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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 27, 2011 17:45:07 GMT -5
Christine let her fingers run over the gate of the graveyard, brushing off the thick snow like powder. She touched the cold columns with the tips of her gloves, shivering with a little superstition. She loved graveyards, but feared them at the same time. She always felt the souls of those since past were haunting them. Childhood taught her everyone went to heaven, but she had her doubts.
She entered the yard in admiration, picking up her feet high so that she wouldn't drag in the snow. The names on each stone meant nothing to her, yet meant everything. These people knew what it was like, to have lived their lives completely.
What would she do with her life? Would she fufill her dreams and have people remember for her singing? She doubted it. Singers reputations only lasted so long, then they were easily forgotten. She felt forgotten now. Maybe she should just head home, back to Connecticut. Her adoptive mother surely needed her...
But she just couldn't let this place go. New York City was... magical, to say the least. There were good and bad days, but overall, she loved the bustling streets and the tall buildings. It was so alive, like the city pulsed with the blood of the people.
She couldn't say the same for this place. It was still as the night, not a bird, not a squirell, not a corpse made a sound. Just the crunch of her feet.
She stopped infront of a particularly beautiful gravestone, ornamented with a large angel set in prayer. 'Poor soul... At least they have such a beautiful marker.'
She stepped towards it and wiped some of the ice and snow off of the name.
"Christine... Dawson..." She gasped. It was like she expected it to say Daaé, rather than Dawson. With such shock, she fell back, scooting away a little.
"I'm crazy..." She rubbed her head. "I'm not dead... Am I?"
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Post by athos on Jan 30, 2011 0:04:51 GMT -5
Athos pulled his coat more tightly around his body to protect himself from the frigid cold coloring his cheeks red and nipping at the tips of his ears. He knew that he'd catch a cold this way, but he didn't have much care at the moment for his well-being. Let him get sick and perhaps the Chief will let him have a break for once.
He felt a surge of frustration course through his body, tinged with a little anger. Donovan was an honorable officer and earned the good reputation he has, but Athos could use a little rest for once. He was feeling over-worked. He hardly had any time to himself anymore; let alone, eating, sleeping or take a shower.
Home would've been a far better option for his current situation, since sleep was a requirement his body was imposing on him, but he couldn't help stopping by the cemetery on his way home to the apartment. The snow made a loud, crunching noise under his feet as he sauntered across the cemetery, reading the names and epitaphs inscribed on the headstones. Every once in a while he'd see an 'Anne' and he'd stop for a brief moment, only to realize that it was someone else's name and not his wife's.
He was passed the third row when a last grave made him pause. The name scrawled across the tombstone was, 'Anna de Bertram' and could almost pass for his wife. The writing was crude enough to be taken as 'Anne de Breuil'. He closed his eyes, and imagined his fair wife. He recalled a memory of the picnic. Her wild mane of blonde hair flew behind her head and her full, red lips pursed into that seductive smile Athos enjoyed so much...
Blood began to spew from her lips and her perfect eyebrows arched and she collapsed-- Athos's eyes snapped open and he swallowed, leaning against the headstone behind him. The knot in his stomach tightened as he pushed away the memories of his beautiful Anne out of his head.
"Parbleu," he muttered, wiping his forehead. "She's dead and you can't do anything with that. Couyon." His Cajun accent was becoming more apparent as it did whenever he was irritated or if his hairs were being brushed the wrong way.
"Jésus. Talking to myself," Athos continued, flipping the collar to his coat to protect his face from the cold. However, he didn't try to stop himself from cursing. Talking to himself helped keep his mind off his wife, and no one was in earshot to care.
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 30, 2011 0:20:59 GMT -5
Christine was called out of her amazement by a deep voice coming from another row of graves. She froze slightly, thinking she was being followed. But who would follow her? She was just a singer in the Big Apple.
She looked all around, backing away even more from the startling grave, finally picking herself up. She wiped away the snow that clung to her coat and her scarf slowly, so as not to disturb the person who she had heard. She turned this way and that, but didn't see anyone.
'Well then... It must be a ghost!' a voice in her mind said. She believed in ghosts. If she hadn't known her father was at peace, she might have thought it was him that watched her in the graveyard. It couldn't have been him, she thought, for he was an Angel, like he said he would be. It was only people with unfinished business that lingered on this earth, their energies filling those who remained with foreboding.
But could her father have unfinished business? What if he had died, and remained because of her? What if he was worried about her? His only daughter, now merely an orphan.
'Orphaned... Like so many others in this world...' she mused. 'Lucky me I'm too old for an orphanage. Maybe Father was worried I'd be lonely...'
Or maybe she was right in thinking it was someone else's ghost. Maybe she was being haunted.
"Hello...? Is someone there...?" She called shakily. She was slightly scared. Trying to reassure herself of security, she said, "Father...?"
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Post by athos on Jan 30, 2011 0:45:02 GMT -5
"Hello...?"
Athos's head snapped up as he heard a voice in the distance. It belonged to woman's and had nearly shocked him. He'd thought he was alone with his solitude when he had entered the graveyard, but as it seemed, he didn't. The night and the wind added an eerie effect to the lady's voice, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Is someone there...?" the voice resonated a second time. "Father...?"
Athos stood up straight and composed himself. He was being a pansy, putting up a guard like this. If anything, it was this girl who should be the one who's creeped out. After all, people don't normally hear the musings of a guilty man when they pay a visit to the cemetery.
"It's alright," he called out, sauntering in the voice's direction. "Have no worry, it's only me." In the darkness, he could make out the form of a young woman and the closer he was, a mane of blonde hair caught his eye... Could it be? Was it... "Anne?" he called out, his voice heavy. He nearly slapped himself. Ghosts don't exist, idiot. "I'm an officer, Miss."
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 30, 2011 1:16:02 GMT -5
As the man approached her, she became less worried about a ghost bothering her. He certainly wasn't a ghost, that's for sure. He was a man. Perhaps in his thirties, by the looks of it, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. She moved towards him as he moved towards her, finally realizing she wasn't alone on this hallowed ground.
He had called her Anne. That was strange. He didn't know her, that was obvious. Maybe he thought she had been a ghost too... They had mistaken each other for lost loved ones, perhaps?
"An officer? Pretty official if I do say so myself," she said, laughing. "I'm sorry, but I might have mistook you for a ghost if you hadn't made your presence known."
She looked all around her. "What are you doing in a graveyard at night, sir, if I may ask? Are you on duty?"
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Post by athos on Jan 30, 2011 1:35:48 GMT -5
"An officer? Pretty official if I do say so myself," she said, laughing. "I'm sorry, but I might have mistook you for a ghost if you hadn't made your presence known."
"Well, detective would be a proper title," he added. "I suppose that's right; it is a graveyard after all."
Athos wasn't the one to believe ghosts, or anything superstitious, but he wasn't about to begin a debate with a stranger about it. If she hadn't even spoken, he'd probably wouldn't have strike any conversation with her. He preferred to kept to himself and close friends, which he didn't have many at all. It was a little funny, the one friend he would consider his 'best friend' wasn't even a close friend at all.
"What are you doing in a graveyard at night, sir, if I may ask? Are you on duty?"
Athos shook his head and stuck both hands into his pockets. "For once, I'm not," he replied, "I'm only wandering about the grounds. It's such a peaceful place compared to the rest of New York." He nodded his head in the direction where the noisier of the traffic came from.
"If you don't mind myself asking," he said, wrapping the coat even tighter around his chest. "What reason do you have to be here?"
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 30, 2011 1:44:48 GMT -5
Christine tilted her head to the side. "Now that I think about it, I don't know. Something told me I should be here... I guess you could say I have a sixth sense about these things..." She shrugged, smirking. "And you're right. It is such a peaceful place. I was just comparing it to the city a moment ago... It's like the city is an alive person out at a party, and the graveyard is the person after the party; either hungover, passed out, or dead."
She laughed at her dark humor. She normally wasn't one to make jokes so serious, but being in a graveyard has that affect on you. "To tell you the truth... I think I was hoping to see a ghost. It might have been interesting to talk to one. Maybe ask them how they died, or the like," she pondered. She shook her head, curls bouncing. "Silly, I know, but ghosts fascinate me."
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Post by athos on Jan 30, 2011 18:07:43 GMT -5
Athos nodded, unsure of what to say. Like noted before, he wasn't a true believer in those types of things and was a rather rational person. However, he paid attention to the woman's musings out of respect. He permitted himself to let his gentle smile when she chuckled. "An interesting analogy," he said, adjusting his holster and straightening his coat.
He exhaled a wisp of cold air, his breath formed a cloud akin to the smoke of a cigarette. "It's not silly," replied Athos, "Everyone has their right to believe what they want. Though, in my opinion, I wouldn't want to meet any ghosts." Especially if that ghost was Anne. He winced a little thinking of a ghostly fingering with an accusing finger pointed at him. He blinked. "It would be a kindness for them to remain in their graves, in peace.
"If it doesn't pains you to answer, then don't, but I was wondering if whoever you're visiting was someone very close to you," he asked. "You called out 'father', were you hoping for his ghost?"
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 30, 2011 22:23:46 GMT -5
Christine's eyes widened and she blushed, turning her head. "No, sir... He's not... He's not buried here... He's out in Minnesota, in the Perros cemetary," she sighed. "But I perhaps I thought his ghost was following me. It would have been nice of him if he was looking after me, don't you think?" She smiled at him warmly. "He probably thought an orphan like me couldn't get by without him!" She laughed dryly.
"And you? You called me Anne. Were you expecting me to be someone dead as well?" she asked. She crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side awaiting his answer. He didn't look like a cop to her, but what did she know anyway? She didn't run into cops that often. But her perceived notion of them was to be gruff and manly looking, foreboding even. That wasn't the case with him.
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Post by athos on Jan 30, 2011 23:18:02 GMT -5
Athos continued to smile, but he did not laugh. "I suppose it would," he said, emerging into his thoughts. If his own father's ghost followed him, he'd probably be ashamed or disappointed or whatever feeling a person would feel after seeing their son turn out as Athos had. At least he'd be able to deal with that. Anne, on the other hand... "Any parent would want to know what has become of their child, I'm sure."
"And you? You called me Anne. Were you expecting me to be someone dead as well?" she inquired, her head tilting a little.
"I guess you can say that," he replied, his tone clipped and a little more brusque than he intended. However, he didn't regret it. He wasn't about to speak of that. "I'm Athos de la Fère, by the way," he said, extending his gloved hand, hardly protected from the winter's wind.
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 31, 2011 6:41:26 GMT -5
Christine shook his head, but not until after staring him down with raised eyebrow. "Christine Daaé," she said. "And might I say, sir, what a curious detective you are indeed... Monsieur." She smiled. "I know a French name when I hear one. From Louisiana, I pressume?"
She picked up her feet and walked toward a tall gravemarker, leaning against the side of the cold stone. 'He certainly doesn't seem like other cops I know... A little troubled around the edges, perhaps.' She adjusted her hat when she saw the snow beginning to fall again.
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Post by athos on Jan 31, 2011 21:45:45 GMT -5
"Christine Daaé," she said.
Athos dip his head and stuck his hands back into his pockets. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Daaé," he replied.
"And might I say, sir, what a curious detective you are indeed... Monsieur. I know a French name when I hear one. From Louisiana, I presume?"
Athos was unsure of what made him so curious, but he did not venture further on the thought, nor did he ask what she meant. He merely shrugged and listened. He was rather good at listening to people, and it wasn't only a skill he has achieved from his detective work. Simply, he knew how to keep his mouth shut and his ears open.
"You presume right, ma'mselle," he responded, shivering a little more. "How did you guess? No, let me answer this one. Your sixth sense?" He didn't say in anyway sarcastically, moreover as an observation. It had him curious; how could she have guessed? He'd spent years perfecting his English and ridding himself of his Cajun accent and refraining from throwing in occasional French words. Now, it was only when he was irritated or drunk did he revert to his use of former dialect.
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Post by lefantomeromance on Jan 31, 2011 21:57:17 GMT -5
Christine laughed. "No, Monsieur. I don't need a sixth sense to know that your name is French. 'De la Fère' seems quite the French style, don't you think? And besides, my mother was French, so I should know!" She tugged on strands of her hair, smiling brightly.
"Though I suppose if I hadn't know it to be French, my sixth sense probably would have caught you. You do seem French, though not by the way you talk. You just... Look French. French people have this certain look, you see?" She shrugged, raising her eyebrow. "Though, if you prefer not to talk about it, fine by me. I know when I'm digging too deep."
She watched him out of cautious eyes. What was it about this man that was so... different? Yet she felt safe around him. Secure, perhaps. But wasn't she supposed to feel that way around cops?
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Post by athos on Jan 31, 2011 22:32:44 GMT -5
"No, Monsieur. I don't need a sixth sense to know that your name is French. 'De la Fère' seems quite the French style, don't you think? And besides, my mother was French, so I should know!"
Athos permitted another of his soft smiles and couldn't help thinking of what a charming this girl was. She reminded him a little too much of his late wife. The smile evaporated and he rejected the thought. He had to stop thinking of her. He supposed after many years of expelling all memories of her, they would have to return one day and today seemed to be it. Tonight, he'd down it all in a bottle of fine whisky.
"What I meant, was how'd you guess I was from Louisiana?" he clarified. "You have French people from everywhere."
"Though I suppose if I hadn't know it to be French, my sixth sense probably would have caught you. You do seem French, though not by the way you talk. You just... Look French. French people have this certain look, you see?"
Very charming and charismatic, indeed. "Look French? I suppose it is my tall and dark features," he replied, watching as the young lady fiddled with her hat. He had an idea of what she meant at this point. Both the French and the Cajuns were known to speak with their hands more than a normal person would. Though, it was not a habit Athos had adopted.
"Though, if you prefer not to talk about it, fine by me. I know when I'm digging too deep."
Athos looked away for a split second and replaced his calm, steady gaze on her. "You're not going any deeper than a any other curious person would," he said, "and it can be hard not to talk about it." Imbécile, he cursed himself. As youthful and innocent the girl may seem, she can just as easily be a reporter or investigator. He knew he was being paranoid, but that was a quality that came with the profession.
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Post by lefantomeromance on Feb 1, 2011 5:54:13 GMT -5
"What I meant, was how'd you guess I was from Louisiana?" he clarified. "You have French people from everywhere."
She shrugged. "Well, maybe it was my sixth sense. You caught me!" She giggled. She knew it wasn't. It just seemed right to her. He seemed to American to her, not a pureblood Frenchmen.
"Look French? I suppose it is my tall and dark features,"
"No, Monsieur... I believe it is the way you... carry yourself. It is different for Americans. I people watch a lot, and when you do that, you get this vibe off of them. I just sort of got a French vibe off of you, you see?" Her assumptions were usually wrong, but she wouldn't tell him that. She was usually right when it came to French people Raoul. She'd guess quite a bit before. Like when she met Raoul, she immediately knew he was French.
'Like Raoul...' she thought. It was strange for her, to all of a sudden start having these thoughts about him. He was only her childhood friend and nothing more... But she still missed him like the plague. He was the only one she ever talked to as a child outside of family. Now that she thought about it... She didn't really have any friends.
Her eyes widened, and she looked down hurridly, tears starting to brim. 'No! Stop it Christine! You're strong. You can handle this. You shouldn't cry for no reason in this nice man... So... stupid...
She started sobbing sadly, sliding down against the tombstone and curling into a ball. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I be normal..." she cried.
'I miss Raoul...
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