Phantom of the Opera Meme

[marlowe_tops]

Phantom of the Opera Meme

You have lived for years in your subterranean lair, perhaps the one beneath the Opéra Garnier, watching the lives of the people above, and there is one in particular who has caught your eye. Perhaps you’ve agreed to be their tutor, or perhaps you’ve simply decided that you must own and possess them, their beauty and talent, for you alone to enjoy.
Or perhaps you’re an ordinary stagehand in the opera house, and you have an irresistible curiosity about the rumours of the ghost that haunts the place. You’ve studied every account, learned the twisting passageways of the opera house, and you have a sympathy, a fascination, for the tormented soul who believes him or herself to be alone and misunderstood. Perhaps you believe that you alone can love them.



The Rôles
1. The Tormented Genius - You are the tormented genius in your subterranean lair. Perhaps—probably—you are masked, whether to hide your deformity, your identity, or simply because you cannot bear to be seen.
2. The Ingenue - The talented rising star of the theatre, you have some skill or beauty which sets you apart and makes you ultimately desirable. But do you wish to be the star, or do you simply wish to be free?
3. The Stagehand/Chorus Girl - You’re fascinated by the phantom. You know that they are real, and perhaps you’ve even stumbled upon the entrance to their lair. They’re misunderstood and alone, but you’re here for them now. Maybe they won’t trust or accept you at first, but you’re determined to win them over.
4. The Hero - This ‘tormented genius’ isn’t a misunderstood or pitiable figure. They’re a monster, and you’re here to put an end to their reign of terror. Or, at least, to rescue one of their victims. You’re the hero of this story, stable and trustworthy, or at least that’s what you believe.
5. Other - Did you want to play the rôle of the Prima Donna threatened by the rising star? Perhaps you’re the Madame Giry who has operated for years as the phantom’s agent, and now you’re looking for some appreciation for your efforts. Perhaps you’re one of the managers of this opera house, whose livelihood has been threatened by this upstart terrorist.

The Locations
A. Le Palais Garner - The Paris Opera house, in its own form or as imagined and interpreted by dozens of movie and stage versions. Legend has it that there’s a lake beneath the opera, and a vast subterranean maze of chambers and tunnels that eventually connect out to the further mazes of the Paris catacombs and the Parisian sewers.
B. Choose your own Theatre - Or perhaps it’ll be one of the remakes and adaptations. The Phantom of the Megaplex? The Phantom of the Paradise?
C. Farther Afield - The Phantom of the Expensive Beach Resort? The Phantom of the Mall? The Hunchback Phantom of Notre Dame?

At its heart, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra is a Beauty and the Beast story. Feel free to play any related themes under the umbrella of the beauty and the beast story, stockholm syndrome, obsession and rejection, talent, deformity, genius, horror…

Comments

Laurent of Vere ; Captive Prince ; M/M

[prince_of_vere]

[Laurent is a natural ingenue type, although I'd also love to play him as the tormented genius.]

Mavros Shahrizai | Kushiel's Legacy | M/M

[mavros_shahrizai]

[Definitely the fascinated stagehand, though he's less determined and more just recklessly curious.]

ravyn song | original character | m/m

[achromat]

[ He's more the ingenue. And perhaps rather than the opera as the location, a museum or art gallery would be more apt. ]

Kylo Ren | Star Wars | OTA

[darthvaderfanboy]

[The tormented genius. He's already got the mask and everything! Though he's definitely more on the creepy, 'I will possess you and make you mine' side of things than anything truly romantic.]

[genie_lady]

[care for a Prima Donna to play pranks on? :)]

[darthvaderfanboy]

[Brilliant!]

[Kylo Ren had been stalking this opera house for years. At times, he was as quiet as the ghost some thought him to be. That was when things were going his way. But when people dared to question his authority...chaos reigned. All hell would break loose as he lashed out with his powers. The Force made it easy to make set pieces crash and to plant ideas into people's heads that weren't their own.

The latest thorn in his side was this Prima Donna, Jeannie. She was purely...mediocre in comparison to the talent he wanted to see lighting up the stage. No, no, no. She simply had to go. Kylo loomed high above in the scaffolding that the crew used to rig the lights and hang sandbags from. He watched the woman perform on the stage. Oh, by the time he was done with her, she'd be running out of this theater.]

[genie_lady]

[Jeannie loved the theatre. Loved it like something she alone owned and no one else could have. There she stood on stage, arrayed in her long colorful (and very expensive) costume, singing her heart out. Certain that all who heard her were lucky to hear such a singer in their lifetime.

And pooh-pooh on these rumors of a ghost, they were all stuff and nonsense. It was time for her aria and she didn't want to miss a single note.]

[darthvaderfanboy]

[Kylo listened for about a minute, letting her get good and lost in the melody. He glanced at a nearby sandbag, focusing his powers on the rope holding it steady. It loomed right over where Jeannie was singing. The knot slowly began to undo itself, the sandbag drooping under its own weight. He loosened it until the knot was being held by the barest of threads. Then he let gravity do the rest of the work.

The sandbag hit the stage with an awful Bang!, landing less than a foot away from the Prima Donna. Kylo leaned over the scaffolding, waiting to hear the screams that he would savor.]

Charlie | Five Nights At Freddy's: The Silver Eyes

[springlocking]

[Either the ingenue or the hero.]

hoo boy ok here we go

[terriblething]

[ It had taken more time than he cared to admit, but now, finally, Charlie was in his home.

He'd been watching her for years - he and her father had built this place together, and then following the unfortunate deaths and Henry's suicide, he'd fled from the accusations and gone underground as the theatre had changed hands from buyer to buyer over the years. Dave had never thought that one day, Charlie would come back, particularly to work there, and her arrival had ignited an interest in him that had been dimmed for far too long. Charlie was beautiful, he could see that - especially through the eyes of the rabbit's mask he'd spent most of his time wearing. Everyone else needed to see. He'd make sure they did.

...But for now, she was something only he could see. She had fainted, and he'd tucked her into his bed, waiting diligently for her to wake.

She hadn't come entirely willingly, but he wasn't concerned about that. Surely she'd be understanding and grateful once she woke up. ]

[springlocking]

[In its heyday, this place had been nothing short of a palace - complete with a wing where the small children stayed while their parents were at the main theatre. Her father's real genius had been with mechanics, and they'd all loved playing with the metal animals in that wing, with her maiden aunt watching over them to ensure their safety.

Yet it wasn't meant to stay so peaceful, not with the disappearances of the children. It had started with her twin brother Sammy, back at the first iteration of the theatre some towns over, and at the second iteration, four more disappeared over the course of a single summer. The constables had suspected her father, initially.

Everyone knew how it had ended. He had ended his own life, been posthumously cleared of all charges, and Charlie had been left to her aunt's care, her mother having fled after Sammy's death. Charlie and her aunt had traveled for some time, with each stop at an inn, each trip on the train dogged by Charlie's increasing fear that someone was watching her.

It looked like she had been right, instead of just being delicate like some had thought. She had returned to make sure the theatre was being cared for by its new owners, and on her first day cleaning one of the rooms-

"Who's there?!"

Right...now she remembered. Someone had snuck up on her, wearing - one of the old masks for the children's shows? A golden one, no less...but hadn't those been retired after her brother's kidnapping? After all, someone wearing one of those had been at fault - so why was it here? Had it been a trick of the light? Either way, she'd fainted, and now she was very definitely not on the floor. Had one of the stage hands picked her up? - no, they had been unconscious with drink the last time she'd checked. Cracking her eyes open just a bit revealed only darkness, and nothing more.

Still, this didn't seem like her room, not in the least.

That was enough to make her bolt upright, looking around fearfully - but she still hadn't adjusted to the darkness yet. How far off the ground was she, for that matter? Nothing was familiar, she could at least tell that much. Right now, all she could do was ask in a shaking voice:]

Is someone there?

[terriblething]

[ Dave has left Charlie for now - she needs rest, it seems, and he's fine with giving it to her, particularly with a dormant mechanical animal watching over her. Without many of its parts its unable to really move, but it does stand upright on its own at "her" bedside, acting as a sentry in the darkness. Or at least, that's what Dave thinks.

As for him - he's stepped away for now, in the next chamber of the expansive catacombs. Close enough to hear, but still a room away, his work on a bit of machinery illuminated only by candlelight.

He'd never had the skill with this that Henry had, and not for the first time, Dave curses him - but he's stopped suddenly when he hears the sounds in the next chamber, the one he'd left Charlie in.

She must be awake. He moves swiftly towards her, taking a candle with him for light. He's standing just at the edge of the slightly-open curtain at the room's entrance when he speaks, his light just barely illuminating his face.

Or rather, illuminating his mask. He cocks his head, not seeing much of her in the darkness. ]

You're awake. [ With the mask on, Dave is confident and relaxed, and his voice is smooth and almost emotionless. ] That's good. I was worried you'd taken ill.

[springlocking]

[Best way to throw someone off right there. She grimaces slightly at the sudden light, shielding her eyes as they adjust to it and to the sudden glitter off the gold mask.

She's suddenly very glad she had her work clothes on - anything fancy or frilly and she'd have trouble springing off the strange bed and taking a few steps back, skittish in her half-aware state. No, it isn't just that - it's the fact that it's that mask, that damned mask - the one the monster wore as he spirited away her brother.

So yes, Charlie is already intimidated. She manages to speak up, though, because for all that the mask intimidates her...the person wearing it is just that - a person. For some reason, too, that voice is reassuring and almost familiar, though she can't for the life of her place it.]

W...who are you? What's going -

[Her question cuts off as she gets too close to the mechanical sentry, panics, and - ooh, there's a tear in the arm of her coat, and the blood is spreading. Thankfully it was just her arm, but the pain still makes her scream.]

Haseo (rule 63) | .hack

[bladedskies]

[Definitely the hero.]

Lapis Fathalla | OC | OTA

[oneirism]

[Would definitely be the ingenue, since she's a very skilled singer and dancer. She does it for enjoyment, so she isn't that interested in being the star.]

Melfina | Outlaw Star

[soundlessday]

[Definitely, definitely the ingenue. She's known to have a lovely singing voice!]

Jeannie | I Dream of Jeannie

[genie_lady]

[Prima Donna material though she can also operate as a ghost if necesary.]

Dr. John Watson | BBC Sherlock

[flatmatewatson]

[A doctor in the house, or possibly the hero]

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century

[solvescases]

[time someone found out who this opera ghost really is and he's the detective to do it. can be 1800's or 22nd Century.]

cain ✘ starfighter ✘ ota

[otvali]

( he'll probably be 1, but i'm willing to play around with it. pm me if you want to hash out details or a particular scenario. )

[prince_of_vere]

No one knew the past of the mysterious new star of the Paris Opera. He had come from nowhere, auditioning for a part on the chorus, and he'd skyrocketed within months to top billing, enjoying the finest private dressing room.

He was a sensational beauty in addition to his exquisite voice. The perfect Romeo, a natural Apollo, and half the city--male and female--had lost their hearts to him. Laurent's dressing room overflowed with gifts, each of them more extravagant than the last, in hopes that it would earn some favor--even a smile--from the untouchable ice prince of the Paris Opera.

He offered none, and the gifts had begun to become rarer, and even more extravagant, while his fellow performers at the opera and his failed suitors began to refer to him as a "cast iron bitch."

They said, by his accent, that he was Swiss. Bavarian, perhaps, or Bohemian. When he wasn't in the diaphanous confections that the costumer of the opera favored, Laurent dressed in austere, dark fabrics that turned his exquisite beauty into something sharp and untouchable.

Returning to his dressing room after the final bow, avoiding the glares and leers that followed him, Laurent shut and locked the door, and began to undress.

[otvali]

идеально. Idealno.

Perfect, characterized by the highest level of quality corresponding to the ideal.

A philosophy that graced the rafters of the Paris Opera for some time, first brushing his fancy like a feather as he crouched on wooden beams, rope burning his palms as he toyed with the backdrop of a particularly displeasing set. The theater was his; he had every right to wreck what he didn't like, destruction his usual first response to distaste, wanton in missing something he never knew he was longing for.

But each note gave him pause, enough that he had peered down into the dark and light to catch a glimpse of who would no doubt be the darling of the burgeis. Calming of the calamity that were his wretched thoughts, the urge to tear softened until the last note faded away. Then he waited for the young man to depart before thoroughly ripping down plank and painted paper.

It took no time at all for Cain to consider the youth his -- he was in the Opera House, and considering it was his, it followed suit, of course. But each sullen glance caught from shadow drew him like no other thing or person in the house; a natural affliction (yes, an illness), one he'd felt tighten his chest like the chords he was so fond of wrapping around necks.

He'd leave a single blue rose amidst those extravagant gifts. Just that. Left across the dresser, almost plain in comparison to what must have cost a rich noble a healthy handful of coins, but the color an oddity - ice blue, faded dark toward the stem.

Trick mirrors were such useful things; he stood, leaning against the frame of the other side of the mirror (a darkened hallway, dusty, spiraling away to more darkness), ankles and arms crossed as he watched Laurent shut and lock the door. He might as well have been a shadow, wearing nothing but black from his boots to his shirt, hair so raven it cast a blue hue in candlelight. Drumming his fingers, he watched, head lolling back and resting against rotted wood.

"That might have been your best performance yet," he finally spoke, an echo courtesy of vents of stone - a place built for projection, rooted in even the bricks.

"Are you content?"

[prince_of_vere]

Laurent's breath caught and he spun, alert for threats, but there was no one there. The voice had echoed, deep and resonant, through the stone, sounding barely human and setting his heart to pounding.

He was exposed, in the delicate gauze that made up his costume, and he hated it. It inspired lust, sometimes even emboldened men enough to touch, as if he was merely a plaything that they wished to own.

"Who's there?" he demanded. He spun again, and saw no one. Taking up his dressing gown, he tied it on over the costume, so that he would have some warmth and modesty, at least, and then he snatched up a blade--ornamental enough to be a stage piece, but the blade rang like real steel as he pulled it from the sheath, and held it like a trained duelist.

Slender and lovely, with pale golden hair and milk-white skin, the dark blue of the dressing gown was too dark against his skin and the pale white of his costume. It was severe and unadorned, like the high-collared tunics he favored when he wasn't in costume, and it didn't suit him.

[otvali]

"No one," was his crisp reply, as though it was a silly question to ask.

And not an altogether lie. Who was he? No one, no record at the theater, despite having been lurking its waterways for years. Not that he was old; he didn't know when his birthday was, but he pegged himself around 23 or 24 at best. A name, Cain, a damned one at that. That suited him well enough. But there was no offer of a name, just lingering silence after the echo of his words.

He remained in place, watching through hooded eyelids, behind a mask that he didn't even need -- no one would know his face, true, but it helped him feel more like shadow. A stark contrast to fair locks of hair and light flashing across a decorated blade.

A little bird in a gilded cage. That was what he saw. But didn't he come here, put himself behind painted iron?

"It's rude to ask a question when one's already been asked. Are you content?" A pause, before adding, "Or are these riches not enough for you?" A mocking sort of tone. That outfit didn't suit him at all. Like sticking a sword in a velvet purse. None of it did.

He uncrossed his ankles, lazily adjusting himself, but still watching Laurent like a hawk.

"Always looking so sad."

Karla | Fire Emblem

[swordprincess]

[Definitely the ingenue.]