Feeling the icy pierce of Erik’s gaze, she looks down at him. Oh, how the tables have turned in their twisted opera. Cruel irony put on full display, history viciously repeating itself.
Yes, she can stall Cohen. Though the approach she used the last time her lover was being threatened by a hideous madman might not apply. Honestly, even just the thought of such a thing is enough to make Christine feel nauseous.
Or maybe that sensation is simply her body trying to tell her she’s gone too far this time.
She steals one last glance at Erik. They’ll secure their escape soon enough and Christine longs for the moment where they can desperately hold each other again.
“There is not a soul in Heaven or Hell that I answer to; I am my own master,” Christine hisses with cold malice. No one has any say over what she does anymore. Not her father, not Raoul, not Erik, no one. Not even God, given the wretched path she has turned down. But Christine has the freedom to make her own choices, consequences be damned.
“And I could certainly argue that my words were flattering. As far as you’re concerned, they were bordering on lover-like treatment. French is la langue d’amour, after all,” Christine adds, a bit of humor leaking back into her tone. She leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee, resting her cheek in her (comparatively) unburned hand. She starts tapping the sharp heel of her boot against the metal of the cage. The look on her face has faded to something close to...boredom? It’s certainly not the expression a woman that’s been so extensively burned should be wearing.
“You’re so distracted by this ridiculous obsession with his voice that you don’t even realize that the far greater prize is sitting right in front of you. I mean, infinite supply of magical angel feathers, for starters.” There’s no point in trying to hide her status anymore, right? But Christine already has a feeling that this won’t appeal to Cohen’s mad whims.
“But him? Who is he even?” She gestures down towards Erik, “Just smoke and mirrors, mostly. Though he does somehow manage to be less ugly than you so he’s got that going for him, at least. His voice is just a clever trick of newfangled, modern technology. My voice, on the other hand,” She smirks, playing her little part and trying to downplay Erik’s talents. She won’t allow him to trade his voice for his freedom.
“I’ve been called the soprano of the century, the most angelic voice that’s ever graced the clouds of Heaven...I’d be more than willing to perform for you, if you’d like. I even take requests!”
Was there really any other option but to set the stage for an exchange? Her entrapment for Erik’s freedom? Trying to stall and buy Erik the time he needs to escape on his own is a gamble, from her perspective.
Well, that’s just typical Christine behaviour, isn’t it?
I can't even handle the drama in this thread okay.
Yes, she can stall Cohen. Though the approach she used the last time her lover was being threatened by a hideous madman might not apply. Honestly, even just the thought of such a thing is enough to make Christine feel nauseous.
Or maybe that sensation is simply her body trying to tell her she’s gone too far this time.
She steals one last glance at Erik. They’ll secure their escape soon enough and Christine longs for the moment where they can desperately hold each other again.
“There is not a soul in Heaven or Hell that I answer to; I am my own master,” Christine hisses with cold malice. No one has any say over what she does anymore. Not her father, not Raoul, not Erik, no one. Not even God, given the wretched path she has turned down. But Christine has the freedom to make her own choices, consequences be damned.
“And I could certainly argue that my words were flattering. As far as you’re concerned, they were bordering on lover-like treatment. French is la langue d’amour, after all,” Christine adds, a bit of humor leaking back into her tone. She leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee, resting her cheek in her (comparatively) unburned hand. She starts tapping the sharp heel of her boot against the metal of the cage. The look on her face has faded to something close to...boredom? It’s certainly not the expression a woman that’s been so extensively burned should be wearing.
“You’re so distracted by this ridiculous obsession with his voice that you don’t even realize that the far greater prize is sitting right in front of you. I mean, infinite supply of magical angel feathers, for starters.” There’s no point in trying to hide her status anymore, right? But Christine already has a feeling that this won’t appeal to Cohen’s mad whims.
“But him? Who is he even?” She gestures down towards Erik, “Just smoke and mirrors, mostly. Though he does somehow manage to be less ugly than you so he’s got that going for him, at least. His voice is just a clever trick of newfangled, modern technology. My voice, on the other hand,” She smirks, playing her little part and trying to downplay Erik’s talents. She won’t allow him to trade his voice for his freedom.
“I’ve been called the soprano of the century, the most angelic voice that’s ever graced the clouds of Heaven...I’d be more than willing to perform for you, if you’d like. I even take requests!”
Was there really any other option but to set the stage for an exchange? Her entrapment for Erik’s freedom? Trying to stall and buy Erik the time he needs to escape on his own is a gamble, from her perspective.
Well, that’s just typical Christine behaviour, isn’t it?