01-15-2012, 05:12 PM
First and foremost: Tell us about yourself, as a player: My name is Rachel, I'm almost 16 years old. I love to game and roleplay, it is one of my hobbies. I roleplay on a manner of places, including chats, IMVU, and rpg games. I am kind and curteous to other players, and I absolutely despise god modding. I always try to switch it up, acomplish then fail, to make it fair.
What country do you come from?What is your primary language?:I would be from the U.S. and I speak English.
Howdid you get into Warcraft?: Close friends of mine play it, a lot of them do, and they got me into playing it. I always love to play RPG games, and doing quests, and being the character makes it so much more fun.
What made you seek our server over others?(Or how did you find us?): A friend of mine (well, my boyfriend) uses this site and knew I liked to rp and I loved WoW so he told me about this site and such so I decided to check it out and make a profile.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?: any type of roleplay, really, that has to do with fantasy, mostly, anything that is fictional is on my list, other types of roleplays are okay, but they're not on my top priority list.
What is your favorite race/class?Why?: A Blood Elf Hunter, because I believe that the Blood Elves are the most interesting, that I have more fun playing as a Blood Elf Hunter, than any other race or class. As for the class, I love being a hunter, using a bow and such, being close to nature, to tame creatures, and be in alliance with a beast.
What are your expectations of this server?: That hopefully people will be curteous and kind, and that there will be strict rules about roleplay, and god modding will be prohibited.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?: I would have to say it's the one about respect.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!: The streets of Paris, at night, dark and dusty, not a welcoming home to young men with no life ahead of them, it's just another reminder of how dank and dismal their life is, compared to one with a future on their shoulders. For them, it's just an obstacle to overcome, a time where they're fending for themselves, on a path that they probably hadn't taken for a long time, or at least, not alone. Darkness is where the abandoned, and the mad, thrive. They rarely leave the depths of their hovels, of their dark homes, to prey on others within the light, and the newcomers are barely allowed refuge till they prove themselves.
That's what happened to him; to the Phantom. He abandoned the Opera House, abandoned the hope of whatever life he thought he could have had, if the Phantom had actually gained the heart and love of Christine, but whatever could have been was no longer his goal. He didn't look for anymore than what he had then. Eric, as was his name, just trudged forward, through the darkened streets of Paris, with no idea of what he was to do. In his own mind, he had no life left to live, he had no reason to live.
Eric found himself, hanging on his last breath, curled up in the corner of an alley way, with only a tattered suit, and a black cloak for apparel. What he had for hair, was tangled and out every which way, he had just, simply stopped caring. His face, distorted from birth, was covered by the shadow of the hood of his cloak, and the former Phantom took another feeble breath, as he glanced up, to look at the lunar light from the moon above.
His breath showed in the cold air, a white cloud of mist from his parched lips. He had so far not eaten or drank anything for a few days now, having no will left to live. As it was, Eric could barely lift his head, to look about when he heard the cry of a creature not far off from his spot, and his voice barely left his lips, as the deformed young man attempted to whisper a tune to brighten his spirits.
The former Phantom hadn't wanted to leave the Paris Opera House, but what else does one do when one is chased by an angry mob, or one does not want to be reminded every day of what could have been? He hadn't wanted to leave, and even then, when Eric had ran from his lair under the Opera House, he hadn't strayed far from it.
The darkened alley that he had stumbled into was merely across the street from the House, Eric just couldn't find the will to leave it fully. It was both his curse and his miracle, it's what kept the dying man from breaking. The Paris Opera House had been his home for years, and had given him a sense of life, of power, but since the incident with Christine.. The man didn't even want to remember that day, he didn't want to remember her, nor Raoul, nor any of the occurring in the Opera House in that fateful year. The only real person who had ever talked to him was Madame Giry, and even then, she had also been afraid of him.
Eric was tired of killing, he was tired of being hated, that was the entire reason he had wanted Christine. He saw how compassionate she was, how kind, he wanted someone like that to love him, but the former Phantom had been to forward, he had killed, and done many wrongs, to get Christine, and in the end, he still failed to have her as his own. The young man just lied there in the darkened alley, waiting for his time to come, knowing it was soon.
He thought, of what it would be like, to be free from the chains of his deformity form, to finally be free from all of those that loathed him. Eric's thoughts took up so much of his attention, that he scarcely noticed the few people that were quitting the Opera House at that very moment. Two of them, being Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg.
The young dancer was bundled up in a blue petticoat, muff, and a cap on top of the long brown head of curls she had. Meg's shoes tapped softly on the cobblestone, though even that didn't break Eric from his thoughts, or his faint singing. The notes had still yet to travel far from his lips, and even if they managed to, it would have barely reached the ears of any being on a normal day.
Given the circumstances, it wasn't a normal day, as it was, it wasn't day at all. It was a crisp clear night, and even though the sound of his song was faint, it still carried down the alley, and across the cobblestone to the ears of Meg.
The young woman picked up her head, given she'd been looking down at the ground beneath her as she walked beside her mother, and looked about. She glanced at Madame Giry, and upon pulling a hand from her muff and tapping her mothers shoulder gently with her forefinger.
The older woman turned to her, opening her mouth to speak, but Meg gently laid her finger over her own lips, motioning for her mother to be silent, which in turn did make her mom a little bit furious, but she kept quiet, as she saw Meg listening. Madame Giry didn't seem to hear it, and she still looked slightly annoyed with her child, as the young girl turned away from her mother and walked quickly across the cobblestone, towards the source of the music. Madame Giry sighed in exasperation, arms crossed over her chest, and the toe of her shoe tapping on the cold ground.
Meg looked back at her mother, with a pleading glance, before she peaked off down into the alleyway, her emerald green eyes widening as she saw the curled up, figure of a man. She could just barely see the form of his lips moving in the shadow, as he faintly sang.
The music that came forth from his lips was sorrowful, and pulled at the sadness of her being, making her take another step towards him, casting more shadows across the dimly lit alley, the moon was coming up from the side, making it so that half of her face was lit up by the lunar light.
It had been another minute at least, before he stopped singing, though was still deep in thought, and so took her only a few seconds to find the courage to speak up. "Excuse me, Monsieur? Are you alright?"
As soon as she had spoken, Eric's head had snapped up and was looking at her, his multicolored eyes shining in the night, though she still had a hard time seeing the deformed side of his face. Meg's heart stopped in her chest, as she stood there, staring at him for a long minute, almost unable to breath. She had felt captivated by his singing minutes before, but now that he had stopped, and that he knew she was there, she was frozen with what she found to be fear and wonder.
Eric looked at her, his eyes, both of them, wide in fear and anger. This was one of them, one of the people that had chased after him in his lair, one of the ones that tried to kill him. He leapt up from his spot on the ground, hand outstretched to grab her.
The mans sudden jump caused Meg to scream in fright, stumbling back from him. Her fear was only spurred even more as she caught a glimpse of the part of his face that had been previously shadowed. Meg backed up into the cobblestone, and into her mother. Her scream hadn't drawn any more attention then that of Madame Giry. The older woman caught Meg, her face filled with concern as she pulled her away from Eric, who had actually landed on the cobblestone, and was lying facedown. He'd been so weak, that his leap at Meg had used up whatever energy he had had left.
Madame Giry looked at the man then at Meg, a questioning look across her face. "Oh, Madame. I.. I'd heard him singing, and was curious.. W-when I spoke up, he stared, before leaping towards me.." she trailed off, as her mother knelt beside the unconscious man, lifting his head and rolling him over slightly.
The young dancer looked away as she heard her mother gasp in surprise, already knew what she had seen, but she hadn't known at any point in that night that it had formerly been the Phantom that haunted the Opera House. She heard Madame Giry mumble something before she hefted the thin man up, his face covered by his cloak hood.
"Meg," her mother said solemnly, "go fetch the carriage. Tell the driver to come on over here immediately. We're going home." the older woman glanced down at Eric as he lay in her arms, limp.
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Sunlight filtered down through the shaded windows of Madame Giry's house, causing the light to bounce around her living room decor softly. Madame Giry was in the kitchen, bustling around and getting things ready, trying to keep the others in her house hold from seeing the man that lie on the couch in the living room.
She had Meg watch over him, dabbing his brow once and a while with a damp cloth, to help take cool him down, being that he hadn't eaten or drank for days now, it gave him a fever. Eric's breathing was labored, and his skin was burning hot to the touch. The basin on the table beside her was at least half way full now, given she'd filled it three quarters of the way, and had been using it since daybreak to try to take down his fever.
Madame Giry brought in a plate of food, half of it for Meg, the other for if the former Phantom awoke and wanted food, though she was sure that as soon as Eric did wake, he would freak out, probably get hysterical. The older woman glanced at her daughter, half worried for the fact that she knew that her daughter probably didn't know who this man is, though Madame Giry knew him from an instant.
She had told her daughter about the Phantom, and about how she had helped him. She couldn't quite frankly remember if she had depicted the Phantom to her, not that it would have done much good; Madame Giry had only seen his deformed face once before, and she could scarcely remember the brief second she'd seen it. Now that she had seen it again, it was all coming back to her, and she remembered all of it.
Her daughter took the utmost care in taking care of Eric, and Madame Giry's heart swelled with joy and pride as she saw Meg take care of the young man. Previous the night before she had been captivated then frightened by the same man, whose face had been gruesomely disfigured from birth, though Meg seemed to look down upon his mangled face with a soft care, that made her mother even more happy.
Madame Giry didn't know how long it would be until Eric woke up, and at this rate, she frankly didn't want him awake. He had killed many in the Opera House, he had threatened many lives, and she didn't want her own daughter to be threatened as well.
Meg looked up from her work, smiling faintly at her mother. "I'll be fine," she spoke softly, so as not to wake up their unconscious guest, "I'll call for you if he wakes, or if I need anything."
Madame Giry nodded to the young dancer, "I expect you to," her tone had an air of pride in it, as she walked from the living quarters and back into the kitchen, to set the maids straight. Meg looked back down at her patient, dabbing his forehead and cheeks again with the damp cloth in her small hand.
Her face softened as she saw him squirm and his hands twitch, the mans own face written with pain. "What a nightmare you must be having," Meg cooed soothingly, her voice very soft, because she hadn't wanted to wake him, little known that he was actually waking.
As soon as the sound of her voice reached his ears, he had lashed out and grabbed her wrist, as it had meant to descend back down upon his brow to cool him off. She yelped, tensing up immediately, attempting to move away from him, but the former Phantoms grip was tight on her arm. She squirmed, trying to get free, but all it got her was almost falling onto the floor of the living room, making him sit up in result.
A minute or two passed without a word passing between them, and Meg, paralyzed with fear, and from the strong grip of his hand, just stared at him, unable to do anything else. Meg saw the young mans lips move, and him faintly say, "Nightmare..." least, that's what she thought she heard.
The young dancer rested her hand on his, and the grip loosened. Eric lied back down, staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving, though no sound emitted from them. She gently removed her wrist from his grip, standing back up, and dipping the cloth in the basin of water and moving back over to him, squeezing the drops into his open mouth.
Eric could feel it; the water trickling through his parched lips, and down his dry throat, revitalizing him, making it so that he felt more awake, less sick. Meg could also see this and smiled faintly, which didn't help Eric at all, given that now he felt less weak, some of his sense came back and get sat up again, once more gripping Meg's wrist in his hand. His eyes scanned her face and what remained of the lip on the deformed side of his face rose a little in a growl. "Why do you bother to heal these wounds of the sickened. Why pity a foolish wretch?" his voice was still ragged from disuse.
Meg blinked a few times, not as scared the second time her wrist had been grabbed, and she didn't want to scream again, as well; she could already hear her mother making her way through the house. "Because," the young woman rested her hand on his once again, removing his hand from her arm, "I'm not cruel, unlike others." The dancer reached up and dabbed Eric's forehead with the cloth again, just as her mother bustled into the room, concern written across her face until she saw the former Phantom.
Eric saw her before glancing away, shame creeping up his being. Madame Giry set her hands on her hips. "So our guest has awoke," she said, a bit coldly, given she'd heard Megs cry, and had no idea of what might have happened to cause it.
The former Phantom frowned a little, looking at Madame Giry, attempting to pull up the hood of his cloak to cover his deformed side, only to find that he wasn't wearing it. "You're clothes are being washed," the older woman spoke quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "And you're quite lucky that you've Meg here to care for you, otherwise you wouldn't be alive."
He looked from Meg to Madame Giry, glaring at her a little, "Why do you think I was that weak, you think it was involuntary? I wan--" he looked away, thoroughly annoyed. Meg's face softened once more and she reached out to rest a hand on his arm. Eric flinched away, but she continued forward, resting it down, trying to reassure him.
He looked at Meg, feeling his anger start to ebb away at her touch, and he looked at her with wonder, then down at her hand, before back at her face. She smiled a little when he looked at her, causing him to glance away, and his cheeks become as crimson as the roses that rested in the vase beside the basin.
Meg herself began to blush, but she ignored it, causing her cheeks to return once more to their pale color. She dabbed his forehead one last time before she set the cloth down. Meg had been sitting on the edge of the couch, where Eric lay, and she glanced at him, "Are you hungry, miste-- umm--.." she felt her cheeks heating up, ashamed she hadn't asked previous of what his name was.
The young man seemed to take a minute, as if he didn't remember his name. "Eric," he spoke quickly after she did, the edge of his lip twitching up as if for a smile, but he abandoned the thought of it, "and n--" he had been about to decline her offer when his stomach rumbled loudly. He sighed, giving in, "fine, yes, please."
Meg nodded, smiling slightly as she took the tray from the other side table, looking over the contents of the tray. It had a couple bowls of soup on it, and a sandwich for Meg, herbs adorning the sides of the tray to put into the soups if needed. She picked up the smaller bowl, handing it to him. She had scarcely set it in his hands when he almost dropped it, almost sloshing hot soup over him.
The young dancer looked at him with concern, holding it, and taking the spoon for him. He reached for it, but she shook her head. "No," Meg said, as she dipped the spoon into the liquid, bringing it up and blowing on it a little, to cool it off a little, before pushing it slowly towards him, feeding him herself.
Eric's face went from complete embarrassment, to both complete embarrassment and annoyance, with a childish pout over his expression. He didn't like it that he was being babied, but the young man didn't have much of a choice, given he'd seen how weak he was at simply holding the bowl itself.
The former Phantom opened his mouth around the spoon, bringing his lips down on it and taking the soup into his jaw, waiting a second before swallowing it. His face lit up with surprise, and he panted a little. "Hot." he mumbled.
Meg smiled wider and attempted to stifle her giggle, "that's why I'm blowing on it." she said, amusement sparking in her eyes at his surprise. "It's not that hot, is it?" she had a harder time keeping the giggle out of her tone this time.
Eric shook his head a little, "I-It tastes good." he spoke up more this time, and he saw Madame Giry stand up straighter out of the corner of his eye as Meg fed him another spoonful.
Feeding Eric like this continued for a while more, before the conversed, mostly about what had happened to him after the mob found no man down by the lake. He explained to them about up to where he had gotten out into the streets till his eyelids started to droop, and he sank back down onto the couch, where Madame Giry left Meg to cover him with a blanket and let him sleep through the night till next noon day.
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This happened for days, Eric would wake up and be greeted by Meg, who in turn would talk to him, soon after helping him get clean, feeding him, all eventing up into his slow recovery. Every day further, Meg saw his face light up a tiny bit, more and more, and especially as soon as he had spotted her.
By the end of the week, his stomach had grown back used to eating food so much, that he was then able to eat other foods than liquids, such as sandwiches that either Madame Giry or Meg would make, and slowly, but surely, making it so that he was able to digest most food without getting sick.
Madame Giry rarely came in anymore, except for when she would check on Meg and Eric, observing how happy he would get each time that her daughter took care of him, or sat and conversed, as well as observing how sad he got, whenever Meg had to leave.
Meg left rarely, as it was, but when they did have to go, say for rehearsal at the Opera House, the older woman could tell that Eric tried to cover up his disappointment, and sadness, probably because he'd be without company for hours. Whenever Meg and Madame Giry weren't there, she locked the living room, or told the maids to stay strictly out of there.
Eric was slowly becoming strong again, which made Meg happy, along with Madame Giry, and it came to the dance instructors attention that he should probably start walking soon.
"If you don't get up and try to walk," the older woman said to Eric, while Meg was helping him with his shirt, "then you may not be able to walk ever again. Your body gets used to whatever you do most, and if you lie there the rest of your life, then you'll never be able to walk easily."
As soon as Madame Giry had proclaimed it, he knew it to be true, and so was what began the walking practice. Meg was the one who usually did it, when she wasn't practicing dance herself, and started out by making him move his legs, just a little, stretching them each day so that he could use them. She did this for a few days, before she ever made him stand up, and even then, she took him no further than the edge of the oval carpet that circled the couch by a meter.
Days passed, and Eric was progressing into the part where he could walk almost anywhere around the living quarters without Megs help, though he insisted that she hold his hand, just in case.
Madame Giry knew that the young man no longer needed help, but she let Meg believe it, knowing that it made both of them happy, and that Eric would tell Meg soon enough the real reason for his choice.
Eric liked seeing Meg, whenever she got the chance to see him, and upon one of the times she had to leave to go to rehearsal and practice dance at the Opera House, he asked her something.
"Meg," the young man began; he was doing his stretches, standing up then sinking to a crouch before standing back up again, "do you think that," he stopped for a minute, standing up fully, and looking at her, "maybe you could practice dance in here, next time? I-I mean," he began to stammer, "I'm just curious as to what type of routine your mother has you doing." A faint smile adorned his half-deformed lips at the end of his statement, and he just stood there, in a black, button up shirt, and brown trousers. His hair had been growing back a bit, and was no longer white and wispy, it was now a light blonde, and grew over his head just enough that it covered it, but was still thin enough to see through.
The young dancer looked up, she'd been putting on her coat, her muff hanging around her neck, and her cap in her hands. A small smile crept upon her lips as she nodded, "Sure, Eric, I don't see why not." She walked over to him and took his hands in hers, causing his cheeks to flush, as they had back all those days ago when she'd first touched and smiled at him. "But for now, I must go to rehearsal. I'll be back, same time, and I'll see you then. Au revoir." And with that, she kissed him once on each cheek, before quitting the room.
Madame Giry could tell quite easily of Eric's fondness for Meg, and if he had been the man that he was back at the Opera House, she wouldn't have allowed it, but given the fact, that she had seen him act differently than how he had acted back at the Opera House, she was letting it slide. He was a different person now, Madame Giry could tell, one that cared for other people, that had compassion. That's why Eric cared for Meg, that's why he liked her, because she had shown him compassion, and had nursed him back to health.
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It became more and more clear to Eric, just what Meg meant to him. She had cared for him when he was sick, and she was more than friend, at least, to him she was. He always brightened up when she was around, and, of course, saddened when she left. She brought him life, instead of death, and he began to believe that he knew what exactly he was living for, now.
It was one of those days, he was walking around the room, really more of pacing, because he was contemplating his options. Eric glanced at Meg once and a while, as she sat on the couch, needle and thread in hand, doing the embroidery her mother had instructed her to do.
The young man gulped, running a hand quick over his wispy hair, still pacing. Meg looked up from her work, a faint smile upon her lips. "There are other places then the carpet that you can walk on, Eric." her tone had a teasing air to it, causing his deformed face to light up, and a smile to cross over him. He nodded, walking over to Meg and reaching out his hands, for her to take them.
"Only, if you'll go with me, Meg, dear." the young dancers cheeks flushed crimson when he called her that, and she nodded, setting down the embroidery, and taking his hands, letting him pull her up.
He did so with enough strength that she sprung up, falling into his arms. He held her there, for a second, both of them embarrassed, but neither wanting to move. The two had hugged each other before, but not like this.
Eric looked down at her and smiled slightly, lifting up her chin a little so that she'd be looking back at him. Megs own lips were spread with a smile as soon as her eyes caught sight of his. Neither one needed to say anything, as he pulled her up into a full embrace, with his lips across hers, with the devotion they both shared.
He knew that this was where he now belonged, he had no where else to go, no where else he was wanted. At least here, in Madame Giry's house, he could live in peace, and in love. He wasn't ever the Phantom, the Phantom was just an obstacle for him to overcome, same as the death he faced in the alleys, both were just bumps in the road, that he had overcome, with the help of Meg.
Everyone needs their hope, and Eric had found his.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify? No, I am all set, and cannot wait to start roleplaying!
What country do you come from?What is your primary language?:I would be from the U.S. and I speak English.
Howdid you get into Warcraft?: Close friends of mine play it, a lot of them do, and they got me into playing it. I always love to play RPG games, and doing quests, and being the character makes it so much more fun.
What made you seek our server over others?(Or how did you find us?): A friend of mine (well, my boyfriend) uses this site and knew I liked to rp and I loved WoW so he told me about this site and such so I decided to check it out and make a profile.
What kinds of roleplay do you enjoy?: any type of roleplay, really, that has to do with fantasy, mostly, anything that is fictional is on my list, other types of roleplays are okay, but they're not on my top priority list.
What is your favorite race/class?Why?: A Blood Elf Hunter, because I believe that the Blood Elves are the most interesting, that I have more fun playing as a Blood Elf Hunter, than any other race or class. As for the class, I love being a hunter, using a bow and such, being close to nature, to tame creatures, and be in alliance with a beast.
What are your expectations of this server?: That hopefully people will be curteous and kind, and that there will be strict rules about roleplay, and god modding will be prohibited.
Out of all of our rules and regulations listed on our server, which appeals to you the most?: I would have to say it's the one about respect.
Lastly, tell us a story! It can be short, it can be long; but most importantly, we want to see your work in action. Go!: The streets of Paris, at night, dark and dusty, not a welcoming home to young men with no life ahead of them, it's just another reminder of how dank and dismal their life is, compared to one with a future on their shoulders. For them, it's just an obstacle to overcome, a time where they're fending for themselves, on a path that they probably hadn't taken for a long time, or at least, not alone. Darkness is where the abandoned, and the mad, thrive. They rarely leave the depths of their hovels, of their dark homes, to prey on others within the light, and the newcomers are barely allowed refuge till they prove themselves.
That's what happened to him; to the Phantom. He abandoned the Opera House, abandoned the hope of whatever life he thought he could have had, if the Phantom had actually gained the heart and love of Christine, but whatever could have been was no longer his goal. He didn't look for anymore than what he had then. Eric, as was his name, just trudged forward, through the darkened streets of Paris, with no idea of what he was to do. In his own mind, he had no life left to live, he had no reason to live.
Eric found himself, hanging on his last breath, curled up in the corner of an alley way, with only a tattered suit, and a black cloak for apparel. What he had for hair, was tangled and out every which way, he had just, simply stopped caring. His face, distorted from birth, was covered by the shadow of the hood of his cloak, and the former Phantom took another feeble breath, as he glanced up, to look at the lunar light from the moon above.
His breath showed in the cold air, a white cloud of mist from his parched lips. He had so far not eaten or drank anything for a few days now, having no will left to live. As it was, Eric could barely lift his head, to look about when he heard the cry of a creature not far off from his spot, and his voice barely left his lips, as the deformed young man attempted to whisper a tune to brighten his spirits.
The former Phantom hadn't wanted to leave the Paris Opera House, but what else does one do when one is chased by an angry mob, or one does not want to be reminded every day of what could have been? He hadn't wanted to leave, and even then, when Eric had ran from his lair under the Opera House, he hadn't strayed far from it.
The darkened alley that he had stumbled into was merely across the street from the House, Eric just couldn't find the will to leave it fully. It was both his curse and his miracle, it's what kept the dying man from breaking. The Paris Opera House had been his home for years, and had given him a sense of life, of power, but since the incident with Christine.. The man didn't even want to remember that day, he didn't want to remember her, nor Raoul, nor any of the occurring in the Opera House in that fateful year. The only real person who had ever talked to him was Madame Giry, and even then, she had also been afraid of him.
Eric was tired of killing, he was tired of being hated, that was the entire reason he had wanted Christine. He saw how compassionate she was, how kind, he wanted someone like that to love him, but the former Phantom had been to forward, he had killed, and done many wrongs, to get Christine, and in the end, he still failed to have her as his own. The young man just lied there in the darkened alley, waiting for his time to come, knowing it was soon.
He thought, of what it would be like, to be free from the chains of his deformity form, to finally be free from all of those that loathed him. Eric's thoughts took up so much of his attention, that he scarcely noticed the few people that were quitting the Opera House at that very moment. Two of them, being Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg.
The young dancer was bundled up in a blue petticoat, muff, and a cap on top of the long brown head of curls she had. Meg's shoes tapped softly on the cobblestone, though even that didn't break Eric from his thoughts, or his faint singing. The notes had still yet to travel far from his lips, and even if they managed to, it would have barely reached the ears of any being on a normal day.
Given the circumstances, it wasn't a normal day, as it was, it wasn't day at all. It was a crisp clear night, and even though the sound of his song was faint, it still carried down the alley, and across the cobblestone to the ears of Meg.
The young woman picked up her head, given she'd been looking down at the ground beneath her as she walked beside her mother, and looked about. She glanced at Madame Giry, and upon pulling a hand from her muff and tapping her mothers shoulder gently with her forefinger.
The older woman turned to her, opening her mouth to speak, but Meg gently laid her finger over her own lips, motioning for her mother to be silent, which in turn did make her mom a little bit furious, but she kept quiet, as she saw Meg listening. Madame Giry didn't seem to hear it, and she still looked slightly annoyed with her child, as the young girl turned away from her mother and walked quickly across the cobblestone, towards the source of the music. Madame Giry sighed in exasperation, arms crossed over her chest, and the toe of her shoe tapping on the cold ground.
Meg looked back at her mother, with a pleading glance, before she peaked off down into the alleyway, her emerald green eyes widening as she saw the curled up, figure of a man. She could just barely see the form of his lips moving in the shadow, as he faintly sang.
The music that came forth from his lips was sorrowful, and pulled at the sadness of her being, making her take another step towards him, casting more shadows across the dimly lit alley, the moon was coming up from the side, making it so that half of her face was lit up by the lunar light.
It had been another minute at least, before he stopped singing, though was still deep in thought, and so took her only a few seconds to find the courage to speak up. "Excuse me, Monsieur? Are you alright?"
As soon as she had spoken, Eric's head had snapped up and was looking at her, his multicolored eyes shining in the night, though she still had a hard time seeing the deformed side of his face. Meg's heart stopped in her chest, as she stood there, staring at him for a long minute, almost unable to breath. She had felt captivated by his singing minutes before, but now that he had stopped, and that he knew she was there, she was frozen with what she found to be fear and wonder.
Eric looked at her, his eyes, both of them, wide in fear and anger. This was one of them, one of the people that had chased after him in his lair, one of the ones that tried to kill him. He leapt up from his spot on the ground, hand outstretched to grab her.
The mans sudden jump caused Meg to scream in fright, stumbling back from him. Her fear was only spurred even more as she caught a glimpse of the part of his face that had been previously shadowed. Meg backed up into the cobblestone, and into her mother. Her scream hadn't drawn any more attention then that of Madame Giry. The older woman caught Meg, her face filled with concern as she pulled her away from Eric, who had actually landed on the cobblestone, and was lying facedown. He'd been so weak, that his leap at Meg had used up whatever energy he had had left.
Madame Giry looked at the man then at Meg, a questioning look across her face. "Oh, Madame. I.. I'd heard him singing, and was curious.. W-when I spoke up, he stared, before leaping towards me.." she trailed off, as her mother knelt beside the unconscious man, lifting his head and rolling him over slightly.
The young dancer looked away as she heard her mother gasp in surprise, already knew what she had seen, but she hadn't known at any point in that night that it had formerly been the Phantom that haunted the Opera House. She heard Madame Giry mumble something before she hefted the thin man up, his face covered by his cloak hood.
"Meg," her mother said solemnly, "go fetch the carriage. Tell the driver to come on over here immediately. We're going home." the older woman glanced down at Eric as he lay in her arms, limp.
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Sunlight filtered down through the shaded windows of Madame Giry's house, causing the light to bounce around her living room decor softly. Madame Giry was in the kitchen, bustling around and getting things ready, trying to keep the others in her house hold from seeing the man that lie on the couch in the living room.
She had Meg watch over him, dabbing his brow once and a while with a damp cloth, to help take cool him down, being that he hadn't eaten or drank for days now, it gave him a fever. Eric's breathing was labored, and his skin was burning hot to the touch. The basin on the table beside her was at least half way full now, given she'd filled it three quarters of the way, and had been using it since daybreak to try to take down his fever.
Madame Giry brought in a plate of food, half of it for Meg, the other for if the former Phantom awoke and wanted food, though she was sure that as soon as Eric did wake, he would freak out, probably get hysterical. The older woman glanced at her daughter, half worried for the fact that she knew that her daughter probably didn't know who this man is, though Madame Giry knew him from an instant.
She had told her daughter about the Phantom, and about how she had helped him. She couldn't quite frankly remember if she had depicted the Phantom to her, not that it would have done much good; Madame Giry had only seen his deformed face once before, and she could scarcely remember the brief second she'd seen it. Now that she had seen it again, it was all coming back to her, and she remembered all of it.
Her daughter took the utmost care in taking care of Eric, and Madame Giry's heart swelled with joy and pride as she saw Meg take care of the young man. Previous the night before she had been captivated then frightened by the same man, whose face had been gruesomely disfigured from birth, though Meg seemed to look down upon his mangled face with a soft care, that made her mother even more happy.
Madame Giry didn't know how long it would be until Eric woke up, and at this rate, she frankly didn't want him awake. He had killed many in the Opera House, he had threatened many lives, and she didn't want her own daughter to be threatened as well.
Meg looked up from her work, smiling faintly at her mother. "I'll be fine," she spoke softly, so as not to wake up their unconscious guest, "I'll call for you if he wakes, or if I need anything."
Madame Giry nodded to the young dancer, "I expect you to," her tone had an air of pride in it, as she walked from the living quarters and back into the kitchen, to set the maids straight. Meg looked back down at her patient, dabbing his forehead and cheeks again with the damp cloth in her small hand.
Her face softened as she saw him squirm and his hands twitch, the mans own face written with pain. "What a nightmare you must be having," Meg cooed soothingly, her voice very soft, because she hadn't wanted to wake him, little known that he was actually waking.
As soon as the sound of her voice reached his ears, he had lashed out and grabbed her wrist, as it had meant to descend back down upon his brow to cool him off. She yelped, tensing up immediately, attempting to move away from him, but the former Phantoms grip was tight on her arm. She squirmed, trying to get free, but all it got her was almost falling onto the floor of the living room, making him sit up in result.
A minute or two passed without a word passing between them, and Meg, paralyzed with fear, and from the strong grip of his hand, just stared at him, unable to do anything else. Meg saw the young mans lips move, and him faintly say, "Nightmare..." least, that's what she thought she heard.
The young dancer rested her hand on his, and the grip loosened. Eric lied back down, staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving, though no sound emitted from them. She gently removed her wrist from his grip, standing back up, and dipping the cloth in the basin of water and moving back over to him, squeezing the drops into his open mouth.
Eric could feel it; the water trickling through his parched lips, and down his dry throat, revitalizing him, making it so that he felt more awake, less sick. Meg could also see this and smiled faintly, which didn't help Eric at all, given that now he felt less weak, some of his sense came back and get sat up again, once more gripping Meg's wrist in his hand. His eyes scanned her face and what remained of the lip on the deformed side of his face rose a little in a growl. "Why do you bother to heal these wounds of the sickened. Why pity a foolish wretch?" his voice was still ragged from disuse.
Meg blinked a few times, not as scared the second time her wrist had been grabbed, and she didn't want to scream again, as well; she could already hear her mother making her way through the house. "Because," the young woman rested her hand on his once again, removing his hand from her arm, "I'm not cruel, unlike others." The dancer reached up and dabbed Eric's forehead with the cloth again, just as her mother bustled into the room, concern written across her face until she saw the former Phantom.
Eric saw her before glancing away, shame creeping up his being. Madame Giry set her hands on her hips. "So our guest has awoke," she said, a bit coldly, given she'd heard Megs cry, and had no idea of what might have happened to cause it.
The former Phantom frowned a little, looking at Madame Giry, attempting to pull up the hood of his cloak to cover his deformed side, only to find that he wasn't wearing it. "You're clothes are being washed," the older woman spoke quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "And you're quite lucky that you've Meg here to care for you, otherwise you wouldn't be alive."
He looked from Meg to Madame Giry, glaring at her a little, "Why do you think I was that weak, you think it was involuntary? I wan--" he looked away, thoroughly annoyed. Meg's face softened once more and she reached out to rest a hand on his arm. Eric flinched away, but she continued forward, resting it down, trying to reassure him.
He looked at Meg, feeling his anger start to ebb away at her touch, and he looked at her with wonder, then down at her hand, before back at her face. She smiled a little when he looked at her, causing him to glance away, and his cheeks become as crimson as the roses that rested in the vase beside the basin.
Meg herself began to blush, but she ignored it, causing her cheeks to return once more to their pale color. She dabbed his forehead one last time before she set the cloth down. Meg had been sitting on the edge of the couch, where Eric lay, and she glanced at him, "Are you hungry, miste-- umm--.." she felt her cheeks heating up, ashamed she hadn't asked previous of what his name was.
The young man seemed to take a minute, as if he didn't remember his name. "Eric," he spoke quickly after she did, the edge of his lip twitching up as if for a smile, but he abandoned the thought of it, "and n--" he had been about to decline her offer when his stomach rumbled loudly. He sighed, giving in, "fine, yes, please."
Meg nodded, smiling slightly as she took the tray from the other side table, looking over the contents of the tray. It had a couple bowls of soup on it, and a sandwich for Meg, herbs adorning the sides of the tray to put into the soups if needed. She picked up the smaller bowl, handing it to him. She had scarcely set it in his hands when he almost dropped it, almost sloshing hot soup over him.
The young dancer looked at him with concern, holding it, and taking the spoon for him. He reached for it, but she shook her head. "No," Meg said, as she dipped the spoon into the liquid, bringing it up and blowing on it a little, to cool it off a little, before pushing it slowly towards him, feeding him herself.
Eric's face went from complete embarrassment, to both complete embarrassment and annoyance, with a childish pout over his expression. He didn't like it that he was being babied, but the young man didn't have much of a choice, given he'd seen how weak he was at simply holding the bowl itself.
The former Phantom opened his mouth around the spoon, bringing his lips down on it and taking the soup into his jaw, waiting a second before swallowing it. His face lit up with surprise, and he panted a little. "Hot." he mumbled.
Meg smiled wider and attempted to stifle her giggle, "that's why I'm blowing on it." she said, amusement sparking in her eyes at his surprise. "It's not that hot, is it?" she had a harder time keeping the giggle out of her tone this time.
Eric shook his head a little, "I-It tastes good." he spoke up more this time, and he saw Madame Giry stand up straighter out of the corner of his eye as Meg fed him another spoonful.
Feeding Eric like this continued for a while more, before the conversed, mostly about what had happened to him after the mob found no man down by the lake. He explained to them about up to where he had gotten out into the streets till his eyelids started to droop, and he sank back down onto the couch, where Madame Giry left Meg to cover him with a blanket and let him sleep through the night till next noon day.
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This happened for days, Eric would wake up and be greeted by Meg, who in turn would talk to him, soon after helping him get clean, feeding him, all eventing up into his slow recovery. Every day further, Meg saw his face light up a tiny bit, more and more, and especially as soon as he had spotted her.
By the end of the week, his stomach had grown back used to eating food so much, that he was then able to eat other foods than liquids, such as sandwiches that either Madame Giry or Meg would make, and slowly, but surely, making it so that he was able to digest most food without getting sick.
Madame Giry rarely came in anymore, except for when she would check on Meg and Eric, observing how happy he would get each time that her daughter took care of him, or sat and conversed, as well as observing how sad he got, whenever Meg had to leave.
Meg left rarely, as it was, but when they did have to go, say for rehearsal at the Opera House, the older woman could tell that Eric tried to cover up his disappointment, and sadness, probably because he'd be without company for hours. Whenever Meg and Madame Giry weren't there, she locked the living room, or told the maids to stay strictly out of there.
Eric was slowly becoming strong again, which made Meg happy, along with Madame Giry, and it came to the dance instructors attention that he should probably start walking soon.
"If you don't get up and try to walk," the older woman said to Eric, while Meg was helping him with his shirt, "then you may not be able to walk ever again. Your body gets used to whatever you do most, and if you lie there the rest of your life, then you'll never be able to walk easily."
As soon as Madame Giry had proclaimed it, he knew it to be true, and so was what began the walking practice. Meg was the one who usually did it, when she wasn't practicing dance herself, and started out by making him move his legs, just a little, stretching them each day so that he could use them. She did this for a few days, before she ever made him stand up, and even then, she took him no further than the edge of the oval carpet that circled the couch by a meter.
Days passed, and Eric was progressing into the part where he could walk almost anywhere around the living quarters without Megs help, though he insisted that she hold his hand, just in case.
Madame Giry knew that the young man no longer needed help, but she let Meg believe it, knowing that it made both of them happy, and that Eric would tell Meg soon enough the real reason for his choice.
Eric liked seeing Meg, whenever she got the chance to see him, and upon one of the times she had to leave to go to rehearsal and practice dance at the Opera House, he asked her something.
"Meg," the young man began; he was doing his stretches, standing up then sinking to a crouch before standing back up again, "do you think that," he stopped for a minute, standing up fully, and looking at her, "maybe you could practice dance in here, next time? I-I mean," he began to stammer, "I'm just curious as to what type of routine your mother has you doing." A faint smile adorned his half-deformed lips at the end of his statement, and he just stood there, in a black, button up shirt, and brown trousers. His hair had been growing back a bit, and was no longer white and wispy, it was now a light blonde, and grew over his head just enough that it covered it, but was still thin enough to see through.
The young dancer looked up, she'd been putting on her coat, her muff hanging around her neck, and her cap in her hands. A small smile crept upon her lips as she nodded, "Sure, Eric, I don't see why not." She walked over to him and took his hands in hers, causing his cheeks to flush, as they had back all those days ago when she'd first touched and smiled at him. "But for now, I must go to rehearsal. I'll be back, same time, and I'll see you then. Au revoir." And with that, she kissed him once on each cheek, before quitting the room.
Madame Giry could tell quite easily of Eric's fondness for Meg, and if he had been the man that he was back at the Opera House, she wouldn't have allowed it, but given the fact, that she had seen him act differently than how he had acted back at the Opera House, she was letting it slide. He was a different person now, Madame Giry could tell, one that cared for other people, that had compassion. That's why Eric cared for Meg, that's why he liked her, because she had shown him compassion, and had nursed him back to health.
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It became more and more clear to Eric, just what Meg meant to him. She had cared for him when he was sick, and she was more than friend, at least, to him she was. He always brightened up when she was around, and, of course, saddened when she left. She brought him life, instead of death, and he began to believe that he knew what exactly he was living for, now.
It was one of those days, he was walking around the room, really more of pacing, because he was contemplating his options. Eric glanced at Meg once and a while, as she sat on the couch, needle and thread in hand, doing the embroidery her mother had instructed her to do.
The young man gulped, running a hand quick over his wispy hair, still pacing. Meg looked up from her work, a faint smile upon her lips. "There are other places then the carpet that you can walk on, Eric." her tone had a teasing air to it, causing his deformed face to light up, and a smile to cross over him. He nodded, walking over to Meg and reaching out his hands, for her to take them.
"Only, if you'll go with me, Meg, dear." the young dancers cheeks flushed crimson when he called her that, and she nodded, setting down the embroidery, and taking his hands, letting him pull her up.
He did so with enough strength that she sprung up, falling into his arms. He held her there, for a second, both of them embarrassed, but neither wanting to move. The two had hugged each other before, but not like this.
Eric looked down at her and smiled slightly, lifting up her chin a little so that she'd be looking back at him. Megs own lips were spread with a smile as soon as her eyes caught sight of his. Neither one needed to say anything, as he pulled her up into a full embrace, with his lips across hers, with the devotion they both shared.
He knew that this was where he now belonged, he had no where else to go, no where else he was wanted. At least here, in Madame Giry's house, he could live in peace, and in love. He wasn't ever the Phantom, the Phantom was just an obstacle for him to overcome, same as the death he faced in the alleys, both were just bumps in the road, that he had overcome, with the help of Meg.
Everyone needs their hope, and Eric had found his.
Is there anything else you would like to add, ask, or otherwise clarify? No, I am all set, and cannot wait to start roleplaying!