🎵 𝄞 🎸 𝄫 🎷🎶 🎻 (jukejoint) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-08-26 15:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | alfred pennyworth, christine daae, door: phantom of the opera |
Who: Sam & Iris → Christine & Alfred
What: Procuring a home in Paris
Where: Passages → Phantom door
When: Todayish
Warnings/Rating: None
Sam knew all of this was bad fucking news. She knew Christine leaving her tiny closet in the Opera House was bad news. She knew Daniel was bad news. She knew Erik knowing about it was bad news. And she didn't even give a shit that it was bad news for Christine, for Erik, even for Raoul. No, she cared about what it could do here, and that was the only reason she was willing to walk through the door with Iris, so that Christine could get a place where she might be able to fuck Erik in peace, and keep them all from dying. Sure, that wasn't Daniel's intention, but Sam was pretty sure it was their only chance of walking away from this without death or jail time. Christine would sing for Daniel, secretly let Erik visit, and shit would stay calm. Raoul wasn't the kind of threat Erik was, and she never dreamed the two men would work together to take Daniel down.
So, Sam shoved through the door at Passages in a crap mood, denim and plaid with the arms cut off, and she stopped in front of her door and lit a cigarette as she waited for Iris.
Iris was running late, and even with calling for a car, she was still behind schedule. She tried to always be on time, but even she had off days. With a guilty expression, she pushed into the hotel and hurried toward Sam’s door. She could smell the cigarette smoke before she even got to the floor, mixing with the dusty scent of the hotel, and winced. Sam was already there there. She could see the slouching figure as soon as she turned the corner, and started her apologies almost immediately.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I’m late. I’m sorry...” Iris was quiet and almost breathless from hurrying.
"Calm down. It's not a big thing," Sam said, stubbing the cigarette out beneath her boot and giving Iris a look over to see if she was ok, which had kind of become a thing since meeting her sister. "Breathe. We're only delaying an inevitably bad decision by a few minutes," she said, not straightening from her lean against the old wallpaper, and evidently willing to give Iris a chance to catch her breath. "So, she corresponded with some banker that is willing to exchange the chessman for francs, and he has a house to let a few blocks away from the Opera House, somewhere on the Rue Volney. It's apparently a questionable neighborhood that was decent once, so the house should be pretty ok. I'm assuming he wants a fuck for it, so that's where Alfred comes in. Not that it doesn't serve her right, getting involved in this bullshit." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small gold rook, solid through and through, embedded with rubies and emeralds and boasting a winged gryphon atop. "I checked. The closest thing I could find here is close to a quarter mil for the whole set, but I don't know how this matches up. He said not to tell the guy we had more," she explained, holding out the rook for Iris to take. Her expression softened. "How are you doing, baby?"
Iris was still trying to catch her breath when she reached out to take the rook from Sam. It was heavier than it looked, which betrayed its makeup. “Oh,” she whispered when she looked at it. Her parents had never had anything quite this nice, but she was familiar enough with luxurious things. Keeping it in her hand as it warmed to her body temperature, she looked back at Sam and nodded. “He might need something to wear. He’s in his suits most often, but it’s modern. He says he’ll be able to handle everything else though.” She looked down at the rook again, her thumb tracing the line of its wing. She was lost in her thoughts for a bit before shaking herself back out and offering Sam a gentle smile. “I’m fine. Are you alright? With... all of this?” She gestured the tiniest bit with the rook.
"The door'll open at the Opera House," Sam said, looking at the heavy sconces and double doors that had replaced the standard, hotel room door in front of them. "There's something he can change into there. And, yeah. I'm completely cool with the virgin in my head hooking up with someone on this side and putting us all at risk. It's the best fucking thing ever." She groaned. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just stressed. We finally got everyone to shut up and stop trying to kill each other in our door, and now this crap. Ready?"
Arriving at the Opera House would be a good thing, as it was more than likely there would be a change of clothing there for Alfred. Iris was about to say as much when Sam continued with her next comments. She closed her mouth with a quiet click of teeth and simply nodded. Even after Sam’s quick apology, Iris just nodded again. She finally took a breath and stepped forward. “Yes. I hope it goes as smoothly as possible.” She touched her fingers to the scarred wood to the side of Sam’s door, a strange bit of superstition, but she would take every benefit she could find.
Sam gave Iris a second longer to change her mind, or a second longer to change her own damn mind, but neither did, and she shoved the door open and walked on through.
The door opened onto the wardrobe closet, as if it knew where home was for Christine almost immediately, and Christine wasted no time in pulling out something for the older gentleman that was joining her to wear. She waited for Alfred, pleased he would help after his last visit to the Opera House, and she motioned to the clothing, which was laid upon Christine's bed, a perfect suit for the times, perfectly pressed and suited, as if she had considered this need before his arrival.
"Monsieur," Christine said with a smile and a rustle of rose colored fabric. "I will leave you to change your garments. You may join me in the hall when you are ready, oui?" she asked, voice accented and oh, so, very young.
Iris followed Sam through the door, leaving Alfred to smooth down the lapels of his jacket once he crossed. He had a good idea of what the situation would need, and gave her a small, safe smile at her forethought of the clothing. “Oui, Miss Christine. I shall join you shortly.” He opened the door to the backstage hallway and held out his hand to escort her through. Once she was outside, a door separating them, he looked over the clothing closer and nodded. It would suffice. Dressing was easy enough, and he tucked the chess rook in the jacket’s pocket before straightening his tie. His expression was as calm as ever when he opened the door again, extending his elbow to Christine. “Shall we, mademoiselle?”
Christine took his arm, thinking an older man from another place would not be harmed by being seen with her, as this was not his world. They left the Opera House and, by the time they had had sold the rook and signed for the four-level home on Rue Volney, the word had rather spread all over Paris that the former primadona of the Opéra Populaire and fiancee to the Vicomte de Chagny had found herself a lover and patron. No one assumed the elderly man at the young soubrette's side to be her benefactor, as he had too much of the servant in his carriage and bearing, and, as the papers were signed with a simple X, they did nothing to clear up the mystery either.
In the end, the whispers all said the same thing: They had known the girl to be after the poor Vicomte's money, and it was a good turn, him finding out her true nature and casting her off before the altar. Still, careful watch was kept on the house on Rue Volney. After all, this was better than an opera.