L'Opera Populaire

"L'Opera Populaire welcomes its esteemed guests to this most joyous of occasions.

For two hundred years we have entertained the highest of society, catering our talent to the whims of Ladies and Gentlemen from every corner of this world. On this glorious eve, we present for your delight, our stunning rendition of Don Juan.

Furthermore, this production promises to overshadow all past performances, with the introduction of our newly acquired talent. Mademoiselle Charrise Rosseau, 18, gives her voice as the lead diva, Christine. Monsieur Andre Laroche, 20, has signed on as our newest composer.

As always, we hope you enjoy your time within our opera house, and allow yourself to be inspired by our passionate works.

Sincerely,
The Management


<center>A penniless man, brilliant and talented.
A etheral siren, with the voice of an angel.


http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9...eCharrise2.jpg

Who would ever expect the fate they were to be dealt?</center>

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ November 04, 2005 10:00 PM: Message edited by: inner universe ]</font>

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9.../Charrise2.jpg
she sang to the heavens,
and waltzed through hell


<center>---</center>


<div align="right">

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9...oll/Andre2.jpg
he danced with the devils,
and angered the angels</div>


<center>---


<u>LOVE</u>
never truly dies

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b9...reCharrise.jpg</center>

[taken from live play]

November 18th, 1782

The youngest composer to ever work at L'Opera Populaire. That's what they all said when they were patting him on the back for delivering new arias, for inspiring their divas and chorus girls to sing like angels. His words were beautiful, his music was divine - and he was as penniless as the beggars on the street. Everyone knew that the managers were cheating him - paying him wages most slaves would find insulting. But he didn't care. He was given free room and board - allowed to make his home in one of the many attics of the Opera House [although it was well known that he often went wandering through the cavernous halls of the basement and catacombs, which sometimes made him a very hard young man to track down!] - and he could spend all day doing nothing but writing and singing and playing music. In truth, he was in heaven. Money had never been his concern. Andre Laroche lived for art, for passion and beauty, for love. The latter being something that he had yet to experience in his short 20 years on Earth. Not that he minded! Everyone knew that his only true love was his music - just ask the Chorus girls! They all giggled like little girls whenever he was around, whispering about how handsome he was, how very talented, and yet so shy, so quiet. They were no concern of his. Oh, he was polite, of course. Always lavishing them with kind smiles and praising their voices and dancing, or instructing them on exactly what this aria meant, or how to express oneself during this certain scene. That was as far as his interest in them went, however, as his attention was caught by another. Charrise Rosseau, the young diva that all of France was fussing about. The first time he'd heard her sing he had been sitting up in the rafters, listening casually to rehersals while he scribbled in his notebook, and had nearly fallen to a rather bloody demise when she uttered the first note of a song he wrote. Sadly, Monsieur Laroche was a rather ... shy young man, and as of yet had not been able to bring himself to offer her more than a quiet smile. Occasionally he found himself staring intently at her, lost in her beauty, her grace, her talent. Her passion. Whenever she turned, feeling eyes upon her, he diverted his gaze as quickly as he could, a faint blush tinting his cheeks while he seemed to grow a rather intense fascination with his shoes.

"We need you down here, Andre. Bring your talent, dress well, and come impress your managers!" Urgh. They wanted him to revise someone else's work, which he hated. Still, he did as he was asked, climbing out of bed, dressing casually in black shoes and trousers, a modest but attractively made white shirt clinging to a body that was well-defined with the muscularity of youth, and meandering down from his attic to the stage and the rather frustrated looking conductor.

"What can I do for you, Monsiers?"

Charisse noticed him the first day she came to the opera house, she noticed him the first second. He was amazing, they all sang his praises and she would soon join them, after months of listening to his music and hearing his passion in the words the other women spoke. She was only a dancer, but one thing led to another and suddenly she was a star. Or rather, a rising one, that's what the managers said. She felt her cheeks burning when they called Andre down onto the stage, told her that she would need to conference with him and work out all of the vocal kinks in this older piece that was beautiful -- just needed to be tweaked, a little!

"Andre, have you had the pleasure to make the acquaintance of Miss Charisse yet?" The manager knew very well that he hadn't and instead of shying away like the dainty flower she usually potrayed on the stage, she smiled brilliantly at him and courtseyed low, her eyes fixed upon his the entire time. There was something in the way he looked, the way his eyes met hers but nearly shied away that she found almost consuming. She couldn't pry herself away from his presence...

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure..." Her voice was lilting, but strong. Kind of like her! ...Perhaps a bad analogy.

No one told him she would be there! The messenger had just said his managers needed help, and of course the conductor. When his green-grey gaze locked onto hers - the colour of rich chocolate, he noticed - he had the overwhelming urge to turn on heel and run far, far away. "I-- I... um, no, I... we..." Stuttering helplessly, eyes locked on hers, and then on the floor. And then back on her, and then the floor... and so on and so forth. Swallowing hard when she flashed that gorgeous smile at him, he somehow managed to cant his head in what was supposed to be a slight bow. "It's... a pleasure to, uh, meet you." Clearing his throat akwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I've ... heard you sing." No, I haven't. I've followed every piece you've ever done with the intensitiy of a man that should be locked away for his insanity. Your voice inspires me to write. Sometimes at night my stomach is twisted into knots because I can't stop thinking about you and then I can't sleep so I have to get up and write just to focus my mind but it never works and--- "What can I help you with, Mademoiselle?" Large hand, which was trembling just slightly, should anyone have bothered to look, was fishing in his pocket for a pencil. After all, he was a composer. They never went anywhere without one! Swinging his other arm wide towards the hall, where they could find a table and chairs. "Perhaps we could sit and ... and you could..." Cough. "Tell me what the problem is?" Because that was, quite frankly, as suave as he could manage at the moment.

Charisse didn't have a lot of experience with being seductive or charming or anything of that nature. She was only eighteen years old, what was she supposed to do? Well, she didn't know, but whatever she was currently doing seemed to work because he was fumbling and stuttering all over himself and she was smiling shyly at him. It was that demure demeanor that always had men fawning over her, sending her bouqet after bouqet of roses, jewelry and all kinds of things. Things that she really didn't want or need, things that were unnecessary for her own personal enjoyment. Afterall, Charisse was a simple little thing! With a biiiig voice.

"I'm sure we can figure this out from here, sir." Laying a gentle hand on her manager's shoulder, she smiled at him. For some reason, she uh. She just didn't want him in the room! How pleasantly sneaky she was. "Can't we, Andre? Yes, yes. Thank you." Patting the man's back and showing him to the door, she wheeled around once he was out and eyed Andre. It might have looked like it was her attempt to seduce him, but that was far from it. She only wanted conversation that didn't involve how wonderful she was or how wonderful he was or music all day long -- or maybe that was exactly what she wanted. Who knew! "I would love to sing a composition of yours one day." She hadn't really had the chance to do that, only his re-works.

Did his eyes widen a bit? ...Or a lot? Suddenly the color of a ghost [which was rather comical, given his olive complexion and near-black hair] when she shuffled the managers and conductor out of the room. He hadn't really had time to answer her question about not needing them around, but that didn't matter because now they were all gone and the two were left to their own devices. Clearing his throat again [it was a nervous gesture, you know] and running a hand through his hair, he nodded briskly, extending an arm to show her to a comfortable seat. Once they were both settled, he was fumbling with the score, turning pages and glancing over a few things here and there. It wasn't that he was ignoring her, or the comment about singing one of his arias, he just ... uh. Wasn't sure what to say.

"I wrote one just for you." Whispered out so quickly, so quietly that she may not have heard it. Even though he looked completely absorbed in his work, he was actually peeking up at her shyly, trying to tell if she had heard him, and gauge her reaction if she had. ...Look, see, he was multi-tasking! Because his pencil was already crossing things out and he wasn't even looking at the paper! Honestly, he didn't really need to - one of the reasons the managers loved him so much. Aside from his own compositions, he had hundreds of others memorized backwards and forewards.

She was just watching him, studying him, memorizing every part of his face because it seemed like the right thing to do. Charisse was a little intense for an eighteen year old woman (not a girl, damnit!), but that was all part of her charm.

"I would like to sing that for you then." Yes, of course she heard him! A singer had to be a listener before she could get the notes out properly, you know, so Charisse had her ears trained well. "If you want me to." Young love was in the air, anyone who was in the room could have told right away, but nobody was! So this was, luckily, their own little secret. "You're very talented, aren't you? They say you're the youngest and most amazing anyone has ever seen -- that you will do such great things." She leaned closer to him, like prying ears might be listening. "If you are, I think I would like to be with you while you do that... I mean to sing for you, of course." Nice save! Quick thinking was one of her forte's, which often got her into trouble and called everything from sassy to a downright smart ass.

Blink. Blinkblinkblink. Eyes fluttering rapidly, he had raised his head to finally hold her gaze when she said she wanted to sing the aria for him. And, uh, then her face was mere inches from his. She smelled delicious, and her had every angle and soft curve of her face burned into his memory. Not to mention her lips, which would have been so easy to reach if only he had the courage to bend his head down a bit. Oh, he wanted to. So badly. He'd never actually kissed a girl - or young woman, as it were - and had never really had the desire to do so. Until now, anyway! Music had always been his obsession, and while most young men his age were busy sending flowers and wooing the opposite sex, Andre was ... composing. No doubt most women would find him rather dull. So it was with an expression of confusion that he leaned towards her just slightly, eyes darkening with a mixture of passion and fear. Lips slanted against hers, so gentle he could hardly feel it. ...And then, in his moment of nervousness, he thought he felt her pull away, which automatically made him assume that she wanted nothing to do with him, which had him backing away as quick as lightning ... and promptly falling off his chair, only to land on his back on the floor, with a rather hard 'thud' and a pained groan. Smooth.

Pulling away really wasn't on her mind when she felt his lips slant against hers, but she did make a movement to get closer to him -- but she had to adjust first, which he might have interrperted as moving away. But then he fell off the chair and she was laughing into her hand. "Ohh I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, I'm sorry." But she was laughing still, bending down and kneeling beside him. "Did you hit your head?" She was less than timid, obviously. When he sat up, she leaned forward (taller than him on her knees, of course, if he was sitting) and she kissed him on the head. "Poor boy, you can't bruise that brain, you'll have only your good looks to run on then and I'll have to make all the money once we get married." Very simple -- of course they were getting married!

The sound of her laughter was infectious, and soon he was grinning widely and chuckling right along with her. "Yes, actually, I did---" The first words he managed to get out without stuttering like a fool, but then she was kneeling down beside him and had ... kissed him. Sucking in a harsh breath when he felt the touch of her mouth [even if it was just the top of his head that she kissed] and though at first her cringed away a bit, startled, he soon relaxed and leaned into her. Not much. But it was a big thing for him! Eyes snapping up at her when she mentioned his "good looks." People had often told him he was handsome, but to be honest, he'd never actually heard them, too absorbed in his compositions. And anyway, he didn't actually care what they thought. He cared about the fact that she thought he was good looking. At the mention of marriage he was flushing to a lovely shade of crimson. "I, uh, you, um..." Back to the stuttering! "Would you accompany me to my room?" ...If anyone else had such a thing, no doubt it would have sounded like some sort of lecherous come on. But with him, was there really any doubt that he had meant something purely innocent? Most likely wanting to show her an aria, or perhaps a book he had read and loved, or maybe he just wanted to share with her the place where he lived and dreamt. Rising slowly to a full stand, he reached out to take her hand and gently help her up. "Please." Tilting his head towards the hall, until finally they were both winding up the steps towards his attic. Once inside, after he had shoved the door away [rather heavy thing, it was] they were covered in darkness for a long moment. Until he lit a few candles, anyway, and then they were surrounded by glimmering light. Sheet music scattered everywhere, models of the stage and glass figures of performers set carefully atop it [he made them all, you know] sitting casually on a table, and perhaps the most embarassing/revealing thing ... sketches of Charisse plastered over his walls. He was a man of many talents, although few knew that he could do more than sing and compose. A modest bed in the corner, and yet it was draped with fine linens and silks and antique quilts. Though it was obvious he was a poor man, there was exotic luxury in every corner of his small living space. Nothing meaningless or kept around simply to impress. Everything he owned he had cherished, collected for a reason, and loved, no matter how old or tattered. "I, uh ... thought I'd show you that ... score I was talking about."

The one he had written just for her.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ November 18, 2005 06:28 PM: Message edited by: music of the night ]</font>

[taken from live play]

November 18th, 1782

"Would you accompany me to my room?" It was true -- it may have sounded licentious coming from anyone else, but it would have had to have been spoken to someone less naive. Charisse, though sheltered very little, still held onto some of that girlhood naivity. It helped that she trusted him, though maybe a stupid thing to do since she didn't know him very much -- or at all -- there was just something about him that she was drawn to. Something that she knew was going to last a long time and she trusted in her instincts because they hadn't let her down yet. Taking in the sight of his room, she was resisting the urge to touch things and she was admiring his artwork. It hadn't occured to her yet, of course, that the pictures on the wall were of her. They were gorgeous! She was not that gorgeous. "Oh yes, have you submitted this or anything?" Glancing over it, she furrowed her brows. "This is really..." What was the word. "Good. Wow." As if she should have expected anything different from him, she started at the beginning and took her time to read through. "Wow."

With baited breath he had waited while she glanced about his room and scanned his [or hers, rather!] Opera. "Uhm, no, it's not..." But she thought it was good! And that was suddenly the most important thing in the world to him. "I wrote it about yo--- er, for you, after I heard you sing the first time." Clearing his throat, reaching up to run a slightly shakey hand through his hair. "Your voice is just ... amazing. Good. Yes. You're perfect. Your voice is perfect, I mean. I, uh." Coughcough. Change of subject! "I hope you don't mind my using you for such portraits." Gesturing to the sketches tacked along his wall, as he figured she'd automatically recognize her own face. Perhaps the faint blush in his cheeks would let the world know how at odds he felt with anything but his music and his art. Slow, long strides taking him to an easy stance behind her, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to check which part she was currently reading, though he tried to remain polite and unobtrusive. After a long moment of silence, not wanting to pester her while she read, he finally managed to choke out a sentence without stuttering like some bumbling fool. "I do hope, Mademoiselle, that my taking the liberty of composing such works under the light of your inpsirational essence has not offended you in any way." See! SEE! He could be smooth when he tried! ...Sort of, anyway. And he was trying! Practically walking on eggshells, wanting so to impress her, to somehow tell her she was beautiful, flawless, talented, perfect, an absolute angel in his eyes. But those sort of declarations always seemed so much better coming from the mouths of the young men that wooed with flowers and chocolates and teasing kisses. All Andre knew was music, art, and being flat broke. Ho hum.

All of the flowers and chocolates, all of the exotic perfumes and dresses, they meant pratically nothing compared to someone composing an opera for her. She wasn't about to say that, of course, not aloud anyway, so she concentrated on the score before her and when she heard him speak she turned and smiled at him. He was quite suave when he wasn't stuttering and she was handing him the papers back. "Offended me? How could this -- this is so beautifully done, so amazingly... of course I'm not offended, that would be unthinkable." She reached her hand out and grasped his wrist, smiling up into his eyes. "You're amazing... I'm flattered, Andre, not offended." And then her eyes were back on the potraits and she looked perplexed. "These are of me? They can't be. They're so gorgeous! That is not me." Modesty wasn't a problem because she was an honest to God modest person! Not a lot of fuss and fumble went into her appearance until her manager hired a woman to make sure a lot of fuss and fumble went into it. "You're very talented." Did she already say that? Well. He needed to know again.

Though shyness often overtook him whenever she was near, especially whenever she touched him [and yes, that hand on his wrist was rather distracting], he couldn't help but throw back his head and offer a rich, deep laugh. "I mean no offence, Mademoiselle, but I'm afraid you are blind." Twisting his wrist in her grasp so that he could take her gently by the hand, he directed them towards the antique mirror hanging against the far wall. Moving to stand behind her once she was facing it [Thank God he was so tall, or he'd never be able to make his point - having to bend to the side just to see over a woman's head sort of ruined whatever intimacy was in the moment. Luckily, he was quite a bit taller than her.] His hands had finally ceased their shaking, and so it was with a fair amount of comfort and charm that his fingertips brushed her hair back from her face so that it could rest behind her shoulders. "Honestly -- look at your face in the mirror. Never did a man have better inspiration." Quite bold, wasn't it? At least for Andre. Perhaps other men would've found it child's play, but the young composer had a habit of never saying anything he didn't mean. ...Which meant most things were rather difficult for him to say! Thumb tracing the curve of her cheek and jaw, perhaps straying along her skin a bit longer than they should have. Reluctant to break contact. "I believe, in ancient times, they called creatures like you Muses. Divine inspiration." Exactly what she was, too. At least for him.

Charisse, in all honesty, was not prone to gazing into the mirror for long periods of time. It had never been in her nature to be vain and on top of that, vanity never appealed to her anyway. What was the point? So what if other people found you physically attractive -- emotionally was the entire point! The inside was what mattered and so it was evident to her that Andre had beautiful insides because no soul that as ugly could produce such raw beauty in their work. "Muses? I am no muse, silly. I'm only a singer." Turning from the mirror and to face him, she smiled. "What a perfect match, don't you think? The composer and the singer." It was fate, that was her contention!

Dark brows furrowing, obviously perplexed. He found her to be beautiful in every sense of the word! Never had it been his intention to merely focus upon the physical aspect of such things [although there was no denying just how glorious he found her beauty] and now he was worried that she would think him a vain, selfish cad. But then she was smiling at him, so it was all okay. "You're my muse." Spoken softly, because he was afraid he'd bumble all over his words if he attempted anything louder! Palm cupping her face gently, tilting it towards him. Was he leaning down to kiss her? Yes. Yes, he was. Though he stopped mere inches from her lips. "I would give you everything --- I just don't have anything." Referring to his lack of wealth, a proper residence. She was not alone in believing their connection to be fate. Marriage, a wife and family, had never really occured to him! Until now. Hitting him out of nowhere, utterly blinding him with strange emotions and foreign thoughts, he was forced to consider the fact that he was unable to provide the sort of lifestyle a wife and children would need. After all, he lived in an attic. And the Managers sorely underpaid him - something that had never bothered him, until he realized that he might actually need to support someone besides himself. Damn logistics. "There ... there are many other men with much more to give." Swallowing hard. He was giving her the chance to reconsider his advances before he kissed her. As once he kissed her, he was fairly certain, he'd never be able to let her go.

When he leaned in close, she felt butterflies fluttering around her stomach and she almost giggled, but thought better of it. Giggling wasn't very sexy, yanno? At least not at a time like this. But then he didn't kiss her, he just gazed at her and spoke. "Andre." Her tone was, at first, almost chastising. "I don't want everything." She reached up, her fingers brushing back through the hair at his temple. "I only want you. I only want to go wherever our life is bound to take us, whether with riches or rags - it doesn't matter to me." Maybe she sounded like an idealisitic young woman, but she didn't feel like it. "As long as we have one another and our music, what more do we need?"

<center>In those days, they honestly believed that to be true.</center>

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ November 20, 2005 02:38 AM: Message edited by: music of the night ]</font>