{Sixty-One ~ Food Run} {Audio//French}

[chorusangel]

[The transmission begins with the sound of footsteps, and when Christine speaks, she's evidently annoyed, but anyone listening closely might note that she seems rather afraid, too.]

Oh, parbleu! Pourquoi maintenant? S'il... Mais non, c'est fou.

[And that's it! The transmission cuts off.

Anyone who happens to be wandering deck 8 might notice Christine

Comments

[asoutcastshear]

[He's been watching you, Chrissie, ever since you left your room. So she is very right to be paranoid. Erik's patience has been stretched thin with her and he wants to know what's going on. And he wants to know now.

But he'll wait.

He figures she must be going back to her room with the tray of food. Just imagine her surprise when she reaches her floor, the elevator doors slide open, and there he is waiting for her. Just like old times.]

[chorusangel]

[...No. No, this cannot be. Her luck is not this terribly, surely?

Yet it is, and Erik is here. He has found her, and he will be so angry. Christine heard his last post, but the music he wrote was beyond her with her voice in its current state, and she thought that perhaps she could lie, say she had missed the post.

He will not let her lie. He will see in her eyes that she is being untruthful.

...Her eyes. Oh, God in heaven, her eyes! Because she was so sure she would not meet Erik or Raoul on this little journey, she had neglected to put on her sunglasses, and her eyes - her freakish eyes - are on display for Erik to see.

Christine takes several steps backwards, a shriek falling from her lips, poised to flee as fast as she can.]

[asoutcastshear]

[Oh no, my dear, you won't be escaping that quickly. He reaches for her hand and moves to pull her back toward him. At the sight of her eyes, his own narrows.

She is clearly not the same Christine he has nurtured and tutored. And loved. He silently curses this ship for changing her.]

We must speak, Christine.

[chorusangel]

[She looks down, avoiding Erik's gaze. Fear - of what he will say, what he will do - fills her, and if she thought she stood a chance, she would try to break free of his hold and run. His grip is too strong, though, and his very presence seems to anchor her to the spot.

There can be no escape from the Angel of Music.]

Wh-what of?

[missmimmi]

I am sorry, but I do not understand French, Christine.

[dormant_beast]

[Anna understood that; her language is a combination of several dialects, and French is one.]

What is wrong?