Touch

[firstofherusername]

TOUCH MEME

From birth, human beings are wired to touch and to be touched. Whether it's a warm embrace or a reassuring hand on the shoulder, touch is an integral part of human interaction and creating bonds. Not all forms of touch are created equal however. Some are gentle and uplifting while others can be discouraging or even harmful, so one should always be mindful of the unspoken messages they intend to convey to those around them.

how to play

• Comment with your character and preferences.
• Others reply with one or multiple prompts.
• Profit!

prompts

01. With love.
02. With hatred.
03. With relief.
04. With uncertainty.
05. With happiness.
06. With a promise.
07. With an apology.
08. For comfort.
09. For good luck.
10. For encouragement.
11. On a scar.
12. On a falling tear.
13. On a bruise or injury.
14. After a tough day.
15. After a nightmare.
16. After an argument.
17. Because they are dying.
18. In a moment of worry.
19. In a moment of anger.
20. In a moment of sadness.
21. Out of annoyance.
22. Out of possessiveness.
23. To say good morning or good night.
24. To protect.
25. To keep warm.
26. To say hello or goodbye.
27. Wildcard option.

source

Comments

Christine Daaé | Phantom of the Opera | OTA

[chorusing]

[malibu_farmboy]

[Open to a semi-fluff 26? A meet-cute of sorts between the ingenue star of the Opera Populaire and the lead actor from the Comédie-Française at a gala for the arts.]

[chorusing]

(Sure! Christine needs more art boyfriends~)

[malibu_farmboy]

James was beginning to feel like he should have foregone his formal dress and attended the Gala d'Arte in his customary tights and makeup. He had grown accustomed to attentive crowds, raucous gatherings of artists (both bohemian and bourgeoisie), and aristocratic patrons after his first three seasons as a lead actor with the Comedie Francais. But there was something about an extended night of cozying up with donors, joining hands with other artistic institutions, and being both a celebrator and a voice for the cause of the arts that made him feel stretched thin: as if he'd been asked to perform three shows in one day without rest in between.

He waited for the right moment to pause from his feigned interest in the occurrences at Madame du Ferrier's weekly salon, and by extension the world travels of the railway magnate Monsieur Augier, when he excused himself to procure some more wine. He whirled around, found himself face to face with a new face and-...good heavens, did his heart skip a beat?

"Ah, Monsieur Maire! There you are!" said the boisterous if stuffy voice of Monsieur Firmin. "May I present Christine Daae! Our new star and youngest ever leading soprano at the Opera Populaire. Miss Daae, Monsieur James Maire is the toast of the Comedie Francais. I trust you've heard of his recent triumph as Sgarnelle in 'Le Mariage force' or as Hernani-..."

But James could barely hear the formal introductions as the somewhat timid but warm smile Christine was giving him seemed to fill the air with a glowing light. He'd known of the sensational girl who'd lit up the stage seemingly from nowhere. The ingenue with the voice of an angel, but he was not ready for the full effect of seeing her up close. If anything, she was even lovelier off the stage and face to face.

"Ah, of course!" He beams. Never taking his eyes off hers, even as he takes her hands in his...the softest and warmest hands in all of Paris, no doubt.

"Enchante, Mademoiselle Daae," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "I saw you during your first run as Elissa in Hannibal, you know. You were a revelation. Your voice was more alluring than the song of the sirens, and you performed with true emotion and soul."

It's only now occurring to him that neither has let go of the other's hand.

[chorusing]

Her life has become a whirl of color and music, buffeting her around like a bird in a windstorm. She sees many faces - some familiar, some new - all rich and intrigued by her. She isn't accustomed to so much attention and thus her cheeks are permanently pink as she is escorted, briefly, by Monsieur Firmin. The hue only darkens when she is brought face to face with Monsieur James Maire! What a handsome man! But she must be careful; she has known of others that have gotten themselves in complicated positions because of a handsome face.

"You are too kind." Christine curtsies - even with her hands in his - her head dipping bashfully. The gems tucked into her dark hair glitter with the motion like dewdrops on a flower.

"I have heard of Monsieur and his talent has surely earned many laughs." a good outcome in his case! Her smile widens and she glances at Firmin, who is already distracted by another conversation. It seems she is free for the moment.

"Do you enjoy performing on stage?" she asks, genuinely honest in her curiosity, "I was a dancer before..."

[malibu_farmboy]

"Were you?" James steadily offers her his arm, ostensibly to steer them toward refreshment and, at least for now, temporarily away from the patrons (who no doubt would have their turn in due course), but also to hang onto the attentions of this dazzling young starlet.

"I thought you seemed particularly fluid on your feet. I suppose there must be a bit of rhythm and grace in all of us who dare to tread toward center stage."

He glances toward her and instantly catches her eye once again. That shimmering blushing smile hits James just as intensely. No wonder she caused a public sensation right from her first night as an understudy.

"I enjoy performing very much, Christine! I think there is something that calls us to it, no? I felt the anger and passion in my heart and longed for the space and the words to unleash my emotions to an audience, or to my fellow characters in a play. It is, perhaps, a way to exist above and beyond what we are permitted to be off the stage."

"And you, my dear Christine? What compels you to the stage? Surely when one lives her life surrounded by music, she must live and breathe it in some form, non?"

[chorusing]

Yes, soon. Christine isn't terribly extroverted - she loves to sing, to dance, but standing on a stage is different from standing before a throng of patrons. Each one presents a new obstacle. What should she say to them? What do they expect from her?

"I studied ballet in the opera-house. I have done so since I was a child." she lights up under his gaze, her eyes warm and friendly. This is not a starlet who is too vain to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

The way he speaks about his craft delights her and though her voice is soft, there is a thread of passion beneath every word:

"I feel as if I am speaking from the heart each time I sing. It's a way of connecting myself to my father. He was the only family I ever knew." she isn't sure he wants to hear about a dreary story of loss, so instead she leans in and whispers, "I have a grand teacher. He has taught me everything I know about singing and the stage."

[malibu_farmboy]

It does not take a tale of woe for James to surmise what his lovely companion has endured. Merely the way she speaks of her father in the past tense and the weight and sincerity in her voice as she speaks her heart.

He seizes this moment to chase the truest connection between artists. The meeting of mind and heart. Reveling in the closeness and honesty, he leans in along with her. Letting their bodies discreetly hide their hands from public view. He slowly and softly takes hers, threading their fingers together.

"Mon cherie, I have no doubt your father has heard every word you sing, and that his soul weeps with joy and pride for his angel on Earth every night you pray to him. My hope is only that you feel his love shine down on you by the light of the sun or the stage lights. And this I hope with all my heart."

His eyes meets hers once again, and he basks in the gaze they share. He lets it linger a great while before slowly returning her to the ground, as it were, with him.

"Now this teacher of yours, who is he?"

[yearnsforheaven]

[Well he is touch starved. That doesn't mean Christine wants anything to do with any of it, of course...]

[chorusing]

(He just doesn't know how to ask! She is attracted to him - otherwise she wouldn't have followed him, she wouldn't have tried to help him.)

Are you there?

[yearnsforheaven]

I...I am. I have nowhere else to be.

[chorusing]

Then come out. Sit with me. (She pats the cushion beside her.)

[yearnsforheaven]

If you wish. [In truth, it takes no convincing at all. He appears from his hiding place to take a seat next to her.]

[chorusing]

(Something in her gaze brightens and softens. Hesitantly. He will always be special to her; some part of her yearns to see him.)

I said I wouldn't return... (Yet here she is.)

[yearnsforheaven]

I did not think I would see you again.

[chorusing]

I've thought about you often. (A dangerous admission.)

[yearnsforheaven]

You have?

[chorusing]

How can I not? I don't know if you're safe or...alive.

[yearnsforheaven]

I don't know anyone who would say that it matters.

[chorusing]

It matters to me.

[yearnsforheaven]

Is that why you came here?

[chorusing]

...yes. I just...wanted to know...

(She reaches out to him, slowly, cautiously.)

[yearnsforheaven]

I'm here, and I'm as safe as I ever was.

[chorusing]

... (She lays her hand on his chest.) You deserve a place...a home.

[yearnsforheaven]

[He doesn't flinch at the unexpected touch. He brings his hand up, as though about to place it over hers, but instead he flexes his fingers and lets his hand drop back to his side. He doesn't trust himself to do more than that.] I have a home. My home is here.