The Friend Shop (Phantom of the Opera)

▪ Chapter 9 ▪

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I generally don't like expositionally heavy chapters but this one, I think, needed it. Besides, I liked it (though I just wrote it tonight). casuallllfollower, remember when I told you about "the friendship"? Well, this is one side of the story! I hope you enjoy it!

sarahlet2999

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▪ Chapter 9 ▪

Boredom. Since when did he experience boredom? The hotel room, stereotypically adorned with abstract art and natural colored walls, kept him awake for hours on end while his mission denied him internet access. No one can trace me.

His fancily tailored suit itched his back and relentlessly tickled the sunken sections of his stomach. Fidgeting, he stood up and braced himself for the mirror in his bathroom, assuring himself that the skin mask still fit his face perfectly. When his golden eyes locked into his skeletal figure in the mirror, he visibly flinched, revolted at the sight of himself.

"I'm hideous even with this contraption." He only wore the mask for missions, not enjoying the way the rubber played across his skin or trapped moisture beneath it. The makeup, required to keep it looking realistic, had smudged a tad and he carefully fixed it. Smoothing back his hair to keep a collected look of gentility, he picked up the phone and called for the cab he had previously ordered to be waiting for him at the hotel door. His fedora set on his head, he only waited a moment to gather himself and left.

Burning in his coat pocket, the lasso waited, anxious to meet his next victim.

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"Tell me about yourself." Christine asked, spreading her napkin across her lap, Dalir, sitting opposite her at the fanciest restaurant in town. Elegant but miniature chandeliers hung from the ceilings, shedding light over every shadow they could find. Candles burned in strategic areas, lighting those dark places the chandeliers missed with a romantic glow and leaving the pretty fire-shadow against the wallpaper. The quiet scent of sandalwood wafted through the rooms, quietly humming with lovers and families.

Vine decorated archways connected portioned-off rooms, dotted with booths and a few free-standing redwood tables and chairs. Black cushions, edged in redwood, adorned the booths while the same black leather upholstered the chairs. The room spoke of regal elegance, discomforting Christine. Despite dressed in her finest dress, a black shift accented with her white boots and some silver jewelry, she felt underdressed in a place with ladies adorned with diamonds and wearing five-hundred-dollar evening dresses.

"There isn't much to tell." He replied, picking up the leather bound and gold filigree embossed menus. "Your childhood sounded far more interesting from our conversation at McKee's last week."

"Oh no, I'm sure mine is perfectly boring in comparison to you. Surely you at least have tales about the police force?" She answered, gingerly flipping the menu open to skim words she barely recognized.

"I suppose I do have some from here. And, I did grow up in France, if you care to hear about that." Her instantly perked up and she completely ignored the menu for moments as her crystalline blue eyes latched onto the dark-skinned man.

"France? You must tell me about your years there."

"First let us order. The story is a long one. Anything catch your eye?"

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People. I hate them. He thought to himself as the cab rolled to a stop in front of the bustling party, many of the guests still loitering near the driveway, models draped over their arms, plying them with expensive liquor. His goal waited within though, he surmised after briefly scanning the crowd under the appearance of searching for an acquaintance.