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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Dec 21, 2008 22:17:40 GMT -5
Victoire was exhausted. Never before had she worked so hard--and that was saying a lot. Not only was she physically taxed, but she was very emotionally strained. It was very difficult to not become attached in this situation, to care, and her ability to remain detached was her primary recommendation. She stood in front of her brother's dressing room, knowing he was probably passed out there with some girl, drunk, or bragging about something he did not actually do... or some combination thereof.
She knocked, once, gave it some time, knocked again, and this time said, "It is your sister," to assure that he would open up. No matter what Henri did, he always cared for his sister. They were two eggs in a basket, made closer by the fact that they were the only ones and the basket was never a clean one. She was still in her practice clothes, her hair still up, and her arms were folded over her chest. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, which would only concern Henri further, if he wasn't still panicking over the fact that she had gone missing several times in the last month and said nothing about it to him. She usually told him everything. This time, she couldn't; at least, not until it was all over.
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Jan 15, 2009 18:28:29 GMT -5
Drink was not the same. Even women were not the same. Something in the opera house and changed and any decent performer could feel it. The burning liquid which he had been so fond of before became poison to him. Drink was after all his way of celebrating. With drink Henri celebrating good fortune; the good fortune that he was alive, the good fortune that he was employed, the good fortune that he and his sister had clean room and board, the good fortune that he had everything he could ever want from women, to wine and had nothing to desire for. His wants had not changed. His personality had not changed. Henri had always been an optimist for the most part, but lately he was having a hard time to find the rose tint in the Populaire despite both his best efforts and his new clarity. It was to such a state and such a degree that even standing before the brilliant stained glass in any room of Paris could not inspire him to sing to his full potential. Even the most beautiful women in the city, in the world he would venture, could not have him sing the way that was demanded of him. Things were too off to sing. Everything was wrong. A blind man much less a drunk one could see that and Henri was neither. Henri was worried.
Worry was not something that came easily to Henri. When he was young he always preferred to frolic rather than work as was demanded. That was how he found the opera house. That had been his dream: a place where he could work and play at the same time. He had been a stagehand all those years and never once in pulling ropes or setting props had he ever felt as if it were work. Every day had been a new adventure full of new pleasures and marvelous things he had never seen or felt before. The opera was a different world and Henri had always appreciated as the world of pleasure that it was. A miraculous place were all work turned to play. The only time he had ever worried in the opera house was when his sister came.
He knew by then all about ballet girls and stagehands and all the problems that occurred. He knew of the darker side and he never wanted that for his sister. He had been on of the pigs watching the girls. He knew the comments. He knew the abuses. His sister was not going to have to deal with that. He would protect her to his last breath for she was his only true family and the only person he had ever really cared about. His friends, after all, were really hanging to him for the benefits they got for remaining along side him. The women were not the kind a man would fall in love with. His sister though was his sister; she loved him despite his numerous faults, and unlike anyone else in this world, she needed him. Knowing that is what kept him constantly waiting for her to knock on his door and it also kept part of him in check, wanting to make her proud.
Incidentally he was sure that she would be proud of his lack of revelry in the past few weeks. Ever since the Bal Masque that had brought such darkness and despair on the singers of the opera house as well as the stagehands. One of their own had been wrongly accused and another imprisoned with a God awful man with a reputation that preceded him: they said that he had the blood of two women on his hands, perhaps more. No one who know her, despite her sometimes tyrannical nature during rehearsals, wanted Mademoiselle Formorian to be the next in his line of terror. And no one could believe his story. Everyone knew that their singing trainer had been besotted with the quietest of the stagehands and like wise, everyone knew that he worshiped her like any man in love would have to. Something bigger was afoot. Any person with an ounce of perception could feel it. Anyone could feel the cold sobering hand of worry on their shoulder. Unfortunately that hand had changed many people recently; among them Victoire.
She had been gone so much in these past few weeks. She never had done that before. Henri had, when it started, dismissed it as her going out to have fun and try to abate the stress they were all feeling since the bal. Then again, he had not seen her at the bal in any of the dresses that she or the opera house owned. That had worried him a great deal. It was the way of young ladies after all to frolic and fawn over such things as grandeur and dancing and the chance for a mysterious romance. Still, Victoire had always been more practical than that so Henri had dismissed it as her tastes. But it did not take a brother to see something was wrong.
Beauty had always been in the family. Their mother had posessed that happy gift, their father for all his harsh nature had a certain shape to him that had made him look pleasing, Henri had inherited these features and so had Victoire. But in the past weeks, with all her disappearing and her silence his pretty little sister had become... different. She had been tired and worn out before rehearsals even started. Her dancing was lacking the shine and the luster that it usually did. She had grown a bit thinner and her eyes had dark circles around them that no girl that young should have to own. Her eyes these days looked like that of their mother's: worn, tired, sad, worried, and not the eyes a younger woman should have. Needless to say Henri was hungering to be let in, but he could not even approach her to ask what the matter was Victoire had become so foreign to him.
It seemed though that it was time for all to be revealed. The door was pounding and Henri rushed to fix his hair and straighten up his messy domain before his sister was admitted. She knew and disapproved of his lifestyle but Henri wondered if she had even noticed the change that the worry for her had made in him. He would make ever effort to cheer her by showing her the improvement.
After taking a deep breath Henri opened the door and immediately a sadness he had not felt in a long time filled him along side his concern. This was not his sister. This was not the girl he loved. This could not be her. She seemed to be worse in both her anxiety and her looks. Henri knew something was not right and so he admitted her and led her to his bed sitting down beside her. He took a moment to gather himself and then looked in his sister's much aged eyes. "Enough is enough Victoire. You have to tell me what you have been up to. Is it not clear that everyone, that I am worried about you? You're thinner, and you do not look or act like yourself anymore. Something has to be the matter and you have to tell me. I will not allow you to leave this room until you do."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Jan 22, 2009 2:33:26 GMT -5
There was rustling behind the door, and Victoire pouted at the many unsavoury things she imagined he had been doing before her intrusion, but then he opened the door and she was instantly shocked speechless. Peeking around him into the room, she saw the usual messiness, but no women, no empty bottles, and so foul smell. He smelled not a bit like alcohol as he ushered her into the room. A normal reaction would be to smile in satisfaction, but her eyebrows drew together instead with concern. Something was not right. Was he so worried? Perhaps he knew what she was up to, or didn't and imagined something far worse. She could hardly imagine anything being far worse, but then again, he was much more imaginative than she.
She sat down upon the bed, always graceful, and folded one ankle beneath the other. To her, all movement was dance. She had not been as enthusiastic or energetic in her dancing of late, for too often she was operating on little to no sleep; still, it was habit and nature for her to dance, and she did it with every minute movement. He sat down next to her, and the bed sank with his much more formidable weight, pulling her toward him. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder like she had as a tiny child, and even the sag of her shoulders was graceful.
"Enough is enough Victoire. You have to tell me what you have been up to. Is it not clear that everyone, that I am worried about you? You're thinner, and you do not look or act like yourself anymore. Something has to be the matter and you have to tell me. I will not allow you to leave this room until you do."
She waited, taking in his words, and stared ahead at a stained spot on the floor. Finally, after a deep breath, she mustered a playful tone. "Henri, do I look so bad? I believe that you have damaged my pride." Before he could speak--she knew he would not accept such an evasion--she continued, her tone more serious, but lighter than she expected. "I am up to no good, brother, far worse than you ever did. That must frighten you. It is so dirty a deed that I cannot tell you, for fear of your safety. I am in deep; I did not expect for it to go this far, but my emotional whims have betrayed me and dragged me into something the depth of which would shock you."
A long pause again, and she lifted her hand to place her middle and forefinger on the back of his neck, finding the pressure points and rubbing gently in the way that she knew would calm him. It was something that had always helped for hangovers, and she hoped that it might work for worry, too. Finally, as if out of the blue, she asked, "Do you know Liana Marceau, the chorus girl? Have you noticed that we are nearly twins?"
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Jan 22, 2009 15:37:05 GMT -5
His little sister was trying to keep him as calm as possible. It seemed his behavioral change had alarmed her more than it had pleased her. She seemed to realize that he was worried for her. It should have come to no surprise. They were kin, they were blood, he would always care for her in that way and she should have known that. She should have known he would be worried. She should have known to come to him for help long before her beauty started to fade and her worry ate at her talents. Coming to him now was not enough and if she thought he could be calmed with her laying her shoulder on his head in sisterly care and meekness, or if his worry could be subsided with a little rub on the neck, his little sister was sorely mistaken. All these things merely worried him more. She only did them when preparing to either lecture him or give him disappointing news. Given how she acted and looked, he was sure that it was worse news than had ever been delivered to him before.
Muscles tensed and teeth pushing down on each other in the fashion of a man about to get his leg cut off he listened to Victoire. She tried to joke and then realized it would not work. He did not even have to tell her twice before she proceeded to tell him that his suspicions were right: she was in dire trouble. It was worse than Henri had thought too. Worse than he had ever done apparently, and God forgive him for the things he had done. He treated women like dirt, he drank, he smoked, he was lecherous and lustful. As far as the sins went he was sure had touched almost all but murder from sloth to pride. He had committed severe amounts of theft when they were young. Who knows what other issues he had gotten himself into. But what could be worse than him? Was she pregnant? Had a man left her with child? Was that where she had been seeking off to. She was not a whore. He would have known if she had gone to that oldest of professions if she had wouldn't he?
The tense feelings in Henri's body grew. He could not relax his shoulders. He was looking at her with an intense questioning full of worry and fire. What had his dear little pure sister done to best his wrongs? What had she gone missing for? What was the secret and greatest of sins? What would have happened if he had done as he was supposed to and watched for her, took care of her? Had he failed her as a brother and a faux father? God he had been a fool. Here he had been out chasing pleasure and women when he should have been looking to his own blood! His own house was somehow in danger! Apparently he was in danger! It was all his fault. He should have minded his sister and kept her out of such dangerous folly whatever it was.
A deep knot presented itself in Henri's throat. He waited for her to disclose the blow of his failure as a brother in her transgression and found that it was nothing more than that she and another girl looked alike. That could not be it could it? That could not be the great wrong. It was so mindless. So stupid that he could almost not bear her saying it! But wait...if she had used this to her advantage to steal a man or commit a crime and place it on this innocent quiet young singer, what then? But Victoire was not the type to do such a thing. She had not wanted for anything since she entered the opera house! But what if she wanted Liana's lover if she had one and had stolen him using her looks. What if someone was after her in revenge. If the other girl was a singer she could have been a mistress the wife could have them killed. The singer might be after her. Maybe she was pregnant with the man's child. Henri would have to kill him. He would! Take the child to be his own bastard spawn! But what if that was not the issue?
The frustration reached a peak and Henri was sure he was about to break down and do something drastic if she did not get to the point. His muscles were knotted at the thought of his sister being in mortal danger. His teeth were grinding in anger and frustration until finally he burst out in a way much harsher and louder than he had expected. "What does some stupid little chorus singer have to do with you Victoire! You are not her no matter how much you look alike. Now tell me what is the matter!"
No sooner than this had escaped his lips Henri relaxed. He closed his eyes in shame for raising his voice for the only family he had left and opened them slowly, sighing out all the tension. His muscles hurt from the strain but he lifted his arms to hold his sister and calm her. He rocked her gently as he would a small child of his own and tried to think of a way to calm her and help her. She had come to him and he would make it right. That is what she expected and so far, as he had done most of his life, he was letting her down. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to yell petite ange. You know I love you and I am worried for you. Tell me what has happened. Why do you speak of this girl?"
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Aug 4, 2009 17:24:15 GMT -5
Victoire could feel him growing more and more uneasy beside her, feel his tension rise. He was like a rope being pulled too taught, ready to break. When she finally began to get to the point of the matter, faltering enough to end up being just plain cryptic, he did. He snapped, standing, ready to pace, shouting at her as he had never done before. Victoire was a strong woman, but as it sometimes go with people, her brother's approval was her weakness. She shuddered back, wounded, and tears rimmed her eyes unshed. A little gasping sob escaped her lips as the full realisation of his disappointment hit her. That disappointment hadn't been born yet, but she was words away from handing it to him on a gilded platter.
Guilt and regret flashed across his face, and then he was holding her, rocking her back and forth as she sobbed silently. Her shoulders heaved and her chest constricted with each soundless gasp, but when she spoke, her voice was as even as could be expected in such a situation. Finally, breaking as well, she revealed all of the things that she should not have.
"Oh, Henri! It all goes back to Celeste. She's been so successful! She's rising so quickly, and I don't know how! You know she's my rival. I've been falling under. I wanted to know how she improving, how she was rising. I snooped. I thought that the Comte Denais, that villain, might be funding her, because then she would not want to reveal who was behind her. His reputation is so bad, you know. I know a girl who is a chambermaid at his Château. She brought me his letters, and what did I find? A letter from the Marquise de Jondrette, requesting a secret meeting. The details were highly irregular. I met with her in secret instead, cloaked. And she had such an odd, terrible charge. She thought that I--a replacement for the Comte--was an assassin, and wished to hire me. I was so shocked. But so curious, as well, you know how I am! Such trouble I am in. I was condemned when she explained, by compassion, you see. She wanted an assassin for the Marquis Deloncre. She told a shocking story." She paused now to gasp, so fast and breathlessly had she been speaking then dove into it. "Her childhood friend, Nicole Deloncre, had disappeared many years ago after the death of her mother. The Marquise insisted that it was because the girl was running away from the father; a father that had in fact murdered the girl's mother! That girl, Nicole Deloncre, she went to the Populaire, and she... she became Liana Marceau, the chorus girl. The Marquis Jondrette had betrayed his wife, who is dying of consumption. She wishes to have the Marquis killed, so that Liana may cease to live in fear and escape with the Marquise' daughter upon her death, which is eminent."
She stopped and stared off into the middle distance, breifly unable to collect her thoughts.
"What could I do? It was perfect. I was perfect for this, as if I was made for it, and I think--" she turned to Henri, her face strangely clear. "I think that it was none other than God who led me, through my own vices, to this woman, and God Himself who gave me the face and form of Nicole Deloncre. I can pass for her. I can get close to him--and I am a good shot, Henri. I really am. You know it, you taught me. I could do it." Her voice faded off, and so did her sobs, though her tears still flowed quietly down her cheeks unimpeded.
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Aug 5, 2009 2:50:36 GMT -5
He should not have lost his temper. Usually it was the other way around. Usually, his sister was the one losing her temper with him, not his temper with her. Up until now she had never done anything wrong. For years now she had been the angel of the family while he drank and cavorted with the wrong sorts among his lesser crime. He wasn't even sure God himself could forgive him for the rest of his sins. He had never killed a man to be sure, but everything but. Lying, stealing, disobeying his parents, cheating, swearing, lusting...certainly lusting and licentiousness more than once or twice. Anyone you spoke to on the streets could tell that about him at the very least. But his sister. His petite ange who had never done a thing to discredit her in all her life. Whom he feared for and never had to? Her in trouble so serious that he would be yelling at her and she would not tell him? They told each other everything. Perhaps why he was scared. For the first time he did not know what the matter was, what he could do. He had always been there and provided and cared for her, but to not know what trouble she was in was killing him.
And yet, he did what he could. As she wept for his anger, something he was sore at himself for almost immediately, he held her. He held her as a brother, as a father, as the only family she had that was worth anything. After all, he had been all things to her at some point or another. They were all they could trust. As much as he considered Marius his friend after all, and his only honest one at that, Marius would never have half the trust that Victore had in his heart, nor half the love. No one would. Perhaps that is why he did not even try to truly give women his heart. It was all his family's, his sisters- the only women in his life. And yet now and she spoke, Henri sensed that might change. He could feel the dread approaching and knew that he had to try to keep calm, but the tenseness building in his muscles was uncontrollable. He had a bad feeling and usually those were validated. As a young boy he had learned to trust those feelings. They had not failed him yet and now they were again serving him well.
As Victoire finally started to speak of the true problem he almost started to laugh. His little sister was in trouble because she was jealous. She was better than Celeste. Of course the little vixen, the temptress and tease of the chorus girls the little snipe was behind this. Of all the beautiful little gits in chorus even he knew not to try to bait Celeste. The little bitch thought she was royalty and yet no one had managed to tell her otherwise yet. Something astounding to him, and yet it made perfect sense. After all, he was a man off the streets and yet respected by those in the highest houses of nobility for his talent. Perhaps she would end up the same way and her carriage and ego would help her the same way it helped him. But for now, she was nothing more than a little guttersnipe who thought too well of herself. Nothing for his little sister to get tangled in and yet she had. To the extent even of stealing the mail of a rich nobleman with a dirty reputation. What kind of fool had he raised his sister to be! First things first not even he stole from a nobleman and second, he never spied on his rivals, he tricked a fool into doing it for him. Especially when the rival was a contriving snake. But if that was all, why was she so upset? Had she gotten caught? Were they searching for her?
The winding tale continued and it was worse than anything Henri could have imagined in his worst nightmares. It seemed his poor sister had stumbled on something no one should have- the truth of the rich guilded world of the nobility. For years now even other nobles knew, the common folk knew Deloncre was a bad name and that the daughter was long gone. Most had thought dead or away and desperately ill for abuses. But for the rumor about the wife to be true and the daughter to have fled. For that daughter to be right under their noses and for the Marquis to know and protect her. For that girl to be the likely twin of his own flesh and blood. It was too horrifying even to think about for more than the briefest of moments. But not as horrifying as her next statement: she was going to take this on and kill the man who seemed to be the evil in all of this if there was only one to be chosen.
Henri stopped moving mid rock. He could not support this. There was no way he could allow her to firstly endanger herself so and secondly in such a way that she was impersonating someone she did not know. He would not allow her to soil herself with the blood of another human. Not when he had committed so many atrocities and not even he had crossed that door. He knew from his darker days that once you killed it never stopped. Had she not learned from their days early on with their father. Had she not learned from the horror stories of the past- of the phantom. She could not do this. He would not allow it. And he had to make that very clear.
A dark, mean look took over his eyes. He looked almost cold, but never truly cold to his dear little sister, his ange, his family. "No Victoire. You are my sister and I will not allow it." He held her tight so she could not see the dark serious look in his eyes, one that had not been there since they were very young. It was a look he had hoped he would never have to dawn again, but now that time had come. "It is bad enough you trifled in business that was not yours, but the business of nobles and all for petty jealousy. What Celeste does to get herself bettered i'm sure will not last long and you should not have trifled in such things much less with such people! Have I taught you so badly to do that much less to think about killing!"
Somewhere in Henri's dark thoughts a voice answered in the affirmative. He had taught her such things. He had taught her about the underbelly of society by being it. It was his fault she did not have a better example. He should have taken her far from here, far from the dark world of the opera house the minute he had the means no matter the cost. He should have stayed away from the opulence for her sake, and yet now it seemed to late for either of him. But she had not killed yet- there was still time to redeem her soul. To take her from this darkness back to the light.
"God would never bless you with such a face so that you may disobey his dearest and most holy of rules. I ask you my ange. Would God wish you to die? No. He weeps for the children that fall so and I will not have you fall into the pits of hell as I have even when I am starting to climb out! I realize now that this was my fault. I realize what a poor brother I have been, what examples I have set, but I will not let you go this far. I will not let you compromise your soul for another! This girl, this Nicole, God bless her, has avoided him for this long. If you must warn her but no more. I will not allow it. As you love me you must not do this. You must not make me worry any longer. You are lucky to still be alive knowing what you know and doing what you have done."
A moment's more pause and he tried to catch his breath and calm his gaze. His eyes were still hard but they were hard now to keep from tears. Years and years of not shedding one tear and he was his downfall. His failure was his downfall. God should strike him down right now for his crimes against his sister and the endangerment of her purity and her place in heaven. It was all his fault- but not any more. Not from this moment forward. "Please.....use reason. Do not do this to me...to your only family or to yourself. I care for you too much. We will leave if we have to but I will not have you turn into a criminal- a righteous fool for a girl you do not even know."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Aug 5, 2009 19:20:40 GMT -5
Victoire braced herself for the look of horror that must surely overcome his face, but when it finally appeared, she found herself drastically unprepared. He was struggling to justify it--blaming it on himself, on their life, even on her youth or her ignorance. She did not need to press to him how long and hard she had thought this out, how difficult a conclusion it had been to come to, and how concrete her conviction was now. It was unnecessary, and would only hurt him further. She watched him rant through sad eyes, then sank into his arms gratefully as a last respite before the storm.
"I know her enough, Henri. I've seen her slip away rather than take recognition for her talent--did you know that she was such an excellent singer? The corps du ballet know it because we must stand away at the wings, which is where she opts to sing, far from public gaze. None of the girls would every say it, for jealousy, but it is true. She cannot live her life. The young Jondrette child, her mother wishes to bequeath to her dear friend. This man is evil! And clever, clever enough to evade any other attack yet put to him. I, with my face and my quiet feet, have the chance to better, perhaps even save, the lives of good people."
She stood, slipping from him to stand in front of him and lay her hands on his shoulders. The strain in his face nearly struck her down; her precious brother, father, friend and confidant. The man who had raised her, kept her safe, fed her, played with her and held her in times of trial. Henri was not a particularly self-sacrificing man, nor an entirely virtuous one, but the number of sacrifices that he had made on her behalf were impressive even beside saints.
"Henri. I will go to the house tomorrow. I have no choice. I attended the Marquise's ball in disguise to observe the targeted man, and while I was there that great fiasco we've been hearing so much about happened, as you know." She didn't need to give him the details of Formorian Carlisle's defection to the arms of Deloncre following Riffael Dureau's arrest, such a shock to the tenants of the opera house who had known them to be devoted lovers, for not an ear in the building had not heard the story. "He forced her hand. No one doubts it, no one dares speak out against him. The Marquise requests that I go tomorrow to his house in my role, so that Dureau may escape the gallows and Mlle. Carlisle violence the likes of Liana's mother. Mlle. Carlisle and Liana are friends. He must have found out, and is luring her. I can do this at least--and bring a pistol for my own safety. There is but one night to deliberate--"
She broke off, and looked him in the eyes, facing down the pain she would cause.
"This, at least, you cannot dissuade me from, dear brother."
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Aug 6, 2009 1:24:45 GMT -5
It was happening. The one thing that every older brother, every father, every man dreaded- his sister was standing up to him. His charge was leaving her place as a ward and daring to stand up to him. Henri had never had this happen to him with any woman much less the one lady he trusted: his own sister. He never expected such things from her. Reproach for his actions and drinking was one thing, but going off on her own without his approval and to kill a man! Henri could not only not believe it, but he could feel his heart breaking, shattering, into at least a million pieces at her actions and her words. Who was this girl in front of him? Who did she think she was to disobey him! Henri's eyes narrowed as she spoke and as she finished he rose to his feet using his full height as advantage and shook her head, glaring at her with a menacing look. "I will not allow you to do this. I will lock you in my room if you have to you will not die a martyr for a shy girl who refuses to stand up to herself!"
With that Henri used his power over her to steer her back to the bed and sit her down with no more muscle than he needed to use, but it was clearly a time when a little force was to be used. He would never strike her or hurt her, but his sister had clearly lost her mind and needed to be treated like a child again. "Victoire you will listen to me. You will heed my words. I do not allow you to go. I will not have blood on your hands or the family name. You will not endanger your future over noble problems not of your own making. God be damned if he must I will not allow it no matter how set you are. No matter how many sob stories are involved. Yes Formorion and the stage hand are innocent but it is not our matter. Murder is not the way and two wrongs do not make a right. I will stop you even if I have to put a choice before you: your mission or the love of your brother."
Those words were words that Henri did not mean. He did not want to say them but he could think of nothing else that would possibly matter enough to her to keep her from the sin of the blood of another. It was his last resort and the only thing he could do to dissuade her. For once in his life Henri felt helpless, lost, even heartbroken. He hoped she would chose right. He hoped he would chose him, her family, and everything right and pure as he had taught her. His eyes softened for a moment. "If you do this it will kill me Victoire. You are the only thing I have left that is right in the world and I cannot have you soiled in the least. If you cross that way what hope is there for me to change? Please mon ange...do not do this to yourself. To me..."/
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Aug 7, 2009 3:47:42 GMT -5
Victoire was stunned. She had tried to anticipate anything--but this threat, this enormous threat, was so great that she could nearly feel her heart burst. She knew that he did, at least fully, mean what he said. Even so, the very saying of it was enough to rend her in two and leave her entirely dejected. For a few moments she stuttered, at a loss.
"Henri. Henri" She could get nothing else, finally interjected with "Brother, dearest Brother" and then with a deep, shuddering breath, plunging on. "Oh, I will not kill him! I will not! But can you not see that I should have as much blood on my hands if I do nothing as if I shot the man between the eyes? And then, the blood of innocents! I shall not kill him, but I need to do something. What I can. I fear that she knows who I am, that she found me out--so she knows who I am, who you are. If I, knowing so much, back down, I make of myself and those dearest to me--" singular, and obviously so, but she had no need to say it as such, "much easier targets. She is dangerous. What lady who meets in brothels to hire assassins in the very throes of death cannot be called dangerous?"
A pause, in which she held up her hand to stay him from breaking the much-needed respite of silence. She needed to collect her thoughts.
"I will go to the house tomorrow. Men are men, evil and non; he will be so full of triumph that all he will do is chastise me, parade me around and pat himself on the back, the entire day through. I would--no, will--bet my life upon that. I will bring a pistol, but only for protection. If you must follow me, for, though I detest the thought, I know that you will, then go quietly and armed. This is a dangerous business. I am steeped in it and cannot back out without as much risk as simply doing what the lady asks, and if good might come of braving what must be, I will do it. And-and-- Stop looking at me in way, Oh, Henri, for the love of God! I have always been so much more wily and eager to cause discomfort than ever you have acknowledged. The men that you have laid low on account of repeating that foul name, The Bitch, they were all in slight, justified. Do not place me at such great height--then, perhaps, I should hurt less with a shorter fall."
A sob escaped her lips, and she bent her head. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into his arms and beg him to still think highly of her; all except for her success and their safety. So she did not.
"Henri, I love you dearly. Do not condemn me so. Do not abandon me," she choked out, her voice shrill through her own tears.
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Aug 9, 2009 7:12:41 GMT -5
The impertinent girl. She did not know. They all thought they did from the whores to his own sister. All these women thought they knew the way of the world, but all they knew was their portion, their bit, their part to play. They could not see more cog on the wheel. Occasionally if they were virtuous and wise and well bred as his sister was they would see more and mistake it for the whole of their world. That was his sister's ill- that she saw too little and cared too much. He on the other hand, and his gender, knew more and saw more. They knew the true cruelties of the world and how to fear them in a wisdom their dependents did not posses. Henri had heard tell of what really happened to Nicole, Liana if his sister was correct. He knew what men could do to a woman and who knows what the poor soul had gone through but he would not want his sister to go through the same. She would die. She had not known what men could do, how cruel they could be. Humanity maybe but not the men of it.
A deep sigh caused him to sink a bit from his tall stature and stare down at his sister. "You have no idea do you Victoire? You have no idea! The things that man can do, WILL do to you if you go. Liana at least knows what she is dealing with but you are stepping into a world so horrible not even the ballet girls can think of something terrible enough to describe it! None of their fantasies, none of their legends or myths are accurate enough! Do you understand me?!" Henri let out a growl of frustration and pounded his fist against the wall. He felt his chest heaving from the speech in the same way it did after he had sung a particularly difficult song. But the joy that he felt when he sang was not there now. Instead there was a hot pain that resembled anger, but more resentment than anger. Resentment toward himself for not properly teaching her to not be above her station as he tried to be. For not teaching her care and wisdom. For not teaching her to keep her nose down.
He breathed, trying to retain his usual semblance of calm and level headed behavior that he usually joyously brought out around his sister. But even with some portion of that once again gained Henri found he could not face his sister who was more angelic than she knew. "And yes Victoire, I know what they call you. You do not think enough of them had not paid for it by my hand that I would not know? Unfortunately Victoire that is the name of a woman who is driven. In all your time in the opera house I cannot lead myself to believe you do not know that. It is a curse that you are a woman. In any man it would be a virtue and yet I would not have it any other way."
Another deep sigh as he braced himself for the worst thing he ever had to face: his sister's hatred and pure disappointment. Before it was annoyance. Before it was a loving habit to try to fix his faults but now it was going to be pure hatred and he could not bare it. He could not even lift his head to look her in the eye.
"You wish to do these things mon ange and yet it is not your place and you wonder why I gave you that name. And yet I named you my angel, not the world's. So please, sister, my dearest sister, stop this and I promise I will make things better. I will try my hardest to stop everything. Just please do not go down this road. It is not yours to travel. You can save them or myself...not both."
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Aug 28, 2009 16:17:47 GMT -5
Victoire stumbled back from him, her hands lifting up to clasp her temples, but her eyes remained firmly planted on his. Would he forsake her if she went through with this dangerous scheme? No. She could not believe that; no matter how often she had been forced to drag him to the dormitories drunk and half-dressed, no matter how she had worried for his safety, she could never have forsook him and she knew that it was the same for him. Had she seen Henri himself put a dagger in their father's heart (though, honestly, she had no particular fondness for the man) she still would have stuck with him through hell and high water. She suspected--no, knew--that Henri would stick by her, even if she made this incredibly idiotic choice.
And yet there was this promise, hanging in front of her. He would stay out of trouble, save himself from syphilis and failure of the liver, and perhaps from a broken bottle to the throat, if only she would agree to refuse the Marquise's proposition. Her throat went dry at the thought. What would happen to Liana, then, and Formorian? And what would happen to she and Henri? Nothing good.
Victoire sighed in defeat, nodding her head with her eyes cast down just like she did every time Henri's admonitions directed her to change her mind. He was the only one who could accomplish that; even so, he could not do it now.
Cannot save both.
I have to try.
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Aug 29, 2009 21:51:56 GMT -5
In the many years he had known Victoire, Henri had seen every single one of her faces and he could tell you exactly what each of them meant. Every smile, every blink, every slight change in Victoire's face meant something different. Her current position as he spoke was one of denial and unwillingness. Her hands on her temples proved that she did not want to think about what he said no matter how temping the offer was. He knew it would tempting to her. After all, getting him to turn respectable and straighten out was something she had been trying to get him to do for years. Now, with this offer she could get it all done in one simple action and never have to worry about it again! It was an excellent opportunity- anyone could see that. He could see that though he was not happy about giving up all his old habits. If that is what it took to get her to give up this madness he would do it!
Though at the end of his offer and his scolding Henri could tell she was still going to try. It was his sister and despite her demure admonished look at this current time he could tell she was pacifying him. After all, if she was truly going to adhere to his deal she would have said so and swore to it. She was a almost like a man in that aspect that if she was going to do something she swore to it and stuck to her word. For that he would be proud of her, then again, her word got her into this mess. Henri let out just as heavy as her own. With a stern stare and just as stern of a voice "Swear to me Victoire. Swear to me you will not do it and I will stop all my habits tonight. This very night!
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Post by Victoire Leblanc on Sept 1, 2009 1:05:52 GMT -5
"This very night!" She echoed, and her hands drifted over her face slowly, contemplatively, as if she were not fully conscious of their movement. She tilted her head, imagining it. If only, if only. If her great respect and love of him had not restrained her, perhaps a farce along these lines would have done a great deal of good a long time ago. Still, the predicament was quite real, and she was almost entirely at a loss as to what to do; almost.
She wanted him to be safe, and she was convinced that the worst thing that she could do toward that end was to go against her word.
"There is risk in this, yes; but there is such a great danger in not doing as I have said, that I am sure that we, both of us, would meet terrible ends should I fail to at least try." Perhaps she shouldn't have put it like that. 'At least try' offered up, in his plain sight, the possibility of her failure and ultimately of... some great, terrible tragedy.
"This is much deeper, more complex, than we could have ever imagined, Henri! What a terrible lot, these noblemen!"
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Post by Henri Leblanc on Sept 1, 2009 4:12:16 GMT -5
He had to cut her off. She had to learn what it was to be alone now and after a few hours of it she would find reason and she would come crawling to him begging forgiveness telling him that she was wrong and that she would never even think of violence ever again! That would be it. It is what he would have to do. It would hurt him just as much of course. Henri seriously doubted if he would even sleep tonight if not longer than tonight. He hated it but it seemed necessary. Not even the threat was enough. She doubted he could do it. Well, even he doubted he could do it, but he had to. He had no other choice.
A deep breath to steel himself was all he needed. Three or four breaths later and he still could not even figure out what to say. So he said nothing. He rose quietly and went to his closet, grabbing his coat, and his gloves, and his hat and stood up. He looked down at his sister without really seeing her or trying to see her. He did not want to. He could not bear to do this to her but he had to. She was forcing him to. In a quiet voice he tried to express himself but found he could not. He merely shook his head and walked to the door before turning around. "Damn you Victoire. Damn you! It's not deep. It's not complex and it's not our business! Let her die for all I care rather her and every other person in this opera house than you. If you want to commit suicide go right ahead. Go right ahead Victoire. Clearly I can't save you so I might as well join you! If you need me you know where my usual haunts are."
With that he left. He left and went straight to the pub. God help him he wasn't sure if he could go through with him. His mind kept wandering back to his sister- his only blood, left alone in that room. He sighed and shook his head again. He needed to drink. He needed to drink to forget. He needed to drink to show her that he was serious. He just had to step out and get that drink. That was all and then he would be fine. Just fine.
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