Why so silent?

[away_from_all]

A tall, impossibly lean man steps into the mansion as silent as a ghost and moving just as fluidly. Long, elegant fingers are encased in black leather, the rest of him clothed in a black evening suit with an opera cape fastened around his skeletal shoulders

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[as_a_rush]

Shivers, feeling the cold prickle of someone in the room. He freezes and resists the urge to cross himself.

[away_from_all]

Likely a wise choice. Not that it would help.

His faith had never save him, after all.

[as_a_rush]

He tries to dismiss his superstitious alarm, but it won't go.

"... Is it someone there?"

[away_from_all]

No answer. At least, not at first.

Erik is a man of many talents. Music, magic, murder, archetecture, carpentry, art... ventrilloquism.

Using this latter skill, the aparition sends his voice to the intruder's side and speaks in his same Irish accent, flawless though the speaker is of French decent; the man's greatest talents are with his voice, after all.

"Be gone." His voice now moves to the young Irishman's other side. "You are not welcomed here"

[as_a_rush]

Jim's spine snaps straight, his eyes go wide and every hair on the back of his neck stands at attention. The voice is Irish but unfamiliar and chilling.

"Who..." he starts to ask, but his breath leaves him.

[away_from_all]

Erik has always enjoyed playing mind games. Cat and mouse. It was absolutely thrilling to hold such power.

"Who?" The voice now is amused, chuckling some ominously from directly behind the Irishman. "I have many names. Devil Incarnate, Living Corpse, Red Death, Trapdoor Lover, Opera Ghost. Even Angel, by a select, rather confused few."

[as_a_rush]

Even in his alarm, Jim can't help but be puzzled by this. Opera Ghost? Devil and Angel he could deal with, for wasn't he a Catholic and once set to become a Presentation brother? But Trapdoor Lover? Someone is playing games with him.

"I'm not scared," he lies, imagining a breath on the back of his neck. "Do you mean to hurt me?"

[away_from_all]

Ha. The boy certainly wreaked of fear for one who was not afraid. "Now that is the question, isn't it?" There is madness in the spectre's voice. Brilliant madness, no doubt, but the twinge of insanity is there nonetheless.

"Do I mean to hurt you? Now, let's look at that. Can you be hurt by something you cannot see? Of course you can. I know a good many people who are proof of that." There is the a twinge in his voice that suggest he may be the reason for such proof

[as_a_rush]

Somehow the change in accents makes it worse. An Irish voice could have been a product of Jim's imagination, some fear he was even aware of being afraid of, but this new voice is strange and its terrible honey tones are not something he could invent. If it does mean to hurt him, then it can.

Jim's faith was in the Church, in the beautiful architecture of theology. God, the Devil, even the Virgin Mary... He believed, but he'd begun to wonder at things more beautiful; things which the Church could not encompass. If he could believe in something greater which he found in sea and the touch of his friend, then here, alone in the dark room, he could believe in the terror that spoke to him from the shadows all around.

"Yes," he whispers and bows his head.

[away_from_all]

This was almost too easy.

Erik would not hurt the man. No, humans were far too entertaining to kill off unless they became a threat. The Irishman was no threat, not yet at least. He might even prove to be of some use alive.

"Good." The voice coons approvingly. It is then the spectre steps from the shadows some, only just enough for his figure to be made out. He allows his voice to come from its source, now.

"Now, answer me truthfully and do as I tell you. I have been told there is a theatre here. Is it frequented often?" If he was going to be here for a time, he was going to need the familarity of a theatre. And hopefully the privacy it would afford him.

[as_a_rush]

Jim looks up, startled at the strange question. He'd just admitted to the possibility of a thing more terrible than God, but why would such a being be concerned with theaters? Curiosity almost wins over the fear, but then he makes out the dim shade and the chill returns. He looks down again, quickly.

"I'd not heard such. And it's here seems likely it's not well frequented. Sir."

[away_from_all]

It has nothing to do with theatres. The question had to do with the young man's obedience. If he would obey his God out of faith, and believed in things more terrible than fear, it was more than likely he would obey the phantom.

"Good. Now, there is a girl. Christine Daae. A lithe little thing, blonde and as ignorant as the day is long. Tell her that her Angel is waiting for her at the theatre to continue her lessons."

[as_a_rush]

Jim's brow furrowed. Where did the girl come into things? If the spectre was his punishment, that was one thing. He knew he deserved it, he must deserve it. But a girl?

But no, there was no question of disobeying. Not while it was dark and Jim was alone and that voice that had come from every corner still swam in his ears.

"Where will I find her?"

[away_from_all]

The aparition had no interest in the young man. Not yet, anyways, and preferably never.

"I am told this mansion is enchanted. I'm certain you will come across her sooner or later."

[as_a_rush]

Jim nods and swallows.

"I will so."

Mother above, he thinks fervently, unsure as always whether his prayers went to Christ's mother or his own, forgive me.