Disclaimer ~ atada! I have a confession to make, I am ander lloyd webber posing as a sixteen year old girl writing about my own characters... yup.... that's right. All mine, since you know I am him...
Little fun loving note from me. Since were going by all Andy musical loverlieness appearances Meg will have lovely blonde locks unlike her gaston leroux origin who had black hair....
I want to know if more people want to have their stories posted on my site, the phantom phiction lair? if so emails me!
Oh I went to this site so I know the developement of babies so that I know Im not making her too old for her age... I research! aren't I an author
http://www.envisagedesign.com/ohbaby/develop.html
PART TWO: Return to the Night
Chapter Twenty-Three: Fall from Grace.
Once again
she is his . . .
Once again
she returns. . .
"I assume that Giry woman spent the night here again." Phillipe stated from behind him.
Raoul never looked up from the glass of brandy in front of him, he was staying at his brother's home, 10 kilometres away from the ruins of his estate.
"I'm not going to be so rude to send her late at night every time she visits." He said turning the glass in his hand. The study was his brothers but he had been spending more time in it the last few weeks since the death of his wife and child.
"It's not good for our name Raoul, people will talk." Phillipe sighed.
"Let them talk."
"You have to move on my brother, this is undignified behaviour."
"Have I ever really met up to your standards when it comes to dignity Phillipe?" Raoul asked he finally lifted his eyes from the glass, he looked outside where the sun shone bright for a change.
He kept staring out that bleak window as Phillipe came into his line of vision.
"It's also unhealthy." Phillipe said dropping his airy fa�ade.
Raoul looked back at his brandy, it was empty now. amazing how I mechanically drink now, he thought, I seriously cannot remember ever taken the last final sip of my poison.
slowly he took out his pocket watched and glanced at the time, it was only seven in the morning. Meg was still sleeping, soon he would have to escort her back to the opera, never mind her home. Most likely they would be late, as always and her mother would lecture about the etiquette of a dancer, and how she was not one. He knew how much her mother's words always hurt her so he might as well get her up now in the mere chance they would be on time.
He looked to Phillipe who was sitting in front of him. It was the first time he had looked at his brother really in a month, since the funeral. He had aged, the de Chagny blonde was slipping from his hair leaving it grey and old. Stern wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth far too quickly for his time. He was looking at Raoul with glassy eyes in desperation, like he was waiting. Waiting for Raoul to say something, anything to prove he would be ok. Phillipe had never been never a good actor, one of the many things he needed to be when a Comte. Raoul felt pity for the old man, he had always loved him, and Phillipe loved him. Otherwise he would not be here waiting for some sort of absolution something to quell his own fears. Something Raoul could not give him.
"It's time I take Megan home." Raoul said rising from his seat and leaving a distraught and lonely man behind him.
Oh how we have so much in common.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
Meg Giry. Are you a dancer?
Then come and
practice.
Megan sat directly across from Raoul as they rode into Paris. Her blonde tresses were falling around her. She was not a rich woman but she always took pride in what she wore. Unfortunately she rarely wore anything but ballet garb therefore she was never seen with some of her favourite dresses that she kept locked up at home.
That was until she started to see the Vicomte de Chagny ever Thursday evening. There was talk, like there always was, that she and him were courting. However the extent of their relationship was a few kind words and presence. She looked at him with her green eyes to see that he was still staring out the window in the carriage. Sighing silently she looked down to her gloved hands in her lap.
She began to wonder why they were spending time together. Was it because they both lost the dearest thing to them, he his wife, she her best friend? She wondered if it was to give the Vicomte a break from his liquor intake. He surely had fallen out of society rapidly and was rarely talk of unless in scandal. Some had the audacity to say that she and he planned for Christine to be murdered so they could have each other. Her heart burned in agony at the hate in those comments. She surely had been an aloof and naive person. However it was by choice, not by stupidity. She was not a dumb girl, she ignored the phantom of the opera, Christine's first love. She had known about their affair long before even Christine did. Angel of music? He most certainly was, playing his masterpieces on that majestic organ way down below the opera house so the sound would resonate up to her ears as she explored the catacombs underneath the opera house. She had heard her mother and him speak on more then one occasion, once even in her mother's apartment when she had been visiting overnight there.
Now both the famous lovers were dead leaving behind victims, non more shocked then the man in front of her. She remembered his smile, the way his blue eyes shone in the presence of Christine. Their wedding day, she was drunk but she did remember how they stunned all of society but lovingly danced freely in front of everyone. She remembered the happier times and wished with all her might that she could bring them back. Back for Raoul because seeing him like this pained her. She had heard through gossip that the family had not been so happy in the last few days of Christine's life. Nevertheless the ballet rats could say that the prince himself had ran away with a commoner and other such fairytales with such conviction that the king himself might send a party to look for his son. Truthfully she did not know what Christine's last days where like, she hadn't seen her since the one visit she had with her after Danielle's birth. Raoul had been away on business so she could not see how they reacted and therefore doubted the tale.
doubt as I do I could not muster enough courage to ask the one person I know to have that knowledge.
Raoul.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.
This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.
"Stop crying." Erik said to the baby squealing in his arms.
Well it was worth a shot, he thought as she continued to cry. Raising a child was so difficult. He had never thought it would be such a task.
"We are out of milk, I have to go get some tonight, I most certainly cannot leave now while number one, you are awake to scream, and number two it's light out. You will merely have to wait alright?" He said trying to reason with her as though she were an adult.
She continued to scream, only this time squirming around.
"Oh for the love of... here, Danielle? Dani?" He said trying to show her the music box he picked up. It was the first thing he could grab at and it was the papier-m�ch� musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, was the monkey in Persian robes with symbols.
"Watch..." He said hushing her and put the three-month-old girl down on the divan. For a moment he watched as she rolled onto her side and tried to do more. She was always moving he thought briefly to himself as she continued to babble and bawl. He wound up the musical box and placed it on the table in front of the divan, then he sat down and propped her in his lap.
"Masquerade, paper face on parade, hide your face till the world will never find you..." he sang softly behind the brown of the girl in front of him
"abana..." She gurgled and laughed as she tried to reach for the music box but was unsuccessful.
"Wamada?" She said looking at him with her blue eyes so very much like Christine.
"No, no touch." He said taking her little hands in his so she couldn't desperately reach for it.
Sighing she leaned back into him and watched as the monkey softly played the symbols. He rested his face gently against the top of her head.
Interesting, he thought, that cry was somewhat different from her usual. She's starting to change them for her needs.
He smiled happily proud of his keen sense of sound once more.
Even if I am not her father, maybe having her around won't be so hard after all.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Fall from Grace.
Once again
she is his . . .
Once again
she returns. . .
"I assume that Giry woman spent the night here again." Phillipe stated from behind him.
Raoul never looked up from the glass of brandy in front of him, he was staying at his brother's home, 10 kilometres away from the ruins of his estate.
"I'm not going to be so rude to send her late at night every time she visits." He said turning the glass in his hand. The study was his brothers but he had been spending more time in it the last few weeks since the death of his wife and child.
"It's not good for our name Raoul, people will talk." Phillipe sighed.
"Let them talk."
"You have to move on my brother, this is undignified behaviour."
"Have I ever really met up to your standards when it comes to dignity Phillipe?" Raoul asked he finally lifted his eyes from the glass, he looked outside where the sun shone bright for a change.
He kept staring out that bleak window as Phillipe came into his line of vision.
"It's also unhealthy." Phillipe said dropping his airy fa�ade.
Raoul looked back at his brandy, it was empty now. amazing how I mechanically drink now, he thought, I seriously cannot remember ever taken the last final sip of my poison.
slowly he took out his pocket watched and glanced at the time, it was only seven in the morning. Meg was still sleeping, soon he would have to escort her back to the opera, never mind her home. Most likely they would be late, as always and her mother would lecture about the etiquette of a dancer, and how she was not one. He knew how much her mother's words always hurt her so he might as well get her up now in the mere chance they would be on time.
He looked to Phillipe who was sitting in front of him. It was the first time he had looked at his brother really in a month, since the funeral. He had aged, the de Chagny blonde was slipping from his hair leaving it grey and old. Stern wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth far too quickly for his time. He was looking at Raoul with glassy eyes in desperation, like he was waiting. Waiting for Raoul to say something, anything to prove he would be ok. Phillipe had never been never a good actor, one of the many things he needed to be when a Comte. Raoul felt pity for the old man, he had always loved him, and Phillipe loved him. Otherwise he would not be here waiting for some sort of absolution something to quell his own fears. Something Raoul could not give him.
"It's time I take Megan home." Raoul said rising from his seat and leaving a distraught and lonely man behind him.
Oh how we have so much in common.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
Meg Giry. Are you a dancer?
Then come and
practice.
Megan sat directly across from Raoul as they rode into Paris. Her blonde tresses were falling around her. She was not a rich woman but she always took pride in what she wore. Unfortunately she rarely wore anything but ballet garb therefore she was never seen with some of her favourite dresses that she kept locked up at home.
That was until she started to see the Vicomte de Chagny ever Thursday evening. There was talk, like there always was, that she and him were courting. However the extent of their relationship was a few kind words and presence. She looked at him with her green eyes to see that he was still staring out the window in the carriage. Sighing silently she looked down to her gloved hands in her lap.
She began to wonder why they were spending time together. Was it because they both lost the dearest thing to them, he his wife, she her best friend? She wondered if it was to give the Vicomte a break from his liquor intake. He surely had fallen out of society rapidly and was rarely talk of unless in scandal. Some had the audacity to say that she and he planned for Christine to be murdered so they could have each other. Her heart burned in agony at the hate in those comments. She surely had been an aloof and naive person. However it was by choice, not by stupidity. She was not a dumb girl, she ignored the phantom of the opera, Christine's first love. She had known about their affair long before even Christine did. Angel of music? He most certainly was, playing his masterpieces on that majestic organ way down below the opera house so the sound would resonate up to her ears as she explored the catacombs underneath the opera house. She had heard her mother and him speak on more then one occasion, once even in her mother's apartment when she had been visiting overnight there.
Now both the famous lovers were dead leaving behind victims, non more shocked then the man in front of her. She remembered his smile, the way his blue eyes shone in the presence of Christine. Their wedding day, she was drunk but she did remember how they stunned all of society but lovingly danced freely in front of everyone. She remembered the happier times and wished with all her might that she could bring them back. Back for Raoul because seeing him like this pained her. She had heard through gossip that the family had not been so happy in the last few days of Christine's life. Nevertheless the ballet rats could say that the prince himself had ran away with a commoner and other such fairytales with such conviction that the king himself might send a party to look for his son. Truthfully she did not know what Christine's last days where like, she hadn't seen her since the one visit she had with her after Danielle's birth. Raoul had been away on business so she could not see how they reacted and therefore doubted the tale.
doubt as I do I could not muster enough courage to ask the one person I know to have that knowledge.
Raoul.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.
This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.
"Stop crying." Erik said to the baby squealing in his arms.
Well it was worth a shot, he thought as she continued to cry. Raising a child was so difficult. He had never thought it would be such a task.
"We are out of milk, I have to go get some tonight, I most certainly cannot leave now while number one, you are awake to scream, and number two it's light out. You will merely have to wait alright?" He said trying to reason with her as though she were an adult.
She continued to scream, only this time squirming around.
"Oh for the love of... here, Danielle? Dani?" He said trying to show her the music box he picked up. It was the first thing he could grab at and it was the papier-m�ch� musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, was the monkey in Persian robes with symbols.
"Watch..." He said hushing her and put the three-month-old girl down on the divan. For a moment he watched as she rolled onto her side and tried to do more. She was always moving he thought briefly to himself as she continued to babble and bawl. He wound up the musical box and placed it on the table in front of the divan, then he sat down and propped her in his lap.
"Masquerade, paper face on parade, hide your face till the world will never find you..." he sang softly behind the brown of the girl in front of him
"abana..." She gurgled and laughed as she tried to reach for the music box but was unsuccessful.
"Wamada?" She said looking at him with her blue eyes so very much like Christine.
"No, no touch." He said taking her little hands in his so she couldn't desperately reach for it.
Sighing she leaned back into him and watched as the monkey softly played the symbols. He rested his face gently against the top of her head.
Interesting, he thought, that cry was somewhat different from her usual. She's starting to change them for her needs.
He smiled happily proud of his keen sense of sound once more.
Even if I am not her father, maybe having her around won't be so hard after all.
Raoul never looked up from the glass of brandy in front of him, he was staying at his brother's home, 10 kilometres away from the ruins of his estate.
"I'm not going to be so rude to send her late at night every time she visits." He said turning the glass in his hand. The study was his brothers but he had been spending more time in it the last few weeks since the death of his wife and child.
"It's not good for our name Raoul, people will talk." Phillipe sighed.
"Let them talk."
"You have to move on my brother, this is undignified behaviour."
"Have I ever really met up to your standards when it comes to dignity Phillipe?" Raoul asked he finally lifted his eyes from the glass, he looked outside where the sun shone bright for a change.
He kept staring out that bleak window as Phillipe came into his line of vision.
"It's also unhealthy." Phillipe said dropping his airy fa�ade.
Raoul looked back at his brandy, it was empty now. amazing how I mechanically drink now, he thought, I seriously cannot remember ever taken the last final sip of my poison.
slowly he took out his pocket watched and glanced at the time, it was only seven in the morning. Meg was still sleeping, soon he would have to escort her back to the opera, never mind her home. Most likely they would be late, as always and her mother would lecture about the etiquette of a dancer, and how she was not one. He knew how much her mother's words always hurt her so he might as well get her up now in the mere chance they would be on time.
He looked to Phillipe who was sitting in front of him. It was the first time he had looked at his brother really in a month, since the funeral. He had aged, the de Chagny blonde was slipping from his hair leaving it grey and old. Stern wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth far too quickly for his time. He was looking at Raoul with glassy eyes in desperation, like he was waiting. Waiting for Raoul to say something, anything to prove he would be ok. Phillipe had never been never a good actor, one of the many things he needed to be when a Comte. Raoul felt pity for the old man, he had always loved him, and Phillipe loved him. Otherwise he would not be here waiting for some sort of absolution something to quell his own fears. Something Raoul could not give him.
"It's time I take Megan home." Raoul said rising from his seat and leaving a distraught and lonely man behind him.
Oh how we have so much in common.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
Meg Giry. Are you a dancer?
Then come and
practice.
Megan sat directly across from Raoul as they rode into Paris. Her blonde tresses were falling around her. She was not a rich woman but she always took pride in what she wore. Unfortunately she rarely wore anything but ballet garb therefore she was never seen with some of her favourite dresses that she kept locked up at home.
That was until she started to see the Vicomte de Chagny ever Thursday evening. There was talk, like there always was, that she and him were courting. However the extent of their relationship was a few kind words and presence. She looked at him with her green eyes to see that he was still staring out the window in the carriage. Sighing silently she looked down to her gloved hands in her lap.
She began to wonder why they were spending time together. Was it because they both lost the dearest thing to them, he his wife, she her best friend? She wondered if it was to give the Vicomte a break from his liquor intake. He surely had fallen out of society rapidly and was rarely talk of unless in scandal. Some had the audacity to say that she and he planned for Christine to be murdered so they could have each other. Her heart burned in agony at the hate in those comments. She surely had been an aloof and naive person. However it was by choice, not by stupidity. She was not a dumb girl, she ignored the phantom of the opera, Christine's first love. She had known about their affair long before even Christine did. Angel of music? He most certainly was, playing his masterpieces on that majestic organ way down below the opera house so the sound would resonate up to her ears as she explored the catacombs underneath the opera house. She had heard her mother and him speak on more then one occasion, once even in her mother's apartment when she had been visiting overnight there.
Now both the famous lovers were dead leaving behind victims, non more shocked then the man in front of her. She remembered his smile, the way his blue eyes shone in the presence of Christine. Their wedding day, she was drunk but she did remember how they stunned all of society but lovingly danced freely in front of everyone. She remembered the happier times and wished with all her might that she could bring them back. Back for Raoul because seeing him like this pained her. She had heard through gossip that the family had not been so happy in the last few days of Christine's life. Nevertheless the ballet rats could say that the prince himself had ran away with a commoner and other such fairytales with such conviction that the king himself might send a party to look for his son. Truthfully she did not know what Christine's last days where like, she hadn't seen her since the one visit she had with her after Danielle's birth. Raoul had been away on business so she could not see how they reacted and therefore doubted the tale.
doubt as I do I could not muster enough courage to ask the one person I know to have that knowledge.
Raoul.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.
This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.
"Stop crying." Erik said to the baby squealing in his arms.
Well it was worth a shot, he thought as she continued to cry. Raising a child was so difficult. He had never thought it would be such a task.
"We are out of milk, I have to go get some tonight, I most certainly cannot leave now while number one, you are awake to scream, and number two it's light out. You will merely have to wait alright?" He said trying to reason with her as though she were an adult.
She continued to scream, only this time squirming around.
"Oh for the love of... here, Danielle? Dani?" He said trying to show her the music box he picked up. It was the first thing he could grab at and it was the papier-m�ch� musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, was the monkey in Persian robes with symbols.
"Watch..." He said hushing her and put the three-month-old girl down on the divan. For a moment he watched as she rolled onto her side and tried to do more. She was always moving he thought briefly to himself as she continued to babble and bawl. He wound up the musical box and placed it on the table in front of the divan, then he sat down and propped her in his lap.
"Masquerade, paper face on parade, hide your face till the world will never find you..." he sang softly behind the brown of the girl in front of him
"abana..." She gurgled and laughed as she tried to reach for the music box but was unsuccessful.
"Wamada?" She said looking at him with her blue eyes so very much like Christine.
"No, no touch." He said taking her little hands in his so she couldn't desperately reach for it.
Sighing she leaned back into him and watched as the monkey softly played the symbols. He rested his face gently against the top of her head.
Interesting, he thought, that cry was somewhat different from her usual. She's starting to change them for her needs.
He smiled happily proud of his keen sense of sound once more.
Even if I am not her father, maybe having her around won't be so hard after all.
This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.
Well it was worth a shot, he thought as she continued to cry. Raising a child was so difficult. He had never thought it would be such a task.
"We are out of milk, I have to go get some tonight, I most certainly cannot leave now while number one, you are awake to scream, and number two it's light out. You will merely have to wait alright?" He said trying to reason with her as though she were an adult.
She continued to scream, only this time squirming around.
"Oh for the love of... here, Danielle? Dani?" He said trying to show her the music box he picked up. It was the first thing he could grab at and it was the papier-m�ch� musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, was the monkey in Persian robes with symbols.
"Watch..." He said hushing her and put the three-month-old girl down on the divan. For a moment he watched as she rolled onto her side and tried to do more. She was always moving he thought briefly to himself as she continued to babble and bawl. He wound up the musical box and placed it on the table in front of the divan, then he sat down and propped her in his lap.
"Masquerade, paper face on parade, hide your face till the world will never find you..." he sang softly behind the brown of the girl in front of him
"abana..." She gurgled and laughed as she tried to reach for the music box but was unsuccessful.
"Wamada?" She said looking at him with her blue eyes so very much like Christine.
"No, no touch." He said taking her little hands in his so she couldn't desperately reach for it.
Sighing she leaned back into him and watched as the monkey softly played the symbols. He rested his face gently against the top of her head.
Interesting, he thought, that cry was somewhat different from her usual. She's starting to change them for her needs.
He smiled happily proud of his keen sense of sound once more. Even if I am not her father, maybe having her around won't be so hard after all.