charleygirl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charleygirl) wrote2012-01-15 09:16 am
charleygirl) wrote2012-01-15 09:16 am
Entry tags:
Fic | Phantom of the Opera | Beyond the Green Baize Door 22/?
Title: Beyond the Green Baize Door 22/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1121
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: A discussion between Christine and Raoul after the drama at the cemetery. What does Christine really want? Follows Chapter Nine, Amid the Falling Snow.
Author's Note: Regarding this instalment, I’d just like to say that I’m not a Raoul-basher by any means. I think he genuinely loves Christine and wants to help her, but he is impulsive, sometimes thoughtless and a little blinkered. Given everything he has to go through with her, could anyone blame him for losing his rag occasionally?
THE CHOICES OF CHRISTINE
“I won’t do it.”
Raoul stared at Christine as she bound up his sprained wrist, apparently so shocked by her words that he completely forgot to flinch and yelp when she pulled the bandage too tight. “You cannot be serious. Christine, without you the whole plan will fail!”
“Let it.” She tied off the dressing and got to her feet. Still inwardly quivering with anger over what had happened at the cemetery, she distractedly paced the room. “I’m sorry, Raoul, but I want no part of this. I betrayed Erik once; I won’t do it again.”
“Christine!” He jumped up and tried to grab hold of her arm with his injured hand; he thought better of it just in time, and tucked it protectively into his waistcoat instead. Under other circumstances, she might have laughed at his unconscious imitation of Napoleon, but not now. “Christine, please. We have to be rid of this man, for all our sakes. This is the only way to do it.”
“And by being rid of him you really mean by bringing about his death.”
“It is the only way,” Raoul insisted. “There can be no compromise here: it is either him or us. You heard him in the graveyard – he declared war. This is no time for weakness.”
“I will not be a party to murder, Raoul!” Christine cried. “He was my teacher, my ang – my companion.” They both noticed the slip. “Why can you show no mercy?”
His face was hard, set in determination. For a brief moment, she didn’t recognise her fiancé, her childhood friend. Another man altogether, a ruthless man, stood in his place. She turned away as he asked quietly, “Did your ‘angel’ show mercy to Joseph Buquet?”
Christine closed her eyes, trying to crush in her mind the memory of the fly chief’s body plummeting towards the stage before it was brought up short with a sickening crack of bones breaking. She pushed away the image which rose unbidden of Erik up there on the catwalks, watching as Buquet fell. With more conviction than she felt, she declared, “You have no proof that Erik killed Buquet. There is no proof that anyone killed him – the verdict of the jury was ‘death by misadventure’!”
“Six months ago you felt differently – back then you were practically begging me to save you from this monster which stalked your footsteps, to take you away before he snapped your neck too!” Now Raoul did catch hold of her sleeve, awkwardly pulling her round to face him. There was confusion in his blue eyes as they searched her face. “Christine, what has changed? What do you really feel for that man?”
“I would not willingly stand by and watch while anyone was lured into a trap,” she said, avoiding the question. “How can you expect me to do this, Raoul?”
“Because you have no choice: it has to be done. This is the only way you can ever be free of him. Even if he is not guilty of murder, which I very much doubt, he is a fraudster and an extortionist, not to mention a maniac who attacked me - ”
Christine threw up her hands in frustration, trying desperately not to scream aloud. “You were threatening him with a loaded pistol! He was defending himself!”
“And you are defending him!” Raoul countered hotly. “He could have killed me – would you still be so loyal to him then?”
“Now you are being ridiculous.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realised, and their effect was immediate.
He froze, and a dark look crossed his usually amiable features. After a moment, he drew himself up and fixed her with a steely gaze. Christine almost started at the sight; she had never before seen him look quite so... so... grown up. “I am only doing this for you,” he said, evidently from the slight wobble in his voice trying his best to remain calm, “even if you cannot see it at present. I had hoped that you would assist me – us – in this matter, as it concerns your safety as well as that of the Opera, but even without your help the plan will go ahead. I will rid this theatre of the Phantom’s influence, you can be sure of that!” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Christine stared as the dress which hung there swung back and forth before finally falling to the floor in a crumpled heap of satin and lace. She furiously blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes and sat down heavily before her dressing table in a flurry of skirts. How could she have expected him to understand? Like many men, Raoul saw everything in black and white; there was no room for any shade of grey. He had found a solution to their problem, and there would be no turning him from his course once he was set upon it. For Christine, things were not so simple; feelings, emotions, were not so cut and dried.
“You have to decide exactly what you want,” Meg had told her, “No one else can make the choice; no one but you knows what is in your heart.”
Wise words, but Christine was not sure she did know. She felt more than ever as though she was caught in the middle of a cat’s cradle, suspended there unable to move, every attempt to free herself tangling her all the tighter in its threads. Did that little voice in the back of her mind belong to her head or her heart? If her heart told her she was making the right decision but her head disagreed, which should she believe?
There was only one thing to do. The voices and opinions of others were constantly flung back and forth, preventing her from thinking for herself. If she were to make any kind of decision, it would have to be on her terms alone. Crossing to the door, she turned the key in the lock and leaned against the panelling for a moment, her head resting on the wood. Then, resolutely, she picked up her cloak from the sofa and draped it over the great mirror on the wall so that it would obscure the vision of anyone behind the glass. This done, she resumed her seat at the dressing table and fixed her reflection with a firm gaze.
What did she really want? A life of safety and security with Raoul, or the intoxicating darkness of the music of the night..?
By the time she left this room, she hoped that she would know.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1121
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: A discussion between Christine and Raoul after the drama at the cemetery. What does Christine really want? Follows Chapter Nine, Amid the Falling Snow.
Author's Note: Regarding this instalment, I’d just like to say that I’m not a Raoul-basher by any means. I think he genuinely loves Christine and wants to help her, but he is impulsive, sometimes thoughtless and a little blinkered. Given everything he has to go through with her, could anyone blame him for losing his rag occasionally?
THE CHOICES OF CHRISTINE
“I won’t do it.”
Raoul stared at Christine as she bound up his sprained wrist, apparently so shocked by her words that he completely forgot to flinch and yelp when she pulled the bandage too tight. “You cannot be serious. Christine, without you the whole plan will fail!”
“Let it.” She tied off the dressing and got to her feet. Still inwardly quivering with anger over what had happened at the cemetery, she distractedly paced the room. “I’m sorry, Raoul, but I want no part of this. I betrayed Erik once; I won’t do it again.”
“Christine!” He jumped up and tried to grab hold of her arm with his injured hand; he thought better of it just in time, and tucked it protectively into his waistcoat instead. Under other circumstances, she might have laughed at his unconscious imitation of Napoleon, but not now. “Christine, please. We have to be rid of this man, for all our sakes. This is the only way to do it.”
“And by being rid of him you really mean by bringing about his death.”
“It is the only way,” Raoul insisted. “There can be no compromise here: it is either him or us. You heard him in the graveyard – he declared war. This is no time for weakness.”
“I will not be a party to murder, Raoul!” Christine cried. “He was my teacher, my ang – my companion.” They both noticed the slip. “Why can you show no mercy?”
His face was hard, set in determination. For a brief moment, she didn’t recognise her fiancé, her childhood friend. Another man altogether, a ruthless man, stood in his place. She turned away as he asked quietly, “Did your ‘angel’ show mercy to Joseph Buquet?”
Christine closed her eyes, trying to crush in her mind the memory of the fly chief’s body plummeting towards the stage before it was brought up short with a sickening crack of bones breaking. She pushed away the image which rose unbidden of Erik up there on the catwalks, watching as Buquet fell. With more conviction than she felt, she declared, “You have no proof that Erik killed Buquet. There is no proof that anyone killed him – the verdict of the jury was ‘death by misadventure’!”
“Six months ago you felt differently – back then you were practically begging me to save you from this monster which stalked your footsteps, to take you away before he snapped your neck too!” Now Raoul did catch hold of her sleeve, awkwardly pulling her round to face him. There was confusion in his blue eyes as they searched her face. “Christine, what has changed? What do you really feel for that man?”
“I would not willingly stand by and watch while anyone was lured into a trap,” she said, avoiding the question. “How can you expect me to do this, Raoul?”
“Because you have no choice: it has to be done. This is the only way you can ever be free of him. Even if he is not guilty of murder, which I very much doubt, he is a fraudster and an extortionist, not to mention a maniac who attacked me - ”
Christine threw up her hands in frustration, trying desperately not to scream aloud. “You were threatening him with a loaded pistol! He was defending himself!”
“And you are defending him!” Raoul countered hotly. “He could have killed me – would you still be so loyal to him then?”
“Now you are being ridiculous.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realised, and their effect was immediate.
He froze, and a dark look crossed his usually amiable features. After a moment, he drew himself up and fixed her with a steely gaze. Christine almost started at the sight; she had never before seen him look quite so... so... grown up. “I am only doing this for you,” he said, evidently from the slight wobble in his voice trying his best to remain calm, “even if you cannot see it at present. I had hoped that you would assist me – us – in this matter, as it concerns your safety as well as that of the Opera, but even without your help the plan will go ahead. I will rid this theatre of the Phantom’s influence, you can be sure of that!” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Christine stared as the dress which hung there swung back and forth before finally falling to the floor in a crumpled heap of satin and lace. She furiously blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes and sat down heavily before her dressing table in a flurry of skirts. How could she have expected him to understand? Like many men, Raoul saw everything in black and white; there was no room for any shade of grey. He had found a solution to their problem, and there would be no turning him from his course once he was set upon it. For Christine, things were not so simple; feelings, emotions, were not so cut and dried.
“You have to decide exactly what you want,” Meg had told her, “No one else can make the choice; no one but you knows what is in your heart.”
Wise words, but Christine was not sure she did know. She felt more than ever as though she was caught in the middle of a cat’s cradle, suspended there unable to move, every attempt to free herself tangling her all the tighter in its threads. Did that little voice in the back of her mind belong to her head or her heart? If her heart told her she was making the right decision but her head disagreed, which should she believe?
There was only one thing to do. The voices and opinions of others were constantly flung back and forth, preventing her from thinking for herself. If she were to make any kind of decision, it would have to be on her terms alone. Crossing to the door, she turned the key in the lock and leaned against the panelling for a moment, her head resting on the wood. Then, resolutely, she picked up her cloak from the sofa and draped it over the great mirror on the wall so that it would obscure the vision of anyone behind the glass. This done, she resumed her seat at the dressing table and fixed her reflection with a firm gaze.
What did she really want? A life of safety and security with Raoul, or the intoxicating darkness of the music of the night..?
By the time she left this room, she hoped that she would know.