Brimstone (MORT!)

[Christine Daaé]

It was early the next morning, before the sun had even come up, that Christine had rushed to the one place where she thought she could be safe there in that Hell house: the little chapel she had visited quite frequently and had worked much on restoring. Surely there of all places could at least serve as sanctuary from all of the evil spirits and demons she had come across within the confines of the manor.

She was dressed all in black and wearing a black lace veil as well. It looked almost as if she were dressed to attend a funeral, or a wake. Her eyes were dim and dork shadows hung around them as they glanced back and forth, scanning her surroundings as she walked on, whispering under her breath a little prayer of protection as she moved. These halls she did not trust, and the sooner that she could make her way to the chapel, the sooner she would be safe.

Se let out a little sigh of relief when she finally was able to make it there, and closed the heavy doors behind her, afterward , she moved east toward the front of the chapel and knelt down in front of the alter, making the sign of the cross and bowing her head.

[Erik Mortuis]

He didn't know where he was going, where he was, anything. The man was stuck in oblivion, and there was no notion towards possible deliverance that he could find. The new world, which could very well be a different level of hell he though, was one he didn't take so kindly to. The ghost had met one person, a man, and at that quickly decided from what little he'd seen that the place was not one for him. So he hid, attempting to discover a way back...to his frustration, it was to no avail.

The masked man took refuge in the shadows almost immediately upon his arrival, the cold unfeeling air which drowned his senses in ebony clouds gave more comfort in its familiarity than anything that he saw in the horrible light...and there he remained, until it could be withstood no more. Until the whispers escalated into screams. Until the lingering eyes began to glare. Darkness was always with him, following, speaking, seeming like a caged animal in its sick attempt to copy life, it was the Ghost's curse to hear the guttural vibrations it made and see its never ending shades of black clouds that billowed about...because, darkness is everywhere, always, light only chases it away for but a moment.

Curiosity had eventually caught hold of the man-- Erik --and he began watching those people in the Manor, although when observing from shadows everything is not always so clear. Slowly, over time, he’d step into the world here and again, but then leave as soon as discomfort set in, or someone began to approach. That seemed to be the cycle, until that day he was in the chapel…

It was quite a curious thing, you see, a Ghost in the house of god. All seemed to be quite peaceful, it was quiet, solidated…very dead really. Nothing, though, brought peace to the agitated Spirit. He was seated at the far side of the chapel's pews at the time, leaning over, staring at the floor, near the shadows of course-- he was always near, if not in the black nothingness. The figure's mind reeled as thoughts flashed about in different strategies on how to return to the place which he called his own. The 'Paris Opera House'. It was about that time when the sound of closing door donned throughout the air and the woman walked by. To him it was quite a frustration thing that someone always had to disturb him and his solitude which he was quite keen upon. Habit to take his leave shined through, but he stopped once noticing those 'godly gestures'.

Pale yellow eyes darkened as a black figured flickered between opacities. Staying where he sat the man leaned back into the chair, remaining silent, watching a moment longer until speaking--

"...You're wasting your time."

[Christine Daaé]

Christine trembled as she knelt there in front of the altar. The black lace veil she was wearing obscured the frightened expression on her face, which was accompanied by silent tears. You'll be safe here. He cannot find you. He cannot find you... She repeated that over and over in her head as she began to pray.

“O my God, in union with the Immaculate Heart of Mary,” she said, then went to kiss her scapular, but found it to be missing. She gave a little sigh in frustration. She knew that she had been forgetting something... Then she continued on. “I offer Thee the Precious Blood of Jesus from all the altars throughout the world, joining with It the offering of my every thought, word and action of this day. O my Jesus, I desire to day to gain every indulgence and merit I can and I offer them, together with myself, to Mary Immaculate, that she may best apply them in the interests of They Most Sacred Heart. Precious Blood of Jesus, save us! Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us! Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!

My loving Jesus, out of the grateful love I bear Thee, and to make reparation for my unfaithfulness to grace, I give Thee my heart, and I consecrate myself wholly to Thee; and with Thy help I purpose never to sin again. Dear Lord, I could never vie with Thee in generosity, but I love Thee; deign to accept my poor heart, and though it is worth nothing, yet it may become something by Thy grace. Since it loves Thee, do Thou make it good and take it into Thy custody.

I will extol Thee, O God, my King, and I will bless Thy Name forever and ever.

Take O Lord, all my liberty. receive my memory, my understanding and my whole will. All that I am, all that I have, Thou hast given me, and I restore it all to Thee, to be disposed of according to Thy good pleasure. Give me only Thy love and Thy grace; with these I am rich enough, and I desire nothing more.”

She heard a man's voice and stopped.

'...You're wasting your time.'

She pursed her lips together and took the moment to wipe away a few of her tears before replying to him, keeping her back turned. “If you had seen what I have seen, you would not think so...”

[Erik Mortuis]

The shadows began to pulsate as her prayer continued, and a small shiver ran down the ghost spine. He clenched his teeth though and pushed that feeling away, thinking nothing of it as of that moment as all his attention was locked onto the figure.

A mocking gruff of a sardonic chuckle escaped the man upon hearing the little woman’s words. He couldn’t help the disapproving shake of his head as he laid his hands on the church pew and stood to his feet. In all honesty, Erik would have, once again as he’d done on other numerous occasions, not taken mind to one's ‘holy nature’ and left as a burst of ebony cloud at that moment. But, rare challenge grew within him and he’d decided to take hold of that opportunity for talk…sacrilegious, or not, it may be…

“Oh, come now, Madame! I’ve been through much, but let’s not compare tragedy to tragedy.” He started with a scoff, the whisper of fabric rustling as he walked, sliding his gloved hand along the pew, “But still, certainly such prayer-- evoked by frightful despair I wouldn’t doubt” the ashen gaze regarded the little Thing’s form momentarily once again, “truly it needn’t be in search for a ‘sympathetic god’.”

[Christine Daaé]

((Suckish post is suckish. I'm so sorry at how short this is x.x ))

Christine face was hardened with emotion as she half listened to the man, her hands trembling and wringing in and out of their folded position, her back still turned. The terrors of the evening before were still fresh in her mind, and they had prevented her from sleep.

“Why not?” She asked weakly.

[Erik Mortuis]

Slow moving orbs of pale gleaming hues loomed themselves curtly away from the woman’s form as the man’s touch lost itself from the church pews, and he at once wrapped his arms over his chest in an unamused fashion. His steps slowed, but failed to cease from those near dragging steps that eased themselves to the center walk way of decored runnings, as he continued that languid advance to the small female. Faith in those celestial beings, whether it be God, Allah, Buddha, Lucifer, Kali, or Lilith, were utterly lost in his eyes-- faith itself, in most all things aside from his own-self, were but a comical joke of the imagination; as a child’s whispered slumber-story.

A long, slow breath hissed itself through his teeth, hitting the inner front of his emotionless mask in a muffled breath of air, while a creeping smirk which managed to find itself half-forced and half-amused from incredulousness at the simple inquiry-- ‘WHY NOT?’, well, should the answer not be so simple as to presumed, Cherie!? How childish those fancies of yours seem! Ignorant is your mind! --lingered and formed itself to meet with that tight lipped scowl. The masked man with gleaming eyes of ashen death snickered breathlessly, shaking his head with slight movements; holding the impeccable air of superior mordancy!

“Well...for one, to put it frankly Madame, it is in fact quite foolish.” His tone offered the distasteful mark of a mocker’s lilt that hinted towards the faint taste of sarcasm which tipped his tongue in those coldly used remarks with aerial ease of those blatant antagonists spoken in the books of the Lord, “Though, of course, why should I be listened to on my ideas of what you might perhaps see as ‘blasphemy’...”

[Christine Daaé]

Her terror-glazed blue eyes caught sight of the rather ghastly figure approached her. The black lace of her veils fell over and around her face, shielding her somewhat from his gaze. She was so very frightened… not of him, but in general. Her recent encounter, though it had been rather frightening when she looked back on it, despite her dangerous naïveté to the scenario as it was occurring.

“Is it so very foolish to hope for something better than what is on this earth?” The girl folded her hands in and out, wringing them in a sort of endless anxiety. “If you wish to do nothing more than to stand there and mock me for having my faith, then why are you here?”

[Erik Mortuis]

He scoffed. Well wasn't she the pious creature? Those pale orbs only glanced about her form for a moment or so before wrenching themselves away and casting itself upon the building and its furnishings instead. Automatically he looked towards the darker areas of the room, the shadows. The phantom could almost feel those faint palpitations within the small spots of black or greyish voids. The pulse they gave were nearly at the same rate his heart’s beat would dance, and he hated such facts. The man was quite for but a moment, but it was long enough to be taken as hesitation. Once collecting back his mind he retorted sullenly.

“What you see is what you get, Madame.” The man nearly spat out his last words, though honestly more irritated by his own thoughts then the woman herself-- truly, what viable reason did he have to be irritated at her for? “Also, I was in fact here before you; because of that, I see no reason to leave.”

[Christine Daaé]

The young girl wrung her hands in distress as she sat there, kneeling before the altar in the little chapel. She had come here with the hope of finding sanctuary—with the hope of being safe from the terrors of the Manor itself, but this man, whomever he was, was not helping her situation any. Little tears formed in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she sat there, huddled up and hiding behind the security of her veils.

“This is a holy place…. Please, if you have come here to do nothing but to mock others for their faith, then what purpose do you have for staying? Please… Please, all I want is peace,” she said in a soft, somewhat tearful voice. Her eyes lifted to the crucifix hung above the alter, and she crossed herself, before gazing back down and folding her hands again.

[Erik Mortuis]

If there was anything else that she could do to simply set him more on edge, it was to bring tears into the picture! The fact that they were forming at the rims of those blue orbs had escaped his own eyes, but the sound had reached him clearly. A sense of frustration had begun to bloom from within at this knowledge he had then possessed, mingled with the faint obnoxious essence of discomfort. He wasn't sure, for a moment, whether to shake his head and scoff once more, or leave the church at that moment. Pride told him one thing; the ever weakening voice of conscience told him another.

“I would presume,” he stated after a moment, not looking her way as of yet but shifting at where he had stood (neither nearer nor farther away, however), “that most who come here wish for the very same thing.”

[Christine Daaé]

The girl was clearly distressed, particularly given the situation the evening before. Her head still hurt from the wine she had consumed, and she didn’t feel all too well. It wasn’t only a physical illness, but a psychological one as well. She felt almost… violated. That her privacy could so easily be invaded and her trust so easily taken advantage of…. It was disturbing, really.

She hadn’t felt like such since she’d first learned that there were people listening behind the door of her dressing room, or hiding behind the mirror and watching her… But now…. Now, being tricked, taken advantage of, and quite frankly put into a rather questionable and dangerous situation… Now what could she be sure of at all?

She nodded in silence, her tears quietly rolling down her cheeks, when the dark figure of a man stated that it must be the reason why most people come into the chapel: to find peace… “Then I’d venture to say that you were correct…”

[Erik Mortuis]

Uncaring. That was, perhaps, the best word to describe how Erik took the situation he was in. Though the phantom had expressed little concern before, it vanished; perhaps with the same swift speed as it did came on. The ghost hadn't the interest to look the woman's way again, so he continued to look on-wards...to the crucifix that hung on the walls as a shrine for the god-worshipers who wandered in hapless need of comfort.

Through clenched teeth he muttered, sardonic in his words and manner, though managing to take the moment with a smirk while giving the slightest shake of his head.

“...no. I would hardly venture that far. Of course, there are many different reasons for peace. For examples sake, my reason for peace would hardly reduce me to tears.”

[Christine Daaé]

The shadowy figure was now in front of her, before the crucifix which hung over the altar. She looked up a little at him with soggy blue eyes and black lace veils partially hiding her pale face. She was confused—confused by his constant change in sentiments. She had agreed… and yet he then went on to deny his own statement?

He really was rather strange outside of being blasphemous, whoever he was. “Does it really make so much difference whether one is seeking peace from something which causes them tears or not? Do you find it wrong for someone to cry when they have been upset by something?”

[Erik Mortuis]

“...now that you say it as that...yes, actually. I do find it wrong.” His voice snapped. The folded fingers at his right clenching in sporadic motions as he looked to God’s shrine; did He find it wrong too? Perhaps so, Erik mused...it was, without a doubt, in moments as those when most humans would attempt contact with the sadistic Spirit. God must tire of their cries also.

The ghost’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, perhaps giving sign of the smirk which snaked itself onto his lips. With minuscule effort for movement, he shrugged. Amusement entered the sardonic lilt, lightening it momentarily , as he spoke with abrupt continuation to his previous words“Could you imagine this world if every person sobbed when conflicted or upset...it would be flooded.”

[Christine Daaé]

Christine was beginning to grow quite vexed with this particular man. It seemed that any time the two of them managed to find even the most remote basis for agreement, he would go off and change his mind on a whim, almost as if it were only for the sake of disagreement with her.

“Do you find some sort of pleasure in mocking my pain?” she asked in a soft and yet tearful voice, weak from fatigue. “What is your purpose for remaining here, since it would seem that you do not wish to search for peace?”