charleygirl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charleygirl) wrote2011-11-25 05:01 pm
charleygirl) wrote2011-11-25 05:01 pm
Entry tags:
Fic | Phantom of the Opera | Beyond the Green Baize Door 15/?
Title: Beyond the Green Baize Door 15/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1346
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The monkey music box sparks a conversation between Erik and Christine...
MONKEY BUSINESS
There was someone watching her.
Christine glanced up, expecting to find that Erik had entered the room without her noticing, but she was still alone in the library. With a shrug, she returned to her book only to feel eyes on her once more. The hairs rose uncomfortably on the back of her neck and she got to her feet, convinced now that her teacher had returned, creeping into the house with his uncanny cat-like tread. She called his name but received no reply; the only sounds punctuating the silence were the steady ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock on the mantelpiece and the crackling of the flames in the grate.
Chiding herself for being silly, Christine picked up her book once more and turned to sit, and it was then that she saw it. On a shelf across the room, half-hidden behind an elaborate table-lamp, sat the monkey music box she remembered from her first morning in Erik’s house, the morning that had swiftly ended in disaster. Then it had been beside her bed, playing its haunting little tune as she was awoken by the sound of her maestro’s frenzied composing. Intrigued as to why Erik should have moved it, she stepped closer, reaching out a hand. Before she could touch it the mechanism started up as if by magic and the monkey began to move, its paws bringing the cymbals it held almost but not quite together. Christine found herself humming the tune under her breath as the spring gradually wound down. Gently stroking the monkey’s fur with one finger she was surprised to find it was cast and painted lead, cold to the touch despite the fire.
“Where did you come from?” she asked the toy. “What stories could you tell?”
“Tales that no lady would ever wish to hear,” said a familiar voice behind her.
Christine whirled around, her heart pounding, to see Erik standing in the doorway. He had obviously been outside for he wore his hat and cloak, both of which he removed with a typical flourish as he passed her, throwing them onto the settee. “You startled me,” she told him, and he smiled slightly.
“Forgive me. I have played the phantom too long.” He looked at her curiously and, realising where her attention was directed, gestured to the music box with one long-fingered hand. “That trinket... interests you?”
She lifted it from the shelf, and the tiny decorations on the monkey’s velvet waistcoat tinkled. For some reason, it seemed smaller than when she saw it last; it fitted comfortably in the palm of her hand. “Where did you get it?”
Erik looked at it for some moments before he took the box from her, holding it up to the light. He turned a tiny handle on the side of the barrel organ and the tune began to play once more. A sigh escaped him, and Christine’s eyes flitted to his face; though the mask made it hard to tell his expressions, she thought in surprise that he looked terribly sad. Her heart immediately went out to him. “I have had it a very long time,” he said quietly. “It was a gift; probably the only gift I have ever received that was given freely, with love.”
“It must hold happy memories,” said Christine. “I have a necklace, a little silver crucifix. It looks nothing, is not valuable, but it means the world to me for it belonged to my mother. It is all I have of her.”
“Did you know your mother, Christine?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“She died a few days after I was born. Childbed fever; the doctors could do nothing for her. My father was devastated. He never married again; he said that I was his gift from Heaven and he wished us always to be together.” She felt her eyes mist over again with tears. Though he had been gone nearly five years now, not a day went by when she did not miss him. Wiping at her damp lashes with her sleeve, she said, “What was your mother like?”
Ever the gentleman, with a flick of his wrist Erik produced a starched white handkerchief apparently from thin air and offered it to her. She took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her to the sofa before the fire. He set the music box down upon the table at his elbow as he took his seat in the big wing backed armchair. “Beautiful. I used to think that I would never see another creature so lovely. She had hair of the purest gold and a voice like a bell. My father worshipped the ground she walked on.”
“Did you...” Christine sniffed, gradually calming. “Did you lose her early?”
“Lose her?” He laughed harshly, making her jump. “No, my dear, I never lost her. She may still be alive, mouldering in that big old house all by herself. I have never bothered myself to find out. It has been nearly forty years since I last saw her.”
“But...” She looked at him, wondering how anyone could behave so callously towards a beloved parent. She would have done anything to have had just a few years with her mother, and what she would not give to see her father again... “How can you - ”
“How can I be so cold? So unfeeling?” Erik arched his visible eyebrow and waved a hand towards his mask. “You have seen the monster that lies beneath, Christine. Do you really believe that any woman would willingly take such an abomination to her bosom? She pushed me away from the moment she saw to what sort of creature she had given life.”
“Oh...” Christine’s own hand flew to her mouth in mortification. “Oh, I didn’t mean... that is, I didn’t...”
He shook his head. “It matters little now. She bought this before... when she was expecting a perfect child. It sat beside my cradle, obviously forgotten, and it was the only thing I took with me when I left that place. I often wonder why I kept it all these years.” His finger stroked the monkey’s head much as hers had done earlier, the ring he wore gleaming in the firelight.
“Perhaps because you always hoped that she might, deep down, have loved you?” she ventured, anxiously watching his face. It was so difficult to anticipate his moods, his emotions; she lived in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. They were learning to be comfortable with each other, as Erik and Christine instead of the girl and her Angel – the last thing she wanted was another scene like that first morning here. He could be terrifying when he wanted to, and she had no wish to provoke him.
He was silent for some time, and then he looked up, meeting her nervous gaze with his strange mismatched one. Gratefully, she saw no anger there, only a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Yes,” he said, “You may be right. You truly have no idea how much I envy you, Christine. To have known the true and unconditional love of a parent... you are lucky indeed.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “I never stop giving thanks for it.”
Erik rose from his chair, carrying the monkey music box back to its place on the shelf. As he passed, to her surprise he allowed his fingers to lightly brush the back of her hand. It was the first touch he had initiated between them since he brought her down to his home after the gala; usually he was scrupulous about maintaining a distance between them, as though he thought she might find him distasteful. The feel of his skin was still cold but this time she managed to restrain her involuntary shiver.
She watched him as he carefully set the toy back where it belonged, and thought sadly of the lonely, unloved little boy who must have found comfort in its song.
In that moment, the Phantom did not seem quite so frightening after all.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1346
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The monkey music box sparks a conversation between Erik and Christine...
MONKEY BUSINESS
There was someone watching her.
Christine glanced up, expecting to find that Erik had entered the room without her noticing, but she was still alone in the library. With a shrug, she returned to her book only to feel eyes on her once more. The hairs rose uncomfortably on the back of her neck and she got to her feet, convinced now that her teacher had returned, creeping into the house with his uncanny cat-like tread. She called his name but received no reply; the only sounds punctuating the silence were the steady ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock on the mantelpiece and the crackling of the flames in the grate.
Chiding herself for being silly, Christine picked up her book once more and turned to sit, and it was then that she saw it. On a shelf across the room, half-hidden behind an elaborate table-lamp, sat the monkey music box she remembered from her first morning in Erik’s house, the morning that had swiftly ended in disaster. Then it had been beside her bed, playing its haunting little tune as she was awoken by the sound of her maestro’s frenzied composing. Intrigued as to why Erik should have moved it, she stepped closer, reaching out a hand. Before she could touch it the mechanism started up as if by magic and the monkey began to move, its paws bringing the cymbals it held almost but not quite together. Christine found herself humming the tune under her breath as the spring gradually wound down. Gently stroking the monkey’s fur with one finger she was surprised to find it was cast and painted lead, cold to the touch despite the fire.
“Where did you come from?” she asked the toy. “What stories could you tell?”
“Tales that no lady would ever wish to hear,” said a familiar voice behind her.
Christine whirled around, her heart pounding, to see Erik standing in the doorway. He had obviously been outside for he wore his hat and cloak, both of which he removed with a typical flourish as he passed her, throwing them onto the settee. “You startled me,” she told him, and he smiled slightly.
“Forgive me. I have played the phantom too long.” He looked at her curiously and, realising where her attention was directed, gestured to the music box with one long-fingered hand. “That trinket... interests you?”
She lifted it from the shelf, and the tiny decorations on the monkey’s velvet waistcoat tinkled. For some reason, it seemed smaller than when she saw it last; it fitted comfortably in the palm of her hand. “Where did you get it?”
Erik looked at it for some moments before he took the box from her, holding it up to the light. He turned a tiny handle on the side of the barrel organ and the tune began to play once more. A sigh escaped him, and Christine’s eyes flitted to his face; though the mask made it hard to tell his expressions, she thought in surprise that he looked terribly sad. Her heart immediately went out to him. “I have had it a very long time,” he said quietly. “It was a gift; probably the only gift I have ever received that was given freely, with love.”
“It must hold happy memories,” said Christine. “I have a necklace, a little silver crucifix. It looks nothing, is not valuable, but it means the world to me for it belonged to my mother. It is all I have of her.”
“Did you know your mother, Christine?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“She died a few days after I was born. Childbed fever; the doctors could do nothing for her. My father was devastated. He never married again; he said that I was his gift from Heaven and he wished us always to be together.” She felt her eyes mist over again with tears. Though he had been gone nearly five years now, not a day went by when she did not miss him. Wiping at her damp lashes with her sleeve, she said, “What was your mother like?”
Ever the gentleman, with a flick of his wrist Erik produced a starched white handkerchief apparently from thin air and offered it to her. She took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her to the sofa before the fire. He set the music box down upon the table at his elbow as he took his seat in the big wing backed armchair. “Beautiful. I used to think that I would never see another creature so lovely. She had hair of the purest gold and a voice like a bell. My father worshipped the ground she walked on.”
“Did you...” Christine sniffed, gradually calming. “Did you lose her early?”
“Lose her?” He laughed harshly, making her jump. “No, my dear, I never lost her. She may still be alive, mouldering in that big old house all by herself. I have never bothered myself to find out. It has been nearly forty years since I last saw her.”
“But...” She looked at him, wondering how anyone could behave so callously towards a beloved parent. She would have done anything to have had just a few years with her mother, and what she would not give to see her father again... “How can you - ”
“How can I be so cold? So unfeeling?” Erik arched his visible eyebrow and waved a hand towards his mask. “You have seen the monster that lies beneath, Christine. Do you really believe that any woman would willingly take such an abomination to her bosom? She pushed me away from the moment she saw to what sort of creature she had given life.”
“Oh...” Christine’s own hand flew to her mouth in mortification. “Oh, I didn’t mean... that is, I didn’t...”
He shook his head. “It matters little now. She bought this before... when she was expecting a perfect child. It sat beside my cradle, obviously forgotten, and it was the only thing I took with me when I left that place. I often wonder why I kept it all these years.” His finger stroked the monkey’s head much as hers had done earlier, the ring he wore gleaming in the firelight.
“Perhaps because you always hoped that she might, deep down, have loved you?” she ventured, anxiously watching his face. It was so difficult to anticipate his moods, his emotions; she lived in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. They were learning to be comfortable with each other, as Erik and Christine instead of the girl and her Angel – the last thing she wanted was another scene like that first morning here. He could be terrifying when he wanted to, and she had no wish to provoke him.
He was silent for some time, and then he looked up, meeting her nervous gaze with his strange mismatched one. Gratefully, she saw no anger there, only a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Yes,” he said, “You may be right. You truly have no idea how much I envy you, Christine. To have known the true and unconditional love of a parent... you are lucky indeed.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “I never stop giving thanks for it.”
Erik rose from his chair, carrying the monkey music box back to its place on the shelf. As he passed, to her surprise he allowed his fingers to lightly brush the back of her hand. It was the first touch he had initiated between them since he brought her down to his home after the gala; usually he was scrupulous about maintaining a distance between them, as though he thought she might find him distasteful. The feel of his skin was still cold but this time she managed to restrain her involuntary shiver.
She watched him as he carefully set the toy back where it belonged, and thought sadly of the lonely, unloved little boy who must have found comfort in its song.
In that moment, the Phantom did not seem quite so frightening after all.