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Post by The Persian on Dec 11, 2008 14:04:25 GMT -5
She was more curious than the others--many of whom had already made signs he assumed to be their version of a ward against evil--but he saw little reason to be too obtuse about his origins. After all, he had no reason to hide. He was cautious by nature, but not deceptive.
"I am from Persia," he said. "And I have traveled greatly since leaving my country. In many places, it is easier to find strangers who speak French than speak Persian. And so my learning has been useful."
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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 14:25:28 GMT -5
((Leroux reference! I heart it! <3))
He confirmed her suspicions a moment later and she blushed again that she should have been right, in spite of her stereotyping of a man from a Muslim background as being a dignified gentleman in his own particular way. She didn't want to make a habit out of it, although being right was something of an encouragement. She nodded shortly.
"I travelled often as a child," she said, eyes a bit dim as she considered this seriously. She was not sentimental about those days; there was not much to be sentimental about. Her eyes refocused. "It is indeed the constant stranger's closest friend, as a language." Christine was no longer that constant stranger - not so much at the Opera House, where she had Honorine and knew the conductor and the doctor and the ballerinas that came every year - but sometimes it seemed like it to her. Certainly she felt this way now. The uncertain chorus girl - who felt deep disappointment over that - running into him while being terribly late to a rehearsal that she did not feel would be any worse off for her presence, although she tragically wished it to be so - she felt more as though he were the one who should be demanding questions of her. She lowered her eyes and smoothed her dress, suddenly unnerved, as though by a premonition she had seen in his face.
You are getting superstitious, she scolded herself.
"Forgive me, monsieur," she said, voice something of a mumble; "I must be keeping you from some business. Are you here to see your friend in Paris?" Even when releasing him she was asking questions - she wished she could excuse herself more graciously, but she yearned not to reveal herself as an uneducated, uninterested, superstitious twit of a girl. There were so many of them here at the Opera, and she wanted to impress upon him that these French girls were artists, were transcendent, although how she would manage that, dismally late to the rehearsal herself, she couldn't know.
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Post by The Persian on Dec 11, 2008 23:47:02 GMT -5
It was the second odd encounter he'd had in the space of an hour. The second person who started as if they knew him, when he did not know them at all. The second person in conversation with whom he had come up prominently. Granted, he himself had mentioned Erik in passing, but he could not help but make some sort of connection, as obscure as he knew it to be.
Perhaps, after all, it was himself. He was bound to attract attention, as he had noted earlier. Perhaps he really did not belong here, not merely in the sense of being a foreigner--he thought a theater in Paris one of the least likely places to care about that sort of thing--but because he really was committed a faux pas. But then again, no one had asked him to leave.
He gave a very similar answer to that he'd given the fair man. "I do not expect to see him again, no," he said. "I think he is no longer in Paris. But one must see Paris, if one can, I have heard. Do I commit an error, coming here during rehearsals?"
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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 12, 2008 14:16:14 GMT -5
It was kind of touching in a way, for this Persian man to come to Paris, which was really no small distance, even not expecting to see him. And mysterious, also, for although perhaps Christine was simply in the mood for mystery and therefore likely to see it everywhere, even in places where it did not exist, the way he followed that statement up with the words, "One must see Paris," resonated with the strong implication of fate. One must see Paris even after one's friend has long gone from it, as though his ghost still possesses the place. Christine shivered a little unexpectedly.
She was glad when the conversation turned to etiquette. She folded her hands and smiled apologetically, gently shaking her head. "No, forgive me if my behavior led you to believe so," she said. "There are many who do, those who desire to know the mechanisms behind the illusion that our performances afford. But you must know, monsieur, they are usually here often, and we learn to know their names and faces very well. Rather than believe that someone knew has come, I am afraid, we strain to understand how we could have forgotten someone we imagine is locked somewhere in memory." She inclined her head to him, a gracious nod as well as an apology. Sorry, came the unspoken phrase, "If I in any way startled you."
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Post by The Persian on Dec 12, 2008 17:15:26 GMT -5
He smiled slightly, as usual more amused than he expected others to be. His smile more often showed in his eyes, though many were to distracted by their color to note much about their expression in his rather stoic face.
"Ah," he said. "Perhaps I will become better known to you; I have been in town for very little time but was drawn here immediately. I am unexpectedly taken with the music." He glanced back towards the auditorium, as if contemplating the oddity of that for a moment. "I very much doubt I have met anyone here, however. But I am difficult to intimidate. I expect you shall see me about, mademoiselle."
He did not think her analysis of the situation was entirely accurate; he knew too well, and had heard too much, to believe that all would find his presence merely benignly puzzling. But neither did he care, and it disposed him to like her. He thought perhaps he was unnerving to her in some regard, or at least his conversation was, and she kept at it anyway.
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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 12, 2008 22:16:48 GMT -5
Christine found herself half-smiling back, although she was conscious neither of this smiling nor really of his smiling, although it did occur to her, before the thought slipped back into the pre-conscious, that she felt more comfortable in his presence than she first had. Although, of course, she had not felt uncomfortable with him, not strictly speaking, simply vaguely superstitious in a childish sense. It faintly shamed her now, to think of it. As though every man with a dark complexion were a curse, a criminal! There were far worse than that, pallid-faced patrons of this very opera house she was certain to keep away from. Something like this man - a gentleman, she felt sure - was bound to be a better thing to have around here than those. She didn't hesitate for a moment to believe what he said, and was slightly proud of him, in a strange way, that he should have been moved by the music. It occurred to her a moment afterward that she, however, was not really a part of the music at the moment, and she blushed slightly, her pride moving swiftly to the background.
"Yes," she said in response, "yes, I've no doubt, in the auditorium, for sure, if I manage to make it down there in time to catch you in future, rather than to meet you out here, in the corridor. You seemed something like a ghost, monsieur, I think, when I first saw you," she said now, with a funny tinkle of a laugh, biting her lip a moment later in unconscious contradiction of it. "And I felt a little like one myself, you know, the chorus girl who died before getting to the rehearsal on time and is doomed to repeat the trip over and over again, you know. See if I don't vanish around the corner." She smiled easily, even on a less than pleasant topic of conversation - but then, ghosts and whatnot were the food and drink of most of the girls around here, even older ones like Christine; there were more ghosts in the footsteps of the corps du ballet than in all of the cellars combined.
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Post by The Persian on Dec 15, 2008 12:54:15 GMT -5
A ghost? It seemed a superstitious thing to say. And his people were supposed to be the uncivilized ones! He was fairly entertained by that notion, feeling himself a rather pedestrian sort and not in the least ghostly. What a difference difference made!
He raised an eyebrow, his face registering concern. "But I am keeping you," he said, turning the tables slightly. "I do not wish to cause you further trouble, if you are required on stage."
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Post by Nadir on Dec 17, 2008 17:47:37 GMT -5
((*Fonzie-finger-guns* EHHHHHHHH!))
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