#mindwandered

{} ‘ You are not breathing correctly. Take deeper breaths, but do not GASP, it’s interruptive and almost indecent. Straighten your posture and hold your head up. And for God sake did we not go over vocal projection? You sound as small as a mere mouse!’

;;the Opera Ghost stood FIRM where he was, shoulders tensed, hands stiffly at his sides with fingers twitching, itching for something to grasp and take his frustrations out on that wasn’t a LIVING THROAT. he exhaled, slowly, lifting a hand to wave it round as if he felt it would REWIND the entire lesson itself.  Erik was attempting to be MERCIFUL, he truly was, knowing the child was simply such, a child, at least in his wiser eyes.  Perfection and mercy do not go hand in hand.

Closed Starter for @mindwandered

It was a warm night in Paris when Armand decided to venture off the boulevards and sample the cultured lives he had separated himself from for so long. The Parisians had always been a people of class and dignity, but no other event in the world exemplified this fact more clearly that a night at the opera. He, like every other soul present, was dressed to the teeth in jewels, silks, and other finery. He was decked head to toe in black, as was his fashion, with his auburn curls allowed to dust his shoulders tastefully. 

From his seat in one of the private boxes, he was given the spectacle of every sort human and fiend imaginable. From schemers and scam artists to desperate women on the verge of spinsterhood, Armand drank in the roar of their voices and tasted of their combined thoughts. The aroma of warm human bodies and face powder was enough to slap him into dizziness and beckon him over the rails to engulf him in the heady excitement of the whole affair. 

He felt it before he heard it. A moment ago the air of the theater vibrated with voices and the movement of the people taking their seats. Then, quite suddenly, the air grew still and heavy, the orchestra pulled music from their instruments like the cries of the heavenly host. All at once, the opera began. the cast of actors sang and mimed hugely in a grotesque mimicry of human action. Both men and women screeched so loudly and with such effort, the entire experience made Armand want to clamp his hands to his ears and flee, never to return.

The music changed, slowly, to something gentler, something sweet and romantic. Onto the stage stepped a mortal woman, sweet and tender. Armand was drawn to her instantly. His thoughts probed her mind and found such beauty, such tragedy, and yet she was still so innocent and pure. when she parted her lips, the sound she emitted was nothing but ecstasy turned to golden sound. The blood stained tears overflowed his eyes in a continuous stream until the song ended.

He was on his feet, face diligently wiped clean, and threw the curtain of the box wide to signal the stewards standing by. “Oui, Monsieur,” whispered the young man who attended him.

FIVE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.

1. Sarcastic as hell 2. Can’t admit when we feel more than friendship/comradery 3. Insanely protective of those we care about/love. 4. Stubborn to fault. 5. We have Brown hair and brown eyes.

FIVE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.

1. I am too honest. I can’t fool anyone. 2. I would most likely let go when someone tells me no, I won’t fight it. 3. I love dogs, especially small cute ones. 4. I’ve never been on a train or boat. 5. Not a con artist.

tagged by: @distrcss

__________________ 『 *.:｡♫*ﾟ』

La Carlotta moved the mask away from her face as she looked the other woman over briefly. She should have know she would run into the opera house’s fleeting superstar. It’s only a matter of time before the signora is back on top. So, she is simply going to enjoy herself at this masquerade party and try not to mull over their rivalry. Not tonight.

Surprisingly enough, she found herself conversing with the brunette herself. It was awkward, most definitely, but at least it is a start in the right direction.

@mindwandered

It surprised him just how long he could be gone from Asgard and no one noticed his absence. For a prince of the golden realm it seemed he would have the Einherjar and a legion of Crimson Hawk warriors upon him within minutes; dragging him home with not a moment to waste. The only good thing about having a brother who stole all the lime light was no one looked in his shadow to see if Loki was there or not.

So he found a new way to spend his time, in the likes of wandering the realms. Lastly he had run off to Alfheim and spent nearly a month there without consequence, now he was wandering the streets of Midgard. In Paris, if he wasn’t mistaken.

It was not hard for him to blend into the crowds nor was it hard to fabricate currency for himself or manipulate his way into a comfortable manor for the time being. 

But tonight he was seeking entertainment and he had heard only good if not great things of the Opéra Populaire. Idle gossip spoke of the leading diva throwing a fit and in her place a young chorus girl rose to popularity.

Within the first solo he could see why.

--

Every night he send a lush bouquet of roses to her dressing room, never addressed but tonight he would finally meet her.

The opera hosted a ball for the New Year, a masquerade. In a way, this was the night he refused to hide himself. He even wore ceremonial Asgardian attire, gold and emerald lightly armored garb and a golden mask to match. In these circles he was known as Fürst Odinson, nobility from far off cause who would believe he was a prince from an alien realm.