Dancing Slowly in an Empty Room (Open)

[Erik Spectre]

After Érik had been shown the pathetic and miserable opera house by the Lenoir fellow, he set off on his own to explore his prison-- though he could hardly label it as such. It was more like a gilded cage that had rusted a bit, and he could only imagine how glorious it had been in it's prime.

However, Érik could hardly marvel at the place's splendor, when his dear Christine could be lost somewhere inside it. He saw no other alternative than that she was captured when he was, for they were together when he fainted. He felt so... alone now, more than he ever did before he met Christine. At least the lonely before had been one he had accepted, one he'd been acquainted with for some time. This new lonely was eating at him, after the woman who had promised him he wouldn't be lonely any more was taken away from him. He felt an inexplicable longing for her, as a babe hungers for its mother's breast.

He sighed as he wandered the even lonelier halls, drifting his fingers along the raised paper of the walls. It crumbled against his touch, and he was sickened by the sorry state this place was in. He would have never let his Opera Garnier descend into this kind of destitution, and he deplored whoever owned this place for doing so in the first place.

No matter, he would leave here as soon as possible... or rather as soon as he found Christine. Then they would leave, and she would forget her childish fantasies of marrying the Vicomte. It was really just a game, her calling him a demon. Really, truly she loved her Angel of Music, and would never see him come to harm, physically or verbally. It was someone else who called him a demon, yes, it had to be.

Érik stopped when his fingers met a door frame. He hadn't noticed that he'd come to the large double doors, and right then he decided that if he was looking for a way out he would check every room. Into this one he entered.

It was a ballroom, Unfortunately in as much disrepair as the rest of the house. It was large and the windows reached to the vaulted ceiling, but they were dusty and murky, so one could hardly see clearly out of them. They let sunlight stream through though, and curiously Érik stepped closer.

He noticed the piano to the side with the chairs set up around it for easy listening, but it hardly looked as if it worked ('An utter disgrace,' he thought), so he saved that for later examination. He moved closer to the light glistening on the hardwood floor, and unhooked his cloak from his shoulders, letting it drop to the side. A layer of dust puffed around the edges when it touched the ground, and if he had a nose, Érik would probably have sneezed. As it stood, he only marveled at the way the particles caught the light of the sun. He looked back up at the windows.

Érik stood in the sunlight, for probably the first time in ages. He hadn't dared emerge from his underground home in years during the day. At night people's vision was clouded by a dreamy haze, and they would hardly notice his black masked face in the darkness, so he strolled Paris only at night or in the early morning. He had taken Christine out for drives in his carriage like this, but he could always tell she longed for daylight. He, too, longed for it, and now, standing in it, he began to feel so very content.

Looking around to make sure no one was in the room, Érik carefully untied the ribbon that secured his mask in place, and let the piece fall into his hands. He clutched it to his chest and sighed, letting the light stream upon him without restraint. It was hardly warm, but it was natural light. The kind of light only God could make.

He wished Christine was there. He wished desperately that he could dance with her in this glorious ballroom. He could see it now, her pale cream dress and his darker than black cape swirling in perfect circles, dazzling aristocracy looking on at the happy couple. He dropped his mask on his cloak, and he moved to another window's light, and caught it with his fingertips. He stopped as music filled his head, something like the Danse Macabre mixed with a light waltz. Slowly, he began to dance to it, though no one was there to be his partner. It hardly mattered, for he'd danced alone many a time in his life, however he wished, not for the first time in his loneliness, that someone was really there with him.

[ladybarbossa]

As usual, wandering about the Manor both out of curiosity that seemed long lost from her youth but regained, and hoping to find a way to leave only to get back to her son, Gustave. Or at least to find him. It did not matter if she stayed or left, she had to find her son!

Passing through the corridor gracefully, her eyes noticed a door was open just slightly. This bewildered her and aroused her curiosity. Was it open for a reason? And so she padded softly to the cracked door to slowly open it and peer in as she slipped inside, about to say 'hello' but refrained upon the sight of a tall, very thin man dancing alone. But the sight of him made her gasp as her eyes widened. He was deformed like the Phantom she knew, but deformed differently. A hand rose to her mouth swiftly to stifle that gasp. Not wanting to frighten and anger this man. Perhaps it was too late for she'd seen him as she stood there watching him, trying desperately to hide that terror but was just amazed at how beautifully he danced. No, she did not divert her eyes but stood there in awe of his flow and grace. After all, she was once a dancer, too. Slowly her hand lowered but stayed near her mouth while gawking. Dressed in the embroidered white gown she had arrived here in, with most of those reddish-brunette locks up in a mess of curls with a few ringlets cascading down her left shoulder.

[Erik Spectre]

After a few moments, Érik felt so foolish. He had closed his eyes and let the sunlight dance upon his face, but he soon realized dancing alone made him feel even smaller than before. He sighed, letting his hands fall from holding his invisible bride and clutching one arm to his stomach. He looked up at the windows and rubbed the bridge of the peculiar hole in his face. Suddenly a sob escaped his mouth, and he clutched his stomach tighter. The feeling wouldn't go away from the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he knew too well, and yet was still surprised when he felt it at all.

This whole love business was draining him. He was far too old for this, and yet when he thought about Christine, he felt as if he was twenty again and in the prime of his life. She made him feel like he was brand new and untarnished by years of solitude and hardship. There was something blindingly brilliant about the way her voice sounded, not just singing, but even speaking to him. Even when she'd been afraid of him, there was still a magic to that trill of her scream, the way each syllable left her lips in perfect clarity. There were still traces of that darling Swedish accent, though years in France had trained it well. And then her eyes had sparkled when he gave her lessons, as if he'd lit a fire in her soul. How had he done that in someone? He, the self-proclaimed monster and the Living Corpse of yore. She was his most prized treasure, and yet...

And yet from what he heard, she still was holding these delusions that she was to marry that sniveling fop!

Érik growled. He would not stand for his future wife to be so blinded by money and praise. He would find her now, instead of wallowing in his self-pity, before it was too late, and she was lost to him forever! 'Don't just stand there, move!' he thought to his feet, but he realized he'd been crying, and he could hardly see the sunlight anymore.

Wiping his eyes, he whipped around and began to stalk toward the door, shaking his head and staring at the dusty floor in determination. However his body and face felt naked, and he realized he'd forgotten his mask and cloak. Scoffing, he trekked back to where the clothing themselves were gathering dust, and shook them out. Érik glanced around the room with lazy, bored eyes. He just wanted to get out of here, and put this whole affair behind him and...

Érik dropped his cloak and mask. His eyes, black as the night in this daylight, were in actuality wide as saucers.

Had the woman been there the whole time? He begged to God that he was imagining her look of disgust. If not, God was a cruel God. A very cruel God...

Érik could be plenty cruel himself. A sneer graced his features as he glazed his eyes over hers. So young... Too young to see a face as ugly as his. No doubt she would find him a Don Juan as well...

"It is rude to stare, Mademoiselle," he bit at her frighted form. He snatched up his clothing again, the particles of dust again dancing around him. He joked to himself dryly that he might have looked like an angel in a cloud of gold.

"It is also rude to not make your presence known," he added, brushing his cloak of again. He neglected to put his mask on, instead choosing to stuff the piece in his jacket pocket for safekeeping, next to his lasso (thank Heavens that arrived with him too, else he be defenseless). Érik looked back up to the woman, beginning to walk toward her. But in a split second...

No... She couldn't be Christine! But for a moment she looked like her, and then it was gone. He shook his head.

The lonely was beginning to get to him.

[ladybarbossa]

Just mesmerized by his fluidity, Christine stood there in awe. Despite how horrific he appeared she could not remove her eyes from his graceful movements. It was not a question of why ever would she want to, there was plenty of reason for that but because he seemed to be a dancer and she thought it was a delight to see someone of his frame dance so well.

All she could do was watch the tall, lanky man when he stopped and seemed to be in a sort of pain. There was a sort of pang in her own stomach at that sight as she partially lurched forward, only stopping herself before she could take a full step. What if he did not want such sympathy? If he was anything like the Erik she knew, he seemed to want it and yet would want nothing of it. Her hands held at abdomen height as she watched this strange man before her. His sob barely gracing her ears and in turn this made her wonder why he was so troubled.

The growl made her understand that still someone can feel both anger and sadness at once, especially one so deformed. She knew this all too well; not a stranger by any means.
Suddenly facing her completely, those hazel blue hues widened with horror at first and she stood there frozen. He was literally a walking corpse! Nothing but skin and bones! But just as soon as that horror filled her, it was gone filled with pity. What ever had caused this poor man to be so tortured, and to cause his poor body to be so hideous? She inhaled sharply and deeply, holding her breath for three seconds before releasing it with a sort of astonishment not realizing that she'd been holding her breath. What in the world has the world done to this man? What did God do to him?!? It did not escape her that he had been crying and that part of her that was a mother wanted so much to leap forward to comfort the poor thing. A moment's pang as a mother of having a child like this. And yet, if her son was deformed, she'd still love him anyways. Her eyes watered sympathizing for the poor tall man.

There was no horror upon her face any more at the sight of him but pure astonishment. That is, until she realized she'd been discovered gawking at him while she discovered him. Oh, dear. she thought. She should have known better from her experience with her own Phantom.

His voice snapped her out of that astonishment, blinking as she caught his sneer and that harsh tone in his voice. It would take a deaf person to understand that he was none too happy. She should have known better.
Her head lifted just a bit when her eyes widened slightly realizing her utter mistake. Poor etiquette upon her part. "Oh, Lord," she muttered breathlessly. "Oh, please forgive me. I meant no harm. Yes. Please forgive my lack of Civility." She replied hoping to patch the damage that had been done. But now it was her turn to be utterly surprised when he called her mademoiselle. And the look upon her face was so unmistakable with a flash of surprised amusement and a soft snickering-huff escape her lips. Not sure if she should be offended or delighted.

Collecting herself a little better, she nodded, "Yes, I should have let you know I was here." Pausing a moment before returning her eyes to his uncanny and hideous appearance, "But I was rather enjoying your dancing." And nearly winced at her being such a self-snitch. Giving away that she'd been there gawking at him for quite a while no doubt and was being rude. Hopefully he could forgive her for her lack of civility and her state of astonishment. After all, it wasn't every day you see a deformed man who looks like a corpse dancing like a happy angel in the warm golden light as though he were on the golden streets of Heaven.

Still wide-eyed as she kept her focus upon the lanky man even as he came towards her. No doubt to suddenly leave as he'd been discovered and felt embarassed she thought to herself. Feeling a bit terrible for not being the proper woman that she was, then perhaps she could make up for it.

She gave him two choices: She stepped out of his way if he wished to make a mad dash to the door and leave the Ballroom. The other option, she held out her hand to him without hesitation and smiled warmly. "Christine Emilie Daaé le Vicomtess de Chagny." Her voice sweet, calm, melodious, not too deep but rolled from her lips as though she'd said this thousands of times before with all poise and due grace. And standing there without waver, with regal poise and that charming smile.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik was still jarred from the fact that she reminded him so of his betrothed, but he stepped closer to her nonetheless, both curious, and outraged that she'd seen his face. His dark, abysmal eyes grew ever closer to her. He was silent as she tried to explain herself, pitying her for thinking it wasn't too late. He was about to tell her that she was doomed for seeing him, but instead he stopped in his tracks.

"But I was rather enjoying your dancing."

"En--... Enjoying?" he asked with befuddlement. He blinked, though she'd hardly notice in the daylight. He looked behind him, as if she were talking to someone else. He thought for a moment, then he smirked, but it didn't reach the rest of his face. His expressions were flat with a twinge of hurt. 'Oh I see it now! Yes, you're mocking Érik then? You spy on him and witness his grotesqueness from a distance and see fit to make a fool of him! How very kind of you then, hmm?!' he thought with fury. He might have said those very words, but something inside of him held his tongue, as he remembered the last time he lashed out at a woman like that. His poor Christine had been in tears.

'Érik must control his temper! he thought. He cleared his throat with pursed lips. He looked down at her from a slightly upturned chin, but she was a little thing anyway. He examined her movement to the side, as if to let him pass. She must have been a fool to think he would leave the room without replacing his mask! This is what Érik decided, then, that she was a fool. By now, judging from her clothes (which were slightly different than what he was used to, but still very old fashioned) and the fact that she reminded him of Christine, he guessed that she must know who he was. Perhaps she would run to the police when he left the room, for she had to know how utterly brilliant he was with getting his way. And he would always get his way.

When she held out her hand to him, he blinked again, and even dared to rub his eyes. She... was holding out her hand? To him? When... when she had just seen his face? when she was looking into it right at that very moment? He was no more than his arm length's distance from her, and yet she did not cower in fear. Oh yes, there was fright in her eyes, Érik could see it, but she was poised, elegant, like a queen. Her conviction was still and strong, it seemed.

But he? Why he? Why would she do such a thing? Why would she not collapse in agony at looking into his eyes? This was... This was new.

"I... I..." he muttered before he could catch himself. He wouldn't make any sense no matter how hard he tried to speak, so he just stared at the hand in awe. Érik looked up into her eyes, and as if the offer might disappear he slipped his long, gaunt hand into hers and held it there, not knowing what to do with it. "Uh... um..."

"Christine Emilie Daaé le Vicomtesse de Chagny."

"C-come again?" he stuttered. That name was most certainly not hers! "Excusez-moi? Did you just say Christine Daaé? Le Vicomtesse de Chagny?" he said in disbelief. "Because you see that is impossible, because the woman I am to marry goes by the name of Christine Daaé. She loves me very dearly and would hate to hear of someone using her name in relation to the Vicomte. Unless of course there is some other Vicomte de Chagny in this world, in which case the latter half of your name is unimportant, of course that still does not solve the riddle of your given and maiden name, Madame." He was steadily becoming angrier at the thought of any de Chagny being in this place, much less a woman who claimed to be his wife, and by the end of it he was snapping at her as an assassin snaps necks.

He was silent then, realizing how he must seem mad to her. He remembered what Lenoir said about multiple Christines in this manor. This seemed to be one of them... But which one? He remembered Lenoir mentioned three brunettes, though upon catching the light her coiffed hair began to resemble more auburn than brown.

Érik was beginning to feel foolish. Why so defensive...? Perhaps it was because he hardly knew where his Christine was, so someone using her name was like a threat to his sanity. His eyes narrowed, and he coughed. "I... I seem to recall that women in this mansion throw the name Christine around like it is absinthe in a bohemian's stomach, so perhaps I am mistaken for accusing you." A blush crept to his face, but could she even tell the difference with the yellowing skin?

He looked down, ashamed, but saw that their hands were still joined, as if in holy matrimony. "Ah! I... I am sorry!" he said as he began to let go. He stopped himself though, and looked at the soft, creamy fingers in his disgusting hand. She had offered the hand to him. Perhaps... No... No, he was being ridiculous, he had overstepped his boundaries, as he often did. Christine had reminded him countless times to control both his temper and his actions, but... he never did listen, did he?

He decided he would listen next time he saw his fiancee, as soon as he found her. He leaned his head down and pressed a chaste kiss on the top of the lady's hand.

"My name is Érik," he said timidly, and he pulled away from it. He let go, and felt his hand burn with embarrassment, as well as his chalky lips. "And... and... Oh God..."

It was settling in... He'd just kissed a woman's hand!

"Liszt forgive me..." he mumbled before his legs buckled and he sank to the floor, and the day became the night.

[ladybarbossa]

It was true he was hideous, moreso than the Phantom she knew for His face was only partially deformed. This man before her... ALL of him was distorted! And yet, she held her ground. Remaining constant and unwavering. Showing fear in the presence of one so sensitive about their appearance was the last thing that should be done. Her heart beat faster within her breast and shorter breaths as she tried so hard to control the panic that desired to take hold of her. But for now she held it at bay while her eyes remained unblinking upon him wide and alert. Awaiting his next move.

He stopped.
Her breathing slowed slightly as he halted his advance upon her. His movements much like a beast stalking it's prey. Frightening as it appeared it was also entrancing. Just as were those golden deep set eyes. Barely seeing those golden hues. Never had she seen eyes like that. They were unreal but like gazing at the sun or at golden nuggets. No, a distant golden star lost in the night sky. Yes, that's what they were like. They twinkled in the darkness, flicking light so crowded by the blackened night sky.

She finally blinked her now dry eyes and they burned. Blinking a few more times to quench the sensation in her eyes. But that he was stunned and halted his stalker advance made her curious. Somewhat. Though his behavior was rather... uncanny. Interesting. Strange. Very reactionary. And continued to look up at him while he looked down upon her with a piercing gaze. Oh, how strange it was to be held in his sights. Such power within those golden pinheads.

It was so easy to gaze into his eyes, but once her hazel blues danced over the rest of his features it nearly horrified her. Seeing her own Phantom's face was one thing, she could now handle the deformed side of his face. But this man before her was like the dead walking! It was truly terrifying to say the least. Especially that missing nose. It was perhaps the only true feature about him that was disturbing. All else she was able to tolerate well enough. At least he didn't have a part of his skull exposed. But the missing nose was enough that she should have cringed. But luckily, did not. Luckily. She came close to it though. If she had, oh, no doubt it would have been disastrous!
A barely audible sharp inhale upon the touch of his cold hand. It was no difficult than Lenoir's touch, her old Phantom. Cold with no warmth at all. But this man's hand was like touching something dry, strange, taunt skin almost waxy. It was strange. Especially upon the sensation of his bony knuckles. A strange sensation indeed. The cold she was used to and it did not bother her warm, soft hands. Though there was that slight inhale from the cold sensation, there was no other reaction other than a very light smile. At least he responded the way she hoped. The ice had no been broken. The beast soothed. She would survive this outcome. Or so she deduced.

Blinking twice wondering if he didn't hear her or if he was stunned once he heard her name. Opening her mouth as though she were going to repeat it but did not as he went on. Her light amusement went from recognition of who he talked about - the golden hair young woman she had met not long after arriving here - and she was about to give another answer until his tone changed into something that made her smile melt and she felt as though she'd done a very bad thing. Frozen and eyes wide upon his reaction and tone which began to frighten her once more and her face tried so hard not to reflect that particular emotion. Trying so hard to breath as if it didn't bother her. But it did. His tone bothered her deeply.

Throw around the name like what? At this the fear in those eyes zipped away to flash annoyance. Throw around her name indeed! Did he not believe who she was? Her nostrils flared slightly as she fought to control the anger that threatened to well within her. None of this would help her though and she held a good rein upon her emotions. For now at least.
"Of course," she finally replied dryly and softly. Still it did have an effect upon her what he said about her name.

As soon as his countenance had changed, so did hers after a moment when he began to apologize. For what? Well, still holding her hand. Granted that was indeed too long for a greeting between a man and a woman. But at this point, she would let it slide. Again, not wanted to anger him for fear that he would do something harmful. A deformed man was capable of anything.

Feeling his light grip loosen with her outstretched hand and wondered if that was it. The cold fingertips barely felt upon her warm hands. Well, apparently it was not the end of it.
Shocked as her breathing increased as his lips - if one could call them that - touched her warm skin. Again, waxy skin and cold. It was so strange. And so definitely unlike her own Erik's lips or skin. So very different yet slightly similar. But not once did she wince, no cringing or jerking. The only reaction was a pleased light smile. There was civility to the beast after all. And once again inhaled deeply then released it with a nearly silent sigh of relief. Her whole countenance now lightened as she watched him. Perhaps he wasn't so bad as he pretended to present himself as.

Erik?!? Her lips parted as the smile disappeared and her visage was sporting complete astonishment. Did she hear correctly? How could it be? There where more? Another man by- another Phantom? Her whole body joined in this revelation as she gazed upon him completely stunned and speechless. How was it possible? More Phantoms?!? Oh, dear!

Snapping out of her frozen astonishment upon the sight of him sinking to the floor upon his knees. Her own reaction was fearful concern wondering what had just happened. A gaspy "Erik!" slipped from her lips while she bent to reach out for him. But what could she have done? He was larger than her and there was no way she'd be able to hold him up.
Darting to his side a moment, then looked furiously about to see what she could use or what to put him in. Nothing since this was a ballroom. Nothing but the piano and bench, lots of wide open dance floor. There was his cloak. It would have to do for now. And so she moved to pick up the cloak. Folding it to use it as a pillow.

Once again at his side, lifting his head - that odd sensation of his skin, the coldness, waxiness - would make anyone cringe and shiver.
With the cloak under his head, she sat down beside him and with her hand fanned his face. Planting the palm of one hand to the floor to stabilize herself as she leaned somewhat over him. Now this was completely utterly creepy and perhaps disgusting. He truly looked death and she nearly reacted in a frightened freak-out. "Erik," she tried to coax him back to the land of consciousness. But was he actually dead? How could she tell? Again, nearly in a panic. Patting the side of his strange face. "Erik" she softly inquired worriedly. Then took the hand nearest to her and rubbed and patted it. Hoping he'd wake up. Then leaned over to listen to his heart. She'd know if he was dead or alive.

But heard nothing. Sitting up she felt horrible. Again she patted his hand. This was simply awful and she was nearly in a state of panic! Trying to catch her breath as she glanced about not sure about calling out for help for who would hear her calls? Would he want someone else there? Most likely not. Oh, God! What was she to do?

[Erik Spectre]

Érik saw nothing. He had wanted to be dreaming this whole time, but it seemed there was nothing now. He didn't wake up in Christine's arms, he wasn't slumbering in his coffin in pitch-black darkness. This was more than darkness... and he felt cold. He'd had a similar feeling just before arriving at the manor... He'd fainted, that was for sure. Pathetic. Disgraceful! Unacceptable!

He groaned against the ground. He was starting to notice sounds again. There wasn't nothing anymore. He started to remember things, like how... Oh, Gounod, he'd done it this time! God would strike him down for even touching that pretty lady's hand, much less placing his disgusting lips on her fingers! His lips began to burn with the memory, as did his own fingers...

Light was slowly sleeping through his thin eyelids. How long had he been gone? A minute, an hour, a day? He wouldn't doubt that he'd fallen into a coma and was only being awoken by God's cruel trickery. Well... fine! Perfect! He needed to find Christine anyway. If he would just open his eyes then perhaps...

"Arrrrgh..." he groaned. He felt his hand slink up to his face and rub the space between his thin dark eyebrows (which constituted for about a third of the hair on his body). Érik's eyes flickered open, and for a moment he thought he was in heaven.

An angel in white was looking down at him with concern. Her pasted and pale face was accented by almost naturally red lips that might belong to rose petals. He was afraid they'd crush to pieces if touched. He almost smiled.

"Érik?!"

His eyes widened. Érik?! If he was in heaven, then they would use his real name, not the name he took upon himself by chance, not the one that meant nothing to him! Érik gasped. Christine Emilie was hovering directly over him. So close to his face... Too close!

Suddenly his whole body was animate, hardly the corpse-like figure it had been moments before. He pushed himself away quickly from her, legs flailing as he dragged the cloak that had been underneath his head with him, letting it gather even more dust. Not a second later was he ten feet from her, his chest heaving and his heart pounding. His hand clutched at his shirt where that heart was leaping, while the other fumbled blindly for the mask in his breast pocket. He wouldn't play these games anymore with her. She had seen him too close, within... within... kissing distance!

Oh, this was too much! He might faint again! Instead he tied his mask back in place. Érik panted as if he'd run many miles. "You--you...! I--I...! H-how can you be so near to me and not die?!" he whispered. "Do you think it's funny? Is my face funny to you?! Is it?!" He shook like a storm.

[ladybarbossa]

Those hazel blue hues shifted immediately to his face. Watching as the living corpse gave hints that he still lived and was rousing. Deeply she inhaled before releasing it silently in relief. As odd as it was, she couldn't help but to watch him rise from this mock slumber. Mock death really, practically frightened her to a state thinking she'd killed him inadvertently!

Before she could say another thing it was his following actions that startled her immensely. With a gasping-yelp she jumped back. She didn't quite expect that. Already she was on edge from the tense moment. His actions only made it worse!
Watching bewildered and wide-eyed as he skittered away like a frightened, batter puppy to several feet away. His continued reaction also continued to stun her. What the devil was he fearful of? And yet, she should have known better considering her encounter with her own Phantom. Blast her ignorance!

What caused her eyes to widen more was the mask that was placed upon his face! Why? She'd always seen his face! And yet, she recalled and remembered why. Diverting her sight from him in pity. How she had forgotten. How long it had truly been and how this man was so much like the one she knew. Their appearance so influenced their esteem.

Shifting her eyes back up to him while she continued to sit there upon the floor, one palm planted upon the ground while the other now rested in her lap.
His words invoked a rousing annoyance, if not anger. How could he think such a thing? It was simple since he did not know her in the slightest. If it had been many years ago when she was younger and more innocent, then yes she would never have stood for this. But now.... now...

"Time changes a person," she replied back to him. Her eyes glancing downward to hide her own shames and horrors, those eyes now filled with a thousand stories of how unfair life truly is before returning her hazel blue gaze to his golden dots.
"A face is funny only if you mean it to be. Or horrific. Or sad." Pausing a moment as she realized what she said. "We are all made in God's Image, Monsieur."

Shaking her head now as both hands planted upon the floor, "It was you who fell unconscious from a simple charmed greeting. It is you who scampered away in fear from me! As though I were the Beast of Gevaudan."

"True, that I have seen your face. I did not faint nor die. I was startled, I admit. For never had I seen a face such as yours." Pausing a moment as her sights never left him. "But no longer am I a foolish girl absent of worldly knowledge either, Monsieur," her eyes glanced down, dancing about the floor before they shifted back to look at him. "I have been through this before with another man who's face was unlike any I'd seen. A face, or the body, does not always reflect the soul within." Again pausing as she tilted her head, "Even beauty can be a curse." So many stories in history and fiction where the beautiful one was cursed with hellish trials or worse. Even she had experienced them and were still experiencing them.

[Erik Spectre]

With each of her word's Érik's spine tingled and his face grew into a snarl behind the mask. He scoffed, slithering to his feet and standing erect, swiftly fanning his cloak around his shoulders and burying his face in the fabric. "You speak as if you have lived a thousand years, girl. You are nothing more than a babe to the ghost that inhabits my soul! What do you know of suffering?! What do you know of me, how I think, how I feel?! Your sorrows are not the same as mine!!!"

He spoke in a flurried breath, as if each word stumbled over the other. He looked everywhere but her eyes. "Why must you insist on pitying me?! Everyone always pities me!" He turned around and stared up at the sunlight fading through the windows. Érik wanted to crawl away, deep into the pit of his lair, wherever it may be. He could have too, if she wasn't blocking the door. He couldn't go near her, not when she'd seen his face so close. Why hadn't she died? She didn't even know him enough to even give him consideration, and yet she still breathed?

"Stop staring at me!" he snapped, though he could hardly be sure if she was looking. He stepped forward, faster and faster, toward the middle of the ballroom. Away from her. "Just leave me alone! If you know me then you'll die!" He crossed his arms under his cloak, trying to ignore her as best he could.

((I'm really sorry this sucks, but you know... This is what happens when I'm museless)).

[ladybarbossa]

Utterly impossible not to watch him as she was getting a silent if not unlikable answer. Watching him stand as she remained half sprawled upon the floor the shifted to sit up a little. Awaiting what retribution he had to cast upon her. Unless he was simply not going to do a thing and be rather shockingly kind from a slight awakening.

Nope, that didn't happen. Blinking a couple times as she looked up at his incredibly tall and very thin frame. Girl? Babe? Raising her brows even thought it was utterly bad form for her genteel manners.
The whole time he spoke, with each word it caused a reaction upon her face with her eyes betraying her flurry of emotions. She could only guess for what she experienced with her own Angel. "Suffering is suffering. Granted we all experience it differently. But," she paused momentarily as she glanced down. How could she say or explain what she was thinking? "Somehow... I know." Her eyes reflected a time of such a hell.

After a moment of sitting upon the floor she picked herself up and stood there a moment, watching him. "Perhaps they pity you because you want it," her words were sharp but her voice soft yet firm. "But I don't want to pity you. I've done my fair share of it with another like you."

Die? She was rather pushed mentally now and she would push back. "If so, then kill me now! But I haven't died nor will I!" Pausing as she panted to calm her nerves. "Is it so hard to ask to at least know you? I ask nothing more than your friendship."

She went out on a limb. Being so very bold and unruly really. But... if this man - if one called him that - was anything like the Erik she knew, then by all means, he needed someone to simply... trust.
Her eyes did not do as he demanded, to not stare at him. She wasn't staring at him in the way he thought, she was locking her gaze upon him as she awaited his answer. Would he remain a recluse? Or will be come out of the shadows to at least trust her?

[Erik Spectre]

'Somehow she knows...' he mocked inwardly. 'Somehow I know... ' But he didn't know. His grip on his own arms slacked and he sighed. She did not know at all, else she would just be silent. "My suffering," he began, "is greater than that of the suffering of generations."

'Ma fleur peu naïve,' Érik thought sadly. "I am no normal man whom you can claim to share feelings with. I am no more than the Creature was to his creator, and truly it is only through... one woman's presence can I be at ease." He shook his head, hands falling to his sides and fingering his cloak. "You waste your time and your pity."

"Because you want it..."

He turned abruptly and walked straight up to her figure, pointing one long and calloused index finger in her face. His eyes were wide with fury. "Oh yes, let's all pity Érik! Pity the monster, pity the freak of nature because he doesn't have a nose, because he smells, because he would have been so great if it weren't for his poor, poor face! Such a waste! So sad he lives all alone in a cellar! So sad that he's so lonely! But no, we can't love him, because we're too pretty and perfect for that! Don't let him near your children! Don't let him stand behind you! Keep your hand at the level of your eye! Poor, poor man!" He spit each word into her face, showering her with everything that made his heart beat with agony. He shook and fumed, a sob crawling up his throat but he pushed it back with a vengence. He shook his head, his lip curling up as he stood back. "Why would I want that?" he swallowed.

He snorted, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "You may not wish to pity me, but you have no choice! Women and their feelings! No matter what, you women pity, as if I'm a dying bird in a child's arms!" He looked everywhere but her face. "It's your very nature to pity me, with your eyes and your frown! A smile is impossible to draw from all of you!"

He was indeed tempted to reach in and reveal his lasso when she dared challenge him. When Emilie paused, he bit back. "I ought to kill you, you impertinent little thing who think you know more than I!" But then she spoke again.

"Is it so hard to ask to at least know you? I ask nothing more than your friendship."

Érik's arms fell again, and his brow furrowed under the mask. "I... I-I..." His eyes fell to the ground. "N-no one had ever asked to be my friend..." Indeed, the only man he could ever call friend in his life was Daroga, and even then the line between enemy and companion was always blurred.

"Why would you want it?"

[ladybarbossa]

She should have known by now that he would react to anything that struck a cord with him. Taking one step back as he approached her but grounded herself after doing so. She had to stand her ground and be brave for not only her sake but his. Her eyes focused upon that very long skeletal finger that was nearly jabbed at her face. It was utter lack of manners to point at someone as she learned but this was his way of making a point and getting her attention? Well, it worked!

Truly he was a troubled man. Even if he did not want her pity she gave it anyways. Not because of his face alone but of what he suffered. "If we women pity," she began as she watched the tall, thin man with a careful gaze, "it only proves that we have a heart." Pausing a moment to watch his reaction. "A heart that wants to help," pausing a moment , "and comfort the one in need." She understood why women had or did not have such a desire. Those who did had that motherly instinct in them. Now that she was a mother, pity was a constant that she simply gave nevertheless.
That one woman whom he was at ease with only made her wonder if this woman he mentioned had that innate need to pity him?

Her eyes blinked several times as though she'd been slapped or cut. His words that it was impossible to draw a smile for the lips of women just struck her as an utter shock to the system. What a revelation that she was truly unprepared for.

His threatening moment brought her out of that shock with a slight gasp that was barely audible followed by her intense gaze to watch his reaction about friendship.
Tilting her head to the side ever so slightly as she looked up at him that stiff look melted away into a warm smile. "Because you need a friend as much as I do." pausing a moment to let that sink in. "We live in this here Manor. We all may as well at least learn to trust. At least I hope it can be possible. "

Watching his reaction with a slight smile hopefully she could catch him off guard again to at least help ease his lack of trust and his pains.
"Care to dance, good sir?" Her face was by no means mocking but there was a slight smile upon it. Yes, she saw his face and she was still there. Still trying to crack his lack of faith in people.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik's lip curled slightly as she asked him to dance, but then he hadn't done so in years... he recalled lessons with Marguerite, who was more than willing to fill his dance card... But he'd never danced with a human being, certainly not a real woman. He didn't know if it was proper to dance with a woman who was married (and not to himself, either)...

Why was he even considering it? Ah yes... friendship... Even though she'd practically insulted him many times over the course of their short acquaintance, she... had not cowered in fear from him. This was new and unusual...

On a snap decision, as about half of his decisions were made (the other half carefully planned out and executed with the most beautiful nuance), he turned and bowed to her, avoiding her eyes. Begrudgingly, he swiftly took her by the hand and waist, though he regretted the last bit as his ears began to heat up. He kept her a foot and a half away from himself as he moved her across the dance floor, to the center.

Érik still had that old spring in his step after all! He did not look at her, but above her head, to the walls that were spinning around him. "I make it a point not to trust anyone, with anything at any time," he replied a little late to her last statement. "When you've a face like mine you can't afford to put faith in someone you don't really know."

He was trying his best to behave, as Christine might want. To be civil, like a gentleman. If she was not afraid of his face, then there was nothing else she needed to be scared of... He thought, yes, this was a step in the right direction.

[ladybarbossa]

Truthfully she did not expect him to take up the offer to dance. She actually expected him to continue to make snide remarks and cower from her. Absolute surprise overwhelmed her when he swept her into a position for a waltz or any other sort of two partner dance to the center of the room. A sharp inhale as she gazed at him in wonder. So very unexpected. So very amazing. Her heart raced at this most unlikely of moments then smiled and relaxed despite his cold, bony fingers upon her waist as well as hand cradled so well within his own skeletal hand. Following his lead where ever he would go or whatever dance he wished to do.

Feeling as though she were dancing upon the clouds. Not even with Raoul has she felt so in unison with someone. He was light on his feet and each step she made worked so perfectly with his. She felt so free once again. The years have not dimmed what she had been trained to do.

Turning her head to face him and look up at his masked face, noticing he was looking elsewhere and not at her. That had been one of the first lessons she learned is eye contact for it would tell you what your Lead's intentions were. Curious, she thought and listened to his words about trust. Opening her mouth about to reply something about trusting someone for trusting someone you do know could be far worse than one you do not know. "Trust should be earned not blindly given." Pausing as she gaze up at his masked face while they danced so elegantly together, "faith... is something else." Pausing again as she diverted her eyes away from his masked face and began to think of her time at the Opera many years ago when she placed her faith in a fairy tale her father had told her believing it was true. "Faith... is something we want to believe in," gazing away off to her left at nothing, her eyes rather distant and haunting but light and warm.

She smiled as she gathered her thoughts to push them aside and turn her eyes to his masked face once again. "You dance very well, Monsieur. I'm quite impressed."

[Erik Spectre]

Érik was mildly uncomfortable, both with the fact that this woman had yet to faint, and knowing that she was staring intently at him. This was why he avoided her gaze, of course. He remained stiff-backed and taut throughout the dance, leading her effortlessly across the floor as if he was made to be the perfect dance partner.

She continued to speak and try to ease his mind. A pious woman she probably thought herself, for being kind to him. A true saint.

"Faith... is something else."

The way her voice sounded made him look down at her for the first time since they began dancing. Her eyes... distant and regretful... Perhaps she hadn't just been spouting words after all. He tilted his head, but turned his eyes away when he felt he'd stared long enough.

"I have no faith," he said quietly, spinning her around once more. He cleared his throat. "I gave up on it long ago."

When the tone of conversation changed he was startled, but then he'd never been a good conversationalist to begin with, so he wasn't sure how they usually worked. He supposed a "thank you" would have sufficed in reply, and that would have been the end of it. But... he couldn't help agreeing with her.

"I know. It is a talent of mine. One of many," he said shortly, his mouth forming into a frown, but if one could see his eyes one would see a sparkle of pride. However, his hand around hers readjusted itself with uncertainty.

((OOC: Such an egotistical bastard ;D Don't you just love him? XDDD))