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charleygirlTitle: The Garish Light of Day 12/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1537
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: Not everyone likes grand opera.
Author's Note: A little humorous, fluffy interlude from all the angst. This has been sitting on my hard drive for a few weeks now because I wasn't sure where to put it in the run but liked it too much to just discard it.
NOISY NEIGHBOURS
“Again, Christine. Remember your posture; you are getting out of practise.” Erik sounded the note again on the Girys’ battered old piano and looked at his pupil expectantly.
Obedient as always where her Angel of Music was concerned, Christine stood straighter and lifted her voice. “Ah se in ciel benigne stelle, La pietà non è smarrita,” she sang, soaring over the lifts and expertly managing the pronunciation; this Mozart aria was one they had gone over again and again during their initial lessons. Erik raised his hand, conducting the orchestra in his head, encouraging her in the complex trills of which that particular composer had been so fond. Higher and higher she went, closing her eyes as she gave herself over entirely to the music, almost forgetting everything else around her... until she was abruptly brought back down to earth by the sound of a thump from below.
Erik cursed and slammed his hand down on the keyboard. “That is the fourth time in half an hour! What the devil is that noise?” he demanded. “Are you making it?”
Annoyed by the suggestion that she would sabotage her own instruction, Christine rounded on him, skirts swishing, hands on her hips. “No, I am not! How do you imagine I would: hide a hammer under my dress?”
Erik flushed slightly, no doubt at the mental image her words created, and cleared his throat. “Well, then who is making it? I find such constant interruption extremely distracting.”
“As do I, but there are a lot of other people living in this building and the walls are very thin. I would think that either someone nearby is putting up shelves, or...”
“Or..?”
“Or it is a less-than-subtle yet universally-recognised request for us to be quiet,” said Christine, adding when he looked completely baffled, “The lady in the apartment downstairs evidently objects to my voice and is banging on the ceiling with a broom.”
She nearly burst out laughing when Erik’s expression changed from confusion to disbelief. He had probably never encountered such a thing before. “Surely you are joking,” he said.
In reply, Christine sang a scale, ending with a top E and holding the note for several beats. Almost immediately a series of thumps came from the room below them, louder than before. The woman must be standing on a chair, she thought. Erik was on his feet in a flash, reaching the door in three strides. Realising his intention, she grabbed for his sleeve as he passed, catching it before he could turn the handle and pulling him round to face her. He looked down, frowning at her assault upon his person and the wrinkles she was causing to his jacket.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He blinked in surprise. “To put a stop to it, of course!”
“You can’t do that!”
“Whyever not? The woman clearly has no appreciation for music.”
“That’s no reason to frighten her to death,” Christine said, and when he stared at her continued hastily, “I mean, you are a very intimidating vision for an old lady to find upon her doorstep, Erik.”
“All the better,” he said curtly and turned back to the door. She tugged on his sleeve again and he made an irritated noise. “What is the matter with you, Christine?”
In desperation, she cried, “You don’t know which apartment it is!”
“I’ll find out. The building must have a logical pattern to its numbering system.”
“Maybe we should find somewhere else to have our lessons,” she suggested quickly with a big smile. “Somewhere a little more... secluded? Where we won’t be overheard?”
“Christine...” Much to her relief, Erik moved away from the door. “Exactly what did you think I was going to do?”
“Nothing! I don’t - ” She jumped as he came back across the room towards her, his face set in that forbidding look she knew so well from the glory days of the Phantom. He stopped when they were toe to toe and gazed down at her, the tips of his fingers brushing her shoulders. She tried to restrain a shiver, though whether it was from anxiety or anticipation she wasn’t sure. “It’s just...”
“Just what?” he enquired, raising his visible eyebrow.
“I don’t... I never know how you are going to react,” she admitted. “You aren’t used to being around other people and your temper - ”
His face fell and he was quiet for a few moments, taking this in. Feeling awful, Christine laid a hand on his chest; instinctively he pulled her close and she rested her head on his uninjured shoulder. “Did you... did you actually think I might harm that poor woman?” he asked quietly into her hair.
“I was afraid - ” she began, and an odd, pained noise came from his throat. She glanced up, trying to see his face but he had turned it away; moving her hand she rested it against his unmasked cheek, forcing him to look at her. “I was afraid that she might open the door, see you there, all dark and forceful and angry, and drop dead from the shock.”
Mismatched eyes met hers, and she could clearly see the confusion dancing across their surface. She held her breath, knowing his mercurial temperament and wondering which way his reaction would go. It was a shock when, instead of becoming angry, he laughed.
“Oh, Christine,” he said, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her. “I do love you.”
“I’m very glad about that, as I love you too,” she retorted, inwardly happy that he had lost his reluctance to touch her over the past few weeks. He had spent so long imagining that any contact would be repellent to her that now the barrier had been broken he seemed to want to be close to her all the time when they were together, something about which she had no complaints. “What were you going to do when you knocked on that lady’s front door?”
“To tell you the truth... I have no idea,” Erik told her. “Perhaps I could have educated her, told her that she was privileged to be able to enjoy a free performance from one of the rising stars of the Paris Opera.”
“Or you could have taken her broom away,” Christine pointed out.
“That too.” Losing interest in the conversation, he captured her lips once more, his kisses still a little awkward but gaining in confidence all the time. She was quite happy to surrender to him, and it was only when she heard a jarringly discordant medley of notes that she realised she’d accidentally leant on the piano keyboard. They both waited a moment, listening, and sure enough the thumping noise came from below. Christine couldn’t help giggling; reluctantly Erik disentangled himself from her embrace and stalked towards the door again. “I’ll burn it,” he vowed.
“No, leave it,” she begged, keeping hold of his hand so that he had to stop. Seeing the smile that was still on her face he relented. “Maybe we should find somewhere else to go, somewhere with no... intrusions.”
He sighed. “Yes, you’re right. Perhaps it’s time I reclaimed my own home.”
“Is that a good idea?” Christine asked, concerned. “It’s only been ten weeks since Don Juan, and we still don’t know what’s happening to the theatre.”
“All the better to return while the place is empty.”
There was a pause, and then Christine said, “You hate it here, don’t you?”
For a moment Erik looked as though he was going to deny the accusation, but eventually he nodded. “Hate is a strong word. I feel... stifled.”
“Madame is only being such a mother hen because she cares,” she reminded him, squeezing his hand. “I know she can be a bit strict, but I suppose I would be too if I’d been bossing ballerinas around for years. She means well.”
“I know, it’s just...” He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. “Do you remember when I said I wanted you to save me from my solitude?”
Christine returned the gesture, gazing up into his face and wondering whether he would let her remove the mask. Kissing him with it on meant constantly trying to avoid bumping her nose.“I think I do.”
“That was precisely what I meant. I wanted you.”
“Ah. I think I understand where you may be going with this, Monsieur. You want us to be able to spend time together without worrying that Meg or Madame might walk in, yes?”
He nodded again. “Preferably somewhere well away from madwomen banging on the floor with cleaning equipment.”
This time they both laughed. It felt nice, just standing there holding one another. She was just tall enough to fit her head under his chin; he rested it gently against her curls, humming softly and stroking the ringlets that fell down her back with one hand. Christine felt quite content until a thought suddenly came to her.
“When were you thinking of leaving?” she asked.
“As soon as possible,” he replied. “I’ve imposed on Antoinette’s hospitality for long enough.”
Another pause. Then Christine said, “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1537
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: Not everyone likes grand opera.
Author's Note: A little humorous, fluffy interlude from all the angst. This has been sitting on my hard drive for a few weeks now because I wasn't sure where to put it in the run but liked it too much to just discard it.
NOISY NEIGHBOURS
“Again, Christine. Remember your posture; you are getting out of practise.” Erik sounded the note again on the Girys’ battered old piano and looked at his pupil expectantly.
Obedient as always where her Angel of Music was concerned, Christine stood straighter and lifted her voice. “Ah se in ciel benigne stelle, La pietà non è smarrita,” she sang, soaring over the lifts and expertly managing the pronunciation; this Mozart aria was one they had gone over again and again during their initial lessons. Erik raised his hand, conducting the orchestra in his head, encouraging her in the complex trills of which that particular composer had been so fond. Higher and higher she went, closing her eyes as she gave herself over entirely to the music, almost forgetting everything else around her... until she was abruptly brought back down to earth by the sound of a thump from below.
Erik cursed and slammed his hand down on the keyboard. “That is the fourth time in half an hour! What the devil is that noise?” he demanded. “Are you making it?”
Annoyed by the suggestion that she would sabotage her own instruction, Christine rounded on him, skirts swishing, hands on her hips. “No, I am not! How do you imagine I would: hide a hammer under my dress?”
Erik flushed slightly, no doubt at the mental image her words created, and cleared his throat. “Well, then who is making it? I find such constant interruption extremely distracting.”
“As do I, but there are a lot of other people living in this building and the walls are very thin. I would think that either someone nearby is putting up shelves, or...”
“Or..?”
“Or it is a less-than-subtle yet universally-recognised request for us to be quiet,” said Christine, adding when he looked completely baffled, “The lady in the apartment downstairs evidently objects to my voice and is banging on the ceiling with a broom.”
She nearly burst out laughing when Erik’s expression changed from confusion to disbelief. He had probably never encountered such a thing before. “Surely you are joking,” he said.
In reply, Christine sang a scale, ending with a top E and holding the note for several beats. Almost immediately a series of thumps came from the room below them, louder than before. The woman must be standing on a chair, she thought. Erik was on his feet in a flash, reaching the door in three strides. Realising his intention, she grabbed for his sleeve as he passed, catching it before he could turn the handle and pulling him round to face her. He looked down, frowning at her assault upon his person and the wrinkles she was causing to his jacket.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He blinked in surprise. “To put a stop to it, of course!”
“You can’t do that!”
“Whyever not? The woman clearly has no appreciation for music.”
“That’s no reason to frighten her to death,” Christine said, and when he stared at her continued hastily, “I mean, you are a very intimidating vision for an old lady to find upon her doorstep, Erik.”
“All the better,” he said curtly and turned back to the door. She tugged on his sleeve again and he made an irritated noise. “What is the matter with you, Christine?”
In desperation, she cried, “You don’t know which apartment it is!”
“I’ll find out. The building must have a logical pattern to its numbering system.”
“Maybe we should find somewhere else to have our lessons,” she suggested quickly with a big smile. “Somewhere a little more... secluded? Where we won’t be overheard?”
“Christine...” Much to her relief, Erik moved away from the door. “Exactly what did you think I was going to do?”
“Nothing! I don’t - ” She jumped as he came back across the room towards her, his face set in that forbidding look she knew so well from the glory days of the Phantom. He stopped when they were toe to toe and gazed down at her, the tips of his fingers brushing her shoulders. She tried to restrain a shiver, though whether it was from anxiety or anticipation she wasn’t sure. “It’s just...”
“Just what?” he enquired, raising his visible eyebrow.
“I don’t... I never know how you are going to react,” she admitted. “You aren’t used to being around other people and your temper - ”
His face fell and he was quiet for a few moments, taking this in. Feeling awful, Christine laid a hand on his chest; instinctively he pulled her close and she rested her head on his uninjured shoulder. “Did you... did you actually think I might harm that poor woman?” he asked quietly into her hair.
“I was afraid - ” she began, and an odd, pained noise came from his throat. She glanced up, trying to see his face but he had turned it away; moving her hand she rested it against his unmasked cheek, forcing him to look at her. “I was afraid that she might open the door, see you there, all dark and forceful and angry, and drop dead from the shock.”
Mismatched eyes met hers, and she could clearly see the confusion dancing across their surface. She held her breath, knowing his mercurial temperament and wondering which way his reaction would go. It was a shock when, instead of becoming angry, he laughed.
“Oh, Christine,” he said, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her. “I do love you.”
“I’m very glad about that, as I love you too,” she retorted, inwardly happy that he had lost his reluctance to touch her over the past few weeks. He had spent so long imagining that any contact would be repellent to her that now the barrier had been broken he seemed to want to be close to her all the time when they were together, something about which she had no complaints. “What were you going to do when you knocked on that lady’s front door?”
“To tell you the truth... I have no idea,” Erik told her. “Perhaps I could have educated her, told her that she was privileged to be able to enjoy a free performance from one of the rising stars of the Paris Opera.”
“Or you could have taken her broom away,” Christine pointed out.
“That too.” Losing interest in the conversation, he captured her lips once more, his kisses still a little awkward but gaining in confidence all the time. She was quite happy to surrender to him, and it was only when she heard a jarringly discordant medley of notes that she realised she’d accidentally leant on the piano keyboard. They both waited a moment, listening, and sure enough the thumping noise came from below. Christine couldn’t help giggling; reluctantly Erik disentangled himself from her embrace and stalked towards the door again. “I’ll burn it,” he vowed.
“No, leave it,” she begged, keeping hold of his hand so that he had to stop. Seeing the smile that was still on her face he relented. “Maybe we should find somewhere else to go, somewhere with no... intrusions.”
He sighed. “Yes, you’re right. Perhaps it’s time I reclaimed my own home.”
“Is that a good idea?” Christine asked, concerned. “It’s only been ten weeks since Don Juan, and we still don’t know what’s happening to the theatre.”
“All the better to return while the place is empty.”
There was a pause, and then Christine said, “You hate it here, don’t you?”
For a moment Erik looked as though he was going to deny the accusation, but eventually he nodded. “Hate is a strong word. I feel... stifled.”
“Madame is only being such a mother hen because she cares,” she reminded him, squeezing his hand. “I know she can be a bit strict, but I suppose I would be too if I’d been bossing ballerinas around for years. She means well.”
“I know, it’s just...” He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. “Do you remember when I said I wanted you to save me from my solitude?”
Christine returned the gesture, gazing up into his face and wondering whether he would let her remove the mask. Kissing him with it on meant constantly trying to avoid bumping her nose.“I think I do.”
“That was precisely what I meant. I wanted you.”
“Ah. I think I understand where you may be going with this, Monsieur. You want us to be able to spend time together without worrying that Meg or Madame might walk in, yes?”
He nodded again. “Preferably somewhere well away from madwomen banging on the floor with cleaning equipment.”
This time they both laughed. It felt nice, just standing there holding one another. She was just tall enough to fit her head under his chin; he rested it gently against her curls, humming softly and stroking the ringlets that fell down her back with one hand. Christine felt quite content until a thought suddenly came to her.
“When were you thinking of leaving?” she asked.
“As soon as possible,” he replied. “I’ve imposed on Antoinette’s hospitality for long enough.”
Another pause. Then Christine said, “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?”
