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charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 27/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1289
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Raoul de Chagny
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The rehearsals are giving Erik a headache, and there's someone trespassing in Box Five...
TANTRUMS AND TIARAS
It was when rehearsals began that Erik started to wonder whether obtaining revenge by forcing a production of his opera had been an entirely good idea.
Hearing his precious music butchered by the amateurs and imbeciles which made up the majority of the Populaire’s company while the unfortunate Monsieur Reyer struggled to maintain both order and some semblance of artistic integrity was an experience akin to torture. Piangi, the fool, could not even manage a simple line like ‘Those who would tangle with Don Juan’, mangling it each and every time despite the repeated attempts of the frustrated musical director. Erik found himself feeling a newfound respect for Reyer; anyone who could deal with such incompetence on a regular basis and refrain from committing murder was to be admired.
Haunting the practise rooms like the Phantom he was, he quickly became privy to every discussion, argument and heated difference of opinion. It was one thing to hear these directed towards a mediocre or long-dead composer and laugh, but when it was his own work under fire it was extremely difficult to remain impassive. Carlotta was always the instigator, voicing her views on everything from his ability as a musician to the state of his ugly face, all in language which, had he been a more sensitive soul and not learned to cultivate something of a thick skin over the years, would have made him wither in defeat and rush to withdraw his score. Her shrill railings against the size of her role and the prominence given to Christine rang through the theatre, leaving no one, even the lowliest member of the company, unaware of the real reason she believed that the ingénue had been cast over her. Were she not a woman, and had Erik not promised Christine not to become involved, he would have made her pay for her words. To sully his angel’s reputation by suggesting that she was ‘the Phantom’s whore’..! Buquet lost his life for insinuating much the same thing, albeit by the hand of God rather than the hand of Erik, but with the same end result. To assuage his anger, once rehearsals had transferred to the stage he settled for dropping a sandbag within an inch of the Prima Donna’s head, which had the effect of terrifying her enough to stop her mouth for half a day at least.
Unfortunately, the change in venue brought with it more irritations, for it was then that the Vicomte de Chagny decided to attend. No doubt in a deliberate attempt to infuriate his rival, the young nobleman chose Box Five from which to observe proceedings, putting it off-limits to its ‘owner’. Upon reaching the hollow pillar which served as his invisible entry point to the box, Erik seethed when he found de Chagny inside, settled quite comfortably in the big red velvet chair that had been installed for the exclusive use of the Opera Ghost back in the days when the management was far more sensible and amenable to his demands. The boy looked as though he owned the place!
Erik growled, the Phantom rearing his head. It would not do. If the vicomte wanted a war, then a war he would have.
Using the tactics which had always worked so well on the rare occasions he found some hapless and ignorant theatre-goer occupying his seat, he started quietly, sending a stream of nonsensical whispers around the box. Raoul frowned, listened, sat up slightly, and then shook his head, returning his attention to the stage. In retaliation, Erik increased the volume, this time throwing a sentence back and forth through the air as though in a bizarre disembodied conversation. For his own amusement, he affected a different voice each time, his inspiration taken from the lords who frequented the Grand Tier to the fishwives out in the street, a gradual cacophony of chatter which culminated in a passably accurate impersonation of de Chagny himself. Upon hearing his own voice at his shoulder, Raoul started, leaping from his chair and staring wildly into the shadows that surrounded him.
“Come out!” he cried, his voice high and trembling before he cleared his throat, trying to regain a more manly tone. “Come out, you coward! I know you are there!”
Erik smiled wolfishly, safe in his passage within the pillar. “I’m here, the Phantom of the Opera...” he murmured, and the words appeared to come from the opposite side of the box. Raoul turned, following the voice, and so Erik threw it behind him, teasing, “Or perhaps I’m here...” from the ceiling above, “Or here...” the floor, “Here...” and finally beyond the edge, into the auditorium, “Or here?”
De Chagny twisted and turned like a stuck pig, eyes flicking around him in desperation to pin down his unseen tormentor. Erik could not help but laugh at the sight, and allowed his deep, rumbling chuckle to move across the opulent space, from one side of the box to the other, making the young man jump once again.
“My dear vicomte,” he said softly, slipping just a hint of menace into his honeyed tones, “You appear to be in some distress. Perhaps you should go and lie down; a cold compress and a touch of sal volatile can work wonders, I believe.”
“You bastard. You twisted, malformed bastard.” Raoul forced the words through gritted teeth, his good hand clenching into a fist at his side. “Show yourself, and we will end this here and now. Or are you so scared of facing me that you hide behind walls?”
The suggestion that he should be frightened of a privileged child who could barely point a pistol in the right direction just amused Erik even more. Those below on the stage glanced up at the sound of his mirth, and from his vantage point he could see Christine’s nervous expression as she clutched her libretto to her chest. Her mouth opened slightly and she made the tiniest shake of her head. Erik felt a twinge of guilt, having given her his word that he would stay safe. It was an unfamiliar emotion to him, and he was not sure he liked the sensations it produced.
“I would take care, Monsieur,” he whispered in Raoul’s left ear. “You have no idea of the danger into which you are walking.”
A sneer curled the vicomte’s perfect lips. “I know exactly what you are, Monsieur,” he spat. “A carnival freak, a sideshow charlatan; a man with nothing more to offer than parlour tricks and frustrated tantrums! For what you have done to Christine I would gladly see you crushed beneath my heel.”
“Is that so?” Rage boiled up within Erik, and he flexed his fingers, wishing that he could wrap them around that noble white neck. It was just as well that they were separated by a substantial pillar and he did not have the space to deploy the Punjab lasso, for were the situation more to his advantage de Chagny would not last a moment, regardless of the promises he had made to Christine. The foolish boy would make an attractive addition to the decor of the auditorium, dangling from the ledge of Box Five as a warning to all who trespassed upon the Phantom’s territory. “And does Mademoiselle Daae agree?”
“She loathes you just as much as I,” Raoul hissed, and Erik found himself smiling for he knew that the vicomte was lying. “I will stop at nothing to ensure that she is free of your malignant influence.”
Bored with this game now, Erik turned to leave. “Do your worst, Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said, and added as a parting shot, “I look forward to seeing how far you dare go!”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1289
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Raoul de Chagny
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The rehearsals are giving Erik a headache, and there's someone trespassing in Box Five...
TANTRUMS AND TIARAS
It was when rehearsals began that Erik started to wonder whether obtaining revenge by forcing a production of his opera had been an entirely good idea.
Hearing his precious music butchered by the amateurs and imbeciles which made up the majority of the Populaire’s company while the unfortunate Monsieur Reyer struggled to maintain both order and some semblance of artistic integrity was an experience akin to torture. Piangi, the fool, could not even manage a simple line like ‘Those who would tangle with Don Juan’, mangling it each and every time despite the repeated attempts of the frustrated musical director. Erik found himself feeling a newfound respect for Reyer; anyone who could deal with such incompetence on a regular basis and refrain from committing murder was to be admired.
Haunting the practise rooms like the Phantom he was, he quickly became privy to every discussion, argument and heated difference of opinion. It was one thing to hear these directed towards a mediocre or long-dead composer and laugh, but when it was his own work under fire it was extremely difficult to remain impassive. Carlotta was always the instigator, voicing her views on everything from his ability as a musician to the state of his ugly face, all in language which, had he been a more sensitive soul and not learned to cultivate something of a thick skin over the years, would have made him wither in defeat and rush to withdraw his score. Her shrill railings against the size of her role and the prominence given to Christine rang through the theatre, leaving no one, even the lowliest member of the company, unaware of the real reason she believed that the ingénue had been cast over her. Were she not a woman, and had Erik not promised Christine not to become involved, he would have made her pay for her words. To sully his angel’s reputation by suggesting that she was ‘the Phantom’s whore’..! Buquet lost his life for insinuating much the same thing, albeit by the hand of God rather than the hand of Erik, but with the same end result. To assuage his anger, once rehearsals had transferred to the stage he settled for dropping a sandbag within an inch of the Prima Donna’s head, which had the effect of terrifying her enough to stop her mouth for half a day at least.
Unfortunately, the change in venue brought with it more irritations, for it was then that the Vicomte de Chagny decided to attend. No doubt in a deliberate attempt to infuriate his rival, the young nobleman chose Box Five from which to observe proceedings, putting it off-limits to its ‘owner’. Upon reaching the hollow pillar which served as his invisible entry point to the box, Erik seethed when he found de Chagny inside, settled quite comfortably in the big red velvet chair that had been installed for the exclusive use of the Opera Ghost back in the days when the management was far more sensible and amenable to his demands. The boy looked as though he owned the place!
Erik growled, the Phantom rearing his head. It would not do. If the vicomte wanted a war, then a war he would have.
Using the tactics which had always worked so well on the rare occasions he found some hapless and ignorant theatre-goer occupying his seat, he started quietly, sending a stream of nonsensical whispers around the box. Raoul frowned, listened, sat up slightly, and then shook his head, returning his attention to the stage. In retaliation, Erik increased the volume, this time throwing a sentence back and forth through the air as though in a bizarre disembodied conversation. For his own amusement, he affected a different voice each time, his inspiration taken from the lords who frequented the Grand Tier to the fishwives out in the street, a gradual cacophony of chatter which culminated in a passably accurate impersonation of de Chagny himself. Upon hearing his own voice at his shoulder, Raoul started, leaping from his chair and staring wildly into the shadows that surrounded him.
“Come out!” he cried, his voice high and trembling before he cleared his throat, trying to regain a more manly tone. “Come out, you coward! I know you are there!”
Erik smiled wolfishly, safe in his passage within the pillar. “I’m here, the Phantom of the Opera...” he murmured, and the words appeared to come from the opposite side of the box. Raoul turned, following the voice, and so Erik threw it behind him, teasing, “Or perhaps I’m here...” from the ceiling above, “Or here...” the floor, “Here...” and finally beyond the edge, into the auditorium, “Or here?”
De Chagny twisted and turned like a stuck pig, eyes flicking around him in desperation to pin down his unseen tormentor. Erik could not help but laugh at the sight, and allowed his deep, rumbling chuckle to move across the opulent space, from one side of the box to the other, making the young man jump once again.
“My dear vicomte,” he said softly, slipping just a hint of menace into his honeyed tones, “You appear to be in some distress. Perhaps you should go and lie down; a cold compress and a touch of sal volatile can work wonders, I believe.”
“You bastard. You twisted, malformed bastard.” Raoul forced the words through gritted teeth, his good hand clenching into a fist at his side. “Show yourself, and we will end this here and now. Or are you so scared of facing me that you hide behind walls?”
The suggestion that he should be frightened of a privileged child who could barely point a pistol in the right direction just amused Erik even more. Those below on the stage glanced up at the sound of his mirth, and from his vantage point he could see Christine’s nervous expression as she clutched her libretto to her chest. Her mouth opened slightly and she made the tiniest shake of her head. Erik felt a twinge of guilt, having given her his word that he would stay safe. It was an unfamiliar emotion to him, and he was not sure he liked the sensations it produced.
“I would take care, Monsieur,” he whispered in Raoul’s left ear. “You have no idea of the danger into which you are walking.”
A sneer curled the vicomte’s perfect lips. “I know exactly what you are, Monsieur,” he spat. “A carnival freak, a sideshow charlatan; a man with nothing more to offer than parlour tricks and frustrated tantrums! For what you have done to Christine I would gladly see you crushed beneath my heel.”
“Is that so?” Rage boiled up within Erik, and he flexed his fingers, wishing that he could wrap them around that noble white neck. It was just as well that they were separated by a substantial pillar and he did not have the space to deploy the Punjab lasso, for were the situation more to his advantage de Chagny would not last a moment, regardless of the promises he had made to Christine. The foolish boy would make an attractive addition to the decor of the auditorium, dangling from the ledge of Box Five as a warning to all who trespassed upon the Phantom’s territory. “And does Mademoiselle Daae agree?”
“She loathes you just as much as I,” Raoul hissed, and Erik found himself smiling for he knew that the vicomte was lying. “I will stop at nothing to ensure that she is free of your malignant influence.”
Bored with this game now, Erik turned to leave. “Do your worst, Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said, and added as a parting shot, “I look forward to seeing how far you dare go!”
