Post by abunaibijin on Nov 7, 2006 1:27:31 GMT -5
**OOC Explanation**
This is based on the 2004 movie Phantom of the Opera, not the book or any previous version of the movie for the specific purpose of romance, yey.
I have to tell you I was absolutely miffed at Christine. What a ho. And I totally hate the idea of the smexay Erik-as-portrayed-by-GB either dying as in the book OR staying in love with that whore. However, I adore the idea of Raoul finding more happiness in passion and commitment (Erik!) than with flighty insecurity (Christine), so, here be my fangirl fantasy.
I will play Erik as IC as possible, but he doesn't have to love Raoul. It could be anyone except of course a certain brunette bimbo who shall be unmentioned *cough*Daea*cough*. =o I will also play Madam Giry, if no one minds.
This obviously takes place right after Raoul and Christine flee from the lair together and Erik goes back into hiding, but FAR BEFORE the end scene of the movie when Raoul is at Christine's grave (good riddance).
I would like to make a few exceptions to my "strictly movie" rule:
Sometimes, the book explained things a lot better. So I'm gonna list some things in the book that weren't in the movie that I think we should stick to.
- Raoul has no living parents, and his older brother is dead. He does however have two older sisters, which by the way, scientists say that a man that has older sisters is more likely to be gay. Thought I'd point that out.
- The Phantom (Erik) is an older man. About 40, give or take (depending of course on how old Madam Giry was when she had Meg, who was like sixteen or seventeen in the movie). He may or may not be Meg Giry's father, that's just a pet theory of mine.
- Christine was a whiny selfish brat that was basically using both men for her own gain.
- Raoul was also whiny and selfish, but hey, he's rich. It's allowed.
- Erik sleeps in a coffin. Yeah!
I'll think of more when I'm not so tired.
**IC Roleplay**
It was dark, very dark, and cold. Finally. The heat of the fire had nearly suffocated him in the stone halls of his imprisoning lair, but finally the cool draft carried only the faintest scent of smoke on wispy wings.
He sat now in silence and secrecy, his shattered mask at his feet, tears of rage and fear dripping from his chin into a pool in the cold porcelain shards, his right hand pressed into the malformed side of his otherwise beautiful face. The Opera House had burned to the ground, he knew it had to have by now, or at least very close to it, but he knew his lair was safe. So many levels protected him for so long, that it had to have survived, but now he felt naked beneath the burnt upper levels, as though they were clothing rather than walls.
He knew not whether the looters had raided his home yet; he half hoped bitterly that they had taken or destroyed everything, and half hoped that they'd all perished in the flames before even touching their greedy gaze on his possessions, but either way, he couldn't yet force himself to face the possibilities.
All that he was certain of at this very moment was his venomous anger and hatred, his despair, his grief. He had loved her, once... or so he had thought. But now only immense anger swelled in him when he thought of her; only hatred for her actions, and he decided that it hadn't been love. He had been infatuated with her. Jealous of her perhaps, and even of her lover because he too had what Erik had not; but he had not loved her, and now he thought of her blond lover with only pity for having blindly chosen the whore.
His left hand lifted to touch his lips softly, and then more roughly wipe away the memory of her parting gift; the lewd kiss that she had tempted him with. It was in that kiss that he had realized how much he truly despised her, and it felt like poison on his lips. He shivered, pulling both hands from his face, and pushed himself to his feet, deciding to view the damage to his once beautiful and artistic home.
The walk through the passage was long, and the cold draft was now icy, damp air clinging to him, his clothes, his hair, and seeming to seep into him like a sponge, until he could feel it in his bones. The Phantom shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, his feet feeling like lead. Finally he reached the end of the tunnel and pushed the panel aside, faint light breaking into the darkened tunnel, but shedding little illumination on the scene before him.
He would wait until morning to discover the mess made, he decided, choosing not to light a candle just in case some lurkers remained, and perhaps a bit put off at the thought of the recent fire that ravaged the upper rooms of his sanctuary. He groped in the darkness for his bed, cursing when he ran across something that did not belong in his path, but finally he found the ornate box that he called his bed, and leaned against it with exhaustion.
This is based on the 2004 movie Phantom of the Opera, not the book or any previous version of the movie for the specific purpose of romance, yey.
I have to tell you I was absolutely miffed at Christine. What a ho. And I totally hate the idea of the smexay Erik-as-portrayed-by-GB either dying as in the book OR staying in love with that whore. However, I adore the idea of Raoul finding more happiness in passion and commitment (Erik!) than with flighty insecurity (Christine), so, here be my fangirl fantasy.
I will play Erik as IC as possible, but he doesn't have to love Raoul. It could be anyone except of course a certain brunette bimbo who shall be unmentioned *cough*Daea*cough*. =o I will also play Madam Giry, if no one minds.
This obviously takes place right after Raoul and Christine flee from the lair together and Erik goes back into hiding, but FAR BEFORE the end scene of the movie when Raoul is at Christine's grave (good riddance).
I would like to make a few exceptions to my "strictly movie" rule:
Sometimes, the book explained things a lot better. So I'm gonna list some things in the book that weren't in the movie that I think we should stick to.
- Raoul has no living parents, and his older brother is dead. He does however have two older sisters, which by the way, scientists say that a man that has older sisters is more likely to be gay. Thought I'd point that out.
- The Phantom (Erik) is an older man. About 40, give or take (depending of course on how old Madam Giry was when she had Meg, who was like sixteen or seventeen in the movie). He may or may not be Meg Giry's father, that's just a pet theory of mine.
- Christine was a whiny selfish brat that was basically using both men for her own gain.
- Raoul was also whiny and selfish, but hey, he's rich. It's allowed.
- Erik sleeps in a coffin. Yeah!
I'll think of more when I'm not so tired.
**IC Roleplay**
It was dark, very dark, and cold. Finally. The heat of the fire had nearly suffocated him in the stone halls of his imprisoning lair, but finally the cool draft carried only the faintest scent of smoke on wispy wings.
He sat now in silence and secrecy, his shattered mask at his feet, tears of rage and fear dripping from his chin into a pool in the cold porcelain shards, his right hand pressed into the malformed side of his otherwise beautiful face. The Opera House had burned to the ground, he knew it had to have by now, or at least very close to it, but he knew his lair was safe. So many levels protected him for so long, that it had to have survived, but now he felt naked beneath the burnt upper levels, as though they were clothing rather than walls.
He knew not whether the looters had raided his home yet; he half hoped bitterly that they had taken or destroyed everything, and half hoped that they'd all perished in the flames before even touching their greedy gaze on his possessions, but either way, he couldn't yet force himself to face the possibilities.
All that he was certain of at this very moment was his venomous anger and hatred, his despair, his grief. He had loved her, once... or so he had thought. But now only immense anger swelled in him when he thought of her; only hatred for her actions, and he decided that it hadn't been love. He had been infatuated with her. Jealous of her perhaps, and even of her lover because he too had what Erik had not; but he had not loved her, and now he thought of her blond lover with only pity for having blindly chosen the whore.
His left hand lifted to touch his lips softly, and then more roughly wipe away the memory of her parting gift; the lewd kiss that she had tempted him with. It was in that kiss that he had realized how much he truly despised her, and it felt like poison on his lips. He shivered, pulling both hands from his face, and pushed himself to his feet, deciding to view the damage to his once beautiful and artistic home.
The walk through the passage was long, and the cold draft was now icy, damp air clinging to him, his clothes, his hair, and seeming to seep into him like a sponge, until he could feel it in his bones. The Phantom shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, his feet feeling like lead. Finally he reached the end of the tunnel and pushed the panel aside, faint light breaking into the darkened tunnel, but shedding little illumination on the scene before him.
He would wait until morning to discover the mess made, he decided, choosing not to light a candle just in case some lurkers remained, and perhaps a bit put off at the thought of the recent fire that ravaged the upper rooms of his sanctuary. He groped in the darkness for his bed, cursing when he ran across something that did not belong in his path, but finally he found the ornate box that he called his bed, and leaned against it with exhaustion.
