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Post by Julian on Dec 2, 2008 12:08:27 GMT -5
*Julian's smile came easier, as if at some private joke.*
"This is a dangerous place to be nosy." *He answered, gaze unblinking.* "Paris, I mean. It would be a pity for harm to befall you on accident."
*Though if his mother was involved, it was only partially accident.*
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Post by The Persian on Dec 2, 2008 12:12:31 GMT -5
The Persian's gaze was similarly steady, though entirely human. Was the man threatening him? But why? While his manner was not exactly hostile, it was certainly strange, familiar, and full of the possibility of threat.
"I do not entirely believe in accidents," he said, for it seemed certain the man had purpose in his message. "And I come from a very dangerous place. Though I am certain your warning is meant in good faith, and so will I take it."
Julian had, of course, only served in piquing his curiosity; a curiosity that was now no longer idle, but focused on this location in a way it had not been before.
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Post by Julian on Dec 2, 2008 17:28:25 GMT -5
*Julian bowed his head slowly in acknowledgment, but also in thought. But the thought was a private one and his brow lifted as he glanced back to the rehearsal.*
"You have traveled far then? For some great reason, no doubt to make such a harrowing journey."
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Post by The Persian on Dec 2, 2008 17:44:08 GMT -5
"From Persia," he said. "No great reason. More of an accident of the sort of which you speak. I had a friend, once, who spoke highly of Paris. I came to see it for myself." His manner was calm, sanguine, but his energy seemed coiled and watchful. As if he knew more than he spoke, though at times he was not entirely certain of what he knew.
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Post by Julian on Dec 2, 2008 17:49:10 GMT -5
*That wasn't enough. There was something else. Just on the edge of his mind, but always out of reach.*
"But...you have never been to Paris before?"
*Why else would he be so familiar?*
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Post by The Persian on Dec 2, 2008 17:55:13 GMT -5
The man was probing now, unabashedly, and it seemed to him that he, too, found the Persian familiar. It would explain his behavior entirely--though not the resemblance that was forming slowly in his mind.
"No," he said. "I have not."
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Post by Julian on Dec 2, 2008 17:57:12 GMT -5
*Hmm. That was disheartening. The man could be lying, but...it did not feel like he was. Julian's gaze shifted slightly towards the man.*
"And your friend...perhaps you seek him here? He is perhaps a performer with the company?"
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Post by The Persian on Dec 2, 2008 18:19:30 GMT -5
It was the Persian's turn for private thoughts, though his amusement was partially revealed in a soft bark of laughter. "No, I cannot imagine that," he said. "No, I doubt he is here. It is not his style. But I suspect I will not see him again..." He shrugged. It would be foolish to seek Erik. Foolish both for the fruitlessness of the endeavor and because Erik had brought him nothing but misery. "It is of no matter. Perhaps I will come back, as you suggest, for a performance."
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Post by Julian on Dec 3, 2008 9:29:34 GMT -5
But you want to see him again.
"Perhaps." *Julian echoed in a distant whisper. This wasn't right. It wasn't as simple as that. It couldn't be. There was something else. Something...deeper. It was perplexing. He should speak to Erik about it. His mother could make sense of the feeling. After all, he'd interacted with more of the world than Julian had. Julian nodded briefly to the man and slipped back into the shadows.*
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Post by The Persian on Dec 3, 2008 10:15:50 GMT -5
And with that, the man was gone, as mysteriously as he'd appeared. Moments later, the Persian saw him on the stage. No, this was madness. His senses were all reading "Erik," but this man was not Erik, had hadn't seen Erik in decades, and it was only his imagination run wild.
The Persian was not a man whose imagination was prone to that.
Was he so desperate for excitement, he thought, that he was recasting Erik as his friend, as someone to be sought out? And to see him in this handsome, disturbing blond man... He had to seriously question his sanity.
He left shortly after, his thoughts swirling and unpleasant, but his interest unassuaged.
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Asia!Christine
- Masterful Virgin -
none other than the phantom's whore
Posts: 22
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Post by Asia!Christine on Dec 10, 2008 17:14:03 GMT -5
Christine was going to be late for the rehearsal and she was more than aware of it. Well, what was one rehearsal when they were rehearsing both casts and she was the same chorus girl in both of them? Honorine had not quite pointed out - but had hinted at it enough - that it was her fault, acting as though she would get a part without auditioning. It wasn't pride, Christine was certain of it. Just the ridiculous, childish hope - even now it brought a secret, personal smile to her face - that someone would see something in her that she didn't have to bargain for.
And more than that, Christine was worried about what it would mean about her if she auditioned and then did not get a part. Certainly she'd sob in Honorine's lap later on about it - bless her for being there anyway - and ascribe too much to it, but how could she go back to rehearsals feeling that way? And she couldn't really admit this to anyone else, it was too personal, too embarrassing, because she knew just what it sounded like. She couldn't afford to continue being this naive. If she wanted to be a performer, she would have to stretch out her hand and grasp at it as everyone else did.
She just wish she didn't feel as though someone would chop her hand off for it.
Christine was bundled up in this train of thought - denser than any coat - as she skittered on down the Opera corridor, and therefore was not paying attention when she turned a corner and stepped into a man abruptly and suddenly. She looked up, rather startled, lips parting but no sound coming out, as the force of it made her stumble backwards. Her hand moved to her throat as though the lack of noise from her surprise had suddenly terrified the singer, but she did not look terrified.
"Excuse me, monsieur, I was not watching," she said, now looking faintly dubious, although not in a necessarily negative way. She did not recognize him, but it was clear he was coming back from the rehearsal. Which was, of course, not odd in and of itself, as there were many who came in to listen to the rehearsals at times, but usually they had been doing it long enough for those like herself to recognize them. And she'd been here some time. She stared at him a while, trying to figure out who he was, and stepped to the side, as though trying to move past him, but unable to tear her eyes away. "So sorry, monsieur, do I know you?"
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Post by The Persian on Dec 10, 2008 18:07:02 GMT -5
The Persian bowed slightly, unoffended. He was not entirely used to being stared at, but he was becoming so; unremarkable (if handsome) in his own land, he drew the eye in even such a cosmopolitan city as Paris. It was not their fault, he reasoned. He was a stranger, unknown. He was not surprised that she did not know him, and surprised that she thought she should. Perhaps, again, it was his very unfamiliarity. He did not belong, and his presence would be remarked upon. After his meeting with the man from the stage, he had the feeling he would become more familiar here.
If no less mysterious.
"No apology necessary, mademoiselle," he said, his French apparently fluent but accented, and he still hesitated before some words. "I do not think so. You are in the chorus, are you not?"
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Asia!Christine
- Masterful Virgin -
none other than the phantom's whore
Posts: 22
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Post by Asia!Christine on Dec 11, 2008 12:25:17 GMT -5
He had seemed to be there with some purpose to Christine, shown in his manner of moving through the corridor and perhaps something else, and this made him look as though he were someone who often came to the Opera, who belonged there, for some reason or other. It was not that he was familiar, simply that he looked not out of place there. Realizing this was all the reason she had asked, she felt rather foolish. Honorine would chide her for her superstitions later, if she did not laugh about them. She shook herself and looked back at him, wondering what she might have seen to cause her to behave oddly.
She supposed it was just his maleness, odd though it might have seemed; the men Christine knew all had some quality to them that went against them, until they seemed harmless, de-masculized - the doctor, the conductor, so on. Other people she knew as performers, but not as anyone behind them. "I - Yes," she said, having hesitated a moment. She did not want to sound bitter and hoped she had succeeded in sounding like a chorus girl - what did a chorus girl sound like? She did not know if there was some sharp difference between a chorus girl and a talented professional singing an actual part, with a name and all. "Where did you learn your French? It is very beautiful," she said, not thinking before speaking - she had just wondered suddenly if he might be from Southern Italy, and she had spent time there as a child, travelling with her father - ah, that was it. Running into him on accident like a little child...pulled odd memories.
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Post by The Persian on Dec 11, 2008 13:25:39 GMT -5
He did not know much about the theater or the opera, or the hierarchies built in to the different roles, but he could guess. But he put down her hesitation to the fact he was a strange man, and not French at that. Perhaps his question alone was threatening, in some way. Perhaps Parisians thought barbaric hordes would descend upon them at any moment, forgetting their own history of barbarism. But these were idle thoughts merely, something to entertain him.
He bowed his head slightly at her compliment. "Thank you, mademoiselle. You are kind to say so. It was taught to me by a friend, many years ago, and I have kept up my practice."
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Asia!Christine
- Masterful Virgin -
none other than the phantom's whore
Posts: 22
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Post by Asia!Christine on Dec 11, 2008 13:38:22 GMT -5
Christine's face flushed slightly, but it passed in a moment. She was pleased that he was pleased, although it had not been said specifically to flatter. She could not help wonder where he was from, and it then occurred to her suddenly that he might be Persian - his olive skin could have come from the Middle East. But she did not want to amount things to stereotypes, and just because one was such an old-fashioned gentleman did not mean that one came from such a ritualistic culture. Still...
But something in his words seemed complicated to her. Christine stopped, unconsciously, having been tense as though about to pass on at any moment, and worked something out. "Have you been out of France all this time, then?" she asked, sounding surprised. "Practicing elsewhere, you mean, monsieur?"
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