Re: Outside Phantom Door
Neil would have been perfectly content to remain in his hotel room with a bottle of wine and some decent television, the message that appeared in his journal late in the night was impossible to ignore. Refusing to investigate would have angered Erik, and he couldn't bring himself to deal with the wash of emotions that came from the tormented composer. Not tonight. He'd already agreed to meet a stranger at the Venetian to see the show, and apparently this was yet another decision made due to the tempestuous presence that invaded his mind.
He arrived in a sleek black car that purred up to the sidewalk, and the driver was tipped enough to ensure that he'd never remember coming here. The size of the hotel was nothing surprising, but it didn't exactly look occupied, and he wondered--not for the first time--what he was doing here. The journal was tucked under one arm, and his key (which matched) was stowed inside his suit jacket. Upon entering he noted that he wasn't alone, even though the people were little more than outlines in the dim light and hushed voices in the gloom, but Erik urged him forward, towards wherever the key was meant for. The opera ghost's influence made him bold and unafraid in a place like this, where the shadows were familiar and even the flickering lights reminded him of a time long ago (though it never really existed, not in terms of the fictional work itself.)
The doors he passed were strange things, almost impossibly so, but he never lingered at one too long until he heard the faint strains of music down one of the hallways. Neil rubbed his hands together and started down the hall, and as he drew closer he saw the door itself first, something that he shouldn't have recognized yet did somehow, before the man standing before it. He realized it was too late to backtrack, so he was left to close the remaining distance and hope for the best. "Hello," he greeted, trying to ignore just how badly he wanted to see what was behind the door.