All I Asked Of You [Inara and Julia]

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Erik smiled to himself, sitting in the rafters above the stage. "Brilliant... She is absolutely brilliant!" he murmured to himself, then looked up to his box, growling at the rich looking man who had taken the box at his own leisure. That would need to be addressed later, but for now, the Phantom would enjoy the beautiful and talented Christine Daae play the part that she had been the understudy for, oh and how she played it well! That aria... perfection!

He had taught her well, and after all these years, he had been there every single night, guiding her from the shadows. And she had come back, and given him company. Made him feel as though she cared about him, although he had never shown her his face. Well, the mask and his face. He would never show her his full face... goodness no. She would run away from him...

"Brava, Christine..." Erik whispered, then walked off the rafters as the curtain fell and the crowd erupted in a roar of appreciation and approval. "Listen to the crowd applaud the leading lady..." he muttered, smiling behind the white mask. This brought him joy. Finally, Colatta was no longer receiving what Christine rightfully deserved.

Oh and the fluttering that her name caused in his chest! A flushing of his cheeks and a boyish smile always appeared when he thought of her. There was nothing quite like this feeling, this feeling that made him feel almost... normal! He smiled now, simply thinking of it. He would go to her dressing room, and reveal himself after the lights had gone out. It was time, she had made her debut, and so would he.

Then... the matter of his box and his pay.

Christine smiled as the cast gave the audience a final bow. She was proud of herself, and thankful to her mysterious instructor for his tutelage. Half an hour later, she sat in a rather secluded parlor, backstage of the Opera Populare, reflecting on her performance. The twenty year old girl knew it would most likely be a one-time event. Lady Carlotta was the star of the Opera House, and Christine had risen to the position of understudy through her talent, she knew that Carlotta would not relinquish her role as first lady so easily. The older woman had merely - well, some would say had a hissy fit - Christine, trying to think the best of people, preferred to say, "a slight overreaction" when an accident in the scenery ropes caused a backdrop to fall onto her. The older woman had claimed she was unable to sing under such conditions and had stormed off.

She had removed most of the gaudy makeup, but was still lost in her thoughts, when the door opened.
"Christine," that voice sounded oddly familiar, if she imagined it with the pitch of a young boy, "you were incredible!" Christine looked at him in another moment of confusion, and then it hit her.

"Raoul?!" she turned from the mirror to find a handsome young man, a year older than she. He was obviously a member of high society, well dressed and cultured. "My have you changed," she teased, "I remember when we had that fight in the mud in the summer. Both of our parents were furious. Who would have thought you would look so sophisticated!"

"Ahh, well... who would have thought the tiny gawkish girl would become the new star of the Opera! You are the talk of Paris, milady," he joked back. She was about to reply when he handed her a dozen white roses. "I had them delivered to match your beautiful costume," he explained, smiling at her. "And now, I would like to request the honor of a late supper with the finest voice in Paris, and my old childhood friend."

"Ahh, Raoul. I would love to. It would be lovely to catch up on these past - is it twelve years? But I'm still in my costume. It's rather tedious to change out of, and by then it would be too terribly late."

"Madmoiselle, why not simply wear that? You look stunning. I just hope that we won't be attacked by too many of your new admirers." Christine smiled, she knew he was exaggerating his praise to flatter and flirt with her, but she did not terribly mind the attention on the night of her debut.

"All right," Christine replied, smiling back at him. "I would be honored to accompany such a fine gentleman."

"The pleasure is all mine," the young suitor replied, softly and gracefully taking her hand.

~~~~~ A few hours later ~~~~~

It was rather late by Christine's standards when they arrived back at the Opera. The Vicount's carriage drove to the door, and he assisted her in leaving. Walking side by side, holding hands as old friends, they strode down the alleyway, laughing, remembering old times. The easiest entrance to the Populare's dormitories was in the back of the grandiose building. When they reached the door, there was the smallest of awkward silences before Christine said sweetly,

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, old friend. I wish you well." Her old friend kissed her hand, then her cheek, ever the gentleman of course.

"Thank you, Christine. I hope we can do this again soon." Turning to the door, and grinning a shameless girlish grin, Christine silently snuck back to her dressing room to remove the splendid gown.

Erik watched with tightened breath and cautious eyes as this young man showered Christine was praise. It made him feel a twang of impatience and jealousy. He recognized that man's face... something about him was so familiar.

Ah! That was it! He had stolen the box this evening. Taken it without permission, and now, Erik felt, that this young man was trying to take Christine as well. She knew this man... why hadn't she told him? No matter. Erik would simply have to step forward and take initiative before her suitor could sway and woo her.

Then, with all the nerve that this man had to barge in and start flirting with Christine, he was taking her to dinner?! Erik clenched his teeth and bit his tongue, tasting a bit of metal in his mouth. It was blood. He had bitten his tongue to the point that it was cut open and bleeding. But he did not release until he was the only one in the room, so that he could release a yell of both pain and disgust. He then touched his tongue gently with his gloved hand, seeing a glossy but deep red on his index finger.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, then looked at the door, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. How long would they be gone, he wondered.
------------
There she was! She had returned to her dressing room, and he would act as though he had seen nothing. He would simply lure her to step into the "mirror", and make her forget all about her evening with that man. He knew that she could not see him, so he spoke, as she was in the process of untying the laces of her dress.

"You're late, Christine. I had hoped to compliment you on your performance tonight," Erik said smoothly. "But you were gone by the time I had returned from the audience. But I didn't worry, I figured that you were out celebrating a fantastic show."

Most young women would have been surprised and more than a little frightened to hear a man's voice in their room. It was a tiny room for the understudy, more of a cubicle than anything else. But Christine knew that it was not uncommon for her peculiar professor to hide himself in the shadows of the rafters. For some reason, in all the lessons he had taught, he chose not to be fully seen. The young singer had noted to herself many times that it was odd, but he had grown so angry when she asked him about it a few years ago. Actually, she could hear more than a little annoyance in his voice when she tried to ask him anything about his past. “Focus on your lesson, not chattering like a little girl!” he had growled. Afraid to seem disrespectful or unappreciative of his lessons, she had stopped asking. He was a magnificent singer, composer, pianist, and organist. His mind understood music at such an intuitive level that Christine herself envied. She had to work very hard at composition, and the most she had come up with were a few simple piano pieces. So in the end, she accepted his strangeness as the peculiarity of a genius, and was content to let him have his quirks if it meant learning from such an incredible mind. Though, naturally, she retied her laces as he spoke to her.

“Yes, teacher. I was out with an old childhood friend, celebrating my debut. We had a splendid time! We had a late supper at one of the finest restaurants in Paris, and then we spent an hour simply walking the streets. This city is so gorgeous at night,” Christine, replied, still giddy from an incredible evening. It was difficult for her to wipe off the girlish grin that still donned her face. But this was after all, her teacher, not her best girlfriend. It would be inappropriate to continue such a silly countenance much longer. Pausing and biting her lip a bit, she forced herself to maintain a solemn, more proper, expression.

“In any case, I apologize for my lateness. We did not have a lesson scheduled for tonight, and so I thought that it would be permissible. And I'm glad that you enjoyed the show. I have you to thank for my performance of such a difficult work,” Christine finished, looking directly into the mirror. She knew not to try and find him. If he wanted to be found, he would reveal himself.

Erik let out a frustrated huff of air, unhappy with how ecstatic that Christine was after a single evening with that man.

"He is an insolent boy... spoiled, rich. He's a brave fool, Christine... that young suitor. Yes, it was a great, glorious performance, but I am responsible. It is my triumph..." Erik sighed, then cleared his throat. "But you must listen, Christine, come a bit closer. Can you see? Can you see what stands in the mirror?" he asked, as he himself stepped closer. He stood there, staring into Christine's eyes.

"Your questions of why I hide in the shadows shall be answered... come closer..." he beckoned, reaching his gloved hand forward. "Do not be afraid, I shall not harm you, my dear," he purred, blinking deliberately. His palm outstretched to her, he waited for her to take his hand.

(Sorry about the short post, got brain block)

“You're right, Messiour. You are responsible for my performance, and I thank you for your kindness and tutelage,” Christine replied. She did not terribly mind her tutor taking some credit, for he had spent hours and hours with her, correcting her mistakes, improving her performance, and asking very little in return. On the subject of Raoul, well, that was her personal life, and she did not see the need to argue or to discuss it further with her teacher. Clearly, it put the man on edge.

Christine gazed into the mirror for a moment, watching as her dedicated tutor emerged from the shadows. A cloaked figure in a white half-mask came into view. The young lady turned, fully seeing her tutor of three years for the first time. Almost in a trance of curiosity, and at the shock of finally having her longtime questions answered, she stepped closer. You are the Phantom, aren't you. You are the man of legend, the one that everyone blames for things that go wrong in the opera house. I always wondered if it was you, but I wanted to pass those things off as childish superstition. Thoughts swarmed through her head, but she voiced none of them, for fear of somehow frightening the man away.

Still entranced, almost mesmerized by the soothing sound of his voice, Christine took the Phantom's hand.

[OOC: I know it's short, and I did not advance the plot this time. It seems like, just for a few posts, the Phantom should be leading the story, as he is trying to lead Christine's mind. Merely following you and reacting actually makes sense in this context for a while.]

Erik smiled and gave a nod as he wrapped his fingers around Christine's smaller, more delicate fingers. He locked eyes with her and began to walk with her down a long candlelit corridor. The walls had numerous candelabrum that crossed the path, all held out by realistic men's arms. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat as they came closer. He grabbed a torch off the wall as the arms curled inward just far enough for passage, then they curled back to their original place.

He led her, keeping her close to him, making sure she wasn't too frightened, but it seemed to be impossible to keep all the fear from reaching her mind. He looked back periodically as they advanced deeper and deeper beneath the theater, and let a bit of a deep, amused laugh from the base of his throat. He looked back to her and watched her until she looked dead into his eyes.

"Do not be afraid, there is no reason to be afraid. I am here to protect both your body and your mind. And oh... the power that I hold..." he told her, his voice decreasing in volume as he continued.

Christine was too busy taking in the sights, and reveling in the strangeness of the situation. The student was finally learning the identity of her mysterious tutor, and maybe even to find out how many of those Phantom of the Opera house stories were true.

The young woman stared into her tutor's eyes. There was a strange excitement in them that she had never seen before. That was what frightened her, a good bit more than the dark corridor. Darkness in itself was nothing to fear. There was not much she could do besides follow him. Knowing much of his temper, she was afraid to ask questions.

She heard the Phantom's words and was confused, but still afraid to ask questions. Christine supposed she could start asking what was going on after they reached their destination, whatever that was. “I'm not afraid,” she whispered.

"That is good," he said with a nod, his eyes forward now. They walked forward until they came to an underground river of some kind. Erik helped Christine into the boat and climbed in afterwards, pushing them forward through the still, cold water. The walls were decorated with horrid, tortured looking faces of men, all different, all harried.

They slowly made their way through the cavern, coming eventually to a grated door that lifted just long enough to let the boat pass, then quickly shut with a clunk. Candelabrum rose from the water, their numerous wicks already, almost by magic, lit. There was a small wooden dock that lead onto a flat area with stairs that led to more space. A large piano sat on the second tier as well as a desk with figurines and plenty of paper and ink. A single feather rested across a yellow piece of parchment. There were curtains all about the place, as well as many burning candles that never seemed to run out of wax, although there were spots where the wax had turned into a stalagmite or stalactite. The red wax cascaded from the lip of the tiers, nearly reaching the misty water below.

Erik turned to Christine and assisted her in standing, keeping his eyes on hers. He cleared his throat gently and led her to the solid ground as he began to speak to her.

"Welcome to my home, Christine. It is modest, but this is where I write all my music, spend my nights, and wallow in my own pathetic solitude," he explained, his deep voice seeming to be emotionless. Erik plucked a rose off the top of the piano, it's deep red similar to that of a man's blood. A black silk ribbon was tied about the stem, which had been freed of all thorns. He offered it to her. "A sign of my appreciation of your performance this evening, and a gift," he told her, then smiled a half a smile.

"Music always sounds better after the sun has rested behind the horizon, don't you think? The imagination is so alive, the music dances on the darkness like a ballerina on the stage..." he told her, looking to the piano.

Christine tried not to be afraid, or at least, not to let her fear show on her face. Surely it was irrational to fear a kind man who had generously offered her lessons for these past few years. His "genius eccentricites" as she liked to call them to herself, were a small price to pay for free lessons and the chance to learn from and share music with a truly gifted mind. She admired him greatly, in the sense of admiring a close mentor, and maybe even a good friend, for his skills and accomplishments. But despite all of this, it was difficult to quell a shiver down her spine as her eyes viewed all of the terrible faces on the walls. It was difficult not to feel uneasy in this dark channel, with her teacher acting so strangely. He was usually quite professional, if often impatient and frustrated with her mistakes.

For a few moments, Christine was too appalled to speak. She had known that her tutor was eccentric, secretive, but to live in the caverns under the Opera House? She had assumed that part of the Phantom's story was exaggerated. The young performer should have been exhausted, what with a performance, a date with an old friend, and now this. But she felt alert, almost as though her life were in danger.
"I think it depends on the mood of the song in question," Christine answered honestly, though she knew it was probably a rhetorical question. She took the rose, admiring it's dark beauty. "And thank you for your kind gift, teacher. Admittedly, the cavern did have a dark Romantic beauty to it. The light provided by the candlelight provided an interesting place to visit, but she could not imagine living in it. Afterall, humans needed sunlight. Her questions could not be quelled any longer. She had to know why her teacher, The Phantom, did all those things she had heard, why he chose to live here, in this dank place.

"Your home has an ... interesting beauty," she began. "But why do you live down here? You write these amazing compositions. Why don't you share them with the world? Why do you play childish, and sometimes outright dangerous, pranks on the Populare? You are so hidden from people. It doesn't make sense. Even that eccentric Beethoven performed in public at times, and his eccentricity was reasonably accepted because it came with such genius." Christine asked all of these questions quickly, not knowing where to start. She certainly had more, but she did not want to overwhelm or anger her eccentric tutor, The Phantom of the Opera Populare.