Liam Roberts is an (author) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-03-30 19:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | raoul de chagny |
Who: Liam/Raoul
What: Raoul exercises his inner arsonist
Where: Phantom Door
When: Tonight!
Warnings/Rating: Flamey, fiery doom? Otherwise, it's not bad.
The key had been waiting for him in his mailbox the morning after the masquerade. Tucked in a brown padded envelope with no postmark or return address, Liam had considered calling the authorities before opening the strange package. But something urged him on without help, and after tearing open the envelope, he found his key. It bore no difference to the one he had kept for over a month; the same finish, weight, even the same marks of wear around the teeth of the key. He pondered asking Sam if she had mailed it back to him, but it seemed out of character for her to do so. Clearly, getting rid of a key was impossible if it simply came back days later as though it had never left. And Liam, in the mood he was in, was not going to question the return of the key. It was obviously a sign, or so Raoul informed him.
The plan came together in a matter of hours, and while there was a small part of him that felt bad about deceiving Neil as he did, it was the only way to ensure that the man was not injured. No matter the anger Raoul felt towards the Phantom, there was no reason that Neil needed to be hurt as well. Inviting him out ensured that Neil was nowhere near the door when everything happened, sparing at least one death during what would likely be the start to the end of everything.
It was just before eight that night when Liam stepped out of the cab in front of Passages Hotel, and nowhere along the way did he think to stop, that this was wrong. It was the way things ended, he thought. In misery. In pain. And this was just another ending and he wasn’t powerful enough to stop it. So he stepped through the Phantom Door, retreating to the back of Raoul’s mind as the young Vicomte took over. Raoul was a mass of anger and fury that was only thinly controlled, the time spent away from the Door enough to send that simmering fury into something that had grown into a rolling boil, spilling over the edge of his person. He had a single-minded goal as he took a carriage from his estate to the Opera House, explaining his visit away with false intentions of simply checking the place over. He was a patron of the opera, after all, his money helping the place to stay afloat, even if it was currently closed. No reason to let his investments fade away into obscurity.
Stepping out in front of the grand building, Raoul looked up at its silhouette against the Parisian sunset. He had no ill will against the building, nor those that worked and performed here. All of his anger was directed towards the creature who lurked in the very bowels of the Opera House as though it belonged there. It was long past time for something to be done about it, and if the owners of the Opera House refused to take the initiative, Raoul was more than willing to be the one to take the first step.
The kerosene was found in storage, fuel for heat, and it was two of these containers that Raoul took with him as he descended the all-too familiar steps to the underground lair the monster called its home. There was an eerie silence filling the place, no other human there to keep him company or bear witness to the destruction he was intent upon dolling out. He hoped that the underground tunnels and caverns would contain the blaze for he had no intention on bringing the Opera House down. But whatever happened, he would not regret the decisions he was making here; something had to be done about the Opera Ghost, one way or another.
Without the Phantom holding court over his underground lair, it was strangely unassuming, filled with the bits and pieces of a creature who lived here. Raoul waded through the shallow water that led to the bank of his lair, putting his lantern down on the bank and sitting the containers of kerosene down on dry ground some feet away. Stepping past them, Raoul surveyed the lair, the thought of Christine, his sweet, fragile Christine spending her life down here in the darkness made his heart ache fiercely. She did not belong here in the arms of a monster. She deserved the life he could offer her, the comfort and security that came with marrying a Vicomte, the wealth and happiness that he could offer her that he was positive the Phantom could not give her.
Removing this poison, this monster... it was a step down the path towards a life of happiness. This, Raoul was sure of.
He took his time in investigating the Phantom’s lair, touching the sheet music that littered surfaces, fingers grazing over half-burned candles, the ivory keys of the monster’s piano. Just being here, without the eyes of the monster upon him, made Raoul shudder. The Phantom’s presence was present everywhere, an indelible stain that could not be washed away.
It could, however, be burned away.
Storming back to the edge of the lake, Raoul took up the first container of kerosene, and sparing no kindness, he doused the bits and pieces of the Phantom’s life, the liquid splashing over the piano, soaking the drapes. With the first container emptied, he finished with the second, and by the time he was done, he was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed not from exertion but from exaltation. This was it. With this, they would be done with him. He would flee, find some other city to haunt, and he and Christine could live without his darkness staining their thoughts and lives.
His lantern retrieved, Raoul lifted it, looking over the soaked surfaces, the heavy smell of the liquid filling the air. He could not help the smile that pulled at his lips. “It is far past time that someone took care of you, Opera Ghost,” Raoul said before he took a candle he had tucked in one pocket, lifting the lantern and lighting it on fire. Watching it blaze for a moment, he retreated to the safety of the lake before tossing it towards the lair, the kerosene immediately catching fire, the flames spreading quickly, licking along the puddles that had formed until, in a matter of moments, the Phantom’s lair was full of flames. A part of him wanted to stand there and watch until it burned itself out, leaving behind only ash and char, but a larger part of him knew he could not stay.
Hurrying through the lake, Raoul rushed up the stairs that led to the main part of the Opera House, his trousers soaked. But never had Raoul felt so elated, so perfectly, utterly free.
It was over.