[Application] [London Shadows]
Character Name: Erik
Series: The Phantom of the Opera
Age: 68
Physical Description: N/A
History: Here’s the wiki to his background - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phantom_(novel) - and I shall now add some handy-dandy notes on his never-ending angst any differences!
Actually, basically the only things that will differ are that the automata and devices Erik begins to experiment with are more steampunk-y in nature, utilizing steam and clockwork more, and that at the end of the novel he doesn’t actually die. Obviously. Instead, he fakes his death to free Christine from the obligation of remaining with him, having seen the light, or at least a little of it. Afterwards, he decides to cut ties with Paris, particularly since the authorities will probably be interested in finding out who kidnapped Christine, and heads to London. Once there, he lies low for a while before hearing about the Himmelsport project.
The last time he got involved with a project that grand, it very nearly became his tomb, but the architect in him wouldn’t let him walk away from the utilisation of technology that fascinates him so much. His health, after the attacks he suffered in 1881, had stabilized, and it seemed he would not be dying any time soon, and the last of the money he had managed to bring with him from Paris was drying up; he needed occupation and a way to make some money. Getting involved with Himmelsport would bring him both. After making some connections and having a few very polite conversations in which nobody was murdered, he got his wish. There was something to be said for being the greatest architect in the world.
After the project was completed, he went to ground. He could probably have afforded to live on Himmelsport itself, or at least in a fashionable district below, but years of being hounded from residence to residence had taught Erik a valuable lesson. Rather than rent some fashionable rooms, he bought a small shop in one of the less salubrious districts of London, made it as unassuming as possible, and set himself up as a maker of clockwork curiosities: automata that could play musical instruments with startling skill and pocket-watches that play a melody at a certain time being just two examples of his work. No two things were ever identical, and an enormous amount of work went into each and every one, but it was rare that he sold anything; his prices, combined with the area the shop was situated in, the efforts he had made to not be noticed, and his demeanour when anyone did venture inside were enough to put almost everyone off from perusing his wares.
He did not want a business. The shop was just a paltry reason not to curl up and wait for death, when it finally decided to take him. The only contact he had with the outside world was to purchase what little food he needed, new clothes when his old wore out, and for morphine (the latter through a certain “procurement expert” NPC i-if that’s okay and allowed).
And, just occasionally, he will purchase tickets to a performance at the Royal Opera House.
Personality: At heart, Erik is a man who appreciates beauty in all its forms, and has a great capacity for goodness in him; despite everything, his base nature is to nurture rather than kill.
That nature, however, has been buried by decades of rejection, revulsion and conditioning that nobody will ever be capable of loving him, and that his only defence - his only way to live - is to hide himself away from the eyes of the world. He is harsh and sarcastic in his speech towards others in order to make them think twice about any foolish ideas like getting to know him. Christine helped him to see the light a little, but it wasn’t a complete transformation; rather than being insane and grouchy, he is now just grouchy with the odd instance of madness bobbing up to the surface when he’s really pushed.
Basically, Erik is now that one grouchy old man who yelled at you as a kid for throwing things at his house or messing up the garden. Except this grouchy old man knows how to kill you. Oh, he knows lots of ways to kill you.
Living Standards: Erik lives in a cramped little shop in the East End. It’s run-down, dusty, musty, and he doesn’t give a damn.
Special Skills Etc: His voice, which can place people in a hypnosis-like trance to do what he wishes, his genius musical, architectural and engineering skills, and his talent for manipulation and “magic” (the fake showman kind). Also his animal magnetism. No, really. Women either run screaming or all but fling themselves into his arms.
Writing Sample:
The shop was a veritable dreamland of clockwork wonders. The automata that came in every shape and size would, one might think, have been in great demand by children demanding diversion, but all but one was covered in a layer of dust.
That last piece, a one-tenth scale automaton of a young woman, so perfectly and lovingly rendered that, were it of a lifelike size, it could be mistaken for a real, living girl. On this, nothing was out of place; not a speck of dust graced it; not a single dark-brown curl of the miniature wig of real hair was mussed. If Erik neglected his shop as a whole, if he did not care for any more human contact beyond the bare minimum, at least there was still one thing in the world he cared about.
He checked the automaton now, unnaturally long and delicate fingers tracing the tiny features, pausing to caress the curls. A sigh, coming from the very depths of his being, was the only sound in the shop. It was empty, as always, which suited him. People were unnecessary, as he had been reminded many times.
What must be like, he wondered, to be able to walk the busy streets of London without anyone paying him the slightest bit of attention? Or, if attention were to be given, it would be on wonder rather than revulsion. A glance out of the grimy shop windows showed the busy lives of other Londoners; street vendors, busy passers-by with things to do and places to be, orphans and urchins playing together and waiting for the right moment to pick a pocket or grab anything that wouldn’t be instantly missed. Something deep inside him ached. At least in Paris, once he had been safely ensconced within the Palais Garnier, he had not been constantly exposed to what he was missing.
Sometimes he thought he had made a mistake, remaining in London, but where else was there to go? The very idea of returning to France left a sour taste in his mouth, and most of Europe was, in his mind, soiled by past tragedies. At least in London he had carved himself something of a niche.
“Oh, Christine,” he whispered, addressing the automaton. “How things could have been… If not for this face, I would have given you a good life - better even than the one that boy can give you. Ah, but it was never to be, was it?”
Erik gave a small, almost self-mocking chuckle. “At least to you, my dear, I am dead.”
OPTIONAL: [Found within the locked office of the managers of the Royal Opera House on the morning after a gala performance.]
To whom it may concern,
It came to my attention during the last performance that your orchestra is in a shameful state. The violinists should be shot, and the organ is entirely out of tune. Please note also that the chorus cannot sing to save their lives. I hope you will see to it that these problems will be rectified as soon as possible.
[It’s unsigned! Also, the handwriting is terrible. Oh well, must just be a concerned citizen, right?]
Your Character's Deepest Darkest Secret: His face! Oh, horror! Horror! Horror! Etc. etc. and so on and so forth.