The Rose & The Nightingale - directed by Eliza
« CURIOUSITY killed the CAT (Erik) »
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The Rose & The Nightingale - directed by Eliza
Right, now the member of the month, once R&N has been opened a month and is up and running, is decided by various things. The first thing: Activity. A member must be active with the site, meaning they come on at least once or twice every other day to check posts and reply to the people they're posting with. Two: they're involved with what's going on with the site. That means anything out of character or in character. If there's a change going on, they're giving feedback on it, or if we've started a poll for opinions on something, they've voted and replied, etc., etc. Over all just being involved. Thirdly: They're kind and respectful to the other players in OOC, the one that can be viewed by everyone. That includes the Cbox, the game board, and anything in the OOC categories. They're also willing to help members or guests that have questions if the admins aren't online to do it themselves
Ah, Paris. Life in Victorian France is enjoyable. Quiet and calm with only the occasional disaster (if you could even call it that!) to disturb your peace. A beautiful city with wonderful smells, music, and people. Any stranger on the street would tell you there's no place he'd rather be than Paris, France.
Paris is home to many wonderful attractions, big and small. One of the most well known is the Palais Garnier: The Paris Opera House.
Many flock to the Opera in search of fame, hoping to become known to all of France, to have their name and picture on the signs and boards, to be the stars of famous operas and attract people from all over the country to the shows.
On the outside, the Opera House seems quiet and calm. But the inside is quite different. Chatter is always abuzz, gossip floating in the air like a thick cloud of smog. Rumors fly through the Opera House like a well-bred race horse: at top speed.
The most current rumor happens to be that of the Opera's infamous Ghost haunting the halls and corridors. The current managers, Monsieurs Poligny and Debienne have retired and left the Opera in the hands of two new managers, Andre and Firmin. The story of their expeditions with the infamous Phantom of the Opera have only just begun.
What will you be to Victorian Paris? A shopkeeper? A wealthy spouse? Law enforcement, or simply your every day civillian?
Or will you be one of those who dreams of the stage? A ballerina, perhaps, or maybe you search for something more, something along the lines of diva.
Whatever you wish to be, it can happen here.
Welcome to Paris, France: the home of The Paris Opera House and its Phantom.
Dance to the beat of the gypsy music, feel it claim your heart and soul...
Joined: Sept 2007 Gender: Female Posts: 18 Location: At the traveling circus. Karma: 0
CURIOUSITY killed the CAT (Erik) « Thread Started on Jun 14, 2008, 4:00am »
"Fairy Tale at 13 O'clock"
A merry voice sang, her words echoing off the damp, stone walls of the Opera's labryith. Scurrying rats clawed the slippery stone floor, hiding in fear of the unfamilar figure in their home. Aimee's ebony tendrils of hair were pulled into a low ponytail that flowed behind her, strands of cherub curls framed her face and swayed as she walked. She skipped happily down the path, not a care in the world for the stench of the swear or the dangerous flickering of the torchs' flames. A small smile played its way upon her rosey lips, long lashes closed and resting upon plump cheeks.
Aimee....you see....had been bored with the usual routine of the ballet girl's life, and was tired of sitting down and having to listen to the Dance Master's or Madame Giry's strict voices any longer. The pull of her never-ending curiousity had lulled her to come here, to the Labryinth, to try and find the fabled 'Opera Ghost'. She had heard from rumors that the Phantom was a lover of fine music and song, so she decided to sing to lure the ghost out. She knew she wasn't the greatest of singers...But, her voice was still pure and sweet like that of a child's and this was meant to be a nursery rhyme....
No matter how twisted it might sound.
"A twisted, crooked mechanical wind-up doll plots a rebellion Against a spiral staircase that keeps twisting upwards forever.
Jade, amber, and onyx."
She sang rather sweetely, lips parting for the words to escape her lips. Her hands were kept behind her, her right hand clasping her left wrist in a relaxed pose as she continued to make her way down the confusing maze. The clicks of her boots heels richotched off the walls and echoed across the numerous halls, the clicks and clacks were thrown in with the drips of the water.
"Cruel Alice and her friends are fixated on a mermaid's lifeless, limp wings. And an angel's glass scales. They wait at the shore of an ocean of cellophane where a sea pig sleep's."
Her eyes opened, revealing lush pupils of the palest Lapis Lazuli, the gold in her eyes glistening as the shadows passed over her face. Where did she hear this song? Aimee tried to remember, her brow narrowed from thinking very hard, but no name popped up. But, she didn't need to worry, it'll come to her eventually...And by eventually she means in the middle of the night where the name will interrupte sweet dreams.
The young girl continued on with her singing, closing her eyes once more.
"A nightmare painted with beautiful, violent colors leaves a jet black music box with a broken lock in an attic. And drips sin onto the pale sole of a boy engrossed in forbbiden daydreams. It crouches And cruelly plucks ouy the sickeningly sharp, opaque splinters.
Mother Goose of 13 O'clock. Labrynth of time. Getting lost. The door will never open,but no one notices..."
Finally, the last verse has been sung, and honestly she was beat. Quietly, she seated herself on the floor, and didn't care if her plain chocolate brown skirt would get dirty or damp. The blouse she wore was of a perfect shade of turquoise, the buttons that snapped it up were cream in color.
She let out an exasperated sigh, and she looked rather annoyed. She was getting frustrated and doubts began to enter her mind.
What if the Opera Ghost wasn't real after all?
What if the stories were just made up so that the Plais Garnier could get more publicity?
"No!" Aimee shouted rather violently and angrily, her thoughts of doubts siezing to a complete and abrupt halt. Her eyes were open, and her eyebrows were narrowed into a glare. "I refuse to believe such nonsense. The Phantom is real, and if he is or is not, he will be forever real to me!" and with that statement she let out a rather angry ''humph''.
She pursed her lips, an angry blush flushed over her cheeks while her slim arms were crossed across her chest.
"Please, Monsieur Fantome....I know that you are real...If you can hear me, please show yourself to me..."