Alexander's Ragtime Band (Erik/casual)

[JANE EYRE]

To be shown in a gallery once in a year was a gift. To be shown twice, a blessing. Jane considered the whole year an incredible blessing; the inheritence, being shown in renowned two galleries, meeting new people and establishing solid friendships, and discovering who she truly was without society pressing down on her...

The second gallery showing was much smaller than the first, only allowing Jane room to show a single, large-scale piece. So, she took care to choose a special one, one that she had only painted once and could never paint again. Having promised never to show the piece that she had painted of Erik without his mask, Jane used it as inspiration. Both the painting and the man worked together in Jane's psyche to create her new piece.

It was five feet by four feet, a monster to travel and unsettling to look at. It was a dystopian scene, post-apocalypse, with a beat up and half destroyed upright piano in the foreground. 'Playing' the piano was a grinning, grotesque skeleton wearing a red and orange striped vest, a straw hat perched jauntily on his skull. He was a ragtime player, the only one left. The others had left him, abandoning their instruments and identical straw hats in their haste to escape whatever had killed the poor pianist. It wasn't a pretty painting, done in browns and grays, the red and orange of the vest dull and dingy. While hanging it, other artists gave Jane a wide bearth, obviously disturbed by the imagery.

Once again, the piece was tucked away into a back corner of the gallery, like the last show Jane had been featured in had. Her work wasn't mainstream or easy to view so the gallery owners always made her piece optional by hiding it away. Asked by the owners to show up and hover near her piece, to take questions and what not Jane made sure to dress nicely so that she made a good impression even though her painting wouldn't. Entering the bustling gallery, Jane eased her way to the side and out of traffic so she could make her way back to where her painting was hung. Over the din of murmured artistic appreciation, Jane could hear piano music, a haunting tune that seemed almost familiar to Jane. Smiling at the coincidence, Jane kept moving through the crowd, pardoning her way past people.

Towards the center of the room, Jane finally saw where the music was coming from; a live piano and its player. Jane was ready to walk by but the pianist's face caught her eye. "Erik!" Moving over to where he played, keeping a respectable distance between them, Jane smiled brightly at the musical genius. "Fancy seeing you here,"

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

Erik had been asked (well, no, asked wasn't the correct word. More like demanded) to grace his presence at the art gallery that day. The owner of the place had heard from a friend who had gone to one of his operas that his music was magnifacent, and requested his services. He wasn't usually one to play at events, but the recognition was too good to pass up. He didn't need the money; he was swimming in it. The owner had gone so far as to wag it in his face, however he offered to play for free.

It wasn't often that he went out like this in public. Of course he had on all of his makeup and prosthetics, but he was still highly doubtful of his appearence. It was the middle of summer, and he wore nothing but black. It must have been odd, since most people would wear light colors, but he couldn't bring himself to even touch the color white. It was far too pure for him, he wouldn't want to taint it. Red and black were his colors, especially red... Red like wine, red like blood... red like fire burning embers...

... Red like her dress.

"Erik!"

He had already seen her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't dare look up at her until she'd addressed him. He didn't stop playing, however. He smiled awkwardly, but it faded soon after, his brows furrowing at the woman's closeness.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"Hmm..." he murmered, looking toward her while pounding out a few louder keys. "What brings you here, M'amselle? Come for inspiration?"

He'd almost wished he'd never seen her again, after the episode with painting him. The finished product was a ghastly piece indeed, not because of her artistry, but because of the gruesome subject. It reminded him of how truly revolting he was, underneath his carefully worn mask. He didn't want her to see him ever again, especially not like that.

Not when he knew how much the outer appearence mirrored his inner "beauty."

[JANE EYRE]

Jane watched Erik's fingers dance over the keys, noting the obivous artistry and elegance in the movement. Someone nudged her out of their way as they moved past and Jane stumbled towards the piano but righted herself. She had gotten used to the bustling, bumping nature of New Yorkers. Jane took a step back, resuming her earlier position and brushed her hair back from her face. Just because she was used to the rough nature of existence in the city didn't mean that she enjoyed it. Running her hands over her thighs, she smoothed out the dress (which was far shorter than she had ever worn before) so she looked just as decent as she had when she first walked into the gallery.

"What brings you here, M'amselle? Come for inspiration?"


"No, actually, I'm showing a piece," Jane said, clasping her hands in front of her, adopting a rather demure posture. "It's in the very back, in a corner so you can't see it from here," Jane shrugged a shoulder and looked off in that direction. "I was making my way to it when I saw you. I thought I'd say hello and tell you how nicely you were playing," Jane realized how silly that sounded and let out an embarassed chuckle. "Of course, you realize how good you are. You don't need me to tell you," Jane let her voice trail off, shaking her head. She really must sound like a fool right then. How many times has she suffered the 'foot in mouth' side effects of not knowing exactly what to say? With Edward, Jane had done just that every time he talked to her it seemed. She could now add Erik to the list of those who, for some unimaginable reason, rendered Jane uncapable of forming normal sentences that were relevant to the conversation.

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

"Of course, you realize how good you are. You don't need me to tell you."

Erik's brows furrowed at that statement. She seemed embarassed to have told him how "nicely" he played (he knew she was being modest; he was a genius). That was odd, though he certainly wasn't one to truly expect compliments when he was so very frightening. But he surely expected it from Jane of all people.

His playing slowed significantly, and he glanced up at her flustered form. "Say what you mean, M'amselle. You are not hurting my pride at all, and you should pay your compliments when you want to." His fingers sped up over the keys, turning away to grimace. It was almost insulting for her to take back her comment. Who would take something like that back? Especially since she knew how self conscious he was.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane was a bit confused as to Erik's reaction until is dawned on her how what she said must have come across to him. "Oh-oh no! I didn't mean it like that at all. I just meant that you're so brilliant at what you do that you didn't need an inexperienced ear like myself telling you such," Jane ducked her head and pressed a hand to her forehead. Her face was postively burning up from embarassment. She had messed that up rather quickly. Jane knew how uneasy Erik was about a great many things and that he took pride in his music and yet she made it seem like it didn't matter at all. "I'm sorry,"

As Jane began to raise her head, yet another person ran into her, much for forcibly this time. They hip checked Jane to to get past her, sending her petite form flying. Jane stumbled forward into the piano, her hands coming forward to catch herself. Pushing back almost instantly Jane couldn't resist throwing a glare over her shoulder at whoever had bumped her. She was well aware that she was relatively invisible in the world but this was getting out of hand. Again, Jane pushed her hair back. "I better get out of the way, I seem to be blocking the path,"

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

Erik banged on the keys loudly as the girl righted herself, the song calling for it of course. It was an everchanging piece, always slowing and speeding like a bird flapping its wings. He glanced at her quickly, smirking at her frazzlement. "Sit down, girl," he said, sliding over slightly so that she had room to rest. "Those ignorant bastards have no respect for a celebrated artist like yourself. They should not shove you around."

He nodded to the spot, asking her with his eyes to sit. He normally disliked close contact, but he couldn't leave the girl in the midst of a ravenous mob. That would be completely ungentlemanly like of him. "Save yourself the trouble of apologizing every time someone obnoxiously pushes you aside. It will take the weight greatly off your shoulders." He smiled with a chuckle and a raise of his eyebrow.

He turned the page of his music for show, though he was hardly using it. He committed music to memory, never once bothering to glance at sheet of paper for guidance. He found it rather useful and downright essential if you were to be the most celebrated composer of the 21st century.

... To bad he wasn't.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane hurried to accept Erik's invitation, seating herself on the very edge of his bench while muttering a thank you. She didn't normally invade another's space like this but it was almost hopeless for her to remain standing. Making sure that they didn't actually touch though Erik's shirt sleeve brushed against her with his playing, Jane twisted her body to watch his fingers fly over the keys. It was quite obvious that he wasn't even looking at the music and Jane knew that he wouldn't have to. He was incredible at the helm of an instrument, he didn't need guidance to recreate a masterpiece every time he performed.

"I wish I had taken my piano lessons more seriously when I was in school," Jane admitted sheepishly. She could play a little, a waltz here and a minuet there, but nothing compared to Erik. Her hands were folded rigidly on her lap, holding her hemline against her thighs. The skirt wasn't that short really, but it was so much shorter than anything Jane had really worn before. She crossed her legs at the ankle and turned to face front again.

Jane tried to figure out a way to safely get to her piece. The gallery owner had told her to be by her piece to mingle with patrons and to answer any questions. Never liking to let someone down, Jane simply had to find a way to wade through the crowd.

She wished she was taller, yet again. Jane wished she was taller and if she couldn't be taller, more eyecatching so that people would afford her the curteousy of moving aside for her. But God hadn't deemed it fit to give her such things. Small, plain featured, and a waif of a girl, Jane wasn't going to be catching anyone's eye or earning anyone's compassion any time soon.

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

Erik shifted his legs at her nearness, keeping his feet steadily on the pedals as he took deep, quiet breaths. Being next to any woman this close set him completely on edge, and especially Jane since... Well, since she had hugged him.

It would seem like a kind and trivial thing to Erik, but truly, he was quite disturbed by it. He feared for her sanity! Why on earth would she want to embrace a pathetic, violent, homocidal psychopath such as himself (though she needn't know of his gruesome murders)?! Not to mention his horrendous appearence.

But then she saw through that, didn't she? Or so she said. He had come to trust no one in this life, not even himself when it comes to acceptance, tolerance, and humility. He was capable of none of those things, so why should he expect them from someone else?

Ah, she was a gentle, yet fiesty creature, with such intelligence as to match his own. Oh, no no no, what was he thinking? His mind moved at a far greater speed than any other mortal on this earth could comprehend. His fingers glided along the keys at a superhuman rate, he processed all sounds, sights, smells, and feelings at an alarmingly blinding speed. There was no way she could understand this state of complete superiority.

He grunted casualy at her statement, smirking at her attempts to keep her skirt down. She probably expected him, like any of the other vulgar men at the establishment who had so carelessly pushed her aside, to gaze at her with a pig's hunger. If she didn't want people to stare at her, she shouldn't have worn such a short skirt!

He wouldn't do so, though. Such things were entirely improper, and it is what made the country what it was today. A terrible place to live, that was what, where women were subjected to the scrutiny of the public's eye without any cause for manners or etiquette.

"M'amselle would still like to learn, non? Erik could teach you," he said, not really giving any thought into what he was saying.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane tore her eyes away from the path she was trying to devise and instead looked at Erik's profile, carefully considering what he was saying. He was smirking but she had no idea as to what; oddly, Jane didn't find that uncomfortable or unsettling. She was quite used to the smirking thanks to Edward. She was aclimated to just letting a man smirk and letting him get his amusement from her. It was a bit pathetic, Jane had to admit, but that was simply the way it was. She wasn't good for much beyond mild entertainment where company was concerned.

"Thank you for your offer, but I'm sure the two of us are far too busy to find time for it. You have your opera, I have summer classes," Jane shrugged and once again shifted away from Erik, now barely leaning on the piano bench. There was an odd energy coming from Erik and it made Jane not to want to sit by him. She didn't know what had happened between their last meeting when she painted him and now, but something had definitely changed. He was on edge now, distant and unreceptive. It made perfect sense, considering what had occured during their last meeting. It had taken both of them out of their natural element. Jane had taken on the role of comforter and confidante and Erik was the vulnerable one. Only once before had Jane been in that sort of position but it lasted mere moments before Edward was looking out for her again. "If scheduling did work out, however, I would love a lesson or two,"

She looked away from Erik's face and back to the direction she had to take. Still no clear path. That meant more time to spend at Erik's side, imersed in the tense, awkward atmosphere that lingered about them. Jane turned her gaze to her hemline, her fingers tracing and retracing the hemline. She had made the mistake of taking Kitty with her when shopping for new clothes and this was the result. Bless the woman, she truly didn't understand Jane's fashion sense. The color was nice though, she mused, and the fabric of high quality. Kitty had wanted her to wear it with sheer nylons but Jane put an end to it, opting for opaque leg coverings so she wouldn't feel too exposed. Even with the one shoulder uncovered she felt naked in the room.

Not that anyone cared or even looked. It was silly, Jane knew, for her to want the validation of being found even presentable. Ever since she came into her new fortune, Jane had started feeling more comfortable with who she was: a woman. It would be nice for someone to acknowledge, even if it is only once and in passing. She knew it all stemmed from never having that sort of attention in her life and the one time she had been called anything but plain had been when a man had his hand to her throat. Shaking her head and laughing scornfully under her breath, Jane firmly chided herself for letting such an unimportant thing get to her.

Seeing an opening in the crowd present itself, Jane rose to her feet. "I'm off, I'm afraid. I promised the gallery owner that I would be by my piece and I intend on following through,"

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

If scheduling did work out, however, I would love a lesson or two,"

Erik chewed on his words carefully. "I suppose I am not a... patient teacher... But a few lessons could be very worthwhile, my dear." He smiled at her, eyes still drawn to her dress. The red suited her splendidly, bringing out her complexion and hair most vibrantly. Though he realized she must be uncomfortable in the short skirt, it was still rather flattering on her.

When she mentioned leaving, he was a bit distraught. He had been thouroughly bored by this gathering of superficial artists that thought slapping color on a canvas was considered art. That was, until Jane had come along. His mood had considerably brightened, he was aware, though he wasn't particularly sure why. Perhaps it was the way she had smiled at him when she saw him, the way she spoke to him with such politeness that he thought was absent in girls of her generation.

He immediately stopped playing, slamming the cover down over the keys suddenly as he looked toward her. "I should like to see your painting, M'amselle." He stood, moving around the bench and helping her to her feet, pushing the piece of furniture back underneath the piano. "Perhaps I should escort you to your work?" He bowed lightly in a gentlemanly fashion, with a small smile on his face.

He did want to see this painting. Surely an artist of her calibor had produced a much finer piece than the ones currently surrounding them. Clearly, if it was anything like the painting she did of him (even if he did not like appreciate the subject), it would truly be a spectacular display of artistry.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane shrugged at Erik's admission of being an impatient teacher. "If you don't teach regularly, then how could you be?" Jane knew that she wasn't that patient when she first began teaching. True, she had begun teaching very young, only 17, before breaking off to pursue a career outside of Lowood. She looked back over at him and smiled back. "But like I said, I would love a lesson or two,"

Jane jumped when Erik slammed the piano cover, blushing a furious red when the patrons turned to stare at them. She accepted Erik's help up from the bench and stood to the side as he kicked the bench away. People were still looking at them, muttering about what an odd pair they made. Not liking the attention one bit, Jane shuffled closer to Erik.

"Um....yes, please. I'd rather enjoy your company," Jane took ahold of his shirt sleeve, momentarily forgetting etiquette in lew of getting of the room as soon as possible. "It's this way," Jane tugged at Erik's arm as she made her way to the quickly closing gap in the crowd. She didn't release his shirt sleeve until they had cleared the mob. Then she dropped her hand and moved away from him.

"Sorry," She murmured, ducking her head slightly. "It was very uncomfortable in there," It looked ridiculous, Jane knew, her dragging Erik away from the piano considering how much taller he was than her.

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

Erik felt uncomfortable being led through a crowd by his shirt sleeve, especially since whenever he normally led, people tended to move away from him automatically, as if they were set to avoid his particular aura. But as it was, small, invisible Jane (though that was only how she saw herself) had led the way, though it was probably better this way, for he wouldn't have known where to go in the first place. He felt hardly remorseful at leaving his post playing the piano. After all, he had been doing it for free.

He had to admit, though, seeing her shrink like that, blushing madly at the way she had pulled him along, it was very adorable. He chuckled heartily at her once they'd cleared the mob. Bending down slightly so as to communicate with her better, he walked along beside her as they neared her piece. "Yes, yes it was... I don't see any reason why a simple artistic gathering should be converted into a mess of swarming little bees!"

Once they'd reached the painting, however, it was indeed a ghost town. He wondered why, until he glanced up at the painting. "Oh... My...!" He touched his mouth with his fingertips, gazing in awe at the work. "Jane... Jane this is exquisite!" He had to laugh when he saw the skeleton's vest and hat. "Haha! I suppose they'll be playing them off in hell, won't they!" He grinned enthusiastically, moving closer to the painting.

[JANE EYRE]

"Yes, yes it was... I don't see any reason why a simple artistic gathering should be converted into a mess of swarming little bees!"

Jane nodded in agreement. She didn't understand why people were so rude at a gathering that was meant to stimulate the mind. Art was for viewing pleasure not for rampaging about senselessly like one would at a rock concert (or so Jane assumed. She had never actually attended a rock concert). Jane preferred it further back where it was quiet and more empty. Only a couple of patrons milled about but they were curteous. As they neared her piece, Jane looked around, trying to see if there was anyone she could observe reacting to her painting. No one was sparing it a glance and Jane accepted that. She couldn't change it now.

"Exquisite?" Jane repeated, watching Erik's response with a wide eyed fascination. The way he brough his hand to his mouth and his eyes widened out of pure (dare she say it) amazement and wonder. She had never seen someone react that way to anything regarding her. She didn't blush now, even though his comment should have excited such a reaction. Jane was too caught up in watching, soaking it in and stealing inspiration from it. Erik's movement was oddly poetic in Jane's eyes.

"Haha! I suppose they'll be playing them off in hell, won't they!"

"I suppose," Jane said a bit carelessly. She hadn't given that much thought.

[JEAN-PAUL DUBOIS]

Erik's brows furrowed, and he straightened himself, turning to Jane. "Jane, you don't seem to regard your art very highly. If you are to get anyone to appreciate it, you simply must be more enthusiastic about it!" He crossed his arms. "Even if I am not social, I still have great confidence in my work, which is why it is so successful."

He took her wrist gently, leading her over more to her painting. He turned her around lightly, gesturing to the crowd. "You must entice them, my dear. Look eager to answer questions. Be proud of your work. Don't assume no one will look at it, because then they won't!" He moved away, leaving her by her painting. "I shall be right over here, and I want you to display pride in your work..." He struggled with a word. "Please?"

He nodded as if it was another question, but he clearly wouldn't take no for an answer. He strolled to lean against a darker wall, crossing his arms and looking out at the crowd, then back to Jane. He winked at the small little woman in reassurance.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane jumped a little when Erik turned and spoke so authoritatively to her. She understood what he was saying but she just couldn't be the same way. Jane always felt like she could do better than anything she ever showed. Jane was always underwhelmed by her abilities, she considered herself to be mediocre at best. Even with praise from several people, Jane took it with a grain of salt and assumed that she was a measure less than they always said. It was just in her nature, she couldn't change it.

As Erik wrapped his hand around her wrist, Jane blushed darkly. His fingers could have easily wrapped around her frail wrist twice and Jane felt dwarfed by it. She didn't resist as he lead her about, turning her around and speaking. She almost protested when Erik moved away to stand to the side but couldn't. Almost the instant Erik left her side, people started to walk up to her and asked questions. They had been waiting for an excuse to leave the swarm it seemed.

Smiling and shaking hands, Jane began fielding questions the best she could. People asked everything from why she painted what she did to what materials she used. One asked about how her past has influenced her art, another if her style has changed. Jane answered each question. She glanced over at Erik between patrons and mouthed 'Thank you'. His little pep talk had done wonders for her confidence, even if she didn't agree with all that he said. She wasn't an incredible artist but she should take pride in what she has done.

She has created a conversation piece, a point of interest that people were being drawn to.