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varianbetweenstarsThis is a completely crackfic idea for a completely crackship pairing.
What if, in the shooting scene in Leroux, Erik sang to Raoul and begged for death, since Christine had rejected him?
The voice on the wind made him go still as he woke, where normally he would have bolted upright in bed at a strange voice. Raoul closed his hand around the pistol, the gun heavy in his hand. He lay still, listening, his eyes moving back and forth in the darkness of his room.
There they were, yellow eyes on a balcony. He lifted his head, watching as the man crouching on the railing stood and approached the window. All black, as usual, and that cape and horrible mask--Christine, poor woman, was right in her description that he smelled of death!
Raoul stood and held his gun out; Erik did not move. Instead, the man--and Raoul had to remind himself that Erik was simply a man--opened his arms, as though waiting for an embrace.
"Why," Raoul demanded, "are you here?" His voice was rough from sleep, and part of him hoped that this was only a nightmare.
"To die," Erik replied.
"Christine, where is she?"
"She is safe, I promise you that." Erik took a step closer.
"Get out of my house." Raoul held the pistol a bit higher, now it was at the height of Erik's chest. Surely he must have a heart, even if he was a living corpse.
Erik removed his mask, and the horrible death's head stared at him in the moonlight. This time it was Raoul that took a step closer, so that his pistol was nearly touching the man.
"You have taken her from me," Erik said.
"She never wanted your love," Raoul replied, "only your music, your song. And then, she feared you, I can tell you exactly how much hatred of you she has stored in her heart."
Erik bowed his head.
"I have no pity for you," Raoul said.
Erik's shoulders began to shake, and Raoul simply listened as the Opera Ghost wept.
Raoul fired the pistol. With a cry, Erik flew--or did he leap--backwards, and all that remained of him was the stain of blood on the balcony. Raoul leaned over the edge, expected to see the life finally snuffled out of the corpse. Instead all he saw was the ground far below him, and he could faintly hear a melodious cry of pain on the wind.
What if, in the shooting scene in Leroux, Erik sang to Raoul and begged for death, since Christine had rejected him?
The voice on the wind made him go still as he woke, where normally he would have bolted upright in bed at a strange voice. Raoul closed his hand around the pistol, the gun heavy in his hand. He lay still, listening, his eyes moving back and forth in the darkness of his room.
There they were, yellow eyes on a balcony. He lifted his head, watching as the man crouching on the railing stood and approached the window. All black, as usual, and that cape and horrible mask--Christine, poor woman, was right in her description that he smelled of death!
Raoul stood and held his gun out; Erik did not move. Instead, the man--and Raoul had to remind himself that Erik was simply a man--opened his arms, as though waiting for an embrace.
"Why," Raoul demanded, "are you here?" His voice was rough from sleep, and part of him hoped that this was only a nightmare.
"To die," Erik replied.
"Christine, where is she?"
"She is safe, I promise you that." Erik took a step closer.
"Get out of my house." Raoul held the pistol a bit higher, now it was at the height of Erik's chest. Surely he must have a heart, even if he was a living corpse.
Erik removed his mask, and the horrible death's head stared at him in the moonlight. This time it was Raoul that took a step closer, so that his pistol was nearly touching the man.
"You have taken her from me," Erik said.
"She never wanted your love," Raoul replied, "only your music, your song. And then, she feared you, I can tell you exactly how much hatred of you she has stored in her heart."
Erik bowed his head.
"I have no pity for you," Raoul said.
Erik's shoulders began to shake, and Raoul simply listened as the Opera Ghost wept.
Raoul fired the pistol. With a cry, Erik flew--or did he leap--backwards, and all that remained of him was the stain of blood on the balcony. Raoul leaned over the edge, expected to see the life finally snuffled out of the corpse. Instead all he saw was the ground far below him, and he could faintly hear a melodious cry of pain on the wind.
no subject
on 2019-01-04 02:31 am (UTC)It doesn't ring quite true to me in terms of Erik; his despair tends to be more violent in its terms, and I doubt he would have expected -- let alone hoped -- to find a loaded gun in the hands of Raoul, whom he despised as ineffectual.
But I can see a scene of this sort working in the terms of a more hostile initial confrontation (aggressive staring on the part of Erik? ;-p) and a more dramatic swing to "So you think you can kill me then? Go on -- I give you permission. Why should I care now?"....
no subject
on 2019-01-04 04:49 pm (UTC)I can see where you're seeing a more aggressive Erik and aggressive confrontation, yeah. I wanted to get the words down on paper, and then accidentally hit "publish" before I was done.
Is there a way to make a draft folder on Dreamwidth, or to move a published post back to drafts if you accidentally publish it too soon??
no subject
on 2019-01-04 06:43 pm (UTC)One workaround is to set your 'in progress' posts to 'private' (just you), then come back and edit them later, and alter the access to public when you think they're ready.
I draft my fiction on paper, myself, which has the benefit of enforcing at least one extra editing/typing-up stage in addition to making it impossible to broadcast to the Internet without a great deal of forethought :-)