It saddens me to know you think so little of your fellow man.
[And of her, but she won't acknowledge such a sentiment in so tangible a way as ink on paper.]
Surely, there must be some redeeming quality to the masses. You find such beauty in the work of their hands.
[Music, of course. But art too. She has been to his lair, after all. Although she did not spend long there, it is clear that the man has an appreciation for fine works and craftsmanship.]
[Christine does not understand this man. He shows no hesitance in dissecting the works of Verdi or Wagner, in picking apart the latest production at the Populaire. His opinions on a great many things are vast and yet on this he is reticent. She cannot help but be frustrated. It seems unfair that she should know so little of someone who has been privy to some of her darkest moments.]
Then you will have to forgive my inability to understand your position. As much as I do wish to do so, I find it impossible without your insight. Of course, this may well be of little concern to you.
Given your low opinion of mankind, however, it surprises me that you ever deigned to befriend a mere ballet girl.
[Upon reading the first line of his reply, her frustration all but abates. The statement is a simple, but there's vulnerability in the admission. And a reminder that his life experiences have most certainly been very different than her own. His face, well, it certainly wouldn't go unnoticed among a crowd and had not she reacted negatively to his appearance just days prior? She feels foolish, chastened, even though there had been no reprimand in his reply.
She considers her own reply carefully before setting pen to paper.]
I am sorry, Angel. I meant no harm and beg you forgive me my imprudence. I wished only to get to know you. Surely, you see how strange the situation is in which we find ourselves, do you not?
You know much of me, and I so little of you. I am most curious to learn and it seems that curiosity is not as harmless as it is intended. Again, forgive me. Perhaps, in time, you will find it easier to share. If so, know that I am prepared to listen.
[The apology is, surprisingly enough, easier than the answer to his question, and, again, she ponders for a moment before writing her reply.]
I do not. But what else would you have seen when you first came upon me? I know quite well that I was no great dancer and my voice was rough from disuse. As we have just discussed, you are inclined to presume the worst upon an initial meeting, so I do not know what would have drawn your eye to such an unremarkable creature.
[Speaking with him as a man is infinitely more frustrating than when she had believed him to be an angel. That may be, though, that she was loathe to question his stance on a matter, to question his logic, when she had thought him to have the wisdom of the supernatural. Now, though, it seems she has nothing but questions and he nothing but vagaries and avoidance. She advances, he parries. It's maddening. And does absolutely nothing to quell her curiosity.
Her next note moves on from the current conversation entirely. Perhaps the abrupt change of subject will seem strange to him, but she thinks he's far more likely to be relieved.]
Angel, might we meet earlier than scheduled for my next lesson? I have been struggling with the aria for the new production.
[While she isn't lying, she also thinks he won't be able to be quite so cagey in person. Or perhaps he will. He is a strange man.]
I think the usual hour may suffice, though it is possible you will think differently. I trust your wisdom in all such matters. You have yet to mislead me.
It has been barely a month since the evening of her debut in Hannibal--and since she so foolishly snatched away his mask. She had almost expected him to disappear after that, but he had returned to her within a matter of days and their lessons had resumed, a little formal, a little stiff, neither of them addressing what had happened. It was only very recently that some of that had fallen away and they had started to see a return of the rapport they had established before he had revealed himself to be not an angel, but a man.
Of course, the easing tension had just given room for her niggling curiosity to grow. Perhaps there should be apprehension, too, and maybe, on a small scale, there was some small amount of hesitation. He was, after all, a stranger, a man who had deceived her for months. But he had done her no harm, had, in fact, been a friend to her, a confidant and comforter. Even in his moment of rage, she had not feared he would harm her, not intentionally.
So it is the curiosity that wins out, all but plowing over whatever warnings her mind might see fit to conjure. Instead, her head is filled with questions. Who was this man? Why did he choose to make his home beneath the opera? What had spurred him to cloak himself in the cover of a ghost? Was there a story behind the garish scars on his face? Each question spurring a half dozen more and almost as many possible scenarios to answer each one.
And so Christine is secretly quite pleased in her small ruse--and the opportunity it presents--and dashes off her reply quickly:
This evening after rehearsals would work well, if that is convenient for you, Master. Tomorrow morning would also do as we do not have rehearsals at all and I am free until an evening outing with Meg.
His reply is short but he agrees to see her that evening and she makes her excuses after rehearsal, begging off of Meg and Jammes' invitation to dinner and returning to her dressing room. She locks the door and takes a seat at her vanity to wait, faintly nervous in a way she hasn't been before and knowing it's because of her not-quite-a-plan to learn more about her secretive teacher. But there's excitement, too. She's always had an appreciation for the mysterious and dark, and clandestine lessons with a masked stranger certainly qualified. A little excitement was to be expected, was it not?
An outing with Meg should not invoke feelings of... well just feelings. Christine can enjoy time with her friends. Her fellow performers. The company should try to get along - though he knows they won't.
He occupies his time before their lesson working on his fanfic opera. The music is coming along to fit the story and he may actually finish writing it soon.
At the ascribed hour, he leaves his caverns and goes to the secret door in Christine's dressing room. There's little need to hide, though he is cautious in his approach. Finding the meddlesome viscomte around would irritate him.
"Angel - are you ready for your lesson?" he asks from behind the mirror.
She startles slightly at the sound of his voice, a result of her nerves, but she turns to the mirror with a smile.
"Of course, Master. Please, enter."
She stands, her skirts rustling as she does so, and approaches the mirror, waiting for it to slide into some unseen slot in the wall. The mechanism still fascinates her, a testament to his wondrous skill and genius.
As the mirror moves away, she smiles again. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I know I am only Carlotta's understudy and that she is loathe to miss another production, but I do wish to be prepared."
This is the first practice session where he's been in her dressing room. He's not entirely sure what had influenced him to approach her before. (Not true. He knows exactly what it was, but is loathe to admit it.)
He steps through the gap in the wall, taking in the room for a brief moment.
A nod. "Of course." He doesn't quite wave a dismissive hand, but his tone may indicate he might have, "You needn't worry about Carlotta." It's vague and possibly threatening, though he doesn't actually have any plans to do anything at the moment.
She notes his comment about Carlotta with a slight frown, but he leaves no room for questions and, as she already wants to ask several questions of him later, she decides it best to leave it for now. He seems mildly uncomfortable to be standing in the room with her and, she must admit, it does feel strange. Still, it is an improvement over singing to a faceless angel or a voice behind a mirror.
As instructed, she had worked her way through her breathing exercises and scales until he deemed her ready to move on to some of the more complicated pieces. As she had been in rehearsals for several hours already, her lesson is fairly short, a little less than an hour, so as not to tax her voice though she feels he might have continued to push her had her fatigue from the day not begun to show in her body. Her voice had still been strong enough but he had needed to correct things like posture with increasing frequency.
He had seemed to be less than comfortable standing in her dressing room throughout the lesson and she has no doubt that he plans to take his leave immediately, which will not do. The lesson had always been secondary to having him here, where she can try to engage with him as a person.
“I am going to have some tea. Perhaps...perhaps you would care to join me? I have some lovely biscuits from the pâtisserie just down the Rue Scribe.”
His comment about Carlotta was primarily redirection, not an indication that he had any desire to harm the woman. He needs Christine to focus on her singing.
The lesson goes well, though he would have preferred to stay behind the wall. Or take her back to his space. There is much potential for interruption with him being in here. And the many ears that lurk in the corridors might overhear and wonder where he's gone. There is also the fact that he's in this room with Christine. Down in his lair, it's comfortable. He knows that space. This is but a small room with very little space between them.
And now she's inviting him to have tea... "I..." he pauses, uncertain how to respond to such a request. "I - I beg your pardon?" he asks, curious really. Because - why?
He looks like he may bolt at the slightest provocation so she takes a step back as she gestures at the tea service on the console table against the wall behind her. A small, well-used portable stove sat to one side, ready to be lit to heat the water.
"I often take tea after our lessons and I thought it may be nice for you to join me tonight."
She takes another backward step then turns and strikes a match, lighting the little kerosene contraption and setting the small metal pot to heat. Carefully, she adds the water and turns back to him, half wondering if he'll have made his escape while her back was turned.
He hasn't, not that he doesn't look like the idea hadn't crossed his mind. She almost feels bad. She hasn't trapped him here, but he looks for all the world like she has. Though, as she had planned this part, perhaps she sort of has trapped him, or at least intended to.
Feeling guilty, her smile falters and she glances down at her hands, clasped at her waist before her.
"If you wish to leave, I do understand."
She can't quite keep the disappointment from her voice, but being an actress means she does pretty well. It isn't as though she can blame him for not exactly trusting her. The last time they had met in person, she had stripped him of his mask.
He's startled more than anything. Nervous. He's never been asked to tea. He's never been asked to anything. Even when working for the Shah, he was mostly left to himself, even for meals.
Curiously, he watches her as she begins to make the tea. He makes several glances toward the mirror, pondering the idea of leaving before she's finished. It would be a simple thing to do. He could disappear back down to his personal space and continue to work on his music.
"Are you frequently interrupted during tea?" If the answer is yes, he's far more likely to depart swiftly.
His question surprises her, at least at first. Then the reason for it dawns and she shakes her head, once. "I'm rarely interrupted but if I am, it would be Meg or one of the other dancers. And Mme. Giry has called all the dancers for a special rehearsal. They will be occupied for at least an hour, I should think."
She hazards a step towards him, her body language as non-threatening as she can make it. "The door is locked, if that puts you at ease. Anyone who did choose to visit would not be able to simply walk in."
With a sweet, sincere smile, she gestures at the chair currently sitting empty before her vanity. "Please, sit? This is but a small way for me to say thank you."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bedazzledoperacape) wrote2020-02-08 10:27 pm
no subject
[And of her, but she won't acknowledge such a sentiment in so tangible a way as ink on paper.]
Surely, there must be some redeeming quality to the masses. You find such beauty in the work of their hands.
[Music, of course. But art too. She has been to his lair, after all. Although she did not spend long there, it is clear that the man has an appreciation for fine works and craftsmanship.]
no subject
no subject
Perhaps, monsieur, you care to explain why it is you find humanity so displeasing?
no subject
It is an unpleasant topic for discussion, mademoiselle.
no subject
Then you will have to forgive my inability to understand your position. As much as I do wish to do so, I find it impossible without your insight. Of course, this may well be of little concern to you.
Given your low opinion of mankind, however, it surprises me that you ever deigned to befriend a mere ballet girl.
no subject
[Really the best he can do without going into more details that would be painful to discuss.]
Why do you think yourself no more than a 'ballet girl'?
no subject
She considers her own reply carefully before setting pen to paper.]
I am sorry, Angel. I meant no harm and beg you forgive me my imprudence. I wished only to get to know you. Surely, you see how strange the situation is in which we find ourselves, do you not?
You know much of me, and I so little of you. I am most curious to learn and it seems that curiosity is not as harmless as it is intended. Again, forgive me. Perhaps, in time, you will find it easier to share. If so, know that I am prepared to listen.
[The apology is, surprisingly enough, easier than the answer to his question, and, again, she ponders for a moment before writing her reply.]
I do not. But what else would you have seen when you first came upon me? I know quite well that I was no great dancer and my voice was rough from disuse. As we have just discussed, you are inclined to presume the worst upon an initial meeting, so I do not know what would have drawn your eye to such an unremarkable creature.
no subject
[Did he conveniently skip over the unpleasant stuff? Well, of course he did.]
no subject
Well, I am certainly grateful that you observed such potential in me, Sir. It is because of you that music has returned to my life.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Her next note moves on from the current conversation entirely. Perhaps the abrupt change of subject will seem strange to him, but she thinks he's far more likely to be relieved.]
Angel, might we meet earlier than scheduled for my next lesson? I have been struggling with the aria for the new production.
[While she isn't lying, she also thinks he won't be able to be quite so cagey in person. Or perhaps he will. He is a strange man.]
no subject
no subject
[Regarding her voice, at least.]
no subject
When would you like to have our practice?
[He has writing to do, but his schedule isn't particularly full of appointments.
It doesn't occur to him that her goal may be to spend time with him.]
no subject
Of course, the easing tension had just given room for her niggling curiosity to grow. Perhaps there should be apprehension, too, and maybe, on a small scale, there was some small amount of hesitation. He was, after all, a stranger, a man who had deceived her for months. But he had done her no harm, had, in fact, been a friend to her, a confidant and comforter. Even in his moment of rage, she had not feared he would harm her, not intentionally.
So it is the curiosity that wins out, all but plowing over whatever warnings her mind might see fit to conjure. Instead, her head is filled with questions. Who was this man? Why did he choose to make his home beneath the opera? What had spurred him to cloak himself in the cover of a ghost? Was there a story behind the garish scars on his face? Each question spurring a half dozen more and almost as many possible scenarios to answer each one.
And so Christine is secretly quite pleased in her small ruse--and the opportunity it presents--and dashes off her reply quickly:
This evening after rehearsals would work well, if that is convenient for you, Master. Tomorrow morning would also do as we do not have rehearsals at all and I am free until an evening outing with Meg.
His reply is short but he agrees to see her that evening and she makes her excuses after rehearsal, begging off of Meg and Jammes' invitation to dinner and returning to her dressing room. She locks the door and takes a seat at her vanity to wait, faintly nervous in a way she hasn't been before and knowing it's because of her not-quite-a-plan to learn more about her secretive teacher. But there's excitement, too. She's always had an appreciation for the mysterious and dark, and clandestine lessons with a masked stranger certainly qualified. A little excitement was to be expected, was it not?
no subject
He occupies his time before their lesson working on his
fanficopera. The music is coming along to fit the story and he may actually finish writing it soon.At the ascribed hour, he leaves his caverns and goes to the secret door in Christine's dressing room. There's little need to hide, though he is cautious in his approach. Finding the meddlesome viscomte around would irritate him.
"Angel - are you ready for your lesson?" he asks from behind the mirror.
no subject
"Of course, Master. Please, enter."
She stands, her skirts rustling as she does so, and approaches the mirror, waiting for it to slide into some unseen slot in the wall. The mechanism still fascinates her, a testament to his wondrous skill and genius.
As the mirror moves away, she smiles again. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I know I am only Carlotta's understudy and that she is loathe to miss another production, but I do wish to be prepared."
no subject
He steps through the gap in the wall, taking in the room for a brief moment.
A nod. "Of course." He doesn't quite wave a dismissive hand, but his tone may indicate he might have, "You needn't worry about Carlotta." It's vague and possibly threatening, though he doesn't actually have any plans to do anything at the moment.
"Begin your warm-up, please."
no subject
As instructed, she had worked her way through her breathing exercises and scales until he deemed her ready to move on to some of the more complicated pieces. As she had been in rehearsals for several hours already, her lesson is fairly short, a little less than an hour, so as not to tax her voice though she feels he might have continued to push her had her fatigue from the day not begun to show in her body. Her voice had still been strong enough but he had needed to correct things like posture with increasing frequency.
He had seemed to be less than comfortable standing in her dressing room throughout the lesson and she has no doubt that he plans to take his leave immediately, which will not do. The lesson had always been secondary to having him here, where she can try to engage with him as a person.
“I am going to have some tea. Perhaps...perhaps you would care to join me? I have some lovely biscuits from the pâtisserie just down the Rue Scribe.”
no subject
The lesson goes well, though he would have preferred to stay behind the wall. Or take her back to his space. There is much potential for interruption with him being in here. And the many ears that lurk in the corridors might overhear and wonder where he's gone. There is also the fact that he's in this room with Christine. Down in his lair, it's comfortable. He knows that space. This is but a small room with very little space between them.
And now she's inviting him to have tea... "I..." he pauses, uncertain how to respond to such a request. "I - I beg your pardon?" he asks, curious really. Because - why?
no subject
"I often take tea after our lessons and I thought it may be nice for you to join me tonight."
She takes another backward step then turns and strikes a match, lighting the little kerosene contraption and setting the small metal pot to heat. Carefully, she adds the water and turns back to him, half wondering if he'll have made his escape while her back was turned.
He hasn't, not that he doesn't look like the idea hadn't crossed his mind. She almost feels bad. She hasn't trapped him here, but he looks for all the world like she has. Though, as she had planned this part, perhaps she sort of has trapped him, or at least intended to.
Feeling guilty, her smile falters and she glances down at her hands, clasped at her waist before her.
"If you wish to leave, I do understand."
She can't quite keep the disappointment from her voice, but being an actress means she does pretty well. It isn't as though she can blame him for not exactly trusting her. The last time they had met in person, she had stripped him of his mask.
no subject
Curiously, he watches her as she begins to make the tea. He makes several glances toward the mirror, pondering the idea of leaving before she's finished. It would be a simple thing to do. He could disappear back down to his personal space and continue to work on his music.
"Are you frequently interrupted during tea?" If the answer is yes, he's far more likely to depart swiftly.
no subject
She hazards a step towards him, her body language as non-threatening as she can make it. "The door is locked, if that puts you at ease. Anyone who did choose to visit would not be able to simply walk in."
With a sweet, sincere smile, she gestures at the chair currently sitting empty before her vanity. "Please, sit? This is but a small way for me to say thank you."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)