| OOC: || Moving |
[December 22, 2005 @ 11:28am] |
In celebration of the New Year, Christine!muse and I are moving to a new journal. We will of course transfer all of our posts to this journal, but we have decided that the numbers in this name have gotten annoying. This account (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) l1ttl3_l0tt3) will NOT be deleted, it will stay as an archive of RPs dating before the move and I will continue to reply to RPs still going on in this journal.
The journal we are moving to can be found at a__nightingale which suits Christine far better, in my humble opinion.
I will be commenting on each of my friends' journals as a__nightingale to ask them to add me.
Thank you. And Happy Holidays.
Christine!mun
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| They Say That a Hero Can Save Us--The Creation of The Nightingale |
[December 19, 2005 @ 6:47pm] |
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There are heroes among us.
The words she had spoken to Bruce echoed in her mind as she fixed the lace Domino mask over her face and piled her curls up atop her head, disguising herself in an outfit of lace, satin, leather. The woman Christine saw in the mirror was a stranger. This woman was independent. Brave.
Batman and Robin would need help in the apprehension of Erik, Christine knew they would the moment she heard her teacher’s name in the news. No matter how clever the duo was, Erik was more than a match for them and they were not aware of what they were up against.
And that was where Christine stepped in. At first she had planned to pass the information on to the Commissioner or someone else who she could count on to forward the information to Batman. But then things became personal when she had entered her apartment to find the window open and a gift from Erik set carefully out where she would find it.
It sat in a velvet box, opened to catch the light-- The French Blue Diamond Necklace that had been stolen from the Museum not a week earlier, accompanying it was Erik’s signature blood red rose. Christine collapsed onto her bed with the thing, eyes wide and far away as she turned the necklace around in her hands.
She couldn’t give this over to just anyone. What if she was thought the thief? Or that she was involved with Erik and had just got cold feet? In that moment her decision was made and Nightingale was born. She put the necklace in a black velvet pouch and tied it to her belt and she left through the window, climbing down the fire escape with grace that came from years of ballet, even as the phone-line she had recently installed began to ring. She paused in the window-sill and prayed that it was not Bruce, before taking a breath and vanishing into the night.
Gotham’s streets were not a safe place to be after eight o’clock, but Nightingale went on despite her fear. What from here? How did she plan on finding Batman? There was no light in the sky calling to the Caped Crusader and no promise she could find him.
The Signal…Nightingale imagined if she could find it, that would be a start.
But, it didn’t seem that would be needed….
OOC: || Could not for the life of me get this right. I finally settled with this though. Not too shabby. I do plan on drawing Nightingale in full costume and putting her picture up in her user-info page. But for now we have to use our imaginations to see what she looks like. ^_^
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| Lunch with Tim |
[December 17, 2005 @ 4:48pm] |
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Timothy Drake. Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. Christine wasn’t sure if Tim’s opinion of her meant everything to Bruce regarding their relationship, but it meant everything for Christine. She had decided that if Tim did not like her she would discontinue her relationship with Bruce. She was incredibly nervous though. She had never dated anyone with children before. What if Tim didn’t like her?
Well, she knew the answer to that. She’d leave Bruce and that would be that. She had planned the meeting for a while, unsure really what boys his age were interested in and settling on lunch at a pizza parlor, and perhaps something else. Christine did not want to give the impression she was buying his fondness but at the same time did not want to be cheap…It was a difficult position to be put in, but Christine had been the one to put herself in such a place. Bruce had never asked her to see how they got along. It was all Christine. After all, if she and Bruce continued to see each other for a long while before Tim’s opinion was a priority that would only lead to heartache. Getting Tim’s opinion while the relationship was just blossoming saved Christine from too much hurt, saved a lot of pain to come.
And if he liked her…Well, then she would happily play the part of mother-- not even mother exactly; he wasn’t a child and only he could decide whether or not he would consider her a mother-figure, but she most definitely would play confidant to him if things went well-- to him for however long she remained in Bruce’s life.
She dressed casually, and mused it was nice to dress without corsets and petticoats as she walked down the street in a pair of denim jeans, an orange turtle neck beneath a white cardigan, her hair kept out of her eyes with a white headband. She had arranged for Tim to meet her at a pizza place that according to some of her co-workers had ‘the best pizza in Gotham’ and when she got to the place she peeked into the window to see whether or not he was there yet or not.
She opened the door and stepped inside, seating herself at a table by the window and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves as she waited.
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[December 16, 2005 @ 9:20pm] |
She had meant to return the watch when they had got into the car. It must have, though, slipped her mind because when Christine slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat on her walk home from work she felt her fingers brush the thing and she winced, mentally scolding herself for forgetting to return it. He had left it on the table and she had taken it up as they had left to assure he didn’t forget it…Of course though, it was just her luck that she had forgotten it as well.
And so, Christine immediately altered her intentions and decided that the only thing to do was return Bruce his watch. After all, it was probably expensive. He did not have a phone-line at her apartment and she mused she did not know Bruce’s number (she mused here that perhaps she should get it if they planned on seeing each other with more frequency) and so all that there was to do was personally return the thing.
Which was just what Christine did. Wayne Manor was not a hard place to find, though Christine did though feel horrible about arriving unannounced. Still though, she was just returning the watch, that couldn’t be rude…Could it? Christine didn’t imagine it could be so but mused even if it was-- Times had changed and this was not near so rude as it would have been in Nineteenth Century Paris, France.
She hesitated a while, intimidated by the sheer size of the Manor. The Chateau de Changy had been quite large but not so much as the Wayne Manor. Christine took a breath and pushed her dark hair from her brown eyes and advanced to the door, putting a gloved finger to the doorbell and listening as the sound of it echoed from inside the door.
Well, there was no going back now. Christine put her hands in her pocket and felt for the watch to assure it was still there--How horrible it would be if it had fallen from her pocket-- and she waited, eyes roaming upwards to the sky (which was oddly clear despite the newspaper had forecasted snow and clouds) to the stone beneath her feet, her lips pursed.
She probably should have expected that Bruce would not be the one to let the door open, thought of the possibility that he would not be in or something similar, considered what she would say…But as it was this was going to be just one more meeting that would shape her life here in Gotham City.
OOC: || This thread is mostly for the fabulous alfred_pennyw_ though others (Bruce, Tim, whomever else may happen to be at Wayne Manor) may intude, I would think. However, I don't think Bruce is currently in...
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| My Photoalbum-- Pictures of Myself and Papa |
[December 14, 2005 @ 7:59pm] |
There seems to be a trend going about. My companions have as of late been taking strolls down memory lane, putting up photos of their loved ones, of their family. I decided to follow suit. I often speak of Papa though he died long ago, when I was nearly eight. We were close.
( He was my best friend... )
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| What Are You Happy About Right Now? |
[December 13, 2005 @ 8:52pm] |
I am fortunate enough to be one of those lucky few who can see Goodness in everything, one of those people who can see the silver lining…But that does not necessarily make me a happy person. In fact, it was actually torture after Papa died to be able to see so much good in the world and never be able to seize it, pull it close and make it mine. But after I accepted and came to terms with Papa’s death, as cliché as it may seem; the world is my oyster.
I have so much to be happy about, despite the strangeness of my current situation. There are the given things of course: I’m alive, and I have my health…things most people really don’t stop to be happy about. And then there are little things; It’s snowing outside (I adore the snow!), Christmas is quickly approaching and this morning, on my way to work, a little girl, holding her mother’s hand stopped me and said I was pretty. I had to smile. I have a home that’s safe and warm and this weekend I’m having a phone-line installed even.
One thing however rises above the rest and I imagine could make me positively beam in the most trying of times. I can answer this question with a name: Bruce Wayne.
At this moment I am happy about the man whom I have started to see and pray I will continue to see for a good while. I am happy that out of all of the women he could have (and he could have any one he wanted), Bruce chose me, a woman so unlike the other girls he has been known to date-- Beautiful women who only exist on the cover of a magazine, who are too glamorous to be real. Actresses, models. But no…It’s me, an unremarkable, shy young woman that he’s chosen. And I smile every time I think about it.
It’s almost unreal.
I have been in relationships with men before, of course, I had been engaged to Raoul de Changy, but I don’t ever recall feeling such a connection-- Mental, Physical, Spiritual and Emotional attraction to anyone before.
Bruce and I once spoke of our parents, how things were shiny and new when they were alive, how happiness was free-flowing…
Things are shiny and new with Bruce. A bit bold as we haven’t known one another too terribly long…But, it’s true.
And so, Bruce, I thank you. For bringing me happiness.
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| Questions Meme |
[December 09, 2005 @ 9:43pm] |
It should be noted that some of these questions absolutely disgust me, but they are simply questions, non? None the less I have locked them, especially from young eyes for I really have no want to know if you would strip for me or not. How awful a question. I understand some may answer these questions, and so I have made them available, but I really would prefer not to know, and I felt the need to give fair warning.
OOC: || Locked does not mean you can't see the questions, but I have wanred you. Your muse does not have to answer these questions, infact, innocent Christine would prefer you didn't, but I wished to be sure it was an open option for those who wanted to answer. Please answer in character. ;)
Would you…
give me your number?
let me hug you anytime I wanted to?
let me kiss you?
watch a movie with me...even a really sappy one?
let me take you out to dinner?
drive me somewhere/anywhere?
listen to me if I called you crying even if you were out with all of your friends?
buy me a drink if I didn’t have money?
let me sleep in your bed? (nothing sexual involved)
sing karaoke w/ me?
sit in the doctors office with me because I didn't want to go alone?
come pick me up at 3am because my car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere?
cry if I died?
dance with me?
sing happy birthday to me?
[locked from muses under the age of 18]
strip for me?
take advantage of me if I was drunk?
take a shower with me?
have a fling with me?
take me home for the night?
[end lock]
re-post this for me to answer your questions?
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| I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You |
[December 07, 2005 @ 10:08pm] |
The show was over. After three acts the curtain closed over the cast of the Gotham City Opera House’s production of Faust and Christine had never felt more at home in Gotham than in the Opera House. Music, to the brunette, was like her pulse, something she could not live without, a fixture in her life from a very young age and so it was a comfort to know that even in this situation-- A strange place, a strange time-- there was still something constant.
The evens of the days past, of her rescue were not forgotten and Christine doubted if it she would ever forget that night but she wondered a little why it continued to linger in the front of her mind. Certainly not too long had passed but she had imagined it would not haunt her so much, the scene played in her mind again and again. Perhaps it was a sign that she would meet Batman again, but Christine had never been very good at taking signs in the past and if it was a sign she certainly did not recognize it as one.
Backstage there was much rejoicing at the triumph. A full house, a standing ovation….It was something to cheer about, truly. Christine was introduced to Gotham’s various figure of importance, smiled to them charmingly and accepted their praise with warm modesty. She shook hands and she posed for photos with her co-stars and raised toasts of champagne.
Christine, now changed from her costume into a formal evening dress and a black cashmere overcoat took her co-star’s arm to join the public in the Opera House’s foyer. The doors opened and Christine smiled at the normality of it all. Of the applause and the congratulations, of signing programs.
It was strange how onstage she could be so free but now she was shy, quiet and modest, smiling softly and talking only a little. She looked as if she didn’t quite fit in, and perhaps she didn’t. Her nature was from another place, another time, her innocence a rare thing in a place such as Gotham. But Christine had never felt more at home.
“Christine, there you are.”
Christine turned to the man who had approached her and smiled to him. The manager of the Gotham City Opera, a portly man of Italian descent, Anthony Russo.
“I would like you to meet someone.” He told her.
OOC: || Yay! I’m happy with it. Topic title © the musical Evita, by Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber. detectivebats , I gave room for Bruce to either be introduced by Russo or else for her to get Christine’s attention. No intention to God-mod. I just wanted to be sure Bruce had an opening. Hope you like it. I’m rather proud of it.
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| What is the Thing You Regret Most Not Saying? |
[December 06, 2005 @ 7:45pm] |
I think of all the things others will write, the usual regrets of unspoken I love yous, or apologizes, or even a cold I regret nothing. Though I have not been alive too terribly long I do have my share of regrets, things I wish I had said yesterday or seven years ago.
Things that I will never say now, I know, and it makes it all the more regretful, really. And regret is an awful emotion, one that gnaws at your soul, but never really eats it all away, which makes it that much harder to endure for you know you will never be free of that nagging “What if…?”
I wish I had said a lot of things, truthfully.
But I am just as clichéd as the rest of the world and I admit it: It is an I love you… that I regret leaving unsaid. I have been given so many opportunities to say those three words and pull Poor, Unhappy Erik from his tragic life. He loves me so deeply, and I watch him, his eyes telling me everything, without a single word, and yet I never open my mouth.
I love both him and Raoul, and one of them is doomed to never hear it. I have already confessed love for Raoul.
Erik shall never hear the words tumble from my lips as I know he would die for the chance to. And I regret it sorely.
This is not something so simple that I can simply tell him. Love is a sacred thing and I mustn’t be so careless with the words. I told Raoul that I loved him, and I do, I truly do. I love you.. Three tiny words that hold so great a meaning. It is not something to be taken lightly. As fickle as my heart might be, my mouth will never betray the idea that Love is shared between two.
Between one man, and one woman.
Between Raoul and myself.
And I can never tell Erik. Never.
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| Write a Letter to Yourself as a Child |
[November 26, 2005 @ 12:49am] |
Little Lotte,
Listen to me, My Dear Child, and please take heed of my words. You are a charming girl, everyone says so. Mama Valerius and Papa dote upon you and your future is as bright as the stars in the sky. Things though, Sweet Girl, are to become quite difficult for you quite soon. That cough Papa has? It is not a cold, Chirstine. He is very ill and he is hiding it for your sake. Do not waste a moment of your time with him for your days are numbered.
You are an immature one (Oh! And you know you are, Sweet One!) and Papa is mostly to blame for that but do not change a hair on your head for in this time Papa will need you to be his little girl more than ever. Insist he tell you every story you’ve ever heard, just to be near him. Lock yourself away in the attic and listen outside the door when he plays his fiddle. It’s a melody that you will hear again. The Resurrection of Lazarus.
Do not move from him when he kisses your cheek; rather seek him out for those kisses and savor each one as you do the silken handkerchief that Professor Valerius bought for you in China.
You will see Raoul again soon. And when you do, please for the sake of your heart don’t believe him when he says he loves you. He may very well mean it, Lotte, but you are not Cinderella, Love, and there is a love so incredibly great that can be yours if your heart is not hindered by the Vicomte de Changy. Let him kiss you good-bye though for you are a special girl and deserve to end your Fairy Tale with Raoul bitter-sweetly. Even now it seems cruel to tell you to save your heart but trust me for though I am not much more grown than you, I have seen all the wisdom of the world in the eyes of the man you could love and could love you if you gave yourself to him unhindered by your childish affections for Raoul.
Even now I wonder why I write to you and tell you that you must stray from Raoul for you could very well look on the opposite side of that same coin and you can have your Vicomte.
But as marvelous as he is, he will never love you as completely as the other will.
Heed my words, Little Christine.
Send Papa my love,
Christine Daae
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| What Are You Like in the Mornings? |
[November 25, 2005 @ 3:12pm] |
Oddly enough, I am at my very best in the mornings. I hear so many of the ballet girls complaining about wishing more sleep, about it being unfair that they are pulled from their beds so early but I don’t see why they fuss so. Perhaps if they had actually slept rather than snuck off to the arms of some stage-hand or patron or another than they would not be so tired and they would enjoy the early hours as much as I do.
I wake up quite early. Five hours into the new day, and I admit that for five minutes I simply wish to be left alone to collect myself, but how can one stay grumpy? It is a brand new day and I am still alive. For me, that is reason enough to smile and be glad it is morning.
I admittedly look a mess in the morning, my eyes bleary with Sleep and my hair tousled from turning over, but unlike many I don’t give this too much thought at all and instead of whining about how frightful I look, I set things right with a luxurious bath and a comb. The morning’s pleasures are many and all so very simple:
The knowledge you have lived to see another day, a hot bath and a warm breakfast with cocoa makes the morning not only bearable but enjoyable, and then there is Eight O’clock in the morning which creeps around and inspires me with absolute joy and excitement: Every morning without fail at the eighth hour of the morning I have voice lessons with the man I once called ‘Angel’. Lessons were one thing that remained constant even after I learned that there was no Angel of Music, that there was simply Erik. And I still enjoy them immensely and so with all of this being said I shall summarize this entry in but a single sentence…
I am a pleasant person in the morning, at my sharpest, hopeful for the new day and looking forwards to my voice lessons with Erik, I am not distressed at all by my appearance and am content to spend the hours until eight in quiet contemplation.
Yes, I suppose you could say I’m a morning person…
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| What Do You Look For in a Romantic Partner? |
[November 08, 2005 @ 5:54pm] |
Oh, I feel like a gossiping ballerina at the moment, my cheeks surely tinged pink with a blush of excitement at the mere thought of the my idolized Prince Charming. All I have to do is to heave a dreamy sigh and giggle and I shall be one of them, and yet I do little but smile to myself as I envision him now, pondering how to put such an image of perfection into words.
Let him be handsome, with a slightly tanned complexion from his journeys at sea and his summers at the beach, tall and strong though not intimidating at all with pink lips with the most adorable smile to reveal dimples. Let his hair be blonde and fall over his blue eyes, brimming with his adoration for me, in a manner that makes my hand long to reach over and brush it away with a joyous smile of my own.
May his nature be kind and gentle, boyish and innocent. May he sweep me away from the Nighttime and waltz me into the Daybreak and may his shoulders carry every last one of my tears without complaint but rather and understanding tenderness. May he be comforting and so simple that I never have to contemplate his intentions. May he be pure.
May he be Raoul de Changy, the boy I gave my heart away to at Perros. The boy who saved my scarf from the sea when I was but twelve summers and he two years my senior.
In a Fairy Tale this is my Prince Charming, this is the man I would with no question ride away into the sunset with. In a Fairy Tale this could be so. I could be his Cinderella and he would take me away forever and we would end with And they lived happily ever after…
This is no Fairy Tale though, and I must try to remember that as much as I long for Ever After and a Valiant Knight as a Romantic Partner, I understand that I cannot have that. Nor can I have the Heavenly Being, the Angel, I had been infatuated with during the Lessons I had with my “Angel of Music”. I try to be realistic since I was shown the line between Fairy Tales and Reality.
Some part of me, the part that is not so completely superficial and frightened knows that a life with Raoul, a boy trapped within the body of a man, could not be pleasing forever. I confess I am just as much of a girl as the Vicomte is a boy…but what happens when we grow up? Slowly but surely Erik coaxes open my tightly folded petals, urging me to blossom into a woman he believes he can love.
I will need a man to spend my life with. Someone clever who makes me open my eyes to the truths of the world and teaches me about myself by revealing himself to me.
Oh, and if I weren’t so frightened I could give the pair of us a chance at happiness. But I am but a mouse, a frightened, humble mouse and he is a proud lion and I dare not get near him for his roar is as terrifying as his claws and his fangs.
Oh, if only there was an in between of Daytime and Night! If only I had never met Erik! If only Raoul had never come back into my life!
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| Talk About a Time You Realized That Someone Close to You Was Not the Person You Thought You Knew |
[November 07, 2005 @ 8:47pm] |
OoC: || I shall be using the journey to Erik’s underground home circa Gaston Leroux’s description in Chapter XII: Apollo's Lyre. Just for reference.
How delightfully simple is this! I should very much like to say that I am quite careful about the company that I keep, and that I know all of those whom I associate with as if we had known one another since birth. But it is not so, and I am one of the first to admit that I am easily…fooled. It has not happened often though, for I do not let too many people too terribly close to me. I am quite frightened of being hurt, you see?
But I confess it has happened more than once, finding that one of the few I trusted enough to let down my walls was not whom I believed them to be. None of these revelations though compares to the night I learned that there was, and never had been, an Angel of Music. What a night that was, when I stepped behind the mirror and followed Him to downwards, to His Hell, to His Sanctuary. I remember his voice and his violin, and I followed the sound into the Labyrinthine world before it all came to a halt. I cried out for my Angel and was grasped by the hand by a man in a cloak. Erik, though I didn’t know it then…
I fainted, and when I woke he was tending to me at the well, sprinkling cool water onto my face. We made the journey in silence save for my occasional cry for my Angel of Music to rescue me from my kidnapper. I was ignored. I remained passive a long while until we reached the wharf and I felt terror grip at me. He seemed to know it too and he gave me no chance of escape before he sent the boat into the lake and we crossed the waters, I much too frightened to do anything but cry quietly as he rowed us to the other side.
He led me into a room of yellow flowers and he spoke:
“Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no danger.”
It was my Angel of Music! I wept then because of the deception and he fell to his knees before me and he kissed the hem of my gown.
“It is true, Christine!...I am not an Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost…” He told me. “I am Erik!”
I had been deceived, the Heavenly Being my father promised me, whom I believed came to me and taught me, was not an Angel at all but a man! I was not in love with an Angel at all…
It was painful, to let that childhood story and dream die, and I was quite angry for a while at Erik. But I did not really lose an Angel, for that Divine individual is within him. I gained a man.
He cannot know though that some part of me returns his affections and yearns for him.
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| Write About Losing Control |
[November 07, 2005 @ 7:58pm] |
How, pray tell, does one write about losing control when one has never had any control to lose?
I speak quite honestly here, though I imagine no one believes me. After all, Little Christine Daaé is a Star on Rising, and surely she must hold control over every little aspect of her life! If the world only knew how little I speak for myself…They would be quite surprised. I am a woman in body and yet I am commanded as a child would be, my future is not mine to decide, but Paris’.
From the Managers, who plan their Charity Concerts and decide which Operas to put on, to Monsieur Reyer, the Opera’s Maestro, whose fingers slam into the piano keys at least once a rehearsal in frustration with me (I must say this happens less and less, and really hardly at all anymore since I began my lessons with the man I once thought an Angel.) to my childhood sweetheart, Raoul, with his demands I leave this pedestal I have been placed on, leave just when I am achieving my dreams, to Erik…My Angel of Music, who ultimately is the final say-so in all aspects of my life-- I cannot sing if I even begin to sniffle, he commands it! I dare not breath sometimes unless he has approved it!
I have no control over my life, no matter that I tell Raoul that I am the Mistress of My Own Actions. I have made, though, no attempt to regain any control, any reign in my life. I am not complaining though, for I know that I would make a muddle of my life if I was entrusted to control it.
Now though, now that I think, truly think on this subject of control I muse that perhaps I have indeed lost control. Somewhere between my innocent affections for Raoul de Changy, and the compelling nature of Erik, I lost what little control I may have had. I surrendered it all to these two men-- And I hesitate to use that word, for Raoul is little more than a Boy (And I adore him for it, I do!) and Erik…I cannot decide whether he is Angel or Demon-- who wage a silent war for my affections.
I sometimes fear for all three of us because of it. I dread that I have no control over this…For where will it lead me?
To ruins, surely.
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| The Mun's Soliloquy: Regarding Christine Daaé |
[November 06, 2005 @ 2:48pm] |
Little Lotte let her mind wander...
Little Lotte thought 'Am I fonder of dolls...'
'...Or of goblins...Or shoes...?'
'Or of riddles? Of frocks...?'
'...Or of chocolates?'
-Little Lotte/The Mirror, Phantom of the Opera (the Musical)
Christine Daaé is the creation of Monsieur Gaston Leroux, the author of the beloved novel The Phantom of the Opera, a tail of Horror, Love, Mystery, and Intrigue, her inspiration supposedly from the lovely Christine Nilson, an Opera singer whom Leroux was said to have quite a crush on in his youth.
Christine, or as her Vicomte calls her 'Little Lotte' is but a girl trapped within the body of a woman with naive charms and a gentle demeanor. She never really grew up in her years, encouraged to stay young by her sweetheart, Raoul de Changy who kept his boyish nature even in his age. She is not described as being overly intelligent, though Andrew Lloyd Webber matures her in his musical version of the tale, but rather an imaginative young maiden with high hopes and little self-esteem.
Distraught by the loss of her father, Christine became withdrawn from the world, and so she stayed in her own fearful existence, picked on by La Carlotta, the resident Diva, and the other Ballet Girls. Her father had promised her an 'Angel of Music' and it was in these years of shyness and the overwhelming need for someone to understand that she met Erik. Her Angel of Music.
It was the Domino Effect, and he coaxed the child to grow into a woman that he knew she could be...into a star. When Raoul returns to her life the young Diamond in the Rough is torn into two, torn between her Innocent Childhood love and this man who commands her very spirit.
So simple, and yet so deep. Christine Daaé is a character worth examining. And so I have taken her as my pup and decided to write for her, to deepen her all the more, into more than just words on paper, a voice upon the stage, and a visage crafted by the movie.
As it is with Erik--
Leroux gave Christine life. Webber gave her a voice. Kay gave her a soul.
I give her a meaning.
There will be SPOILERS in this character journal which is a blend of Leroux, Webber, Kay, as well as personal experiance in my role play journeys.
I am free for roleplay, and I love comments and constructive criticism.
Now. I invite you to take a look at the pages of Mademoiselle Daaé's journal.
Enjoy,
Christine!mun (whose name really does happen to be 'Christine')
l1ttl3_l0tt3@yahoo.com
l1ttl3_l0tt3,
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[November 05, 2005 @ 1:30pm] |
It's done; Christine's journal has gone Friends Only, save for ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) theatrical_muse challenges, which will be visible to the Public. Christine and I have decided to lock Christine's journal from the public eyes for a number of reasons, first and foremost being that Christine is a very shy and private person and would not like her personal encounters available to just anyone.
In addition to this, I have decided to use this journal for Role Play as well as for TM challenges, and this RP will be slightly (perhaps slightly is too weak of a word...) AU, and sadly there are people whom object to such things as Creative License. Also, my Role Play does not meet ends with my theatrical_muse responses, and so I thought it would be more organized and more easily managed if I kept TM and RP separate.
If you are interested in becoming a friend to Christine I will not object, of course. Simply comment that you befriended me and are interested in being allowed to view Christine's more private entries and I will add you to Christine's own ever-growing list of friends.
~Christine!mun
Many thanks to mlledaae for the Friends' Only Banner.
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