Phantom of the Opera: Childhood Sweethearts
Title: Childhood Sweethearts
Characters/Pairings: Christine/Raoul, Daddy Daae, The Angel of Music
Genre: Fluff
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,309
Author’s Note:
For sabrinafair for masked_ball,
I hope you enjoy, and Happy Holidays!
The prompt was a story involving Christine looking back on the days when she and Raoul used to beg for stories. This is pure fluff, it's actually kind of obscene.
Original Link: http://community.livejournal.com/masked_ball/4877.html
Fanfiction Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4807920/1/
Paris, debatably the most beautiful city in the world, on New Year’s Eve appeared to be one giant (and incredibly glamorous) party. Every street was lined with decorations, street lights were kept lit well past the hour they were usually extinguished and in spots where only the criminals of Paris could usually be found at night children played, lovers laughed, and music flowed down the streets.
The greatest party in the city, everybody knew, was at the Garnier Opera House where the rich could mingle with performers and the conversation was as light as the music and dancing was beautiful. The Garnier Novelle Annee Masked Ball could only be attended by two types of people: those who performed there and those who were patrons. No matter how rich or distinguished one was, nobody received an invitation unless they had given generously in the past year and the upper crust of Paris never forgot this stipulation when the Opera began to look for sponsors.
Anyone will tell you that the worst time to be lonely is during the holidays and the worst time to be unhappy is when you are surrounded by those who are celebrating. Unfortunately, to tell this story, we must leave behind all the glamour and joy discussed and travel away from the chatter and lightheartedness of the main ball room. Far down the halls, in the living quarters, where the party could hardly be heard, a young girl buried her face in her pillow and began to cry.
Christine Daae had been singing at the Opera for nearly two months now and she had no reason to celebrate. Her beloved father had passed away, she’d been torn away from everything she knew; she was surrounded by hostile and unfamiliar faces. Almost eighteen, Christine could have passed for a child in conversation, her wholesome questions were not making her any friends amongst the girls of the opera who at far younger ages than Christine’s had learned what they had to do and with whom in order to get their star turn. The New Year, it seemed to her, was not going to be a good one.
“Whenever I’m sad about anything,” she heard her now-guardian Mamma Valerius’ tired voice in her head begin to say, “I just remember all the happier times I’ve had.”
Christine had rolled her eyes at the time, it sounded a little too easy to work, but desperate to drown out the unhappy night she sat up in bed and began to try to remember the last time she had been happy. Christine learned that night what a truly remarkable thing time can be. Moments ago when she had thought of her life it felt as though she had been trapped in these unhappy circumstances for years, the winter wind had been chilling her through her thin blankets. As soon as she thought of the memory, however, it was as though she was still living inside of it and not a moment had passed.
The warm sun was on her face, she was sitting on a grassy cliff directly over the beach, and she could still hear the waves breaking and smell the saltwater. She blushed; her hand was wrapped in his. She couldn’t remember how old exactly she was, maybe eleven or twelve.
The summer had begun exactly the way every summer had since her and her father had begun to live as entertainers for Mamma Valerius, but everything had changed when she had met him. Raoul de Chagney was exactly the type of person that the other girls at the opera would have been trying to use to promote their careers; he was rich and uncharacteristically good natured. Christine refused to let herself wonder if he would be at the opera that night, if he had found some ballet dancer and allowed himself to be seduced like most of the boys his age. It didn’t matter what he was like now, she told herself. He was perfect then.
Had the two met in Paris, Raoul would have been rebuked for talking to a poor musician’s daughter and dragged on down the street. Under the “supervision” of his elderly and uninterested aunt on the beaches, far away from Paris, however, there was no one around to tell Raoul that Christine was “below him” and the idea never occurred to Raoul.
“And how did you two do today?” Christine’s father had asked eagerly.
Raoul bit his lip and glanced away guiltily, he was not satisfied with the work Christine and he had done that day and knowing how important their business was to Christine and his father, he was afraid to admit that they had not reached their goal.
“I’m afraid we only found two.” Christine finally confessed, seeing that Raoul was not going to speak.
“Two?! What! No, no, that’s impossible! You got five yesterday and six the day before that!”
“I know but, daddy, we got so tired, we’ve already tried all the houses that are nearby here!”
Monsieur Daae shook his head in mock disapproval. “Two simply won’t do! You’ll have to go back out, it’s not too late yet and I can show you a whole row of houses nearby you haven’t tried begging at just yet.”
Raoul sighed dramatically but Daddy Daae could tell he was only playing along; the children were both brimming with excitement that he was allowing them to go back out and “work”. Ever since their fast friendship had begun, Raoul and Christine had set up an agreement with Daddy Daae. The more stories they could bring home for him from the locals, the more they could “buy” from him at the end of the day when they all met up for dinner. Daddy Daae’s stories were the best Raoul had ever heard, the best that existed (according to Christine) and in order to hear them the children would run from door to door and beg anyone who answered to tell them the first story they could think of with so much desperation that saying no made the poor locals feel like they were starving the children.
“Don’t you feel bad?” Raoul asked once they were out of Daddy Daae’s hearing.
“For what?” Christine asked brightly.
“For lying to your father!”
Christine’s pretty laugh made it impossible to stay mad at her and after all…the scheme had worked.
“You know as well as I do that three stories will only buy us one story tonight, we only need one more and we’ll have six-then he’ll tell us two! And…if he lets us choose which one to hear, we can ask for the Angel of Music!”
Raoul smiled and rushed to keep up with Christine’s energetic pace, Raoul did not need to tell Christine that he didn’t care which story Daddy Daae told because The Angel of Music was her favorite and watching her light up at the prospect he no longer cared if he’d had to tell the kindly old man a million lies.
“Let’s try this one.” Christine said stopping in front of a slightly worn cottage.
“No, no, this house is scary. There’s a much nicer house right next to it…we have a whole street of new houses to try!”
“We’ll try the nice houses tomorrow.” And without waiting for Raoul’s approval Christine skipped right up to the door and knocked boldly.
Christine knew she had made a mistake as soon as the old woman opened the door. She wasn’t like the nice old ladies they had encountered so far, her face looked furious and her substantial size was not at all reduced by the slight bend age had put into her posture.
“What do you want?” she barked.
Christine looked at Raoul desperately; he stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“If you don’t…mind…we…erm…my friend and I were wondering…nevermind.” He answered stupidly. The old woman’s fury heightened.
“You brats knocked on my door just to waste time? Who let you out by yourselves anyway?”
“Actually, we were hoping, not that you have to, but we wanted to know if you would tell us a story.” His words were rushed but Christine remembered feeling as though he was fighting a dragon she had summoned and was deeply touched that he would put himself at such risk for her.
The old woman scowled.
“You want me to tell a story?”
“Well, yes.”
“Just any story.”
“Yes.”
“You walked all the way here to ask me to tell a story?”
“Yes, yes we did.”
“Why?”
“We like stories.” He answered stubbornly.
The old woman, to Christine’s surprise, smiled.
“I don’t remember the last time I told a story, and I don’t remember the last time I had company, but I like your attitude.”
She opened the door a little more and made a gesture, not entirely unkind, that they should come in and sit down. The children were now out of their comfort zone. The people had always been kind to them, but no one had invited them in and expected them to sit down. They sat on the couch awkwardly, waiting for the old woman to bring out some “refreshments”.
“Do you think she’s going to eat us, like in Hansel and Gretel?” Christine finally asked expressing the fear that was in both their minds.
“I’m not sure, but I wish we hadn’t learned that story only two days ago.”
When the woman came out, however, she surprised them by sharing several stories, all of the highest caliber (though, they agreed, they were not as good as Daddy Daae’s). When they prepared to leave it had begun to get dark and the children were lucky to have collected so many stories in one place because they would have to turn back immediately. The old woman apologized for keeping them so long but she asked them to come back, promising to try her hardest to remember more stories for them. The children emerged content but very confused.
“She must be lonely.” Christine concluded.
“But then why was she so mean?”
“Maybe she’s just forgotten how to talk to people,” Christine looked at Raoul warily. “I hope I never get that lonely.”
“You won’t, silly, because you’re always going to have a husband to make you happy.”
“What makes you so sure?” Christine asked, sticking her tongue out at the idea of ever being married.
Raoul took both her hands in his and replied seriously, “I’m going to marry you, Christine!”
Christine giggled but suddenly the idea of getting married didn’t seem as yucky.
“I’m not joking! I’ll marry you now just to prove it!”
“We can’t get married now, silly, we’re just kids and we don’t even know how to get married.”
“I do! All we have to do is want to be friends forever and then we say ‘I do.’ And then we’re married!”
Christine was unconvinced.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been to lots of weddings! Here, all we have to do is be somewhere pretty and you have to wear white, which you already are and we have to hold hands and-“ he blushed. “Just follow me, ok?”
He walked her towards a small garden they had passed and they sat on a little white bench surrounded by roses.
“Christine, will you marry me?”
“Umm…yes?”
“No, no, you have to say ‘I do.’ or it doesn’t count.”
“That’s stupid!”
“Do you want to get married or not?”
“I do.” She replied smartly, again sticking her tongue out.
Raoul rolled his eyes but he accepted her response and moved on. “Now you have to ask me.”
“Raoul, will you marry me?”
“I do!” He answered sweetly and then pausing for a moment, he leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss on her lips for a split second before pulling away and turning scarlet. Christine felt all the tenderness she had felt then well up inside of her again, just as strong as it had been when it happened. She remembered how they had skipped back to her father, hand-in-hand and cheerfully informed him that they were now married.
Pappa Daae tried to hide a slight hesitation, he wondered if he had perhaps let the children play too much. Puppy love was one thing, but he knew that his daughter would never be a vicomtess and it hadn’t occurred to him that this was not as clear to the children. After a few seconds he shook away they idea-after all, the summer would end soon and both children would go back to their real world and forget the other.
“Tell us about the Angel of Music!” Christine remembered chanting and forgetting that she was at the Paris Opera and not with her father by the sea she began to softly sing the song about Little Lotte she had loved so dearly, she could swear her father’s violin was there with her.
“You have a lovely voice, but you hide it.”
Christine locked around and saw nothing but she felt no fear. The voice she had heard was too beautiful for bad intentions, she wanted to hear it again more than she wanted to know where it was coming from.
“Where are you?” She asked it, feeling a bit foolish.
“I am everywhere.”
“Are you the Angel of Music?” Christine asked, hoping against everything her common sense was telling her that somehow the story had come to life to comfort her.
There was a long pause in the room; the silence seemed heavy and oppressive in comparison to the memory of that voice. When it finally spoke, the voice sounded far more human than it had, but just as beautiful. She wondered idly if an angel could sound so sad, so warm, and so tender…she had always thought only people could feel so much.
“Yes,” the Angel finally replied, “I’m going to be your Angel.”
Characters/Pairings: Christine/Raoul, Daddy Daae, The Angel of Music
Genre: Fluff
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,309
Author’s Note:
For sabrinafair for masked_ball,
I hope you enjoy, and Happy Holidays!
The prompt was a story involving Christine looking back on the days when she and Raoul used to beg for stories. This is pure fluff, it's actually kind of obscene.
Original Link: http://community.livejournal.com/masked_ball/4877.html
Fanfiction Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4807920/1/
Paris, debatably the most beautiful city in the world, on New Year’s Eve appeared to be one giant (and incredibly glamorous) party. Every street was lined with decorations, street lights were kept lit well past the hour they were usually extinguished and in spots where only the criminals of Paris could usually be found at night children played, lovers laughed, and music flowed down the streets.
The greatest party in the city, everybody knew, was at the Garnier Opera House where the rich could mingle with performers and the conversation was as light as the music and dancing was beautiful. The Garnier Novelle Annee Masked Ball could only be attended by two types of people: those who performed there and those who were patrons. No matter how rich or distinguished one was, nobody received an invitation unless they had given generously in the past year and the upper crust of Paris never forgot this stipulation when the Opera began to look for sponsors.
Anyone will tell you that the worst time to be lonely is during the holidays and the worst time to be unhappy is when you are surrounded by those who are celebrating. Unfortunately, to tell this story, we must leave behind all the glamour and joy discussed and travel away from the chatter and lightheartedness of the main ball room. Far down the halls, in the living quarters, where the party could hardly be heard, a young girl buried her face in her pillow and began to cry.
Christine Daae had been singing at the Opera for nearly two months now and she had no reason to celebrate. Her beloved father had passed away, she’d been torn away from everything she knew; she was surrounded by hostile and unfamiliar faces. Almost eighteen, Christine could have passed for a child in conversation, her wholesome questions were not making her any friends amongst the girls of the opera who at far younger ages than Christine’s had learned what they had to do and with whom in order to get their star turn. The New Year, it seemed to her, was not going to be a good one.
“Whenever I’m sad about anything,” she heard her now-guardian Mamma Valerius’ tired voice in her head begin to say, “I just remember all the happier times I’ve had.”
Christine had rolled her eyes at the time, it sounded a little too easy to work, but desperate to drown out the unhappy night she sat up in bed and began to try to remember the last time she had been happy. Christine learned that night what a truly remarkable thing time can be. Moments ago when she had thought of her life it felt as though she had been trapped in these unhappy circumstances for years, the winter wind had been chilling her through her thin blankets. As soon as she thought of the memory, however, it was as though she was still living inside of it and not a moment had passed.
The warm sun was on her face, she was sitting on a grassy cliff directly over the beach, and she could still hear the waves breaking and smell the saltwater. She blushed; her hand was wrapped in his. She couldn’t remember how old exactly she was, maybe eleven or twelve.
The summer had begun exactly the way every summer had since her and her father had begun to live as entertainers for Mamma Valerius, but everything had changed when she had met him. Raoul de Chagney was exactly the type of person that the other girls at the opera would have been trying to use to promote their careers; he was rich and uncharacteristically good natured. Christine refused to let herself wonder if he would be at the opera that night, if he had found some ballet dancer and allowed himself to be seduced like most of the boys his age. It didn’t matter what he was like now, she told herself. He was perfect then.
Had the two met in Paris, Raoul would have been rebuked for talking to a poor musician’s daughter and dragged on down the street. Under the “supervision” of his elderly and uninterested aunt on the beaches, far away from Paris, however, there was no one around to tell Raoul that Christine was “below him” and the idea never occurred to Raoul.
“And how did you two do today?” Christine’s father had asked eagerly.
Raoul bit his lip and glanced away guiltily, he was not satisfied with the work Christine and he had done that day and knowing how important their business was to Christine and his father, he was afraid to admit that they had not reached their goal.
“I’m afraid we only found two.” Christine finally confessed, seeing that Raoul was not going to speak.
“Two?! What! No, no, that’s impossible! You got five yesterday and six the day before that!”
“I know but, daddy, we got so tired, we’ve already tried all the houses that are nearby here!”
Monsieur Daae shook his head in mock disapproval. “Two simply won’t do! You’ll have to go back out, it’s not too late yet and I can show you a whole row of houses nearby you haven’t tried begging at just yet.”
Raoul sighed dramatically but Daddy Daae could tell he was only playing along; the children were both brimming with excitement that he was allowing them to go back out and “work”. Ever since their fast friendship had begun, Raoul and Christine had set up an agreement with Daddy Daae. The more stories they could bring home for him from the locals, the more they could “buy” from him at the end of the day when they all met up for dinner. Daddy Daae’s stories were the best Raoul had ever heard, the best that existed (according to Christine) and in order to hear them the children would run from door to door and beg anyone who answered to tell them the first story they could think of with so much desperation that saying no made the poor locals feel like they were starving the children.
“Don’t you feel bad?” Raoul asked once they were out of Daddy Daae’s hearing.
“For what?” Christine asked brightly.
“For lying to your father!”
Christine’s pretty laugh made it impossible to stay mad at her and after all…the scheme had worked.
“You know as well as I do that three stories will only buy us one story tonight, we only need one more and we’ll have six-then he’ll tell us two! And…if he lets us choose which one to hear, we can ask for the Angel of Music!”
Raoul smiled and rushed to keep up with Christine’s energetic pace, Raoul did not need to tell Christine that he didn’t care which story Daddy Daae told because The Angel of Music was her favorite and watching her light up at the prospect he no longer cared if he’d had to tell the kindly old man a million lies.
“Let’s try this one.” Christine said stopping in front of a slightly worn cottage.
“No, no, this house is scary. There’s a much nicer house right next to it…we have a whole street of new houses to try!”
“We’ll try the nice houses tomorrow.” And without waiting for Raoul’s approval Christine skipped right up to the door and knocked boldly.
Christine knew she had made a mistake as soon as the old woman opened the door. She wasn’t like the nice old ladies they had encountered so far, her face looked furious and her substantial size was not at all reduced by the slight bend age had put into her posture.
“What do you want?” she barked.
Christine looked at Raoul desperately; he stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“If you don’t…mind…we…erm…my friend and I were wondering…nevermind.” He answered stupidly. The old woman’s fury heightened.
“You brats knocked on my door just to waste time? Who let you out by yourselves anyway?”
“Actually, we were hoping, not that you have to, but we wanted to know if you would tell us a story.” His words were rushed but Christine remembered feeling as though he was fighting a dragon she had summoned and was deeply touched that he would put himself at such risk for her.
The old woman scowled.
“You want me to tell a story?”
“Well, yes.”
“Just any story.”
“Yes.”
“You walked all the way here to ask me to tell a story?”
“Yes, yes we did.”
“Why?”
“We like stories.” He answered stubbornly.
The old woman, to Christine’s surprise, smiled.
“I don’t remember the last time I told a story, and I don’t remember the last time I had company, but I like your attitude.”
She opened the door a little more and made a gesture, not entirely unkind, that they should come in and sit down. The children were now out of their comfort zone. The people had always been kind to them, but no one had invited them in and expected them to sit down. They sat on the couch awkwardly, waiting for the old woman to bring out some “refreshments”.
“Do you think she’s going to eat us, like in Hansel and Gretel?” Christine finally asked expressing the fear that was in both their minds.
“I’m not sure, but I wish we hadn’t learned that story only two days ago.”
When the woman came out, however, she surprised them by sharing several stories, all of the highest caliber (though, they agreed, they were not as good as Daddy Daae’s). When they prepared to leave it had begun to get dark and the children were lucky to have collected so many stories in one place because they would have to turn back immediately. The old woman apologized for keeping them so long but she asked them to come back, promising to try her hardest to remember more stories for them. The children emerged content but very confused.
“She must be lonely.” Christine concluded.
“But then why was she so mean?”
“Maybe she’s just forgotten how to talk to people,” Christine looked at Raoul warily. “I hope I never get that lonely.”
“You won’t, silly, because you’re always going to have a husband to make you happy.”
“What makes you so sure?” Christine asked, sticking her tongue out at the idea of ever being married.
Raoul took both her hands in his and replied seriously, “I’m going to marry you, Christine!”
Christine giggled but suddenly the idea of getting married didn’t seem as yucky.
“I’m not joking! I’ll marry you now just to prove it!”
“We can’t get married now, silly, we’re just kids and we don’t even know how to get married.”
“I do! All we have to do is want to be friends forever and then we say ‘I do.’ And then we’re married!”
Christine was unconvinced.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been to lots of weddings! Here, all we have to do is be somewhere pretty and you have to wear white, which you already are and we have to hold hands and-“ he blushed. “Just follow me, ok?”
He walked her towards a small garden they had passed and they sat on a little white bench surrounded by roses.
“Christine, will you marry me?”
“Umm…yes?”
“No, no, you have to say ‘I do.’ or it doesn’t count.”
“That’s stupid!”
“Do you want to get married or not?”
“I do.” She replied smartly, again sticking her tongue out.
Raoul rolled his eyes but he accepted her response and moved on. “Now you have to ask me.”
“Raoul, will you marry me?”
“I do!” He answered sweetly and then pausing for a moment, he leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss on her lips for a split second before pulling away and turning scarlet. Christine felt all the tenderness she had felt then well up inside of her again, just as strong as it had been when it happened. She remembered how they had skipped back to her father, hand-in-hand and cheerfully informed him that they were now married.
Pappa Daae tried to hide a slight hesitation, he wondered if he had perhaps let the children play too much. Puppy love was one thing, but he knew that his daughter would never be a vicomtess and it hadn’t occurred to him that this was not as clear to the children. After a few seconds he shook away they idea-after all, the summer would end soon and both children would go back to their real world and forget the other.
“Tell us about the Angel of Music!” Christine remembered chanting and forgetting that she was at the Paris Opera and not with her father by the sea she began to softly sing the song about Little Lotte she had loved so dearly, she could swear her father’s violin was there with her.
“You have a lovely voice, but you hide it.”
Christine locked around and saw nothing but she felt no fear. The voice she had heard was too beautiful for bad intentions, she wanted to hear it again more than she wanted to know where it was coming from.
“Where are you?” She asked it, feeling a bit foolish.
“I am everywhere.”
“Are you the Angel of Music?” Christine asked, hoping against everything her common sense was telling her that somehow the story had come to life to comfort her.
There was a long pause in the room; the silence seemed heavy and oppressive in comparison to the memory of that voice. When it finally spoke, the voice sounded far more human than it had, but just as beautiful. She wondered idly if an angel could sound so sad, so warm, and so tender…she had always thought only people could feel so much.
“Yes,” the Angel finally replied, “I’m going to be your Angel.”