I've been in a creative frenzy since Madame Giry had Meg explain that the incident I'd seen between my Christine and Gerik was completely one-sided and unwelcome. Apparently, Christine was a bit tipsy (as was related in Madame's inebriated ramblings later that evening) and the villain had caught her at a particularly vulnerable moment. I still have yet to speak to her, since apparently she had learned that I saw them and is too embarrassed to be in my presence for now.
I've also had some time to delve further into my investigations into D'Arcy's pet project and had a look at the costumes for the new “opera.” The only one being worked on at the time appeared to be a recreation of Christine's Aminta costume from my opera -- although it was obviously "altered":
Where is the rest of her skirt?!? That cad D'Arcy, to subject my Angel to wearing that! Why, just picturing Christine in such a revealing costume makes me so furious! My dear, innocent Angel's toned and graceful calves so blatantly displayed, her milky white thighs bared for all to see… um… uh… what was I saying?
Oh yes, D'Arcy! I've decided that I must learn more about this project of his, so I've dispatched Ayesha (fresh off her "Ra's Al Ghul's League of Shadows' "Infiltration Made Easy" correspondence course) to sneak into D'Arcy's estate and see what she can learn.
Your obedient servant,
O.G.
I've been in a rather somber mood ever since the beginning of the year. Ayesha still isn't speaking to me and I've made a conscious effort to stay away from Christine. Even making Carlotta sound like Minnie Driver in "GoldenEye" during her most recent performance couldn't lighten my spirits.
And I really miss my monkey. I fear I must have done something with it during my alcohol-induced blackout, but for the life of me, I cannot remember anything.
Your obedient servant,
O.G.
My dear readers, the unthinkable has happened. My Angel has broken my heart again.
I had thought that with the Vicomte having left for far-away New Guinea, the Masquerade Ball would be a chance for Christine and I to rekindle the connection we once had. Unfortunately, things did not turn out as I had hoped.
I was later than usual making my entrance at the Ball. Not for psychological impact, but because due to my recent illness I'd let myself go and realized to my horror upon donning my Red Death tights that I had muffin top. But I'm otherwise still skeletal! What cruel hand has God dealt me now?!?
Well, after that brief trauma (I had to resort to wearing a girdle), I finally slipped unnoticed into the subscriber's rotunda through one of the secret passageways minutes before midnight. The ball was already at its height, and the revelers were clearly three sheets to the wind. I saw the managers, Firmin in his typical conservative costume and André -- apparently indulging his "creative" side -- foregoing his skeleton tights for what amounted to little more than a couple of black rectangles. I refuse to say more because it only brings the horrific image of it back into my mind.
I spotted Meg at one end the Grand Foyer, surrounded by a number of -- I hesitate to refer to them as "gentlemen" due to all the leering they were doing at Madame's little girl. But apparently she had a friend of hers nearby (I recognized him as the fellow in the colorful clown costume), so I knew she was safe. I even caught a glace at Madame Giry looking extremely inebriated and apparently trying to pick a fight with someone in a dual-sex costume who was taking liberties with his hands while in the company of one of her dancers. But at three minutes to midnight, my Angel was still nowhere to be found. I swiftly made my way through the crowd as the seconds counted down, desperate to find Christine before midnight struck. Five… four… three… two… one…
And then amidst the crowd at the bottom of the main staircase, I saw her. Her lips pressed against those of a man dressed in scarlet red breeches, black jackboots and a rapier.
GERIK!!!!!!!
Why God why?!?
Unable to bear the sight (and throwing up in my mask a little), I ran off, losing myself in the crowd. After that, everything got a bit hazy. I think I had a drink or seven, but mostly succeeded in dribbling a good portion of it down the front of my costume (it's hard to aim for one's mouth while wearing such a large mask as I was). Of course, since I didn't eat beforehand, the alcohol immediately accosted my system like Lord D'Arcy at one of his chorus girl auditions and everything went blank. Although I do remember attempting to drown my sorrows in the company of three rather quiet ladies with long curly tresses like Christine's. The newspapers apparently chronicled the rest.
Now that my hangover is gone, I'm attempting to assess things, starting with my home. I suddenly feel like the three bears from that children's tale…
And where is my monkey music box?
Your obedient servant,
O.G.
Last night was not one of my better nights. My tarot cards foresee a setback with Dr. Schneider…
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Man with Mannequin Fetish Arrested
2/1/2009 03h19
PARIS, France (AFP) - A man dressed in an elaborate Red Death costume was arrested and jailed early yesterday morning after breaking into Printemps and absconding with three female mannequins dressed in lingerie, gendarmes said.
The unidentified man was found unconscious in a side alley surrounded by said figures when he was taken into custody. "He kept mumbling about dungeons of despair and the like," one officer reported. "He's obviously just some drunk loony who has had his heart broken at a New Year's party."
Mysteriously, the suspect vanished from his cell shortly after being booked. His current whereabouts are unknown.
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Your hungover angel,
O.G.
