wasn't normal. He liked crowds, thrived in crowds. Of course, he wasn't too worried as it wasn't entirely unheard of for Henri to just take off, but all the same, he thought there'd be no harm in joining him and having a celebratory drink--just one, of course. So, he had gathered the coat he had foolishly forgotten on his trek to the rooftop to meet his Juliette and had left the Opera Populaire.
What he had found was not highly ideal. By the time he had arrived, he had expected to find Henri at least tipsy, if not already drunk out of his mind and out of control with a few whores around him, vying for his money. What he found was Henri sitting there staring at something; he couldn't tell what it was from behind. He wasn't chatting it up, livening up the uncomfortably dead pub. Something was wrong, but of course, he wasn't going to walk up to him and go, "What's wrong, Henri?" No, that would be far too direct, and he wasn't sure that his friend would accept directness at the moment. He'd give him the chance to retain his pride and not say anything about it directly. He owed his friend that much at the very least despite his constant teasing and badgering to find out whom it was that Queen Mab had struck him with.
"What's this? A full glass? Has the ale been contaminated?" Marius joked as he slid into the seat next to his friend, glancing at the bartender and calling out, "Ale, please!" As the bartender worked to get him some from the keg, he took the time to observe his friend, and it disturbed him, to put it mildly. Surely he wasn't so affected by the abduction of that woman. After all, it wasn't like Henri had flings, was it? Not to his recollection at the moment. So, what was it? There was only one answer, really. His sister, something about his sister. Victoire. If there was any woman on this earth that Henri actually cared about and loved unconditionally and was fully committed to, it was Victoire. However, how was he to ask this in the middle of a pub? This was a private matter unless his friend deemed otherwise whilst drunk, but from the looks of things, he was painfully sober.
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Sept 1, 2009 16:35:06 GMT -5
Needless to say, to be seen right now would have been an embarrassment for Henri. To be seen right now by anyone would have ruined his reputation as a jester, a mirth maker, and a general all around wonderfully jovial man to be around. One evening at the pub with not a single joke or drink passing his lips would have done that. He had considered himself lucky tonight to know that not a single soul would see him drinking here. They had all retired by the time he had slipped away and tonight seemed a quiet night for the opera house for one reason or another where no one felt like carousal, himself included. Henri had thought himself safe- safe to wallow in his own misery for abandoning his sister, for his lack of ability to do anything for her, do anything to save her. He was safe to blame himself at will and play the reverse part for once in his life. But it seemed that once again he was wrong.
What's this? A full glass? Has the ale been contaminated." Henri felt his jaw clench and his teeth crunch down on some invisible strip of leather to keep him from screaming in frustration or pain- Marius. Of all people Marius had to come and see him like this. Marius was probably the closest Henri had to a friend, at least a friend of decent behavior, one that could actually feel moral scruples and understand his situation, or at list feel empathy. Perhaps that is why Henri hated the fact that Marius should see him like this. Had it been any other soul on this earth Henri could have drawn attention away from the drinking and feigned his usual act. He would have spent every penny he had to get the other person too drunk to notice and carried on. No, he could not do that with Marius. It was a shock his pure friend had even ordered a drink tonight. Even something as weak as ale was a treat for the man. He of all people would be able to tell something was wrong and Henri could not tell him. It was his sister's life at stake if Marius knew. If anyone knew she would be arrested and strung up or shot. No. Henri would not have it. Why had his sister even cursed him by telling him this!? Still, this was not the time for such thoughts. A response was mandated before the situation worsened.
Slowly, with a purpose and control that surprised himself Henri lifted his lips to the glass and drank. The liquid was warm. Disgustingly warm from its time on the counter. All the texture and life had gone out of the brew just has it had gone out of him the minute she had told him the truth. It had never been a sin to tell the truth till now. Henri was convinced of that. The truth had robbed him of his life, his body, his vintage and worse yet since he could not do a think, he could not gain any of that back. He was stuck at the proverbial flat line just as the ale before him was. His throat burned from the amber liquid but he suppressed the pain and the guilt of his first drink of the night. "I assure you its a fine ale Marius, just not correct for the festivities of this current evening." Funeral festivities as far as Henri was concerned. A dirge was playing in the back of his mind. His sister could be dead by tomorrow.
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Post by Marius Rousseau on Oct 19, 2009 23:42:18 GMT -5
"And what festivities are those, Henri?" Marius asked as the drink was handed to him, and he took a swig before setting the drink aside. He wasn't going to tiptoe when Henri practically had begged the question with his words. From the looks of him, he needed something much stronger, but for whatever reason, his friend was abstaining from that, and that was disconcerting. Henri usually would have had a few by now and been ready with some sort of comment to tease him for getting something so weak himself. So, the question was what was the problem? It had to be Victoire as formerly deduced, but what could his sister do that would concern Henri so much? Have a secret wedding? No, that would be all over the opera house as would an affair with a dancer or singer of some sort.
And surely she wasn't into the whole Phantom mess. That person was gone, whomever he might have been, even though some naive girl with romance in her mind might try to seek out his lair. But that wasn't Victoire, was it? At least not from what he'd heard of her. Then again, Henri tended to praise her above all others--the one woman he actually respected and loved. The others were simply whores for his use. He had no idea what to say to his friend, if it was his sister, because he had no sibling to worry about. Illness had seen to that. But off that brief tangent, whatever this was had to be bad. Henri wasn't drinking. Henri wasn't in an insanely cheerful mood. Henri wasn't drunk out of his head. Henri didn't have swarms of whores around him.
So, would Henri try to lie and shove it aside as though it was nothing, just another skeleton in his closet? or would he admit to it? After all, it wasn't like Marius was one to go and tell everyone and his uncle.
((Sorry, muse sucks of late, but I was tired of not posting, so I tried. Hopefully next time it'll be better.))
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Nov 30, 2009 3:37:13 GMT -5
This was beyond embarrassing. Never before had Henri been the dullard or the pining fool. And yet now it took all his control not to either stomp around the city in a fit of rage and hate or break down and hide himself away like the hermit he would long to be without the light that was his sister in his life. He knew that without her he would no longer want to celebrate. He would no longer want to sing or be of any joy. Without her he would have nothing left to live for. He would just waste away. He did not wish to, but at the same time Henri could see no other option. For him there was no other option. But did he want to divulge that to another? Marius knew the extent to which Henri loved and lived and cared for his sister, but if he said anything to anyone no matter how trusted it could end in death for his sister. But it was either that or rot. Still, was he brave enough to speak?
Steeling himself, peering down coldly at the drink before him, Henri forced his hand toward the tankard before him and drank deeply. As the warm liquid ran down his throat Henri could hardly feel the burn of the alcohol within. He could feel nothing but despair and desperation as he kept drinking in the vile ale as if reaching the bottom of the jug could solve his problems and relieve his despair. He knew from years of experience it would not. He also knew that it might just make things worse. But he had a reason for this drink. He had to appear somewhat normal. He also had to keep his promise to his sister- save him or save Liana. It seemed she had chosen the later so he would do his best to condemn himself right here and right now as he could not when he was alone. Marius as his witness he would be in ruins by the end of the night.
The drink was lowered with an empty resounding echo as deep as that of the one in Henri's heart at the idea of his sister being either alive and dead to him, or dead altogether. He could not stand either so he could do nothing else but call for another drink. It seemed the last logical thing to do left. Order another drink and answer his only friend and confidant left without breaking down. A man, after all, must remain a man. For Henri his manhood was the only thing left to him and it was hanging by a mere thread- his sister had severed the rest with both her refusal to save him and her refusal to listen to his common sense. He still could not believe it. But as the new drink was placed before him he found he had no need to believe anything but the new ale in front of him and its existence- the need for it to be drunk. Solemnly, without a look to his friend Henri answered calmly and coldly, "A funeral my friend- a funeral."
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