The Universe's Mixer

WARNING: Uhm. Adult... situations. You've been warned, oh holy hell.

It had been no small surprise to discover that the very room he determined to be most suited for Christine's dance studio had, indeed, already been converted. Erik's inquiries into the matter had uncovered the whimsical nature of the City in which they lived. After ensuring that the security for his manor was still impermeable, Erik went about ordering the proper accoutrements for the room - a standard barre, a perfect set of mirrors, a small cordoned section in the corner that allowed for discrete dressing... Once he was certain that every need had been accounted for, he locked the door and pocketed the key.

This same key went into a small box, which he wrapped with black silk ribbon. And there it remained for the appropriate time.

The morning of the 27th of October, Erik found himself staring at the window as the night began to die. He had not slept, despite the weariness that doggedly followed him. Today was Christine's 21st birthday. Today... today was a very special day.

At length, he stood from his chair at his desk and began the daily rituals that marked civilized life. In another hour, his kitchen staff would bring Christine her breakfast. He'd left a red rose for them to place on her tray, along with an invitation for her to join him in his library, once she was ready to begin her day.

For himself, he found a collection of stories and settled in an armchair in his library to wait for her.

Consciousness returned slowly, and it was the recognition of distant music that drew him up at last from darkness. La Traviata played far overhead. Here in the cellars, several floors down, he could still hear it - thanks to the design work he'd put into this building.

The wretched pain in his chest was gone, but weakness remained. He felt as if he had been bound hand and foot to a rack for days. Erik lifted one still-gloved hand and passed it over his face. The rasp of too many days caught him by surprise. How long... how long? His dreams had been painful, blood-soaked. He'd called for Christine, but she hadn't come. But there'd been another presence, hadn't there?

With slow, determined movements, he drew himself up straight, then set his feet on the cold stone floor. Enigma had been here. Erik frowned at the chair drawn up by the couch where he'd been lying. He remembered the sound of her dark, sweet voice - but the words were mist. He knew better than to try to catch them in his fractured memory. Instead, he wrapped one hand around the back of that chair and pulled himself to his feet. Act One played above.

By intermission, Erik had made himself presentable. He was thirsty, maddeningly weak -- but the music above drove him onward. He began the trek from the fifth cellar upward. And those interminable stairs! When had they become a trial? By the time he arrived at his normal seat in Box 5, he was late enough to have missed all but the very end of Act 2. Dropping into his seat, face as pale as the mask he used to wear, Erik turned his attention to the stage. His exhaustion was horrific -- but the music alone was worth it.

Christine had refused to let her dancing lack due to her focus on her voice. Yes, her vocal training was very important and she spent a lot of time working on it. That was something which she was eager to continue given her father had tried to encourage her singing for as long as possible. With her father's words in her head every day she knew she had to push lessons. Had to push herself and her voice until she was more than capable at doing anything. Some may think it strange but it was one of the few things she lived for.

But that did not mean her dancing would suffer. She had been given permission to use one of the rehearsal rooms by Erik in the Opera House until he deemed it appropriate for her to use a room in the manor. After speaking with the ballet mistress and sitting in on a few lessons she had finally been given a good enough routine that she could practice alone. It may mean lifts and the like were impossible but it still meant she had the moves to work on and she could do what was possible.

Christine had found suitable clothing which were tight enough that nothing was in the way but loose enough that she could move. The Opera House had been almost empty as she walked in, just those who had to work there daily milling about, and once she found a suitable room she claimed it for her few hours of practice. The door remained open of course so that anyone may feel willing to come in if they had to. She eyed the piano in the room, wishing Erik was here for her to dance for, but she was unsure just yet if that was appropriate. So she put on the music she had found and after warming up her muscles she was soon working on the routine she had been taught.

(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.

Christine needed fresh air and really wished to be away from the manor for only that reason. After all, she was happy there, but she could not stay locked up all the time. It would not be good for her. She had to live and take time for herself to just relax and a walk was often the best way to do so. Well, when one had a lot to think about. Plus it kept her body moving and although she had taken to continuing her dancing in a few rooms in the manor, whichever suited for the particular dance, it wouldn't do to only stick with one form of exercise. Or so she had been told.

She left the manor after quickly passing on to those who worked there that she would be back soon and assuring that she did not need the car. Though she knew there was a chance she would get lost since she was still not entirely sure of what there was here and where everything was situated. If she got lost then surely Erik would send the car to find her? Even if that did go against the purpose of walking. She just had to hope that she would find her way around. And the longer Christine relied on the car, the longer that would take.

Soon, Christine found herself at the park. That was certainly a nice place to end up in and she was incredibly eager to spend some time there before leaving. She kept walking, not feeling the strain on her legs at all, until she found a part in the park covered with flowers. Smiling, she knelt and ran a finger along the stem, contemplating picking one.

Opening night for Verdi's La Traviata ran as smoothly as the City Opera House manager designed it. He allotted a certain number of complimentary tickets to be distributed by high-performing members of his production. Those lucky enough to receive these tickets were placed on a special guest list and personally escorted by the house staff to their box seats. The manager himself claimed a seat in Box 5, which was otherwise empty.

Tonight, the crowd glittered and shone brightly under the warm glow of the opera house. Attending the opera was as much about high art as it was about being seen. With every playbill this night came an invitation to the opening night celebration following after the performance. There, all would get their fill of the glamor brought out by opening night.

When the lights in the auditorium dimmed, so too did the chatter. Then began the orchestra, casting its spell with rich, full-bodied music. The pianist, one Hannibal Lecter, would be remembered by musical types for his mastery. But there was limelight enough for others, as well. The production's Violetta, Ms. Christine Daeé, sang soprano with a curious and heady combination of seduction and fresh youth, while the Flora of the opera, Ms. Enigma, carried the darker mezzo-soprano with an expert's touch. And when the lights came up, it was to the roar of an audience recognizing the triumph it just witnessed.

Once the curtain calls were done, the crowd began filtering down the staircase and into the Grand Foyer, where the night was just beginning. The wine flowed; the violins hummed -- a triumph indeed.

With opening night looming, Christine was beginning to feel the pressure. She knew her lines and most definitely felt confident in her part but she just felt worried about letting Erik down. They had been working constantly on every aspect of the Opera, and her character, so she hoped that would mean she would be okay. He would have said so far if he was disappointed in her growth and ability. So she tried to keep herself calm and not worry too much about it. If she had something to be scared of or anything to work on he would not have let her go this afternoon.

As it was, they had the tradition of opening night drinks that would be held straight after the first performance. She had to be properly dressed and nothing she had bought with the help of Arthur would be suitable. None of her dresses were fancy enough really though they were all pretty. So she was sent out once again with some money to pick up what she needed. Mike was not available however and the driver chose to stay inside the car so she was left to her own devices. As she turned a corner to check a few shops she knew were along he adjacent street she walked straight into someone.

"Forgive me, Monsieur."

(Backdated to the night of the return from RC)

It was late when Mazanderan Manor welcomed its master. As the door opened at his approach, Erik wearily shrugged out of his suit jacket. It was caught by white-gloved hands that whisked it away while he headed across his marble entryway and into his home. His butler followed quietly and at a respectable distance, waiting either for a direction or a dismissal. Yes, Erik supposed he should let the man rest. If he were as tired as Erik himself, the sooner the better. But first...

"Where did you put her?"

"The lady retired to the Regency Room, around 10:30, sir," his butler responded. As if drawn, Erik turned toward the east wing before thinking about it. He nodded, then turned back toward the north wing -- where his chambers lay.

"That will be all for tonight."

"Very good, sir. Good night, sir."

~ * ~

An hour and a half later, Erik finally threw off the blankets, tugged on a smoking jacket, and headed to his kitchen. There was no sleeping tonight, regardless of how tired he felt. His mind refused to be silent. Not just his mind. Tugging out a bottle of ... what, chardonnay? fine... from the fridge, Erik made quick work of the uncorking, grabbed and filled a wine cooler, then snagged its stand and a glass on his way to the library. Some reading would help -- and if it didn't, at least he would have gained knowledge he didn't have to begin with.

Once in his darkened library, he flicked on a lamp, set the stand and ice bucket down by a nearby chair, poured a glass half-way, and set it down on the table, then headed to the closest shelf and blindly grabbed a book. As he set himself in the arm chair, he turned the spine to examine it. Anatomy of the Human Body.

Not the topic that he would have chosen, himself. With a sigh, he started flipping through the section on shoulders. There was nothing more innocuous than a shoulder, he mused to himself, until his mind started painting a pale white shoulder in paler lace. Perhaps not so innocuous after all. Wine, then. He swirled the liquid twice in its glass, then swallowed.

Nothing was helping, tonight.

Christine wished she did not have to leave Erik behind but he had made it very clear what she was to do. Although her Angel did not have to provide her with this option she knew she would need it. She could not stay in her current robe forever so clothes were a necessity. Which meant Christine agreed to allow Erik's car and service to go purchase clothing. She was very unsure when it came to money at first but at his assurance she knew she would be fine. Well, he told her to rely on his personal assistant and she would do. She had no one else to trust and rely on and if her Angel said this man is trustworthy then she would trust him completely.

But as he took her into one of the stores Christine was unsure. After all, the clothing was so different to what she was used to. Some of it shorter than a girl would wear out in public. Yes her outfits when dancing were not the most conservative but they were costumes. That was different. When it came to her personal clothing, the clothing she had to wear when around others and not rehearsing, normally she was covered. She ran her hand over one of the dresses, a very short one that would fall just below her knees, and continued to look unsure.

Were they proper? What about sizing and pricing? It was all so different to what she knew of back home. A lot of her dresses she was lucky enough to have help purchasing or they would be made to fit. Oh goodness, she had no idea. And not only should they fit proper and not be too improper, they had to please Erik. And what if what she picked did not do so?

Christine's dreams had been plagued by so many thoughts and feelings that when she woke it was strange to feel so rested. Perhaps one of the better nights rest she had had in quite some time. But she still felt so incredibly disorientated and it was most certainly not the nicest feeling to wake with. It took her a few moments to remember the events prior to her sleeping and when it came to her she slowly sat up. But she was alone and that did not work with those foggy memories. With a frown lowering her brows she stood and fixed her robe around her. She was sure she had not changed rooms in the night but something felt strange.

She began to walk around the large room and looked around it with wide, slightly scared eyes. Was he no longer here? Had her Angel heard her sing and felt displeased in how she had developed now? That thought most certainly worried her but she refused to think too much on it just yet. After all, if she did then she was bound to become upset and if he had simply left the room for a few moments then she would not wish him to worry over her. He would worry over her, yes? That made sense to Christine since he had been sent to guide and protect her.

But she was soon pulled from her thoughts as she noticed papers everywhere. Out of curiosity she lifted a few sheets and was not surprised to see music written. Again, it was something that made sense given what the mysterious man in the mask said he needed her for. Her voice. And she needed him to as well to help her reach her full potential as her father had wished. Her wandering ceased for a moment as she simply continued to look over the music, softly humming the notes after a few moments.