Aerie (tag: Maria)

[Mister Y]

Erik stood up from his piano. His creativity had long since dried since his muse had gone from him...he had no reason to work, no reason to write. And when he tried, the only thing that he could produce was what the masses wanted...Nothing beautiful ever came from his pen anymore. Nothing worthwhile.

He sighed, stepping away from the bench. Perhaps a cup of tea would help ease his troubled mind. Christine had disappeared, and he had no idea where she could've gone. Maybe she'd found a way back to where they all belonged? He hoped so. For her safety's sake, anyway. But he knew that wasn't what he wanted.

Erik wanted her back. He wanted to talk to her again, to see her, to reach for her and feel her and just be engulfed in the essence of her. But after their first encounter after ten years, he'd questioned it. What he really wanted. Did he really want Christine back? After he'd left her so she could live a normal life, and not worry about the pain and suffering that came with his? Or did he just want a companion?

He worked his way to the kitchen, his mind reeling with contemplations of what he truly wanted. He wanted his music back, yes...But did that come with Christine? Or was that his own wishful thinking that made him believe so? He set the water on the stove to boil, then went to his shelf to pick out his tea. Perhaps something light this time. Something with rose in it. Ahhh, yes. He picked his canister from the shelf and set it on the table, then sat to wait for the water to boil.

Perhaps, Erik thought, perhaps he was giving this all too much thought. Perhaps his answer to his muselessness was simple, and did not include Christine at all...but...she was his Angel. She'd lifted him from the Hell he'd lived in underneath the Opera House, and made him see Heaven's light. A kiss...a night together...she'd saved him from his wretchedness. How could she not be his muse? How could his problem not be related in some way to her?

[Maria Chevau]

She had been listening to him play. It was one of the things that she liked about all the phantoms being here, the music that they created. It was always so beautiful. This one's music was different from the others. It was more plain, more bouncy and like ordinary music than what the other phantoms created. She didn't quite get it, but the music was still beautiful to listen to. She followed him to the kitchen where he settled down making tea. She'd much preferred when he was playing the piano compared to this.

Frowning she rapidly brought the kettle to a boil setting it whistling after a minute had passed. She wasn't going to let him just sit here dwelling in his thoughts when he should be making music for her to listen to, or at least when one of the phantoms should be playing. She watched him a little crossly waiting for him to pay attention to the kettle so he would hurry up and return to the piano.

[Mister Y]

Erik furrowed his brow with a little frown. The water shouldn't have boiled that fast...perhaps his stove was broken? He went over to the kettle and took it off, setting it aside to prepare his tea. He'd have to look into it later. He turned the stove off and made his tea, then sat back down at his table.

He sighed. If his stove was broken, that meant another trip down to the village. Another day of getting stared at while he bought the right tools for the job. He hated the way that most of the villagers gawked at his mask, and whispered about him behind their hands. He hated it when someone called him "Ben", and even more when strangers called him "Erik." He'd long since given up that name...only certain people could call him that....

Erik drank his tea rather quickly, and poured himself another cup. He was starting to go mad, he supposed, being alone in this Manor with next to no familiar faces from his park. The only person from Phantasma was Meg, but really....could he call her a friend? He'd taught her English, given her the lead role in his show, but it was only out of gratitude for helping him get safely out of France. For helping him secure his millions. For helping him build the park and for being there when he thought that he'd be abandoned in New York.

Meg...she was a good girl, her mother's daughter. But she was a showgirl. Smiles and pretty faces and showing a little bit of leg when it's needed...Could he really expect her to understand his need for more operatic tastes? She was always a splendid dancer, but she wasn't an opera diva. So he'd had to make do, play to her strengths...

Erik brought his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose a bit with his impending headache. He finished his second cup of tea and brought the cup to his sink. He washed it out, set it up to dry, then went back to the music room...Maybe another try at composing would help his atrocious morale.

[Maria Chevau]

This was boring. She watched impatiently as he dwelt on whatever it was that was going on in his head. First one cup, then another. Maria, bored out of her wits, actually made herself a cup to drink. The question of where the tea actually went after she drank it was a bit of a mystery. Sometimes it went through her. Other times...she'd say it was in her, but she only ever tasted it, not felt it.

When he finally headed back towards the music room she was overjoyed, rapidly teleporting herself down there. Setting up the piano for him to use she played out a few of the notes testing how it sounded. It wasn't exactly melodic, but for someone who didn't know how to play the piano it was pretty good. She watched him enter a couple bars of what she imagined what he'd make floating through the air.