City of Brotherly Love ( CUDIA )

[Raoul Christophe de Chagny]

Raoul walked down the street happily, arms swinging at his side, his posture relaxed and not militant for once. He had a slight smile on his face, and for good reason. The ring he had commissioned was finally finished. He had asked the jeweler in town to make an engagement ring identical to that of his mother. He had gotten the call from the jeweler that morning and once school had ended for the day he had dropped his things off at the manor and then headed straight for the jewelry store. He was dressed in a pair of hipster glasses, a brown and yellow checkered shirt with a brown tie, and jeans with black converse. In place of his normally clean chin was a fair beard of neat stubble, having grown a mustache and beard.

Words couldn’t describe how ecstatic he was. He was humming the wedding march as he strolled down the sidewalk. They were getting married. He was marrying Christine Daaé—or at least he would. He knew he actually had to ask first but she would say yes, wouldn’t she? She had in the movie with the people who looked and sounded exactly like them. Why would she not say yes now? She loved him, did she not? Of course she did—she had told him as much. And he loved her. They were finally going to get what they wanted.

He arrived in the jewelry store, ringing the little bell that rung whenever the door opened.

“Ah, Master de Chagny. Come to pick up your ring? I trust you’ll find it suitable. Let me go get it for you…” The silver-haired man reached behind the desk and withdrew a small velvet box, and popping it opened revealed the ring.

Raoul couldn’t help but let out a bit of a gasp when he saw it. Yes, indeed it looked just like Mother’s. He smiled at the man and nodded. “It’s perfect, Mr. Pennyworth. Thank you. I never thought I’d see it again.”

“No, please, Master de Chagny, just Alfred is fine. And thank you kindly for the generous compliment. A craftsman always appreciates it when people approve of his work.” the man replied with a slight bow.

He grinned and looked over the ring again before paying the man.

“Thank you, Master de Chagny. And good luck—I hope the lucky girl enjoys it.” the Englishman called with a wave as Raoul left.

The beaming Vicomte kept walking down the street, velvet box in his hand. He could almost imagine kneeling down in front of her and asking for her hand. She had to say yes if she loved him—which she did. He remembered it quite clearly. It hadn’t been like the movie—though the movie was touching, nothing was like hearing her say that to him in real life. Those three magic words…that was all he had ever wanted from her, that was to be sure. And finally he had it.

He was still in his dream state when he bumped into someone right on the sidewalk. Luckily his glasses didn’t fall off and the ring was fine, but the top to the box had come open. “Terribly sorry, mate—but watch where you’re going next time, yeah?”

[Philippe Maurice de Chagny]

SOPRANO MYSTERIOUSLY FLED AFTER PERFORMANCE: SUSPECTED ELOPEMENT WITH VICOMTE DE CHAGNY!

These words kept repeating, over and over again, in Philippe's mind as he traveled to the Opéra Populaire. Christine Daaé were other words that drove him mad. He knew that girl... She was that little peasant who his brother had brought home one day, as if she'd been a stray pup. Lord, that girl...! She'd had no manners whatsoever, yet his brother had been smitten with her! It was no wonder the papers thought them lovers to begin with!

In truth, he'd had no idea that she worked at the Opera House when he suggested his brother patronize it. It merely reminded him of his mother and her love of music, and he knew people there... Apparently not all the people.

As they entered Paris proper, the carriage began to slow down. It was the middle of the day, and traffic was endless. Philippe, normally one to be patient, was becoming increasingly agitated. He did not know where his brother was, but he suspected the managers might know.

"Driver!" he called up, tilting his head out the window. "How much farther?"

"Not long, Monsieur le Comte!" he chirped from above. At least he was in fine form. Philippe couldn't say the same for himself...

He sighed, resigning himself to be patient. Patience was a virtue, he reminded himself. He glanced at the paper sitting next him. Of course he'd brought it with him, to question the managers, but was it really wise to remind himself of this... embarrassment? Everyone would be talking about it. They'd barely be able to show their faces in public without making a scene.

Lost in his thoughts, Philippe barely noticed they had arrived at the Opera until the driver stopped. He hopped down to open the door for his employer, but Philippe had already bolted out of the carriage, paper in hand.

The driver had stopped a bit over, because there seemed to be a lot of press about the place of music.Typical, he thought. No doubt they were waiting for a glimpse of the soprano girl and his brother sharing a stolen kiss as they slipped out...

Philippe shook his head, wringing the paper as he pushed through the crowd. Finally, he found a patch of steps that was unoccupied, and raced up them.

The Comte stared at the ground , trying to avoid the gaze of the reporters littering the streets. Unfortunately, he neglected to watch where he was going, and bumped into a man making his way down the steps.

His head whipped up and suddenly he caught his brother's eyes as they both fell to the steps. "Raoul!" he cried, but was barely able to gain steady footing before he tumbled to the ground.

Luckily there was no damage, but he was a little dazed from being knocked by his own brother. He hadn't seen the girl, but expected to find her nearby when he looked up. He picked himself up slowly, his injury flaring up slightly and his old bones aching with the impact.

When he leaned up, something skirted down his chest and rested on one of his legs. He picked up the velvet box and looked inside.

It was... his mother's ring.

He'd seen the ring countless times before, and it had once been slightly dirty with age. Now it was as if it had just been bought from the jeweler! How could that be? He'd given the ring to Raoul in hopes that he found a woman's finger to put it on, but... His eyes trailed up to the brother that had knocked him down.

“Terribly sorry, mate—but watch where you’re going next time, yeah?”

Philippe had to rub his eyes. Was that...? No... Impossible, this man wasn't his brother. It was definitely his voice, but he looked nothing like him. There were people who sounded alike all the time, right?

But then he saw those eyes... They were his mother's eyes.

"R-Raoul?" he said. His face tilted in confusion as he looked from the man to the box. He was still on the ground, so he tried to right himself at least into a sitting position, but when he did he noticed his surroundings. He wasn't on steps at all, but the sidewalk. And he certainly wasn't in front of the Opéra Populaire.

He looked back to Raoul. What was he wearing?

[Raoul Christophe de Chagny]

Raoul tilted his head at the man before his blue eyes widened in realization. “Phillippe? Are you alright? Here, let me help you.” He scrambled to his feet and then reached down to help the older man get up. He was dressed in the Victorian clothing of the era they had both lived in—had he just gotten here? How had he gotten here was a better question, but judging by the confused look on his face his brother wouldn’t be any help in answering that question.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, breaking the momentary silence. It was then that he realized that his brother was staring at him as if he had two heads. The Vicomte turned around, wondering if he was looking at something behind him as opposed to himself. “What?” he demanded in confusion. Glancing down at him again, he saw that he was holding the ring. He paled slightly, but squared his shoulders. He was going to have to know eventually. “May I have that back please? It’s not the real ring…the real one is at home. I had a replica of it made and it took about half of my paycheck. I was eating ramen noodles for months.” It was then that he realized that the man probably wouldn’t have a clue what he was talking about, and sighed. “Come on, brother. I’ll take you to where I’m staying and I’ll explain what’s going on on the way.”

He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain. They were in the future, and apparently in the future none of them existed except in books, movies, and plays. The world saw them as fictional characters. He still was trying to wrap his head around that, but he accepted it—he knew that no one was going to treat him like nobility, and that if he wanted to survive and build a life for himself and Christine he needed to work.

[Philippe Maurice de Chagny]

The man--no... his brother--helped him to his feet, but Philippe nearly stumbled back to the ground if it weren't for the building nearby. He felt woozy, disoriented, and his leg was positively throbbing. He fell a bit against it and breathed deeply. He felt as if he'd run a great distance and been pushed to the ends of the earth at the same time. He kept looking at his brother, still holding the tiny box in his hands and scratching his head.

"H-How long have I been here?" he repeated, looking around again and finding people staring at them strangely on the street. There were odd carriages whizzing past at speeds he'd never seen, unharnessed by horses and moving as if by magic! Or perhaps they used those steam engines, like the boats and trains, but smaller, though how they'd managed to figure that one out he couldn't imagine. And the people... Was that a woman wearing pants? "Raoul, where is here?!" he said desperately.

He was beginning to feel slightly better as he breathed deep, and stood up straighter, in that particular way of his. Raoul began mentioning something about a paycheck and noodles... what was a Ramen, anyway? He looked at the box again and shook his head, shaking the confusion and assumptions from his mind before closing the box and handing it back to his brother.

"Where you are staying? Raoul, we... we're in Paris. Your house is just... outside Paris," he finished quietly as he realized they most definitely weren't in Paris. But how could this be? Not a moment ago he'd been outside the opera house, bumping into his brother who had most certainly been dressed in more appropriate attire, and was most definitely cleanly shaven. He looked again at the peculiar people in the street (was that young woman wearing anything at all?) and nodded warily. "Right... where you're staying."

He walked by his brother slowly, wishing desperately he had his cane, but it seemed to have disappeared. Unfortunately, this meant he was a bit slower due to his limp. He passed by a man who was staring at his body as if he was naked! He, when the man's hairy legs were exposed and covered only by a form of short, dingy tan pants! He considered his clothing very fashionable for this time of year...

"Why are these people staring at me? It's as if I have the consumption!" He kept close to his brother, deciding that his brother's familiar, if not extremely altered, face would provide more comfort than anything else.

He eyed his brother's clothes again. Such an odd shirt, and his neck attire was very odd... Was that supposed to be a cravat? And only mining workers wore denim pants! What was his brother doing manual labor for?! "Don't tell me your on one of those 'everyman' phases I hear about? Jeans, Raoul, really? And since when have you required glasses? And for god's sake, when was the last time you shav--"

"Oh my God, it's Hadley Fraser!"

"Is that John Cudia with him? NOOOO!"

"It can't be! What's he doing over here? Isn't he playing the Phantom on tour for the Yanks?"

"He must be touring here, 'cause he's in costume!"

"Mr. Fraser! Mr. Cudia!"

Suddenly they were upon them. Philippe and Raoul were ambushed by two girls, rather short in nature, dressed in black and red (in this season?), one with braided dark hair and the other with radical, short, blonde hair. "Mr. Cudia..." the blonde one began shyly to him. "Would you, um... sign my shirt?"

Philippe blinked, taken aback that the young woman wearing such a short skirt would be offering her bodice (was it really, because it was quite loose) to him with a pen with a felt looking tip. He looked to Raoul, and the other girl was asking a "Mr. Fraser" the same thing. Both their shirts had an off-white, rather large mask printed on them, accompanied by a single red rose.

"Er... I..." He didn't think it very appropriate that he "signed" a young girl's shirt, but she seemed adamant. It was as if he was a celebrity!

Well, by rights he was among the social circles. Of course that was only by his family name, the famous de Chagnys of old... He twitched when he remembered his father's contribution to the family's reputation. Instead of walking away, he humored the girl and signed her shirt. At least she held it out flat for him... It read his title, Philippe Maurice, le Comte de Chagny.

The girl looked down at the signature. "... Philippe de Chagny? Oooh, you're in character for some new play! I heard Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote a sequel to Phantom! I bet you're in it, right?" A blush was rising to her features, and she gripped her friends hand. "You probably don't want pictures if the play hasn't opened yet!" She held her finger to her lips. "We'll keep it a secret. Come on, Judy! They're probably going to rehearsal!"

She and her friend Judy giggled off, and Philippe was left with a highly confused look and a thousand different questions bobbing around in his head. He looked back to Raoul. He hadn't seen whether he signed the other girl's shirt or not, but he didn't particularly care. All he wanted to know was...

"What in God's name was that all about?"

[Raoul Christophe de Chagny]

Raoul expected his brother to be confused. After all, he certainly was both the day he arrived here and the day he ventured out to the village for the first time. “We are in a little town a few miles from London. Hence why everyone around us is speaking English.” he stated. “But it’s not the England you or I are familiar with, we are in the year 2012. I know it sounds absurd but that is why you see all these strange horseless carriages—they’re called automobiles, though a lot of people simply refer to them as cars.” Part of him relished in the fact that he was actually teaching his brother something for a change, but there would be time to gloat later.

“Thank you.” he said with a nod, taking the box from his brother and putting it in his pocket. He was somewhat glad that he hadn’t questioned him about the ring. It wasn’t that he was afraid of telling him that he intended to marry Christine. He would find that out eventually one way or another. He just didn’t want them to get into a confrontation over it right now.

He shook his head at his brother as he tried to tell him that they were in Paris. “We were in Paris. I’ve been here for the past several months, brother.” But then his brother nodded and seemed to go along with what he was saying. “I’m staying at a house less than a mile away from here…but I should like to get a flat in town before I save up enough to move to London.” he told him as he kept walking. He noticed that his brother was having trouble and then offered him his arm for support, knowing that he needed his cane. “I can call a cab if you’d like….”

His brother then questioned him as to why people were staring at him. “Because you stick out like a sore thumb.” he answered bluntly with a shrug before smiling. “It’s because of the way you’re dressed, Phillippe. I’m afraid that in the future your wardrobe has been out of style for several seasons…” When he commented on his own clothing, he shook his head. “This is the way people dress, Phillippe. It’s the future…and jeans are suitable attire for a teacher. And yes, I do need these…occasionally for reading I’ve found out. And there is nothing wrong with a beard—“

He froze when they were suddenly swarmed by two teenage girls. They kept calling them ‘Mr. Fraser and Mr. Cudia’. Raoul was by now used to this and he gave his brother a glance clearly meaning ‘Play along’ as he smiled at the dark-haired girl. “Of course, I would be happy to give you an autograph.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fraser! Are you doing another show?”

“No…no, not at the moment…” he answered, not knowing what else to say. He signed her book ‘Raoul de Chagny’, as he had for the others who had walked up to him on a daily basis.

“Wow! You’re in character!”

Just then the girl’s friend came over and they talked about a ‘new musical’—one he took to be related to the one he had seen in the town. Apparently they thought his brother was another actor. Judy—the girl whose book he had signed—soon left with her friend, and he smiled before looking at his brother, who demanded to know what that was about.

“Quite a long story…but the shortened version is that they think we’re actors in this play that recreates events in my life yet to have happened…”

[Philippe Maurice de Chagny]

More and more Philippe's confusion grew to epic proportions. Now, he'd always been of the logical breed, never messed with fantasy stories or entertained possibilities of otherworldly things save for the grace of God. So when his brother explained each of the peculiarities of their situation, the two parts of him that were metaphysical and physical collided and made his view of what was happening extremely conflicted. On the one hand, his brain told him that he was dreaming. On the other, he'd never been more aware that he wasn't dreaming because of how real the breeze on his face, the voice and presence of his brother, the pressure of the earth against his feet, how everything physical felt to him. This was most definitely real and very, very possible. But how?

And the absurd notion that he was nothing more than a character in a story! All about his brother, no less? Honestly, as far as he was aware, his own life would be much more suited to a dramatic work than Raoul's especially a play of some sort! He was even more fond of them than his brother was, though apparently the opera was to the younger de Chagny's liking (especially since he had the sinking suspicion that the ring Raoul had recreated was meant for a certain singer...). And that mask... When had his brother ever worn a mask? Phantom? He seemed to recall something about a ghost in the news, but he couldn't put his finger on it...

The question was still 'how?'. So he voiced this. "Raoul, I still don't understand. Months? But I was just at the Populaire a few moments ago! I was walking up the steps through the crowds of reporters and bumped into you! And you most certainly weren't dressed like this!" As he recalled his fall on the steps, the notion that this really was a dream was beginning to seem more and more plausible. He recalled a scientific study of coma patients living alternate dream lives while they were asleep that seemed just as real as when they were awake. Could this be one of them?

"Brother, this must be a dream. You can't... two-thousand-and-twelve? But... I..." Being a man of many words, he had never before been at such a loss for them.

[Raoul Christophe de Chagny]

Raoul pinched the bridge of his nose and then shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I’m sorry—I barely even know what’s happening myself. One moment I was about to walk into Christine’s dressing room and the next I ended up sitting in a chair in some mansion in the middle of England…” he trailed off, mentally cursing himself for mentioning her name. “I was there for the gala performance, which I watched, and I was just going to her dressing room to congratulate her on her success.” He felt like a schoolboy being scolded by his father—he knew there were bound to be plenty of unwanted questions about that.

He kept walking up the road toward the manor, hands in his pockets. “I’m dressed like this because, as you can see, brother, the majority of the people of this time dress this way. I tried to keep up the old traditions as you undoubtedly would have wanted, but there are some that I feel I must abandon—dressing like I used to in public is one.” he answered, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him.

“I wish it was a dream at times. But other times…well I’m almost glad I’m here. I know this all must sound strange to you, and perhaps even a little offensive, but I don’t have to live the way society dictates that I should. I’m simply Monsieur de Chagny, not Monsieur Le Vicomte. I don’t have much money, no, but what I do have I earn—none of it is father’s and none of it is yours. And I don’t expect you to understand this, but I feel like I’m doing something meaningful with my life. I’m a teacher now—in a few more months I’ll be a barrister. I’ll put criminals behind bars—I’ll make this town safer, and all because of my skill, not my money or my birth or my title. So I do think that 2012 has its merits. You can believe what you wish, but everything I’ve experienced seems to indicate that we are living in a different time and place than what we’re used to.”

[Philippe Maurice de Chagny]

Philippe was certainly just as frustrated as his brother was. It wasn't every day you were whisked away to god-knows-where and find your only brother changed beyond recognition. It was especially confusing when said brother wasn't making any sense. He tried not to let his annoyance show when Raoul mentioned the gala performance. He tried not to say "I should never have told you about the opera to begin with," as well. He succeeded in this, but his voice was still disgruntled. "Your explanations are more than confusing, brother, they're downright absurd! But I'd rather not argue when nothing seems to be making sense. Please, just... continue."

He held a hand to his forehead. He was starting to feel more and more pain in his thigh, but he kept up with his brother as well as he could. He was never one to show weakness, at least not in public. Instead of complaining, he listened silently as Raoul continued to explain their situation, nodding and muttering "I see" or "ah" at different points in time.

With each spoken word Philippe grew quieter, however. No, he was not angry with his brother for feeling the way he did. He was more angry at himself. He couldn't very well deny Raoul his happiness, after all. He'd once wanted a life outside of the one he was given, but ever since he was young he'd always been grateful for his privileges. Perhaps some people just weren't cut out for his lifestyle.

The Comte held his hands behind his back, looking directly at the ground and stopping for a moment. He looked back up at Raoul. "I am sorry, Christopher. You should have told me how you felt, and I would have done anything in my power to help you become the man you want to be." He winced, sighing. That didn't sound very apologetic, placing the blame on Raoul... "Look, I'm not... How much farther of a walk is this place you live?" His leg was starting to feel wildly uncomfortable, but he was eyeing the cabs Raoul had suggested suspiciously.

((I kind of want them to ride in a cab, because that would totally freak Phil out, xD I'm a mean typist.))