|
Post by Administrator on Aug 13, 2007 21:20:19 GMT -5
Canon Characters All from The Phantom of the Opera. Strike out = claimed. Reserved.You can change the Celeb.If your audition is accepted, you may make the profile. :]Note: If you audition for Erik or Raoul - you must be able to post at least 400 words. The minimum for these two is 350, while the rest of the canons is 250. The canons are important to The Phantom of the Opera. ALSO: I have posted guidelines to Erik's history, seeing as if you haven't read Kay or Leroux [you can get some knowledge of it from Leroux] then it's hard to write the history for his application accurately.
[erik] the opera ghost. the angel of music; the voice inside christine daaè's dressing room. secretly in love with her. HISTORY GUIDELINES (for anyone who hasn't read Kay): -born to Madeleine [you come up with last name] -learns architecture from deceased father's old designs -learns magic -sees face for the first time around four or five -learns ventriloquism and drives Madeleine insane -runs away and ends up joining the travelling circus (freak show, basically) as 'The Living Corpse' and makes flowers sing -escapes with the help of Rébecca Giry, and lives in the cellars of the Opera for a few years before leaving for Italy. -meets Giovanni and his daughter Lucianna. Learns masonry from Giovanni. -Lucianna falls from their terrace, resulting in her death, after seeing Erik's face. -Leaves Italy and resumes magic shows in Russia, where Nadir is sent to take him to Persia to entertain the Shah. -Erik is brought back and performs magic for the Shah. -Designs/builds torture chamber for the Shah -To be arrested for knowing to much, but Nadir helps him escape -Returns to Paris, helps build the Opera House and ends up constructing his home in the cellar. played by: gerard butler [note: feel free to use either the Leroux, Kay, or Butler version of Erik. I have a link to Leroux stock photos]
[christine daaè] the chorus girl; taught & secretly loved by erik. played by: emmy rossum.
[vicomte raoul de chagny] the patron of the opera; christine's childhood sweetheart. played by: patrick wilson
----------
[daroga nadir kahn] chief of mazanderan police; 'friend' of erik. was not featured in the movie/stage. you may decide the play by.
[madame giry] ballet instructor at the palais garnier; meg's mother. played by: miranda richardson
[meg giry] ballerina; christine's best friend & madame giry's only daughter. played by: jennifer ellison
[la sorelli] the diva of the ballet scene, :D played by: not featured in movie, you may decide play by.
[comte de chagny] older brother of raoul, the vicomte. interest with la sorelli... ;] played by: you can decide.
[carlotta giudicelli] diva of the opera. played by: minnie driver
[ubaldo piangi] the opera's leading man. played by: victor mcguire
[m. andre] manager of the opera. played by: simon callow
[m. firmin] manager of the opera. played by: ciarán hinds
[m. reyer] orchestra conductor of the opera. played by: murray melvin
[joseph buquet] stage hand. played by: kevin mcnally
Yes, there are more canons. this is simply all I'm putting up for right now. More will be added eventually. reply to this thread for a canon with: Character: Sample Post WITH Character:
[/center]
|
|
|
Post by Isabelle Girard on Aug 16, 2007 23:45:34 GMT -5
Because I am impatient and love Nadir to pieces.... Character: Daroga Nadir Khan Sample Post WITH Character: There were many entrances to the Opera House. Nadir was accustomed to most of them, unfortunately through Erik’s guidance, and as he slipped in through the side entrance, he looked up and down the hallway – keeping an eye out for the illusive man who he had taken responsibility for. Although it was bright outside, the inside of the opera was still cold and dark, foreboding to anyone who wasn’t really accustomed to the dreariness of the backstage.
It was early morning, the sun had just peaked over the horizon and the whole world was still standing still in the morning sun. Nadir had always been an early riser; of course, in the city of lights it wasn’t hard to believe that he was the only one up around this time of day. He had already finished his early morning prayers and was going to start doing his rounds of the opera house, making sure that Erik wasn’t wandering about ready to ruin something else.
He was constantly out and about, doing things to drive the Daroga crazy, it seemed. Although Nadir was quite sure it wasn’t that he was trying to be an annoyance to everyone, he felt like he was annoyed most, having to take care of much of what Erik messed up. He shivered involuntarily, imagining having to deal with La Carlotta again, and he started to move through the hallways, quickly scaling the empty hallways, not surprised to find no life moving around at such an early hour.
Of course, as he moved further into the Opera house, he soon found out that he wasn’t the only lurker so early. A young girl, no more than ten, was traipsing around in her night dress, looking rather frantic. Nadir arched an eyebrow and cautiously approached. He wasn’t in the habit of being nice to anyone, but a young girl with nothing that could possibly harm him was an exception. “What is wrong?” he asked in a Persian heavy accent, towering over the young girl.
She jumped up and looked at him with her tearing brown eyes, big as a doe’s and a trembling lip which ceased its movement. The young girl stammered slightly, playing with her blonde curls out of nervous habit and she looked around, unsure of an exit she could take. “Well young lady?” he asked again, his eye momentarily ticking with anger and agitation. He didn’t want to have to wait this long for an answer, and the young girl’s nervousness was another source of frustration for Nadir.
He wasn’t particularly happy about this situation, especially because she was shaking like a leaf. Yes, Nadir was tall, yes he was angry looking, but he wasn’t doing anything that should scare her. Indeed, he was just doing his job, more than he could say for a lot of the people who worked in the Opera house.
“I-I saw him Monsieur!” the young lady sobbed out, new streams of tears flowing down her alabaster cheeks. “I-I-I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk Monsieur, and there he was! Oh he was scary Monsieur! So very scary!” she seemed unable to control herself and her sobbing, which made Nadir very uncomfortable. He inched away slowly and looked around. He did not deal very well with crying, especially when it was a girl doing so. His sympathetic side didn’t really show and he felt nothing but agitation and anxiousness over her display. Although, he did realize one important thing - Erik was lurking around somewhere, which meant he had to find him. Grumbling to himself, Nadir ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“Thank you Mademoiselle,” he sighed, “You best get back to your quarters,” he added, his voice still holding onto that strong edge that his accent gave it. His French was excellent, but he couldn’t manage to get the accent down, his Persian roots showing quite vividly through his voice and appearance. It worked in his favor sometimes; however, it became exceedingly difficult to gather information.
The little girl seemed to take the hint and scurried off quickly, her little feet alerting everyone to her presence as she ran. Nadir rolled his eyes and began to walk quickly through the halls of the Opera, leaving the girl to go on her own. She would find her way back at some point; after all, the little girl wasn’t far from the dorms. However, Erik was far from where he was supposed to be, and Nadir needed to find him. Sometimes, he really disliked Erik – very much.
|
|
|
Post by Opéra Revenante Erik on Aug 31, 2007 3:51:08 GMT -5
Character: Erik The Phantom of the Opera Sample Post WITH Character:
Darkness… That’s all it was now, and that was all it had ever been. The darkness in which swallowed him and yet spit him out within seconds, the darkness in which showed him how much hate really pooled within his veins. Those veins in which blood seemed to boil, and churn each time his wild eyes opened to glance at the ceiling above him. Watching as it dripped with water, and old mold in which he was sure would cause him to be ill one of these lonely nights. Though that didn’t matter to him, the diva was away and his night couldn’t have been better. The opera house fell silent, even the cellars in which he hid his little abode made no sound other than the dripping and the creaking of the building. He loved those sounds, the silence along with the drips of hate, and often times he could catch himself drumming a finger along with the dips. Alas his rest was at an end, and his body was growing tired of just laying there in that bed of dark red velvet.
Slowly, the male shifted himself it sit up, and swung his long muscular legs over the side as he lifted his hands to push the long fingers through his hair. His grayish colored eyes shifting to close before he let out a saddened sigh. Pushing himself to stand, he moved to a small music box, and lifted it into his hands before he twisted the small knob in which seemingly restarted the song before he set it down and listened to the small chimes in which it played back to him, with a small smirk playing across his lips he moved himself away from the large area in which one could call his room, when really it was only a large cave. Listening to the soft sound of the boots in which he wore hit the stone ground with slight thumps and yet it was nearly soundless to any other’s ears if they were within his presence. Lifting his eyes from the cold ground in which was damp from all the leaking water, he watched as the candles flickered with passion and rage.
Such a beautiful thing fire was. It gave birth to so many things and yet destroyed so many things in return. Nearly like himself. As he moved down a small amount of steps to where his work had been placed, he lowered his head to look over a few scraps of paper in which held the score for an opera in which he was in the progress of creating. It would be wonderful, the best opera around, or so he would think so, then again, critics and what-not did not matter to him. Everything he did, he found triumphant, regardless of what other’s thought of him, or his work. Most people didn’t even know he resigned there, they thought him as a ghost, just a myth, a Phantom if you will, one that only few know, and everyone has at least heard of, and yet didn’t believe the tales of truth in which pardons spoke. Allowing the lush, and yet dried lips part to let out yet another sigh, the man moved himself away from his work and seemingly looked around.
Watching the sheets in which hid many mirrors, hiding the monster in which he knew he was. Slowly, lifting his hand to his face, he felt the cold cheeks in which were sunken in, and the eye sockets in which no longer seemed to exist. With a low growl Erik turned in a mad rag and lifted a stone sculpture before he threw it and listened to it shatter, and oddly enough, that sound seemingly calmed him down. As he realized that his rage had gotten the best of him, though honestly, it was typical for a man like Erik, a man who was hated by the world, and who hated himself. Though with deep breath, Erik moved himself to sit in front of a small vanity like table in which held a little self-made diorama of the Opera house, with the stage the seats. It even had it’s own little chandelier. Moving his fingers to grasp one of the small dolls in which he had graved and painted himself, he strolled his fingers over the small face.
Closing those sunken eyes, he shook his head and placed the doll away. Many wondered why he haunted the Opera house, why he killed, and why he hid himself. Of course, why shouldn’t he give remorse and just leave the people in the Opera house alone. Return to the world outside of the Opera house? Why? So he could be hated even more? The world showed no mercy for him, and he shall show no mercy to any other. Erik found himself there, in the Same Opera house where he seemingly found his first home, and now, so many years later, he has become the Phantom of the Opera.
[/blockquote]
|
|
|
Post by M. Gilles Andre on Sept 6, 2007 12:03:12 GMT -5
Character: M. Gilles Andre Sample Post WITH Character: Right. Papers. Left. Papers. Up. Papers. Down. Papers. Everywhere M. Andre looked, there were PAPERS! Bills, complaints, contracts, money orders, newspaper clipings (Firmin just loved to display their sucess), invites, greeting cards, even threats! Gilles had seen everything since working at the Opera Populaire. He had thought working in the 'Scrap Metal' business would have made him more "worldly" but as Gilles had found out, it was quite oposite. Yes he knew how to run a business, how to find the right people and how to sell his product, but he didn't know how to do it to such a large scale. Thankfully that's where Firmin had come in: the money man who dealt with massive business transactions often and did them well. Resting his fingers to his temple and massaging the ache that seemed ever constant, M. Andre stood up slowly. It seemed that time and stress were wearing on him- he needed a vacation. The co-manager of the Opera Populaire laughed aloud at that thought, unable to keep the absurdity of the notion down. Vacation... He trailed a finger along the edge of his desk that wasn't filled with papers, the humor leaving his face. He wondered what it was like. A prompt rap at the door cut him from his musings and clearing his throat, he approached the door. In a matter of strides Gilles was at the door, pausing only to tighten his neck cloth and regain his composure that would have surely slipped. His fingers combed through his drak curls, arranging and disarraying them at the same time. With confidence and not a bit of apprehension (for he knew something tragic was always happening at the Opera) he opened the door to the office he and M. Firmin shared, nodding to the steward that stood outside, his eyes watchful and impatient. When no explanation was given, Gilles inclined his head as if to prompt words and the steward gulped uncomfortably before blurting out his story. It was a whirlwind of gibberish, stage hand slang and some language he couldn't quite figure, but he seemed to piece it together. "You mean to tell me that one of the stage sheep.... Got loose?" Gilles sounded everything out in proper English so the man couldn't mistake him. The steward gulped again and nodded, trying to smile. The serious look on M. Andre's face however stopped him mid cheek-crack. "And the Smithy, who was in the process of shoeing the horses dropped his iron... miracuously in an unknown substance that caught fire... all because he was trying to help the Ballerina's catch this renegade sheep?" The calm in which Andre was questioning the steward made the middle-aged man panic. Why was the manager not screaming and yelling? Why was he not frantic with worry? The man twisted his hands together, grinding his teeth in agony. Gilles nodded his head, turned around to fetch his coat on the back of the office door and strode out of the office, leaving the steward to stand alone in his pool of sweat. He had to take care of this mess. He couldn't have a fire endangering them and someone was going to have to be fired. Where was Firmin in all this? Why did he have to be the bad guy? Watching the Manager of the Opera stride away, the steward sank to his knees. He was getting too old for this job! Perhaps a nice stroll out in the country, a nice farm house that he could- Gilles cleared his throat, making the man jump. "I-i-i'm s-s-sorry sir! i's thought you was gone!" Gilles smiled as best he could, sidling around the man. "I forgot to close the door...." M. Andre muttered, his voice tight with the restraint he was using. "Don't want any little noses poking around where they shouldn't be..." He gave the Steward a curt nod, closed and locked the door to his office then proceeded to make his way to the disasterous situation that seemed to be overrunning his Opera House.
|
|
|
Post by Carlotta Guidicelli on Sept 10, 2007 13:15:35 GMT -5
Character: Carlotta Guidicelli, Prima Donna of the Stage
Sample Post WITH Character:
“Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro al mio duolo, a' miei sospir. O mi rendi il mio tesoro, o mi lascia almen morir!”
The music filled the entire the room with the orchestra and the Prima Donna herself, Carlotta Guidicelli. Continuing with the aria as the actors, ballerinas and singers around her either sung or twirled about her, she was actually in a rather good mood, that was, until a ballerina stepped on the back of her costume. Everything was now going to head straight to — “YOU-a step on my dress again! Can’t you see where you are going, accecate l'asino!?” she screeched angrily as her face began to boil into a faint shade of crimson. It was quite obvious that everything that once going well in the practice would now lead to endless drama once more. “I am SICK of this! Always with this stomping on me and then ‘oopsie’ after ‘oopsie’! Finito! I am done!” she cried out in annoyance and soon enough, her little flock came towards her. The maid placed one of her poodles in Carlotta’s arms and she began to pout in mock frustration.
She wanted them to feel for her, after all, weren’t they the ones supposed to be flocking to her? She was the Goddess Muse and they needed to adore her! If there was one thing that Carlotta hated more than the ‘Phantom Opera Ghost’ that had been plaguing the Opera House, it was her not having the deserved attention she wanted. Some would speculate that this was due to the fact she grew up spoiled and pampered like a queen while others would see it as she cared for no one, not even her husband, Ubaldo Piangi, who seemed to worship the ground she walked on. Soon enough, the Managers and Monsieur Reyer came rushing to Carlotta and a brief smirk appeared on her face. They begged and they pleaded, to which they added more of the pleading and begging when she seemed to not be phased by it all. Staring to her little flock of support and Ubaldo, Carlotta had won once more and a grin appeared on her face. “Si, si. . .I will gladly return, just a few little things are needed,” she replied, the smirk twisting itself into a horrible wicked smile. When the three inquired as to what she wanted, Carlotta knew that she had them on her strings as they were the puppets and she, the puppet master over them.
“First, I want-a new dress, better than the one I’m a-wearing! It’s not pretty enough. I hate it! Second, fire the ballet girl or get-a better one before I . . .rip-a her little throat apart, si?” she began, the smile becoming more and more sinister as she continued while everyone around them either watched on in disgust or knowing the doom that was to come. “Third, I want-a better patron. Monsieur Toussaint is not what I like. He does not pay me nearly enough! I’m starving most of the time!” she said in mock sadness. When asked anything else that the Prima Donna wanted, Carlotta simply shook her head. “No, not right now, my darlings. . .” she said, her voice dripping with sweet poison. Pushing the poodle back into her maid’s arms, Carlotta headed back to down center stage. Clearing her voice briefly, she waited for Reyer to return to his orchestra and when he had, the music started again. However, Carlotta, along with the others on stage and elsewhere in the room, did not see the sandbag dangling over her head, ready to strike and soon enough, it had as she went to hit a high note.
Luckily, Ubaldo pushed his wife away in time as it came crashing down and landed with a thud as the bag opened and sand spilled everywhere. The fury had come and it was evident as she began shrieking angrily at Reyer and everyone else around her. “FINITO! I am leaving! NO MORE! I am not taking this anymore! Ghost or no ghost, I’m-a tired of this! Get my doggy, bye-bye to you all! Finished!” she said furiously and soon enough, Carlotta Guidicelli was storming out of the Opera House as both her little flock and the managers, along with Reyer, followed after her, trying to plead with her to return. . .
[Hope this is satisfying enough! ^^;; Also, if you can find any better icons/pics of Minnie, let me know.]
|
|
Fool
New Member
Posts: 7
|
Post by Fool on Nov 6, 2007 23:50:47 GMT -5
Hajjo again! Mk, one phantom sample RP as promised. Just for the record, I was going for the style of the Alexander Louis Teixeira de Mattos translation of Fantome de l’Opera. If it bugs you, I can easily write in some other style—I just thought this one would be hardest and therefore the most show-offy (cause I’m supposed to be looking my best here, right?). This is Erik’s version of some of the first things that happened in the book. Oh, and I know that this kind of modding of Christine doesn’t happen in RP and suchlike. No worries, I am up on the rules. EDIT: And it's the Leroux phantom, for the record.
Erik looked in the mirror; the face was one to frighten even the owner! Was there ever a more repulsive set of features? His skin, an unclean yellow, faded and mottled by the darkness of the cellars, stretched thinly over a skull with the most ghastly knobs and protrusions. The eyes were not eyes, but more like great black holes in his head, the spark of intelligence that burned so keenly in their depths casting hideous shadows that sank towards his nose—and found nothing to bar their way! The absence of his nose transformed his face into such a monstrous death’s-head mask that there could be no doubt but the soul that resided in the skeletal frame, though it were dressed in the evening dress-clothes of a gentleman, was anything but human! He raised the mask, that of a handsome man with features outlined in gold, and placed the ebony skin over his own. He had been seen without the second mask, and to-night he had rectified the situation. A scene-shifter, Joseph Buquet, had seen Erik while he had been walking through the halls of the Opera house. He had seen the first mask that covered the soul that was trapped beneath it; the death’s-head of Erik’s own features, that miserable perversion that nature had cursed him with. If he had not told, then the matter would have ended, for Erik would not need to inspire fear if he could have anonymity. But the scene-shifter had spread the tale, and the corps de ballet had repeated it until everyone knew that the Opera Ghost was real, and hideous to look upon! So Erik disguised himself with another mask now, before he went to visit the woman for whom his heart burned with love; she would not see the foul countenance that haunted the imaginations of the corps de ballet. And of Joseph Buquet? No smile could be said to appear on the cold, handsome features of the mask—for what emotion moves so hard a face? And so hard a soul beneath it, as doubtless an observer would say; so hard a soul, to have killed a man innocent of any crime beyond observation! But Erik had compassion in him, and though he had murdered, he had murdered well, and with respect; Joseph Buquet was honoured on the night of his death with a splendour he had not known in life. No scene-shifter ever had so grand a funeral; for it could be said that the gala doubled as the funeral, although the attending might not know of it. What scene-shifter was ever graced with so many great composers at his funeral? Gounod himself had conducted the Funeral March, though it be for a Marionette, and Saint Saëns’ Danse Macabre was directed by that very artist in the flesh; Delibes, Krauss, Massenet, Bloch—all these and more! What scene-shifter was ever mourned by so many at once, by an entire corps de ballet? All of that cringing and timid crowd could talk of nothing but Joseph. What scene-shifter could expect that the nobility themselves would be at his funeral? The Comte de Chagny and his brother the Vicomte were there, along with others of their illustrious birth. But of all that, what scene-shifter ever had so angelic a voice to sing at his funeral? For Christine Daaé, her voice seraphic as her appearance, had sung at the gala that was the funeral of Joseph Buquet! Splendidly accoutred, so beautiful that Venus herself writhed in jealousy, Christine Daaé had filled the Opera house with her voice! All in attendance had agreed that she was unrivalled, the perfection of her performance equalled only by the perfection of her form and face, and Erik was no different. He had taught her such beauty, but she had taken his sounds and his teachings and given them life where his voice could never be; she had learned from him, and she had not seen nor judged him, and he had fallen in love with her for it. He rose from in front of the mirror, his dress-clothes as well-fitting as they ever would, the mask in place, and travelled along the lonely, secret ways of the Opera house. Through the cellars he went, and into the part of the Opera house where Christine had been carried when she swooned from exhaustion; until he was standing in that very room. Yet he remained hidden, for there were others present, and he was forced to wait until they left; Christine dismissed them, as if she knew he was near! Erik came close to her, addressing her once none but she would hear. His heart was near to bursting, his hidden features tender with love. Pride was there too, pride that she sang so well for him! Compassion was there, compassion and understanding of her exhaustion. She had put everything into her performance, and had fainted from it and been carried here; so too, he felt faint with his love for her! But what he said was not what he meant to say; indeed the voice that left him was alien to him. It was grand; it tolled like a bell! It echoed in the polished ebony of the mask, and it came out masterful, and devoid of the meaning he intended to express! “Christine, you must love me!” It was meant to be a plea, it was meant to beg, to grovel, to do whatever it took to ensure her love! But oh, how wrong it sounded; a command, not a confession of his own love for her. She must love him! He would die if he did not have her love, if she did not return the feeling that consumed him until it seemed his very bones were as ash from the heat of it! She turned to him, her face so fragile and so lovely, her eyes trembling with unshed tears. The accusation was not sharp; it was sorrowful, and it pierced Erik’s heart. “How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!” Never was there another man who more regretted his words! She spoke, and a thousand needles of guilt prickled through him. He did not know how to express the love he carried for her! What was there to say? What was there to be done, to let her know that to-night, she was his angel, not he hers? Again his love choked him, and he could not say it! The question came, cold, calm, dispassionately solicitous: “Are you very tired?” She turned away and cried, “Oh, to-night I gave you my soul and I am dead!” His own heart died within him, his soul with hers. She turned away, and he longed to go to her, to rush to her and assure her that he did not mean to be so callous, that he did not mean to seem so indifferent, that here was his heart, his soul, and he gave it to her completely! Yet he could not say it. For who wanted to be gifted with the soul and the heart of a monster? Her gift to him, her pure soul, was a thing to give joy; his withered and black spirit, coloured only by his love for her, the single-minded devotion that he bore for her, was not so fine a gift! And so again he said the wrong words. “Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight.” All true! All true, yet so pedantic in the uttering! He could not tell her of his love for her, not when he had given her so little, and she had given him her soul. He was obliged to leave without further word passing between them, and he wept. In heaven the angels wept, but in the calm, still cellars of the Opera House, an angel fallen beyond recall wept for the gentle soul that sang to him with love. And the body of Joseph Buquet watched with wide open eyes, until the workmen came and closed them, and removed the ragged remains of the scene-shifter.
|
|
La Sorelli
New Member
Prima Ballerina
So she dances...
Posts: 13
|
Post by La Sorelli on Jan 23, 2008 22:02:22 GMT -5
Character: Céline Sorelli
Sample post with character: The news of the managers' retirement came as no surprise to her: if she was in their place, she would have fled in an instant. Luckily, however, she had not yet seen any strange men in dress-clothes, or any death's heads, or even had the slightest suspicion that the ghost was not the invention of some stagehand's trick. But as much as she scoffed at the silly little girls who screamed and shrieked at the slightest shadow, Sorelli still would not walk unaccompanied through the darker halls of the opera. As it was, she had composed a small speech to hail the managers' leaving, and needed a bit of time to brush up before confronting them. But even as she plopped herself before her vanity, opening her mouth and taking a breath to begin reciting, the door slammed open and a half-dozen ballet rats poured in suddenly, causing the prima to eject a small shriek of shock and nearly fall out of her chair.
"The ghost!" they were gasping, some with fear and others with uneasy laughter. Céline turned to little Jammes, who seemed to have the majority of her wits about her, blood running cold. Surely these girls had not truly seen him? But Cécile repeated the fact, face whiter than she had thought possible, and locked the door. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she chastised the girls for acting so ridiculous--before wringing the story from them.
Now, Céline was not the type to swallow any story the girls fed her. But with their insistences, and little Giry's mother's tales (the honorable Mme was not the type to create such a character as the Ghost), she was forced to admit that there may be some truth in this ghost story. Which meant that, somehow, there was an unidentified creature flitting around the opera, scaring the ballerinas out of their wits. And that was certainly not an admittance that Sorelli would readily make, not least because she was terrified of phantoms, real or not.
She wished she could user the girls from her dressing room, forget her speech, and consult Philippe over this Phantom story. If there were really a man (solid or not) wandering this building, she wanted to know, and to be reassured that it would not jeapordize her health or sanity. Joseph Buquet's death and apparent suicide, however, drove such thoughts from her mind: another trick of the Ghost's? What else to do but inspect the body and the surrounding area, just in case? Apprehensive but excited, Sorelli rushed out with the younger rats, foreboding expanding in her thoughts.
[[Wow, that was horrible. I promise I can do better. Just ask Raoul.]]
|
|
sarah
New Member
Posts: 1
|
Post by sarah on Feb 10, 2008 23:00:58 GMT -5
meg giry [/font][/color] [/center] Two delicate fingers held a deep cerulean strip of satin, taking a moment to admire its general splendor before letting her hand drop to her side. The ribbon that had just been held in a light of exultation was now fallen, forgotten as it graced the young blonde's hip and accented the light, sheer fabric of her leotard and skirt. Meg always loved being in her dancer's costumes, especially the feeling of the satin as it slid over her toes, the ribbons silky smooth as she laced them around her petite ankles. She was a ballerina down to her very essence, loving everything about the art down to the grueling practices and rehearsals that she underwent every day at the Paris Opera House. She undoubtedly exerted one hundred percent effort, but simply because her mother was the one running each and every rehearsal for the dancers, Meg felt that sometimes her best wasn't ever good enough. Madame Giry always reiterated the fact that the young blonde was a talented dancer, yet it seemed that she was always the one getting called out for misstepping or not making her movements fluid enough.
[TO BE CONTINUED] [/font][/blockquote]
|
|
jezah
New Member
Posts: 1
|
Post by jezah on Mar 12, 2008 23:43:06 GMT -5
Character: Meg Giry
Sample Post WITH Character:
Oh how she loved the smell of the opera house, that musty slightly dank smell that emanated from the now blocked entrances to the catacombs beneath the theater. The heavy smell of the velvet drapes mixed with the tang from the oil lamps at the base of the stage. Sometimes, she could close her eyes and almost be taken back to the days when as a child, her and Meg would play here, making up stories of the most wicked kind to amuse themselves between the grueling ballet practices administered under her mothers watchful eye.
Not that any of those stories could have ever compared to what actually accured here, the true life horror too dark to even speak off except in whispers. Ah, and Meg...sweet Meg. The voice of an angel and the heart of one too, where was she now? Raoul and her disappeared after....after what happened.
Meg let a small smile grace her delicate lips as she thought of the romance of it all. Childhood sweetheart coming back to save you, then taking you away with him to some exotic locale. A small giggle tickeled its way ou from between her lips as she thought of the sheer naughtiness of it. I mean, unchaperoned and all. Who knows what the gossips would say if they truely knew what had happened here in the opera house.
But they wouldnt, nobody truely would know....not as her and her mother did. They may piece it together and speak of it in whispered voices and suspicious glances, but they would never really know.
However it was all over now, just a bad dream. Meg was gone, and so was whatever...or whomever it was who haunted the theater. Her mother had made sure of that, after the fire she sealed up the entrances to the catacombs and swore Meg never to speak to anyone about what had happened. Meg swore and her lips remain sealed, for truely....who would want to speak ever again of those horrible events?
OOC: Pretty much this close to begging you to give her to me. I love Meg, she is my favorite charry out of all of thema nd has always been. I love her cuteness and delicateness. She is just...ah. I love her. I have been RPing since I was 11 and i am now 21 so I have alot of experience. I dont use alot of big words or anything as I feel it just gets in the way of the message. I just love Meg and I promise I will do her character justice. I am a little RP rusty(been away from it for a few months due to a apartment fire)but I am only gonna get better! Purty please with a cherry on top? Oh...and sprinkles!?! LOL[/color]
|
|
Erik
New Member
I Hate Myself...For You...
Posts: 3
|
Post by Erik on Mar 24, 2008 0:52:30 GMT -5
I will be auditioning for Erik {Phantom} Let me know if you'd like me to post my Sample here or wait for a thread to be opened. Thanks.
Mori
|
|