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fellowshippers2005-08-02 09:21 pm
tinkerbell-may.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-08-02 09:21 pm
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Title: The Phantom of the Opera, 2/?
Author: Tinkerbell
Pairing: Viggorli, eventually
Warnings: Angst, deformity, AU
Rating: All over NC-17. This part not, though.
Summary: Orlando is a talented young singer in a Parisian Opera. He learns the true meaning of beauty and love by a strange encounter.
Disclaimer: My apologies, this is not true. Damnit.
Feedback: I need it like oxygen, the comment-whore that I am.
Someone was watching him.
Orlando felt a strange gaze on himself, even though the room was empty.
He felt restless. His first performance was just minutes away. He knew he could sing the opera through by heart, but what if he was no good? What if all of his dreams would shatter tonight?
Orlando got up, walked in front of a mirror ad gently touched the surface.
“I’ll do fine.” He reassured himself out loud.
“Oui, ma cherie. You will do fine. Better yet, you will excel.”
Orlando jerked. He took a few steps back, his brown eyes as platters.
“Who is that?”
“I am… a friend.” The voice whispered. Orlando was not sure if he was going insane.
“Where are you?”
“Around you. Just the way I love to be.”
Orlando took a few more steps back, glancing around. He didn’t see anyone, but the voice did sound like it was floating all around the room. His heart beat like a hammer, his hands shook. He wasn’t usually scared of anything, because in this world there wasn’t too much to be scared of. When you have nothing to loose, you’re not too easily scared. The only things he was even worried about were his dream to sing and Lynette.
“Don’t be afraid. I am not here to harm you.”
The young man paused, sat slowly on a chair and folded his hands to his lap.
“Why are you here then?”
“To wish my jewel the best on his big night.”
“Jewel?” Orlando stared at his hands. “I’m hardly a jewel. I’m just a poor boy from the worse part of town who just got lucky.”
“You are fiercely talented.” The voice said. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Who are you?” Orlando looked up, stared at the mirror. It felt a bit less stupid to talk to your own reflection than to chatter to thin air. “Are you the one who has been watching me for these past years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Orlando stood up, started to phase about the room again. “But you watch me. At least you could show yourself so I would know who I’m talking with. It’s a matter of being polite, you know?”
“You do not need to see me. Just know, that I look after you.”
The room fell into complete silence before monsieur Wenham entered, with a bouquet of roses.
***
Orlando stood in his room, staring out side. It was night already, late night, and almost everyone in his dorm and in the opera house had gone to sleep already. The magical night in which he stood in front of a full house of opera-lovers had come to it’s end, far too soon if anyone asked him. It had been magic, there was no other way of describing it. His voice had never been so tuned, he had never loved the songs more. When he stood at the edge of the stage, leaning towards his audience, he could swear they leaned towards him.
The show had been a success, and even though monsieur Bean had given him a hard time about replacing him, it could not change the fact that the walls of the ancient opera house had never heard louder applauses. Monsieur Wenham had been very pleased, so pleased, in fact, that he promised Orlando a few weeks off his cleaning duties so he could concentrate on the singing. The show would keep going for a few weeks, on every night basis, and he wanted Orlando to focus on that.
His heart still raced do fast he couldn’t sleep.
All he ever wanted was now coming to him.
There simply was no way of explaining how he felt.
Orlando turned and tip toed out of the room. He didn’t want to keep the others awake just because he couldn’t sleep. The others had to get up in the morning, he could simply sleep in now that he didn’t even need to work.
There was a place in the old opera house that he loved, and he thought would suit for this event better than well. He sneaked into the kitchen to steal a bottle of red wine, just to celebrate. He hadn’t felt at home at the party after the show, where everyone wanted to pat his back and tell him what a success he was and how monsieur Wenham was a genius to have found him. No, Orlando had missed his friends in the kitchen, knowing they all heard him sing and were very proud of him. He missed the company of real people, not people in too fancy dresses and jeweler.
Jeweler.
Orlando shivered as he remembered the voice that had haunted him in his changing room earlier that night. He had no idea what it was, who it was, or what it wanted.
It had called him a jewel.
In a low, slow, raspy voice that made Orlando gasp. It had a strange draught in it, something that forced you to listen even if you didn’t want to. Orlando tried to shake the strange feeling off while running towards the small stared at the back of the back-curtain on stage.
The stairs led to the ceiling of Le Opera Populaire. One could see whole Paris from there, and it was Orlando’s favorite place in the whole wide world. Here he always felt safe, here he dreamed of success such as he had gotten tonight, here he could almost see his home, and think about Lynette.
Orlando popped the cork from the bottle and lifter it above his head.
“To Paris!” He shouted, laughed, landed the bottle to his lips and drank as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. The red wine was not the good wine they offered for guests, it was the younger wine that servants could drink, but it tasted like aphrodisiac to Orlando. He took anther, huge sip, and leaned his back to the black chimney stack.
“I told you, you would excel.” Said a voice behind him. Orlando jerked up, was about to turn to face the person speaking. “No.” The voice commanded. “Don’t turn.”
“I want to see you. You have followed me for years and now you finally talk to me.”
“Tonight you were ready to hear me.”
“I have always been ready.” Orlando turned anyway, faced the dark, hooded figure. Moonlight wasn’t enough to show Orlando his face, and he had hidden it to a black cloak’s hood. “Who are you?”
“I am a friend.” The figure whispered. “I want to see my jewel shine. I want to help you take advantage of your potential.”
Orlando smiled. “Thank you, friend.” He said, with warmth in his voice. “I do appreciate that.”
They stared each other for long, without a word. Orlando had come accustomed to the feeling that specific presence, he didn’t feel it to be awkward. It was just good to finally see the person who had always followed him around.
“Let me see your face, so I could recognize you.” Orlando asked, but the figure shook its head.
“No.”
“Then, can I touch your face? So I would know it.” Orlando had no idea where that came from. The figure shook its head again.
“I can touch your face, though.” It said. Orlando swallowed hard, not actually knowing why this situation felt so… intense.
“You may, if you want to.”
He closed his eyes. Orlando could hear the person coming closer, he could feel soft fingers touch his face, caress him like soft summer’s breeze. There was a deep emotion behind that caress, he could feel it. It made him feel something too.
Suddenly the fingers pulled away. Orlando was just about to open his eyes and say something, but he was stopped by lips that pressed against his lips. He took a deep breath through his nose, was about to pull away, but the soft tongue asking permission to penetrate his closed lips made him stay.
Orlando could feel a tender hand cup his head as he opened for the kiss. The stranger kissed him deep, slow, sensuously. He tasted Orlando’s mouth like it was the sweetest wine, as if he never wanted to do anything more. Orlando noticed to be caving to the touch, responding to the kiss with all he had in him. A strange passion was forming inside him, a passion he could not explain.
Then the lips left his. Orlando noticed to be missing the warmth. He opened his eyes slowly, met the gaze of the dark figure. He could see his eyes glimmering in the moonlight even if he could not see his face.
“I have waited a long time for….”
“Orlando, is that you?”
The young man turned to face the door he was pretty sure he locked from outside just to see monsieur Wenham standing there. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“ I was…” Orlando turned only to see his mysterious friend had disappeared. “I… I… I was just having some wine and, and thinking. I always come here to do that.” He dashed a smile to the principal, earned one back.
“I see. It’s alright. I was just surprised to see someone here.” Monsieur Wenham smiled adoringly. “You were perfect tonight, Orlando. I was really impressed.”
“Thank you.” Orlando smiled.
Monsieur Wenham wrapped his arm around Orlando’s shoulders, his face searched Orlando’s. “What say we go inside and I’ll pop one of my champagne bottles? We could celebrate.”
Something in his voice made Orlando shiver.
“That sounds good. Thank you, monsieur…”
“Let’s stop this ‘monsieur’ business, alright? Come on, let’s go. It’s cold out here.”
As they walked inside, a dark figure stared angrily after them.
Author: Tinkerbell
Pairing: Viggorli, eventually
Warnings: Angst, deformity, AU
Rating: All over NC-17. This part not, though.
Summary: Orlando is a talented young singer in a Parisian Opera. He learns the true meaning of beauty and love by a strange encounter.
Disclaimer: My apologies, this is not true. Damnit.
Feedback: I need it like oxygen, the comment-whore that I am.
Someone was watching him.
Orlando felt a strange gaze on himself, even though the room was empty.
He felt restless. His first performance was just minutes away. He knew he could sing the opera through by heart, but what if he was no good? What if all of his dreams would shatter tonight?
Orlando got up, walked in front of a mirror ad gently touched the surface.
“I’ll do fine.” He reassured himself out loud.
“Oui, ma cherie. You will do fine. Better yet, you will excel.”
Orlando jerked. He took a few steps back, his brown eyes as platters.
“Who is that?”
“I am… a friend.” The voice whispered. Orlando was not sure if he was going insane.
“Where are you?”
“Around you. Just the way I love to be.”
Orlando took a few more steps back, glancing around. He didn’t see anyone, but the voice did sound like it was floating all around the room. His heart beat like a hammer, his hands shook. He wasn’t usually scared of anything, because in this world there wasn’t too much to be scared of. When you have nothing to loose, you’re not too easily scared. The only things he was even worried about were his dream to sing and Lynette.
“Don’t be afraid. I am not here to harm you.”
The young man paused, sat slowly on a chair and folded his hands to his lap.
“Why are you here then?”
“To wish my jewel the best on his big night.”
“Jewel?” Orlando stared at his hands. “I’m hardly a jewel. I’m just a poor boy from the worse part of town who just got lucky.”
“You are fiercely talented.” The voice said. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Who are you?” Orlando looked up, stared at the mirror. It felt a bit less stupid to talk to your own reflection than to chatter to thin air. “Are you the one who has been watching me for these past years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Orlando stood up, started to phase about the room again. “But you watch me. At least you could show yourself so I would know who I’m talking with. It’s a matter of being polite, you know?”
“You do not need to see me. Just know, that I look after you.”
The room fell into complete silence before monsieur Wenham entered, with a bouquet of roses.
***
Orlando stood in his room, staring out side. It was night already, late night, and almost everyone in his dorm and in the opera house had gone to sleep already. The magical night in which he stood in front of a full house of opera-lovers had come to it’s end, far too soon if anyone asked him. It had been magic, there was no other way of describing it. His voice had never been so tuned, he had never loved the songs more. When he stood at the edge of the stage, leaning towards his audience, he could swear they leaned towards him.
The show had been a success, and even though monsieur Bean had given him a hard time about replacing him, it could not change the fact that the walls of the ancient opera house had never heard louder applauses. Monsieur Wenham had been very pleased, so pleased, in fact, that he promised Orlando a few weeks off his cleaning duties so he could concentrate on the singing. The show would keep going for a few weeks, on every night basis, and he wanted Orlando to focus on that.
His heart still raced do fast he couldn’t sleep.
All he ever wanted was now coming to him.
There simply was no way of explaining how he felt.
Orlando turned and tip toed out of the room. He didn’t want to keep the others awake just because he couldn’t sleep. The others had to get up in the morning, he could simply sleep in now that he didn’t even need to work.
There was a place in the old opera house that he loved, and he thought would suit for this event better than well. He sneaked into the kitchen to steal a bottle of red wine, just to celebrate. He hadn’t felt at home at the party after the show, where everyone wanted to pat his back and tell him what a success he was and how monsieur Wenham was a genius to have found him. No, Orlando had missed his friends in the kitchen, knowing they all heard him sing and were very proud of him. He missed the company of real people, not people in too fancy dresses and jeweler.
Jeweler.
Orlando shivered as he remembered the voice that had haunted him in his changing room earlier that night. He had no idea what it was, who it was, or what it wanted.
It had called him a jewel.
In a low, slow, raspy voice that made Orlando gasp. It had a strange draught in it, something that forced you to listen even if you didn’t want to. Orlando tried to shake the strange feeling off while running towards the small stared at the back of the back-curtain on stage.
The stairs led to the ceiling of Le Opera Populaire. One could see whole Paris from there, and it was Orlando’s favorite place in the whole wide world. Here he always felt safe, here he dreamed of success such as he had gotten tonight, here he could almost see his home, and think about Lynette.
Orlando popped the cork from the bottle and lifter it above his head.
“To Paris!” He shouted, laughed, landed the bottle to his lips and drank as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. The red wine was not the good wine they offered for guests, it was the younger wine that servants could drink, but it tasted like aphrodisiac to Orlando. He took anther, huge sip, and leaned his back to the black chimney stack.
“I told you, you would excel.” Said a voice behind him. Orlando jerked up, was about to turn to face the person speaking. “No.” The voice commanded. “Don’t turn.”
“I want to see you. You have followed me for years and now you finally talk to me.”
“Tonight you were ready to hear me.”
“I have always been ready.” Orlando turned anyway, faced the dark, hooded figure. Moonlight wasn’t enough to show Orlando his face, and he had hidden it to a black cloak’s hood. “Who are you?”
“I am a friend.” The figure whispered. “I want to see my jewel shine. I want to help you take advantage of your potential.”
Orlando smiled. “Thank you, friend.” He said, with warmth in his voice. “I do appreciate that.”
They stared each other for long, without a word. Orlando had come accustomed to the feeling that specific presence, he didn’t feel it to be awkward. It was just good to finally see the person who had always followed him around.
“Let me see your face, so I could recognize you.” Orlando asked, but the figure shook its head.
“No.”
“Then, can I touch your face? So I would know it.” Orlando had no idea where that came from. The figure shook its head again.
“I can touch your face, though.” It said. Orlando swallowed hard, not actually knowing why this situation felt so… intense.
“You may, if you want to.”
He closed his eyes. Orlando could hear the person coming closer, he could feel soft fingers touch his face, caress him like soft summer’s breeze. There was a deep emotion behind that caress, he could feel it. It made him feel something too.
Suddenly the fingers pulled away. Orlando was just about to open his eyes and say something, but he was stopped by lips that pressed against his lips. He took a deep breath through his nose, was about to pull away, but the soft tongue asking permission to penetrate his closed lips made him stay.
Orlando could feel a tender hand cup his head as he opened for the kiss. The stranger kissed him deep, slow, sensuously. He tasted Orlando’s mouth like it was the sweetest wine, as if he never wanted to do anything more. Orlando noticed to be caving to the touch, responding to the kiss with all he had in him. A strange passion was forming inside him, a passion he could not explain.
Then the lips left his. Orlando noticed to be missing the warmth. He opened his eyes slowly, met the gaze of the dark figure. He could see his eyes glimmering in the moonlight even if he could not see his face.
“I have waited a long time for….”
“Orlando, is that you?”
The young man turned to face the door he was pretty sure he locked from outside just to see monsieur Wenham standing there. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“ I was…” Orlando turned only to see his mysterious friend had disappeared. “I… I… I was just having some wine and, and thinking. I always come here to do that.” He dashed a smile to the principal, earned one back.
“I see. It’s alright. I was just surprised to see someone here.” Monsieur Wenham smiled adoringly. “You were perfect tonight, Orlando. I was really impressed.”
“Thank you.” Orlando smiled.
Monsieur Wenham wrapped his arm around Orlando’s shoulders, his face searched Orlando’s. “What say we go inside and I’ll pop one of my champagne bottles? We could celebrate.”
Something in his voice made Orlando shiver.
“That sounds good. Thank you, monsieur…”
“Let’s stop this ‘monsieur’ business, alright? Come on, let’s go. It’s cold out here.”
As they walked inside, a dark figure stared angrily after them.
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