The Pit and the Pendulum (Christine 1911)

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas was sitting alone in the library reading one of the old volumes, a first Edition collection of poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. Poe had always inspired him, and his melancholic imagery often had him setting the words to music in his head.

He was currently reading Annabel Lee, a favourite of his. He loved the mix of joy and sorrow, the love turning to to hate turning to madness...he knew the poem by heart and spoke it softly to himself:

"I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me."

[Christine Daaé]

(lacing the Alex scene later on since nothing has happened yet, and I think we were planning on a kidnapping, so this is her first time in the Library))

Christine had been wandering throughout the Manor, trying to get a feel for it before she headed to bed that evening. So far, she had found the dormitories (of course), the dining room, the kitchen, the ballroom, the dungeon (though she would have preferred to have not), an old chapel, and an aphitheatre much like that at the Opéra.

It was not much walking later though, that Christine came upon a pair of doors that she had never seen before. They were very large, mahogany, and carves with little nymphs and sprites and such things. It was a curious-looking door, so Christine decided to see if it was open and gave a little push. The door came right open.

Inside, she herd a voice. a young man's voice, reading softly a text which she had heard a good many times. Annabel Lee... She had heard the text several times. It was one of the pieces that Mamma Valérius enjoyed hearing her read aloud sometimes. Mamma's eyes were not as good as they once were, so she would sometimes have Christine read to her with just the two of them together to help pass the time.

Christine came inside the large room with shelves and shelves of books -- it looked like a library -- and closed the door quietly behind her, so as not to disturb the young man.

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas looked up when heard the door open and saw a pretty blonde woman, dressed in the late Victorian style, slip past him by the book shelves. He found a a loose piece of duty red fabric on the floor a carefully placed it between the pages he was reading and closed the book. Studying the girl closely, he placed her as a Christine, most likely Leroux's original, as blonde hair was fairly rare in the adaptations, and she certainly didn't look like Teri Polo or Susanna Foster.

So, he thought to himself, The Original in all her glory. Not too shabby for not having any sort of physical reference to go on. He smiled at the girl and nodded in a silent greeting. He spoke to her as the door closed silently behind her.

"Hello madmoiselle," He apologized sheepishly, "I'm sorry you had to witness me indulging in my...fancies. Are you familiar with the work of Edgar Allen Poe?"

[Christine Daaé]

Christine returned the man's smile politely. He was dressed a bit oddly. He appeared to be wearing miner's clothing, for his pants were made of the fabric 'de Nimh' and he wore boots and a rugged-looking jacket. She tilted her head a bit and got a little closer.

“Yes, I am familiar with a bit of it. Mamma likes me to read it to her sometimes.” She kept looking at him strangely. She had never seen a miner up close before. “I am sorry, Monsieur. I do not believe I caught your name...”

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas' grin broadened. "My name is Thomas Boehm, Mademoiselle." He said, stretching out a hand in greeting.

She must think me an odd piece of work, he thought to himself, his mouth twitching in a slight grin.

"I must be a very strange sight to you. No doubt this whole place is rather bizarre..." He drifted off, gazing appreciatively at the room around him, thinking of the whole of this very unusual manor house. He smiled broadly at the young woman and spoke jovially:

"I do enjoy the excitement here, though. This place and I suit each other perfectly, in a way. It gives me a muse, and in turn I don't balk at the unusual things that keep happening, and I relish the solitude."

Thomas grinned sheepishly for a moment before speaking again. "I hope I don't sound too much like a curmudgeonly hermit. My bedside manner is really not that bad."

[Christine Daaé]

“A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Boehm. My name is Christine Daaé.” she said, accepting his gesture and offering her own hand as well.

She shrunk a little. The man must have noticed the way that she had been staring and grown uncomfortable. “Yes, quite strange and a bit frightening to be quite honest. Especially in the kitchen. There are so many strange machines there. One of them looked like a lidded carafe on a stand, and when you pressed the button on the base of it, the contraption made the most horrifying noise...”

“Please forgive me, Monsieur. I am sure that your manner is not bad at all, it is just that... I have never seen a miner so close before, much less met one.”

[Thomas Boehm]

"There are so many strange machines there. One of them looked like a lidded carafe on a stand, and when you pressed the button on the base of it, the contraption made the most horrifying noise...”

Thomas chcuckled, unsure of whether or not to inform her of the nature and use of the kitchen's cumbersome blender. Perhaps it was better to take things in stride, get her accustomed to her new surroundings little by little...but his thoughts on the matter were put to an abrupt halt as Christine spoke again.

“Please forgive me, Monsieur. I am sure that your manner is not bad at all, it is just that... I have never seen a miner so close before, much less met one.”

Thomas burst out laughing, a deep throaty laugh, but quickly covered his mouth and muffled his chuckles so as not to embarass his new aquaintance.

"My apologies, but a miner?" He spoke once the laughter died down, "Why on earth would you think me a miner Mademoiselle?" He observed his clothing. To him it was just another comfortable and casual outfit for the day. Perhaps to her they resembled working clothes? Still, he found a very unusual and, yes, funny idea to associate with someone of his quiet and solitary disposition, although she of course had no way of knowing that.

[Christine Daaé]

((it was actually a blender that she found, but now that I think about it, coffee maker fits that description as well XD ))

Christine flinched at his laughing. Had she said something wrong? She flushed a bit, not really knowing if or how she should try to continue holding conversation with this man. She hadn't meant any offense in her statements...

“Your trousers, Monsieur,” she said with some hesitation. “They are made of the fabric de Nihm. Is that not what miners wear?” Christine had never actually seen a miner, but she had seen and heard of the fabric before, which was why it puzzled her that this man claimed he was no miner.

“Perhaps I should go. I'm... I'm sorry if I offended you, Monsieur...” She stared down at the ground like a puppy who was being scolded for having an accident on the nice carpet. Being the people-pleaser she was, it upset her to know that she had managed to offend this man within her first few words to him, especially when he had done nothing but greet her cordially.

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas grinned and lifted the young woman's chin up delicately with his right hand.

"Mademoiselle Daae," He said, speaking lightly, "You have not offended me in the least. Being mistaken for a miner is probably a compliment considering what most people in town think of me."

He looked down at where she pointed at his jeans. What had she called them? de Nihm? Ah, of course - de Nihm and denim. One is an anglicization of the other. Thomas thought to himself as he contemplated bringing her up to speed on the change of time and place around here.

He considered for a moment, then spoke, "This is a very odd situation here...you have not only been brought to a different place, but a different time as well, many years into your future. Miners may have well worn these originally," He looked down at his pants, then back up to Christine, "But they've become casual wear for pretty much everyone now, men and women alike. A lot has changed, I'm afraid, but I'm sure no harm was intended on the part of those who broght you here. Perhaps I could help explain things a little more?"

[Christine Daaé]

Christine looked up at the man as he gently raised her chin. A compliment? But how would such a thing be considered a compliment “How so, Monsieur?... If you do not mind my asking, that is. It seems a very strange thing to be taken as a compliment... I truly am sorry...”

And then the girl frowned at his next words, her brow furrowing a bit. ...you have not only been brought to a different place, but a different time as well, many years into your future... She shook her head a little, staggering back just a bit. “Monsieur, that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. One cannot change their time. Being brought several years into the future... That is simply impossible! I was taken here in the middle of the night from my bed in the home of my Mamma Valérius. Whoever brought me here” – Érik! – “chloroformed me before they took me, so I was sure not to awaken before they arrived...”

That's what must have happened. There is no other logical explanation...

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas smiled sadly at Christine's naive skepticism.

"The situation is far more incredible than you could ever imagine, Mademoiselle." He said as he released her chin from his grip. He thought for a moment, then pulled out his wallet. He opened it and took out a creased photograph. Pausing for a moment, he glanced at it, and smiled fondly at the memory. It was Greta's most recent birthday, and she had her arms slung over her older brother, laughing at the camera. She had just cut her hair into a sleek, slanted bob and dyed it a rich mahogany colour. She was wearing an old Metallica T-shirt she begged Thomas to give her when she was 18 and a faded pair of blue denim cut-off shorts.

Glancing back at Christine, in her full Victorian dress with its full crinoline skirt and intricate up-swept hair, he smiled and handed her the picture.

"This my sister. She's a bit older than you..." He did not know what else to say. She's my sister and dresses like me and the rest of the world, so your theory must be wrong? No. It wasn't for him to say anything; she had to come up with the answers herself if she was to believe him.

Attempting to ease the difficulty of the situation, Thomas replied to her first query about her assumption about him being a miner.

"I take being assumed to be part of any profession a compliment, as most consider my no better than a drifter, and perhaps I'm not. But the people here scoff at musicians as silly people pursuing impossible dreams while lacking any ability to support their real life needs. At least being a miner indicates a steady income and a solid place in society. I live from lesson to lesson, in the hopes that I will be one of the few lucky few to achieve any kind of success."

He smiled wistfully, waiting for his companion to reply.

[Christine Daaé]

“Monsieur, with all due respect, in my experience, I have learned that things, in general, are quite less incredible than imagined...” She couldn't help her eyes darkening a bit with saying this. Yes. quite less incredible. Érik had made her realize that. Everything had an explanation, even Érik's tricks. And anything without an explanation didn't exist... Like the Angel of Music...

But then she looked at the picture he held before her and her brow furrowed. Was the person in that picture with him a young woman!? Her clothing and hair were highly inappropriate and Christine could not help but to be a bit offended by the sight. “This is your sister and you allow her to be seen dressed like that?” She could not help but to hide an expression of shock and repulsion.

She shook her head a little. This man was making less sense my the minute. “Monsieur, there is no shame in being a musician. My father was one of those musicians He was a 'drifter' as you say, and I am not ashamed of it in the slightest and neither was he. There is no shame in being a musician.”

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas laughed at Christine's disapproval. "Greta is a grown woman. She can do - and dress- as she pleases. In fact she has some friends that dress more questionably than she does." Thomas wrinkled his nose thinking of the girls Greta hung out with who wore short tight skirts and stripper heels on a regular basis.

"I told you, things have changed. I appreciate that you share my sentiments when it comes to music, but now-a-days most people value money and social status too much to give musicians any credit unless they are successful. It doesn't bother me too much, but perhaps I am too cynical about my situation."

Thomas stood up an walked over to the shelf of books closest to the door and returned his book of poems to its place. He was about to turn back when something caught his eye. Two stacks above the one that held the collection of Edgar Allen Poe poems and stories, was another set of books, very old, and it was the single title in French that caught his attention: Le Fantome de l'Opera. It was an original edition of the 1911 novel. Here in plain view for anybody to find. Thomas' brows furrowed as he contemplated his options. If the characters discovered the books, it would cause all kinds of havoc, even if they only thought it was some future documentation of the events they were in the midst of living. No, they weren't ready for that yet, if this Christine was any indication. He picked up the book and quickly slipped it behind the other and rearranged the shelf to look like there wasn't a volume missing. Silently praying that no one would look behind the books, he turned back and smiled at Christine again.

"I apologize for confusing you Mademoiselle," He said lightly, "Perhaps you would prefer to talk music, as it seems to be something we both have in common?"

[Christine Daaé]

Christine's expression turned to one of even greater shock and disgust when the man told her that his sister had some friends who dressed even more questionable than her. “Monsieur, why would any woman want to flaunt herself about like that if not for her profession? It most certainly is not very lady-like. I can most certainly understand if it is some sort of a costume, but one a regular day-to-day basis...” Christine shuddered at the thought of it. “It simply is not right!”

“Is music not to be respected?”By musicians of course. Christine knew that, although the French upper-class would attend performances, invite respected musicians to certain social events, acts as patrons and benefactors.... there was a fine line, governed by a set of unwritten rules as to what was acceptable and what was not. She and Raoul wanting to be married was one such example of what was not.

With these thoughts, Christine fell silent as the man went back to the shelves in order to return the book of Edgar Allen Poe which he had been previously reading. Oh Raoul... I wish I were there with you again... She sighed and looked back up, noticing that the an was smiling at her and offered a small smile in return.

“Yes, perhaps speaking of something we seem to have more in common with would be more wise, Monsieur Boehm. You say you are a musician, but what is it exactly do you play? Or is it singing which is more your forte?”

[Thomas Boehm]

Thomas might've have insulted at the suggestion thta his sister and her friends were prostitutes, but the ludicrousness of the situation, and Christine's polite disgust amused him.

"Really mademoiselle, if my sister wanted to flaunt herself, she'd wear something far tighter and shorter than her brother's old shirt."

He grinned fondly when she brought the conversation back to music, and asked him what he did.

"You say you are a musician, but what is it exactly do you play? Or is it singing which is more your forte?”

He laughed again. "My voice is less than flattering I'm afraid. I only sing when I am alone, while I am composing songs and and trying to string lyrics together. No, I am a cello player. Have been since I was a teenager actually, and I love it dearly."

Thomas smiled fondly as he thought of he cello neatly packed away in his little room, waiting for the day's practice and the online music lessons and sessions. He turned back to Christine.

"I take you do sing?" He asked, knowing full well who she was and what she did, but asking any way so as to be polite and not give away just how much he knew about the strange predicament they were all in...