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charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 12/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1097
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Madame Giry, 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: Two weeks on from the gala, no one has seen the Phantom. Madame Giry goes looking.
THE PHANTOM AND THE BALLET MISTRESS
The normally elegant and comfortable library of the underground house looked as though a whirlwind had swept through it. Books lay flung from their shelves, furniture was overturned; the Persian carpet was littered with the torn and crushed remains of dozens of musical scores. Only the grand piano seemed to have escaped intact, isolated upon an island of its own amidst the mess.
A single wing-backed armchair stood upright by the cold hearth, and in this sat the hunched form of the Opera Ghost, a half-empty brandy decanter at his elbow. Antoinette had not seen Erik look so dishevelled since the night she first entered his home, supporting his barely-conscious, bleeding body after their altercation with the street roughs. He seemed almost to have shrunk, the grace and poise of the Phantom apparently deserting him as though he had thrown them off with his cloak. His jacket was missing and his normally pressed white shirt was open at collar and cuffs; the black silk waistcoat hung loose, revealing the creased and crumpled material beneath. Madame Giry wondered how long it had been since he changed his clothes. For someone usually so immaculately dressed, it seemed wrong that he should be seen this way. The dark hair was in disarray from the overzealous attention of distracted fingers, and to her great surprise there was no sign of his mask.
“Oh, Erik,” she murmured sadly. “What have you done to yourself?”
It was some minutes before he showed any sign that he was aware of her presence. When he finally spoke, his beautiful voice was low and cracked. “Erik has been a fool, Annie. He built a house of cards, and it has fallen down about his ears.”
Antoinette crouched beside him, ignoring the protests made by her dancer’s bones. “What happened?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Erik’s hands gripped the arms of the chair for a moment, the fingers like claws, before he abruptly surged to his feet. He paced a few steps in front of the fireplace, ending with his back turned to her. “What do you think happened?” He gestured to the damaged side of his face with a hollow laugh; as the sound died away his head drooped and the raised hand came up to cradle his distortion. “Why could she not have left well alone?”
“I’m sorry.” Climbing stiffly to her feet, Madame Giry gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and shied away, as though her touch was painful. “I truly am sorry, Erik. But remember that I did - ”
A fist clenched at his side. The next words he spoke were pushed through gritted teeth. “Do not say it. Do not say that you warned me.”
With a sigh, she let her hand drop away. “It has been nearly two weeks since the gala. Why have you been hiding yourself away? Everyone is starting to believe that the Phantom has vanished; you did not even ask me to deliver your notes this time.”
“She ran from me.” Erik’s tone was flat. “I should have expected it. Why should she not run from the monster? All this time she believed in her Angel of Music, believed in a fantasy I encouraged... why should she have been anything but disgusted once she learned the truth? I must have been such a disappointment; no wings, no halo, no heavenly choir...”
“Did she tell you so?” Antoinette asked sharply, cutting impatiently across his self-pity. “Have you spoken with her since that night?”
He shook his head. “No. I have not dared to inflict my unwelcome presence upon her.”
“Then how can you possibly know how she feels?”
“She made her feelings abundantly clear, Madame!” he snarled, whipping around like a goaded snake about to strike. “She screamed at the very sight of me, as I always knew she would! Had it not been for that... that accursed boy I would never have made it possible for her to... to...” He trailed off with a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan. Returning to his chair with heavy tread he sat once more, his head sinking into his hands.
Suddenly, Madame Giry understood. The note she had delivered for de Chagny and Christine’s inevitable reaction to it – Erik must have been watching. She cursed herself inwardly. “The Vicomte. It was because of him that you - ”
“That I carried her off, yes. The beast abducted the girl under the nose of the handsome prince and took her below to his lair. I tried to show her that I could create such beauty for her; that I could weave magic around us, but she cut straight through me to my weakest point.” Erik sank back against the cushions, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I called her Pandora, and I was right. That fatal curiosity! Well, you have what you wanted: the charade, as you have always termed it, is at an end.”
Antoinette looked around the ruined library. Her eye fell on an overturned tapestry chair and she righted it, sweeping away the mass of papers tangled around the legs, and sat down next to him. “Erik,” she said, smoothing down her skirts, “Will you allow me to speak frankly?”
He did not move but his left eyebrow arched upwards. “When have you ever done anything else?”
“Genius you may be, but you have very little experience of the caprices of women. I understand that it is not your fault,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest, “but you cannot think for Christine. She has to make her own decisions, draw her own conclusions. Do not allow yourself to feel threatened by the Vicomte – she had not heard from him in ten years before the gala. You are her Angel of Music; you have been her friend and confidant all this time, not him. Yes, she is scared and confused, but she may yet surprise you.”
As she spoke, Erik straightened in the chair, his brow and its ruined counterpart drawing together in a frown. “Why are you so sure of this? How do you know - ”
“Because she is here, Monsieur,” a new voice interrupted.
Startled, Phantom and ballet mistress both turned towards the hallway; there, on the threshold, her skirts held high in one hand and a lantern in her grip, stood Christine.
“I’m sorry,” she said tremulously, her big dark eyes moving from one of them to the other and back again. “May I come in?”
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1097
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Madame Giry, 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: Two weeks on from the gala, no one has seen the Phantom. Madame Giry goes looking.
THE PHANTOM AND THE BALLET MISTRESS
The normally elegant and comfortable library of the underground house looked as though a whirlwind had swept through it. Books lay flung from their shelves, furniture was overturned; the Persian carpet was littered with the torn and crushed remains of dozens of musical scores. Only the grand piano seemed to have escaped intact, isolated upon an island of its own amidst the mess.
A single wing-backed armchair stood upright by the cold hearth, and in this sat the hunched form of the Opera Ghost, a half-empty brandy decanter at his elbow. Antoinette had not seen Erik look so dishevelled since the night she first entered his home, supporting his barely-conscious, bleeding body after their altercation with the street roughs. He seemed almost to have shrunk, the grace and poise of the Phantom apparently deserting him as though he had thrown them off with his cloak. His jacket was missing and his normally pressed white shirt was open at collar and cuffs; the black silk waistcoat hung loose, revealing the creased and crumpled material beneath. Madame Giry wondered how long it had been since he changed his clothes. For someone usually so immaculately dressed, it seemed wrong that he should be seen this way. The dark hair was in disarray from the overzealous attention of distracted fingers, and to her great surprise there was no sign of his mask.
“Oh, Erik,” she murmured sadly. “What have you done to yourself?”
It was some minutes before he showed any sign that he was aware of her presence. When he finally spoke, his beautiful voice was low and cracked. “Erik has been a fool, Annie. He built a house of cards, and it has fallen down about his ears.”
Antoinette crouched beside him, ignoring the protests made by her dancer’s bones. “What happened?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Erik’s hands gripped the arms of the chair for a moment, the fingers like claws, before he abruptly surged to his feet. He paced a few steps in front of the fireplace, ending with his back turned to her. “What do you think happened?” He gestured to the damaged side of his face with a hollow laugh; as the sound died away his head drooped and the raised hand came up to cradle his distortion. “Why could she not have left well alone?”
“I’m sorry.” Climbing stiffly to her feet, Madame Giry gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and shied away, as though her touch was painful. “I truly am sorry, Erik. But remember that I did - ”
A fist clenched at his side. The next words he spoke were pushed through gritted teeth. “Do not say it. Do not say that you warned me.”
With a sigh, she let her hand drop away. “It has been nearly two weeks since the gala. Why have you been hiding yourself away? Everyone is starting to believe that the Phantom has vanished; you did not even ask me to deliver your notes this time.”
“She ran from me.” Erik’s tone was flat. “I should have expected it. Why should she not run from the monster? All this time she believed in her Angel of Music, believed in a fantasy I encouraged... why should she have been anything but disgusted once she learned the truth? I must have been such a disappointment; no wings, no halo, no heavenly choir...”
“Did she tell you so?” Antoinette asked sharply, cutting impatiently across his self-pity. “Have you spoken with her since that night?”
He shook his head. “No. I have not dared to inflict my unwelcome presence upon her.”
“Then how can you possibly know how she feels?”
“She made her feelings abundantly clear, Madame!” he snarled, whipping around like a goaded snake about to strike. “She screamed at the very sight of me, as I always knew she would! Had it not been for that... that accursed boy I would never have made it possible for her to... to...” He trailed off with a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan. Returning to his chair with heavy tread he sat once more, his head sinking into his hands.
Suddenly, Madame Giry understood. The note she had delivered for de Chagny and Christine’s inevitable reaction to it – Erik must have been watching. She cursed herself inwardly. “The Vicomte. It was because of him that you - ”
“That I carried her off, yes. The beast abducted the girl under the nose of the handsome prince and took her below to his lair. I tried to show her that I could create such beauty for her; that I could weave magic around us, but she cut straight through me to my weakest point.” Erik sank back against the cushions, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I called her Pandora, and I was right. That fatal curiosity! Well, you have what you wanted: the charade, as you have always termed it, is at an end.”
Antoinette looked around the ruined library. Her eye fell on an overturned tapestry chair and she righted it, sweeping away the mass of papers tangled around the legs, and sat down next to him. “Erik,” she said, smoothing down her skirts, “Will you allow me to speak frankly?”
He did not move but his left eyebrow arched upwards. “When have you ever done anything else?”
“Genius you may be, but you have very little experience of the caprices of women. I understand that it is not your fault,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest, “but you cannot think for Christine. She has to make her own decisions, draw her own conclusions. Do not allow yourself to feel threatened by the Vicomte – she had not heard from him in ten years before the gala. You are her Angel of Music; you have been her friend and confidant all this time, not him. Yes, she is scared and confused, but she may yet surprise you.”
As she spoke, Erik straightened in the chair, his brow and its ruined counterpart drawing together in a frown. “Why are you so sure of this? How do you know - ”
“Because she is here, Monsieur,” a new voice interrupted.
Startled, Phantom and ballet mistress both turned towards the hallway; there, on the threshold, her skirts held high in one hand and a lantern in her grip, stood Christine.
“I’m sorry,” she said tremulously, her big dark eyes moving from one of them to the other and back again. “May I come in?”
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no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 08:16 pm (UTC)I'd love to see you explore more of Madame Giry's motives in this series. She's not the Madame Giry of the book with her naive belief in (or desire for) the Phantom's ability to make her daughter an Empress. But she seems now to be pushing a relationship between Erik and Christine, more than the Madame Giry of the musical ever did. So I'd really like to know more about what's driving her.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 07:33 am (UTC)I think with Madame Giry, given the backstory for her and Erik that I've decided on, feels affection for him but is also aware of exactly what he can do. She'd like to see him happy, but at the same time is not entirely sure that his being with Christine is a good idea. I haven't completely worked it out in my head - I tend to write on instinct rather than plotting everything out in advance, so I'll be interested to see where it ends up as well. :)