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Respite (Christine)
(Backdated directly after this)
The lights and the laughter of the grand evening had been too much for Erik to endure - and yet he had endured it for the sake of rewarding his two most prized voices their triumph and victory. Enigma, that kitten, slunk around the Grand Foyer as if she were holding a secret deep inside her. Not just a few men found her alluring, and it was with amusement that Erik watched her weave a spell over those unsuspecting fragile hearts. She was born to be a diva, he believed. It would be unwise not to allow her the fullness of this night, not to honor her by participating himself. And Christine... As thoroughly as his kitten was dark, Christine was light. She didn't slink; she floated, buoyed it seemed by happiness and overwhelming joy. The smile on her lips hadn't faded from the moment he led them both out onto the grand staircase. His two songbirds were both alike in brilliance - but different in everything else.
The hours dropped off the plate of the present - and Erik's patience along with them. Although the mask had done much to mitigate his discomfort, it was still with him. The press of bodies, the garish light, the constant chatter: it was enough to drive any sane person mad. And it had been a very long time since anyone accused Erik of being sane. His mouth twisted sardonically at that thought as he cut his way through the swath of remaining revelers. First, he caught his kitten's attention through the crowd and bowed his farewell to her. The moment later, he turned and caught Christine's hand. It seemed, in his fanciful and overwrought imagination, that she'd been waiting for him to come to her. Foolishness, of course, conceit of the highest order! But his black-gloved fingers tightened around hers all the same and he led her out into the evening.
His long black town car was waiting for them at the bottom of the opera house steps. His driver stepped out as they stepped down, and both their doors were open and waiting for them when they arrived. By standing orders, his driver did not close Christine's door; that was for Erik to do. And when it was done, and when they were both sitting in the dark and quiet comfort of his car, heading for the far north-west island of the City and it's long bridge that connected to Mazanderan Manor and the north docks, Erik finally let out a breath he felt he'd been holding all night. With a casual movement born of habit, he untied the mask he'd affixed to his face for the evening and tucked it away into his jacket. He was weary.
But by degrees, the weariness turned into something else. He glanced from the window to Christine. She was there again, watching him as if she were expecting him to turn, waiting for him. Ah, this child would drive him straight into lunacy, if he let her.
"Did you find it to your liking?" he finally asked her. His voice was quiet.
The lights and the laughter of the grand evening had been too much for Erik to endure - and yet he had endured it for the sake of rewarding his two most prized voices their triumph and victory. Enigma, that kitten, slunk around the Grand Foyer as if she were holding a secret deep inside her. Not just a few men found her alluring, and it was with amusement that Erik watched her weave a spell over those unsuspecting fragile hearts. She was born to be a diva, he believed. It would be unwise not to allow her the fullness of this night, not to honor her by participating himself. And Christine... As thoroughly as his kitten was dark, Christine was light. She didn't slink; she floated, buoyed it seemed by happiness and overwhelming joy. The smile on her lips hadn't faded from the moment he led them both out onto the grand staircase. His two songbirds were both alike in brilliance - but different in everything else.
The hours dropped off the plate of the present - and Erik's patience along with them. Although the mask had done much to mitigate his discomfort, it was still with him. The press of bodies, the garish light, the constant chatter: it was enough to drive any sane person mad. And it had been a very long time since anyone accused Erik of being sane. His mouth twisted sardonically at that thought as he cut his way through the swath of remaining revelers. First, he caught his kitten's attention through the crowd and bowed his farewell to her. The moment later, he turned and caught Christine's hand. It seemed, in his fanciful and overwrought imagination, that she'd been waiting for him to come to her. Foolishness, of course, conceit of the highest order! But his black-gloved fingers tightened around hers all the same and he led her out into the evening.
His long black town car was waiting for them at the bottom of the opera house steps. His driver stepped out as they stepped down, and both their doors were open and waiting for them when they arrived. By standing orders, his driver did not close Christine's door; that was for Erik to do. And when it was done, and when they were both sitting in the dark and quiet comfort of his car, heading for the far north-west island of the City and it's long bridge that connected to Mazanderan Manor and the north docks, Erik finally let out a breath he felt he'd been holding all night. With a casual movement born of habit, he untied the mask he'd affixed to his face for the evening and tucked it away into his jacket. He was weary.
But by degrees, the weariness turned into something else. He glanced from the window to Christine. She was there again, watching him as if she were expecting him to turn, waiting for him. Ah, this child would drive him straight into lunacy, if he let her.
"Did you find it to your liking?" he finally asked her. His voice was quiet.