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charleygirlTitle: The Garish Light of Day 15/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1763
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Madame Giry, Meg Giry
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Facing the music.
HE’S LEAVING HOME
“And when, Monsieur, were you going to tell me you were departing?”
The Phantom, dressed for outdoors in his hat and cloak, stood with his back to her, the carpet bag in which he had brought his possessions to the apartment open on the bed in front of him. Antoinette was gratified that her words made him jump like a guilty little boy. He turned, an obviously forced smile on the visible side of his face, and said,
“Annie! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”
She gave the familiar black-bordered envelope that lay on the little bedside cabinet a pointed look. “So I see.”
“Well...” Erik looked distinctly uncomfortable, twiddling his fingers together as he obviously tried to find the right words. Seeing him at a loss was a novel experience. “As I am quite able to look after myself again it seemed only right for me to reclaim my own home. We have been getting on each others’ nerves more often than not lately, and I...” He glanced down at his feet and then back at her, grimacing. “Is this sort of conversation always so difficult?”
“That depends how one goes about it,” Antoinette told him, folding her arms. “For instance, if you had come to me and said plainly, ‘Annie, I think it’s time for me to go home’, for example - ”
“And how would you have responded if I did?” he asked, interrupting.
“I might have replied that there was no need, that you would always be welcome here and even though we have not always seen eye to eye I have enjoyed your company when you decide to exercise that charm of which you are capable. I cannot in all honesty say that I would miss your moods, or the propensity you have for leaving the newspaper spread all over the floor, but - ” She broke off, seeing his undamaged cheek flush with embarrassment, and said quickly, laying a hand on his arm, “Erik, I hope that I have not made you feel that you have worn out your welcome, for that was never my intention.”
“Not at all, not at all,” he assured her, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “It just seemed that the moment was right for us all to return to some semblance of normality. It is certainly high time Meg had her bed back; I am grateful to her for lending it to me, but no young girl should be forced to compromise her beauty sleep by resting her head upon a pallet on the floor.”
“She does not begrudge you her mattress.”
“I know. But I am conscious of her lack of comfort every time I lie down upon it. There is also this,” Erik added, picking up a folded newspaper from his bag and handing it to her, one long finger drawing her attention to a column towards the foot of the page. Madame Giry read the few lines with a frown.
Is the darling of the Paris Opera, Mademoiselle Christine, La Daae herself, recovered from the ending of her involvement with the Vicomte de Chagny so soon? It would appear so, as she has recently been seen on more than one occasion in the company of another gentleman, one who is keen to guard his privacy and hers. Though your correspondent has made discreet enquiries it seems that La Daae’s latest beau is a genuine man of mystery – who is he, and how has he won the affections of the Swedish Songbird in such a short space of time?
“Le Figaro is a rag,” Antoinette said, passing the paper back. “It is nothing more than idle gossip; ignore it.”
Erik put it carefully away in his bag. “It can only have been written by that damned reporter. The last thing I need is a hack poking his nose into my affairs, which is why I think it would be politic of me to go underground once more. I do not want him hanging around here and making things difficult for you.”
She snorted in amusement at the thought. “Believe me, Erik; if he tried he would not get very far.”
“I do, Madame, I do,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Even so, it is best that I leave.”
“And what of Christine?” Antoinette asked as he resumed his packing.
“What of her?” The question sounded casual, but she knew it was anything but.
“How long do you intend to bury yourself for this time? You can hardly protect her if she is above the ground and you below it; if Béringer truly is following her around, how will you know?”
“I have my ways and means. Do not forget to whom you are speaking,” Erik told her, carefully folding his dressing gown and laying it neatly on top of the other clothes. “The Angel of Music still has her under his wing.”
“And the future? Have you considered that?” she said, and saw his spine stiffen. He stood up straight and slowly closed the bag before turning to face her, his expression unreadable.
“What do you mean?” he enquired, and this time there was a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Oh, Erik.” Madame Giry sat down on the bed and patted the coverlet beside her. He looked at her in confusion for some moments, evidently not recognising the invitation for him to sit too, before realisation dawned and he reluctantly took a seat on the very edge, keeping a deliberate foot of space between them. “I know that you love Christine, and it is quite clear that she feels the same way. If you intend this relationship to progress to its inevitable conclusion, have you thought about where you are going to live? You told me that you would not force her to share the darkness, and her life, her career, will not flourish underground.”
“Do you think I am unaware of that fact? I have been thinking of it constantly over the past few weeks. But do not think that Christine would shun the darkness, Annie,” Erik added before she could speak, “She tells me that she is drawn to it, but I do know that after a while the attraction would wane and she would crave the daylight once more. No matter what she says now, she would resent me for bringing such a fate upon her.”
“Then what do you intend to do?” Antoinette asked gently. “If you were forced to make a choice, between Christine and the darkness...?”
Erik stared blankly into the middle distance for some time, and gradually his head drooped into his waiting hands. “I have absolutely no idea,” he said, his voice muffled. “I will love Christine until the last breath leaves my body, but however much I might want to walk in it with her like a normal man, the light of day still terrifies me. Darkness is all I know, all I understand.”
“Have you spoken to Christine about any of this?”
“Of course not!” His head shot up again and he was suddenly glaring at her for even making such a suggestion. “I have not even dared to ask her if she will have me, even though she...”
Antoinette frowned. “Even though she... what?”
“The wedding dress, the one on the mannequin. She wanted to see it again.”
“Erik, I thought that you were going to get rid of that horrible thing - ” she began, shuddering at the memory of the doll with its vacant, glass-eyed stare, but he raised a hand, shaking his head.
“She told me that she hoped she would be able to wear the dress one day.” Erik’s mismatched eyes seemed almost to mist over for a second, and a wistful smile touched his lips. “I used to dream of having a wife, someone I could sit with by the fire and take out on Sundays.”
“Then why do you not - ”
He startled, those curious eyes going wide, and he jumped up, pacing the short distance to the window. “I couldn’t, not yet. It’s too soon, much too soon.”
“Erik - ” She got to her feet, but he shook his head once more, waving a hand to stop her before she got too close.
“No. Please, Annie, just leave it for now. I don’t... just leave it.”
Madame Giry opened her mouth but before she could speak the sound of the front door slamming echoed down the hall. “Meg,” she said simply, listening to the light footsteps pattering from one room to another.
“Maman? Maman, where are you?” the little ballerina called, and then a pair of blue eyes came peeping around the doorframe. They blinked as she took in her mother and the Phantom, and the carpet bag on the bed. “Oh! I’m sorry; am I interrupting anything?”
“No, no, Meg,” Antoinette assured her, and Meg brightened, coming properly into the room and waving the envelope in her hand. It was open, but there was another, still sealed, which she passed to Madame.
“Open it, please,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet with suppressed excitement. Antoinette did as she was told, but before she had finished tearing the paper seal Meg jumped in, crying, “It’s wonderful news, Maman! The theatre is reopening! We’re being offered our old jobs back!”
Hurriedly, Madame Giry pulled the sheet of paper from the envelope and scanned the lines typed there, beneath the crest of the Opera Populaire. The new management, Messieurs Marigny and Fontaine, would be pleased to see her on Tuesday next, for a discussion about her position as ballet mistress and the future of dance within the company. Meg was grinning from ear to ear, making it clear that she had received a similar missive. “Is this true?” Antoinette asked. The letter looked official, but one could never tell. Erik was not the only accomplished forger in Paris. She held out a hand to her daughter. “Let me look at yours.”
Meg handed it over. “I must go and see Christine, and find out if she has had a letter too.”
“If she has not, the new managers are more foolish than they appear,” Erik said, and Antoinette turned slowly to look at him, the heavy paper crumpling between her fingers.
“Did you know about this?” she enquired, fixing him with the stare she used to make hapless ballet rats cower before her.
He cleared his throat. “As it happens, I had been meaning to tell you that there was another reason for my returning home...”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1763
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Madame Giry, Meg Giry
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Facing the music.
HE’S LEAVING HOME
“And when, Monsieur, were you going to tell me you were departing?”
The Phantom, dressed for outdoors in his hat and cloak, stood with his back to her, the carpet bag in which he had brought his possessions to the apartment open on the bed in front of him. Antoinette was gratified that her words made him jump like a guilty little boy. He turned, an obviously forced smile on the visible side of his face, and said,
“Annie! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”
She gave the familiar black-bordered envelope that lay on the little bedside cabinet a pointed look. “So I see.”
“Well...” Erik looked distinctly uncomfortable, twiddling his fingers together as he obviously tried to find the right words. Seeing him at a loss was a novel experience. “As I am quite able to look after myself again it seemed only right for me to reclaim my own home. We have been getting on each others’ nerves more often than not lately, and I...” He glanced down at his feet and then back at her, grimacing. “Is this sort of conversation always so difficult?”
“That depends how one goes about it,” Antoinette told him, folding her arms. “For instance, if you had come to me and said plainly, ‘Annie, I think it’s time for me to go home’, for example - ”
“And how would you have responded if I did?” he asked, interrupting.
“I might have replied that there was no need, that you would always be welcome here and even though we have not always seen eye to eye I have enjoyed your company when you decide to exercise that charm of which you are capable. I cannot in all honesty say that I would miss your moods, or the propensity you have for leaving the newspaper spread all over the floor, but - ” She broke off, seeing his undamaged cheek flush with embarrassment, and said quickly, laying a hand on his arm, “Erik, I hope that I have not made you feel that you have worn out your welcome, for that was never my intention.”
“Not at all, not at all,” he assured her, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “It just seemed that the moment was right for us all to return to some semblance of normality. It is certainly high time Meg had her bed back; I am grateful to her for lending it to me, but no young girl should be forced to compromise her beauty sleep by resting her head upon a pallet on the floor.”
“She does not begrudge you her mattress.”
“I know. But I am conscious of her lack of comfort every time I lie down upon it. There is also this,” Erik added, picking up a folded newspaper from his bag and handing it to her, one long finger drawing her attention to a column towards the foot of the page. Madame Giry read the few lines with a frown.
“Le Figaro is a rag,” Antoinette said, passing the paper back. “It is nothing more than idle gossip; ignore it.”
Erik put it carefully away in his bag. “It can only have been written by that damned reporter. The last thing I need is a hack poking his nose into my affairs, which is why I think it would be politic of me to go underground once more. I do not want him hanging around here and making things difficult for you.”
She snorted in amusement at the thought. “Believe me, Erik; if he tried he would not get very far.”
“I do, Madame, I do,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Even so, it is best that I leave.”
“And what of Christine?” Antoinette asked as he resumed his packing.
“What of her?” The question sounded casual, but she knew it was anything but.
“How long do you intend to bury yourself for this time? You can hardly protect her if she is above the ground and you below it; if Béringer truly is following her around, how will you know?”
“I have my ways and means. Do not forget to whom you are speaking,” Erik told her, carefully folding his dressing gown and laying it neatly on top of the other clothes. “The Angel of Music still has her under his wing.”
“And the future? Have you considered that?” she said, and saw his spine stiffen. He stood up straight and slowly closed the bag before turning to face her, his expression unreadable.
“What do you mean?” he enquired, and this time there was a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Oh, Erik.” Madame Giry sat down on the bed and patted the coverlet beside her. He looked at her in confusion for some moments, evidently not recognising the invitation for him to sit too, before realisation dawned and he reluctantly took a seat on the very edge, keeping a deliberate foot of space between them. “I know that you love Christine, and it is quite clear that she feels the same way. If you intend this relationship to progress to its inevitable conclusion, have you thought about where you are going to live? You told me that you would not force her to share the darkness, and her life, her career, will not flourish underground.”
“Do you think I am unaware of that fact? I have been thinking of it constantly over the past few weeks. But do not think that Christine would shun the darkness, Annie,” Erik added before she could speak, “She tells me that she is drawn to it, but I do know that after a while the attraction would wane and she would crave the daylight once more. No matter what she says now, she would resent me for bringing such a fate upon her.”
“Then what do you intend to do?” Antoinette asked gently. “If you were forced to make a choice, between Christine and the darkness...?”
Erik stared blankly into the middle distance for some time, and gradually his head drooped into his waiting hands. “I have absolutely no idea,” he said, his voice muffled. “I will love Christine until the last breath leaves my body, but however much I might want to walk in it with her like a normal man, the light of day still terrifies me. Darkness is all I know, all I understand.”
“Have you spoken to Christine about any of this?”
“Of course not!” His head shot up again and he was suddenly glaring at her for even making such a suggestion. “I have not even dared to ask her if she will have me, even though she...”
Antoinette frowned. “Even though she... what?”
“The wedding dress, the one on the mannequin. She wanted to see it again.”
“Erik, I thought that you were going to get rid of that horrible thing - ” she began, shuddering at the memory of the doll with its vacant, glass-eyed stare, but he raised a hand, shaking his head.
“She told me that she hoped she would be able to wear the dress one day.” Erik’s mismatched eyes seemed almost to mist over for a second, and a wistful smile touched his lips. “I used to dream of having a wife, someone I could sit with by the fire and take out on Sundays.”
“Then why do you not - ”
He startled, those curious eyes going wide, and he jumped up, pacing the short distance to the window. “I couldn’t, not yet. It’s too soon, much too soon.”
“Erik - ” She got to her feet, but he shook his head once more, waving a hand to stop her before she got too close.
“No. Please, Annie, just leave it for now. I don’t... just leave it.”
Madame Giry opened her mouth but before she could speak the sound of the front door slamming echoed down the hall. “Meg,” she said simply, listening to the light footsteps pattering from one room to another.
“Maman? Maman, where are you?” the little ballerina called, and then a pair of blue eyes came peeping around the doorframe. They blinked as she took in her mother and the Phantom, and the carpet bag on the bed. “Oh! I’m sorry; am I interrupting anything?”
“No, no, Meg,” Antoinette assured her, and Meg brightened, coming properly into the room and waving the envelope in her hand. It was open, but there was another, still sealed, which she passed to Madame.
“Open it, please,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet with suppressed excitement. Antoinette did as she was told, but before she had finished tearing the paper seal Meg jumped in, crying, “It’s wonderful news, Maman! The theatre is reopening! We’re being offered our old jobs back!”
Hurriedly, Madame Giry pulled the sheet of paper from the envelope and scanned the lines typed there, beneath the crest of the Opera Populaire. The new management, Messieurs Marigny and Fontaine, would be pleased to see her on Tuesday next, for a discussion about her position as ballet mistress and the future of dance within the company. Meg was grinning from ear to ear, making it clear that she had received a similar missive. “Is this true?” Antoinette asked. The letter looked official, but one could never tell. Erik was not the only accomplished forger in Paris. She held out a hand to her daughter. “Let me look at yours.”
Meg handed it over. “I must go and see Christine, and find out if she has had a letter too.”
“If she has not, the new managers are more foolish than they appear,” Erik said, and Antoinette turned slowly to look at him, the heavy paper crumpling between her fingers.
“Did you know about this?” she enquired, fixing him with the stare she used to make hapless ballet rats cower before her.
He cleared his throat. “As it happens, I had been meaning to tell you that there was another reason for my returning home...”
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Date: 2012-09-29 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-29 05:14 pm (UTC)