Forums » General Roleplay » Music In The Night {1x1 with Limeface}

The Laroche Theater was a rather imposing building and it stood in contrast with the rest of the block as it was larger than any other building on the block. Rain came pouring from the sky, drenching anyone that was unlucky enough to be caught outside without an umbrella or other cover from the rain. A carriage pulled up in front of the theater and out of it stepped one girl and she went running up the steps of the theater, carrying her one suitcase and one other smaller bag with her. She made it up to the front door without getting too terribly soaked and she pushed the door open.

As the door slammed shut behind her, the owner of the theater, an old family friend of the girls, came running over. "Gracious! I didn't think you'd come here in this kind of weather." The man shook his head as he took the girls bag and suitcase from her.

"I didn't have much of a choice, Mr. Atkins." The girl shrugged a little, trying to not shiver from the cold rain. "The train arrived early and I didn't know of any other place to go to wait for the rain to stop."

"Ah. Well. It's good to see you either way. I hope you are faring well? Considering the loss of your mother... I'm sure it's been difficult for you." Mr. Atkins said. "Oh, and your room is this way, if you will follow me." He turned and started walking down a side hallway of the theater.

"It's been hard. But, I'm adjusting. I'm very thankful that you were willing to offer me a place to stay when I saw you at the funeral. If you hadn't offered me a place, I don't know what I would do. After all, the house is a bit large for just one person. But under the circumstances, I sold it and most of the furniture. I did keep some things and they'll be delivered later in the week." She said, brushing her golden brown hair out of her face, as she followed him closely.

"Of course. I couldn't imagine leaving you to putter about all alone in that house." He said shaking his head. The hallway lead rather deep into the bowels of the theater, and then up some stairs to a room that was up on the second floor. It wasn't a huge room, but it was large enough to fit several pieces of a furniture, including a bed, and still have enough room for the girl to move around easily. "This is it." He set the suitcase down on the floor and the bag on the desk. "I'll give you some time to get settled in. If you need anything, I will be in the auditorium, watching the rehearsals for our latest opera." With that said, he left her alone.

The girl sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room silently. She took it all in. There were no windows, but there was a large mirror on one wall. Her brown eyes focused on the mirror for a moment. It was a rather nice mirror. But the strange thing was that it was hard to tell if it was on the wall, or built into the wall.

The Laroche Theatre could have easily been understood to be a structure made to be as straightforward as any others. There would be enough space for the visitors and the actors, whether it be on stage or not, but beyond the dark theatre walls was more space than anyone could remember existing. Entire passages only known to the man who lived in that hidden world.

He had heard voices, one from one he did not recognize. A new singer he supposed. Silently, he descaled the rafters, joined the company and listened, -- on the other side of the stone. He didnt catch a name, but by the weight of Mr. Atkin's steps up those old wood steps, made it clear that the fair voice intended to stay in the theatre.

For a while. He was not pleased. The more the Theatre brought in more outsiders, more people to try and improve the Theatre's reputation the more the hidden man became angry. The director had poor taste in singers, none were qualified enough for his standards. The world was ignorant to the dreadful prima donnas of the past, did not see the lack of enthusiasm and spirit on stage, and so the man, the Phantom acted.

The Phantom, a cute name gossip he had earned over his stay at the Theatre, felt justice had to be done. And no outsider far out of town could bring the Theatre into glory. No-one. The phantom drew back a curtain, to gaze through the one-sided mirror into the room the new prima would stay. How could she be anything of worth to the Theatre! His face grimaced. What could she bring with her colorless hair and featureless face?

The girl eventually moved from the bed to unpack her things. Among the first things to come out of her suitcase was a series of posters from operas. The prima of each one was the same. Annabel Hunniford. Once the girl had hung the posters, she stood back to look at them. "Well. Here I am, Mother. In Mr. Atkin's theater. I just hope I can somehow make you proud." She stared at the posters for a while. Her stomach turning at the thought of being onstage.

While her mother had been a talented and renowned actress... she was terrified of the stage. The idea of standing on stage with lights and people staring was just frightening. "I wish I was brave." She mumbled to herself, before resuming unpacking.

Since she was alone, or so she thought, she sang softly to herself as she unpacked. The song was a rather famous one, from a well known opera. She remembered it from when her mother had sung it. Her voice wasn't horrible, she did miss some notes, and there were times when she was obviously off-key. But any master's ear would recognize the hidden potential and possibility of a truly talented singer.

After missing a few notes, she stopped. "I really hope Mr. Atkins doesn't think I'll be performing... m-maybe I'll get a silent role." That was something to hope for. Some plays had silent roles. At least then no one would notice if she was utterly frightened.

Leaning closer into the mirror, the Phantom watched her carefully drape a poster on the wall beside the mirror. He could not see the image, but the affectionate way she spoke to the paper indicated that she was following in her mother's footsteps. This made the Phantom even more disturbed about the appearance of a new singer. Obligation only brought singers who were compelled to sing. Expectations would only bring ruin to the Opera.

Her lack in her own voice also distressed him. He could hear her soft humming, the subtle evidence of a voice that perhaps, truly, had potential. However her voice and spirit' lack of confidence shook any authority she might have had to stay at the Opera house.

"Is that what you wish?" he hummed with his head raised to disguise the location to his voice. "A silent voice in the Opera? Foolish girl! The throne of angels has no need for the speechless songs of birds. The Opera, is not for quiet little girls. But those who yern to sing!" his echoing song ended in a sharp and bitter note.

The sound of a voice startled the girl into complete silence. She looked around, seeking the source, but found nothing and no one. The words of the voice made her feel a little ashamed of herself. It spoke the truth. Someone like her didn't belong in an Opera house. But did she really have any other choice?

If she didn't live here... and pay back her living expenses... where would she go? What most didn't know was her mother had to be trained intensively before she could sing... and in the same way, so would Miriela have to be.

After several moments of thinking, she responded cautiously. "Who is there? Or am I just alone? Has my mind, once more fooled me to believe, that I am not alone?" She got a little choked up for a moment, struggling with the notes. "Is it an angel or a demon? I do not know." For a moment she paused, before trying to continue. "If you're an angel, I beg you, teach me. I know my voice is not good, but my heart is trying."

His head arched slightly. She did not recognize him? Did not wonder if he was the possible and dark phantom? Truly he was no simple stranger in the Laroche Opera, no mere rumor that only was spred by the inexperienced dancers. At first the Phantom was a tad irritated that Mr. Atkin's had not warned her, this clearly frightened and cornered mouse, but then a cruel, bent smile split the darkness.

"Alone in the Opera? Again you speak of the impossible, for I always am here. The angel of music, the guardian of the Opera, the judge of song and spirit for all who dream!" His enthusiasm he could not hide in his voice.

"Teach you?" his voice stopped. Yes, her eyes glistened with determination, and her chest raced. With fear or ambition he could not tell. But he did not care. She clearly dreamed the dream but had not the power to grant it. The Phantom did, but her appearance at the Opera still angered him. "Can you even dare to stand up tall and high, your voice, yearning to break free? Feel, show me your passion! For what Angel would bother with an indolent priest?"

Mr. Atkins had probably neglected to tell her because the last thing he needed was having an already timid girl be frightened and leave. He didn't like having to constantly search for new Primas because the Phantom scared most of them away.

The voice's words were both frightening and yet, they gave her a sense of hope. She wasn't sure if he was a guardian angel, or an angel of wrath and judgement. But, an angel was an angel in the long run, right? His demand to see her passion made her tremble a little. Passion? It dawned on her, while she had a deep love for music, her fear had overwhelmed her passion. Her fear of failure and not being good enough diminished her ability to express her passion.

Cautiously, she straightened up. While her voice was still imperfect, there was a renewed fire in her. "Angel of Music, please, I beg thee. Teach me to find the music within and train my voice to sing your art with passion!"

Her distressed voice discomforted him, not because of her desperation, but because of what she had decided to call him. His mysterious voice was singing to a child who has already dreamed in song, played in melodies of the musical soul. And yet her spirit was as silent as the stone that held up the Opera itself. The child now looked to the heavens in salvation -- to him, the one who had judged her insufficient. An angel? Him? The Phantom of the Opera? The dark and twisted man, born by hate, and who sent many to their graves by the wave of his hand?

His heart looked to the light her voice called, her gleaming hope. It momentarily turned him away, but he did not leave. She was different from the other singers. Those selfish prima's who have believed themselves to be brighter than a candle. The sincerity of this young lady, her trust in him, will outshine them all!

"Young child, pray, tell me your name? I will hear you, I will come whenever you call. Come when all surrounds you and sinks you into silence. For I am your Angel of Music, bearer of music' flame. Do not feel any shame when you sing, for I will destroy that once and for all." he said soothingly.

Maybe it was blind of her to trust a faceless stranger, but she wanted so badly to learn. And if he would teach her, she would do her best to bring glory to him for teaching her. She didn't need fame, but she did want to make her mother proud. And if that meant relying on someone else to train her, and accepting fame, she would do it. But she would make sure to point back to her teacher, the true genius and artist. He was the one with the voice of an angel, she was simply his student. And perhaps, she would get the chance to sing for him and make him proud.

His soothing words and melody brought her a sense of peace, and hope. "Miriela." She responded, feeling no need to glorify her own name by singing it.

The Phantom smiled weakly. He, the orchestrator of beauty, shall free the voice of this young lady. A quiver shook his body cold with anxiety, reminding him of the last person who wished to learn from him -- the other teacher of the Opera, the one who merely decorated the stage with personified flowers. Lady Margaret Ward, the last one to have dared to look to him for guidance, and if, in fact misplaced, his attention and protection silenced any protest.

She was so innocent. "Miriela." His voice hummed into silence.

Steps rang in his ears. He had to flee! And so he did, looping his hand around one of the many webs he had spun in the shadows, he disappeared.

Three sharp knocks struck Miriela's door. It was in fact the ballet teacher, the dance choreographer for the opera. "Lady Miriela?" Her stern voice, worn by years of shouting instructions and giving orders, called out to the Phantom's new apprentice.