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dolevalanTitle: Classic
Fandom: The Phantom of the Opèra (novel)
Rating: G
“Ah, merci, monsieur le Comte.” Sorelli smiled at the large bouquet of roses. “Not incredibly original, but most appreciated nonetheless.”
Philipe grinned, almost boyishly. “Ah, do not think of it as unoriginality, mademoiselle. I prefer to call it a nod to the classic.” He shook his head, placing his hat on her dressing table. “After all, a red rose is never out of style, especially for a marvelous dancer.”
She wrinkled her delicate nose at him in the mirror. “Nor is flattery, it seems, especially for such a diplomat as the Count de Chagny.” He leaned in without being asked to unfasten her necklace. “Again, thank you.” She began unwinding the tight bun. “So, your baby brother is the talk of the corps. Every blushing ballerina in the chorus would be eternally grateful for one glance in her direction, much less a rose. Red or otherwise.” She laughed lightly, teasing. “Who knew that a man like you could have such a charming relative?”
He retreated to the doorframe, leaning in it while watching her with a bemused expression. “A man like me? And pray, mademoiselle, what do you mean by that?”
If there was one thing about Mademoiselle Sorelli that the Count could not resist it was her coquettish, improper habit of winking at him. She now threw a small wink over her shoulder at him in the large dressing mirror. “Why, clearly, I meant a decrepit old aristocrat who hangs around the Opèra and makes a nuisance of himself. But a charming young sailor in a tuxedo…is it any wonder he has half the ballet at his feet?”
“A nuisance?” He mockingly looked wounded. “I see the thanks I get for bringing a dancer roses. Perhaps I shall go throw myself in the Seine like a hero in a melodrama. Then Raoul will be free to romance any ballerina he wishes, and you can secretly carry the weight of my death.” He grinned in spite of himself. “Every dance you dance, my dear, will be in memory of the tragic man who killed himself when you spurned him.”
She laughed as she stood, shaking her head and allowing him to drape her cloak about her pretty pink shoulders. “Do stop it, you ridiculous man. I am sure I will regain my gratitude after you buy me a glass of wine.”
He gallantly offered an arm. “As mademoiselle wishes, of course.”
“Shouldn’t we stay until your brother is ready?”
Philipe glanced down the hall in time to see Raoul slip into Christine Daae’s dressing room. “I imagine he will catch up soon enough. But in the meantime…let the lady have her drink.”
Fandom: The Phantom of the Opèra (novel)
Rating: G
“Ah, merci, monsieur le Comte.” Sorelli smiled at the large bouquet of roses. “Not incredibly original, but most appreciated nonetheless.”
Philipe grinned, almost boyishly. “Ah, do not think of it as unoriginality, mademoiselle. I prefer to call it a nod to the classic.” He shook his head, placing his hat on her dressing table. “After all, a red rose is never out of style, especially for a marvelous dancer.”
She wrinkled her delicate nose at him in the mirror. “Nor is flattery, it seems, especially for such a diplomat as the Count de Chagny.” He leaned in without being asked to unfasten her necklace. “Again, thank you.” She began unwinding the tight bun. “So, your baby brother is the talk of the corps. Every blushing ballerina in the chorus would be eternally grateful for one glance in her direction, much less a rose. Red or otherwise.” She laughed lightly, teasing. “Who knew that a man like you could have such a charming relative?”
He retreated to the doorframe, leaning in it while watching her with a bemused expression. “A man like me? And pray, mademoiselle, what do you mean by that?”
If there was one thing about Mademoiselle Sorelli that the Count could not resist it was her coquettish, improper habit of winking at him. She now threw a small wink over her shoulder at him in the large dressing mirror. “Why, clearly, I meant a decrepit old aristocrat who hangs around the Opèra and makes a nuisance of himself. But a charming young sailor in a tuxedo…is it any wonder he has half the ballet at his feet?”
“A nuisance?” He mockingly looked wounded. “I see the thanks I get for bringing a dancer roses. Perhaps I shall go throw myself in the Seine like a hero in a melodrama. Then Raoul will be free to romance any ballerina he wishes, and you can secretly carry the weight of my death.” He grinned in spite of himself. “Every dance you dance, my dear, will be in memory of the tragic man who killed himself when you spurned him.”
She laughed as she stood, shaking her head and allowing him to drape her cloak about her pretty pink shoulders. “Do stop it, you ridiculous man. I am sure I will regain my gratitude after you buy me a glass of wine.”
He gallantly offered an arm. “As mademoiselle wishes, of course.”
“Shouldn’t we stay until your brother is ready?”
Philipe glanced down the hall in time to see Raoul slip into Christine Daae’s dressing room. “I imagine he will catch up soon enough. But in the meantime…let the lady have her drink.”
