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twistedtangledfate · 1 month

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Erik

Alias: The Opera Ghost, O.G, The Phantom of the Opera, Angel of Music, Master, The Red Death

Biography:

Erik wasn't horrendously deformed when he was born but enough that his family were very much ashamed of him. It was obvious, something that could not be easily concealed, with his nose squashed in entirely on the left side and an upward tick to the corner of his lips on the same side that revealed more of his teeth and made him look like he was always snarling. He conceived to run away when he was young after a particularly brutal beating from his father who believed he should have been drowned at birth and brought them great shame through every moment that he lived. To spare his mother pain, when a travelling circus came through their town, he took his opportunity and joined them and was gladly accepted. However, he was very much ill treated there too and after a few years of dealing with that and the mockery, horror and scorn of others, he tired of it all. When they were in Paris, Antoinette Giry visited with some of the other girls from the ballet and he once again saw his opportunity. He attacked the ringmaster, strangled him to death but not before he was smashed on the head with a lantern. The wax and the flame burned the left side of his face and head and he felt even more of a monster than he had been before. Antoinette bore witness to it and she took hold of him by the hand and they ran, nobody really noticing them as the flames began to spread from where the lantern had been dropped. She took him beneath the Opera House and it was there that he remained for several years, putting into effect what he had learned in the circus regarding tricks and illusions and soaking in the beauty of music that remained ever his solace. It transpired that he was gifted musically and that he had a very sharp intellect.

When he reached his early twenties, he left the Opera House that had concealed him and attempted to travel whereby he ended up employed by the Shah who valued his knowledge and bid him to create the palace of Mazenderan. It was a huge achievement and Erik's designs were implimented perfectly. The Shah coveted him and his knowledge and skill and when Erik attempted to leave, the Shah instructed that he was to be blinded so he could not create as he had for anyone else ever again. Erik was slight, not of a particularly large build and that made him fast which proved to be invaluable.

He had caught wind of what was to happen and why and he caught the man off guard when he came to blind him. Erik emerged like a phantom from the shadows, blinded the man himself and then cut out his tongue so he could not speak properly again, could not utter the name of who had done this to him. He left immediately after and returned to the only place he had ever known any form of comfort; the Palais Garnier, whereby he resumed his prior residence, using the money he had earned from the Shah to furnish it in a manner appropriate to what he wished for. He created drawings and plans to improve the Palais that had fallen into a slight state of disrepair. His plans were submitted from The Opera Ghost and brought to the owner by the then Madame Giry. He had included a sum of money to assist with the renovations required and it was at this point that he began to make his demands. He would fund through Madame Giry the vast majority of the work on the basis that box 5 be reserved for him and his use and that he draw a salary. The agreement was made, the owner having only briefly caught glimpse of the Opera Ghost, thus knowing him to be a real being and not a superstitious story.

It was at this point that Christine came into his life, her singing captivating him, the pain and beauty mingling in her voice and he decided that he would be her tutor, that together they could create pure beauty from the ugliness and cruelty of the world through her with him once again playing the part of architect.

Tag; angel of the palais garnier (erik)

Faceclaim: Ramin Karimloo

#angel of the palais garnier (erik)#phantom of the opera

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ladystormcrow · 7 months

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Ten First Lines Game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Oh wow, thank you for the tag, @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques! And @a-partofthenarrative too!

In The Lonesome October

(POTO, rated G. Erik recruits a grieving Madame Giry to help him with some Halloween mischief.)

The skies over Père Lachaise were ashen and sober as Antoinette Giry made her way down the cobbled path.

Trio Sonata

(POTO, rated M. Post-canon AU: instead of leaving Erik behind after she returns the ring, Christine asks him to leave the lair with her and Raoul in order to save him from the mob, and all of their lives take an unexpected turn. Starts out mostly Raoul/Christine, but the endgame is Erik/Christine/Raoul, with some Daroga/Madame Giry on the side.)

Christine Daaé knew she must not look back.

Imprints In Time

(POTO, rated T. Prequel to my other two POTO fics, exploring an origin story for Madame Giry: her childhood in a Romani caravan, her rise through the ballet corps, how she met and lost her husband Jules, and most of all, her long and complicated relationship with Erik.)

Anna Reinhardt was admiring her earrings for the third time that day.

Katabasis

(The Dark Crystal, rated T. Seven years after the Great Conjunction, the surviving urSkeks discover a new threat to both their world and Thra. They must return to Thra in the hope of seeking answers from their dead comrades, which also means once again facing Jen, Kira, Aughra, and all the peoples of Thra they harmed in their former lives. Features a lot of Jen/Kira, who are expecting their first child.)

The light was every bit as bright as they remembered.

I'll Keep You

(The Dark Crystal, rated T. Silly, fluffy oneshot involving skekLach reluctantly getting a makeover in Ha'rar after her clothes are ruined on the tithing journey. SkekLach/skekOk, and also features some of my headcanons about Gelfling wedding customs.)

“I still don’t see why I have to be there.”

Agony and Ecstasy

(The Dark Crystal, rated M. Oneshot featuring a night of BDSM sex between skekZok and skekSa, in which the Ritual-Master can finally drop his austere image and enjoy being on the receiving end of pain and torture. Established skekZok/skekSa.)

“Ah, some happy news!”

Mine

(The Dark Crystal, rated M. AU oneshot where, instead of declaring war on the Gelfling after Lore's attack, skekSo tries to strengthen his alliance with the new All-Maudra Seladon by proposing marriage. Seladon moves to the Castle, gets in touch with her inner Skeksis, and eventually takes matters into her own hands to get her new husband's attention. SkekSo/Seladon.)

For once in his life, Emperor skekSo listened to moderation.

A Prophecy Reclaimed

(SWAT Kats, rated T. Prequel to the episode "Bride of the Pastmaster", featuring a teenaged Queen Callista, her grandmother Oriana, and how their family's troubles with the Pastmaster first began.)

"The king is dead.”

Tagging @cornistasiathecoblinking @nientedal @undynedevotion @theawkwardarchaeologist @reikiajakoiranruohoja @chaifootsteps @margoteve @apileofpans @garnet-xx-rose

#crow writes a thing #tag game #phantom of the opera #the dark crystal #swat kats #sticking to AO3 and fics that are either done or actively being worked on #I have a few others on FF.net that I need to transfer over

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facelessinthecrowd · 10 months

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𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓

{Basics}

Name: Marguerite Antoinette Giry

Alias: Meg / Bathing Beauty

Gender: Female

Age: 28

Species: Human

Zodiac: aquarius / aries / cancer / capricorn / gemini / leo / libra / pisces / sagittarius / scorpio / taurus / virgo / unknown

Abilities/Talents: Professional dancer / actress / singer

{Personal}

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

Religion: Raised Catholic, but agnostic/atheist

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: Verse dependent, but French, German and English

Family: Mother

Friends: Christine Daaé, other show girls at Phantasma, but they are more acquaintances than friends

Sexual Orientation: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / questioning / other

Relationship status: single / dating / married / widowed / open relationship / other

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

{Physical}

Build: twig / bony / slender / average / athletic / curvy / chubby / obese

Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

Eyes: brown / blue / green / black / other

Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / very brown / other

Height: under 3 foot / 3-4 foot / 4-5 foot / 5-6 foot / 6-7 foot / above 7 foot

Weight: under 100 pounds / 100-150 pounds / 150-200 pounds / 200-250 pounds / above 250 pounds

Scars: scrapes on knees from her childhood; some self inflicted and others inflicted by a select few during her time at phantasma.

Facial Features: sharp and defined; many people believe her features are fairly striking, but this aspect seems to have developed the more mature she has become. Ten years ago, her face was rounder and her cheekbones less defined.

Tattoos: none, although she has thought about getting some.

{Choose}

Dogs or Cats?

Birds or Hamsters?

Red or Blue?

Yellow or Green?

Black or White?

Coffee or Tea?

Ice Cream or Cake?

Fruits or Vegetables?

Sandwich or Soup?

Magic or Melee?

Sword or Bow?

Summer or Winter?

Spring or Autumn?

The Past or The Future?

#;bathing beauty — character study #;dash meme

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mintbubbletea606 · 11 months

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What Lies Behind the Mask (Chapter Three: The Taps)

Kat was practically shaken awake by her mother the morning after she was introduced to Maria. The little girl had collapsed into bed after an extra lesson by Madame Giry. Though the woman had promised to bring along her young daughter, this did not make the lesson any easier. She had been vulnerable, no girls to hide behind as she continued with the different positions. Madame Giry, with a slightly satisfied nod of the head, had ended the session later than usual.

"Come, get up!" Louise tried as she pulled the thin sheets out of her daughter's hands. "Your papa just left to go to his work, and your practice is in an hour or so. Darling, you have to get up sometime." With a heavy sigh, the woman gave up and moved away to sit at the scratched table, picking up her thick book and rustling through the creamy white pages.

A few minutes passed before Kat groaned and pulled herself out of her bed. Quickly changing into her required outfit, she sat down at the table and let her mother braid her hair into two separate braids as Kat munched on her porridge. She took one last sip of her beverage before running out the door, bidding her mother goodbye.

---

Maria was curled up in a lavish chair as she listened to her mother pacing around the room. Adina's brown hair was frizzing out of her previously immaculate bun as she bit on her thumbnail. When Maria returned to their room in the afternoon, she was met with an empty room. The six-year-old girl had simply set aside a few pieces of bread that she had gotten from Madame Giry earlier and moved to read more from her book, thinking back to the rich chocolate that Kat--Maria was almost sure that was her name--had given her. Her mother had not returned until Maria was already asleep on the squeaky cot, swallowed up in the covers. The busy day ended with Adina only earning a total of five hours of rest, staying awake to ponder the whereabouts of this ghost of sorts.

As soon as morning rolled around, she had taken only one slice of bread for herself and made sure that Maria had eaten all of hers before helping her daughter into one of her more casual dresses. The mother had gripped her daughter's hand tightly as she pulled her down the hallways and into her usual office. Fifteen minutes had passed before a horrid tapping ensued, causing the woman's current frenzy to calm herself down.

Looking up at her mother finally, Maria offered to find Madame Giry for her, but Adina had merely waved off her suggestion and banged against the wall to stop the rapping. Still, they persisted and she sat down at her desk, running her fingers through her untamed hair.

"What on earth could be making those noises?" Adina muttered before glancing at the chequebook with a dark look in her eyes.

"Maybe the theatre is leaking like our old house? We could not sleep because of the noises."

"The theatre is well-made. Besides, it would have a different sound altogether. Maybe someone is doing it to calm their nerves...?"

As much as the woman tried to soothe herself, the taps persisted.

"Can't you ignore it?" Maria asked, tilting her head in confusion. Though the tapping had become quite an annoying nuisance, the child was still able to focus on reading.

"No. I'm trying to work on something very important, and any background noise is going to scramble all of my thoughts."

"You could work outside of your office...?"

Adina let out a deep sigh before taking a look at herself in the mirror. When she could not smooth out her stray hairs, she turned on her heel and opened the door. Once she noticed that her daughter was trailing after her, she held up her hand to halt her.

"I am going to calm down in the washroom. You can stay here and read your book. Do not mess with anything. I do not want to lose my job," Adina said as she moved into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

She walked down the hallway, nearing the washroom. The sharp voice of Antoinette Giry caused the woman to freeze up. Though she knew that she should not eavesdrop, she opened the door slightly and pressed her ear into the space that she provided.

"Why in the world would you need my help?" Antoinette asked, a noticeable edge to her voice.

"I-I have a family to support, madame..." a young woman answered, her voice shaking slightly.

"From my knowledge, you were an orphan when you arrived. You have no husband, either."

"Please, Madame Giry. You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I'm sorry, but I cannot. I promised someone that I wouldn't mention them, and I will not break my promise."

A tense silence followed her explanation, broken only by Antoinette's weary sigh.

"I will help you this time. However, I will turn you in if I find you stealing any more food from the kitchens."

"Thank you so much. You will not regret this, madame!" the woman exclaimed, her footsteps nearing the door.

Adina immediately straightened up and opened the door, her eyes immediately moving to focus on the much smaller girl that stood before her. The girl's eyes widened, and she quickly moved to curtsy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam!" she got out before scurrying out of the washroom.

"Why was she in such a hurry?" Adina asked, faking her confusion. The woman watched as Antoinette's eyes followed the retreating girl.

"A lot of the girls like to gossip about me, and she must have been on the receiving end."

Ah, she's vouching for the girl, Adina observed as she moved to glance over her shoulder. Instead of getting a glimpse of the girl, she was met with an empty hallway. What? There's no possible way that the girl walked away so fast. It's almost like she's a ghost, but that's ridiculous.

"You don't seem very scary to me," Adina commented as she turned her gaze back onto the woman, who was dressed in her usual black attire.

"You might be the only person that thinks that, Madame Dupont."

"Please don't refer to me as that. I refuse to be a part of the Dupont family. I'm Madame Monet."

"It would certainly give you an upper hand if your peers knew that you were from the Dupont family. If you didn't know, they are highly respected in the arts-"

"I am well aware of that fact, but I am not interested. Thank you for the concern."

"I did not mean to offend you," Antoinette responded as her sharp eyes surveyed Adina's expression.

"You did not offend me in the slightest."

"With that, I will be going." Antoinette dipped her head before quickly moving out of the washroom.

Adina watched her leave before moving in front of the mirror, hands moving to turn on the faucet. She froze up when she heard light tapping once again.

"Not again..." Adina murmured as she looked at the window to see if anyone was tapping against the window. However, there was no one there. The woman only grew even more perplexed when she realized that the tapping seemed to be coming from behind the mirror. When she leaned closer to inspect the mirror, she noticed that there seemed to be something red filling the sink. Adina's eyes glanced back down to realize that dark red liquid was dripping from the faucet. Blood...

The woman whipped around and quickly raced towards her office, wrenching open the door to her office. She had to make sure that her daughter was okay. Instead of being greeted by her child, she was met with an empty office and silence.

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seiya234 · 2 years

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think of me, fondly

lol finally got around to writing up the crack fic idea i’ve had since i was 15 years old, any way the sequel magically doesn’t exist here, so please have some fic of my queen Madame Giry

-----

The stage was empty, but Madame Giry was not alone.

No one was ever alone in the Opera Populaire, not really.

“Really, you of all people should know better.”

Silence.

“She is young enough to be your daughter.”

Still silence, but somehow it had taken on a sullen tone.

Madame Giry sighed, and went on.

“And she is friends with your daughter, Erik.”

The silence had slipped from sullen to embarrassed, but Madame Giry was under no impression that it would change a damn thing. She had said her piece though, so she went to exit the stage, to make sure Meg and Christine were in their beds.

It had only been the once, on the run from that horrific circus, knowing where they wanted to go, but slowed by their lack of money, the need to stay hidden, both from the authorities and from the unkind jeers of the crowd.

There had been one particularly close call, hiding in a hay loft, watching the Watch through a crack in the boards below bellow their names, the bark of the hounds and the bays of the horses.

His breath on the back of her neck and his hands around her waist as they were crammed so close together, hiding under the hay like that would actually do anything if they were caught.

The dogs that kept looking up like they knew, they knew, they knew

She had never been interested in sex, though of course she knew what happened between men and women, but there was something in the air that night that led her to suddenly turn her head back and join her lips to his.

A quick intake of breath, and the world was still, before he deepened the kiss, one hand working it’s way up to her breasts, the other down the breeches she had donned as part of her disguise.

They didn’t even notice as their pursuers melted away.

----

The next morning was awkward at first. Neither of them could look the other in the eye. It went on all through breakfast, until finally Antoinette couldn’t take it longer.

“So. That was fun, but I don’t think I want to do it again anytime soon.” Or honestly ever again. She really didn’t understand what the fuss was for about thirty seconds of lower muscle spasms, followed by unpleasant wetness from your partner. Well, at least she had gotten it over and done with.

Erik looked.... relieved?

“Absolutely. I’m sorry Antoinette, but-”

“But-?”

“You.... you dance.”

She couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Seriously? That argument again? I’m telling you Erik, ballet contains the same multitudes that music does.”

In lieu of answering, Erik primly drank his coffee again.

And that was that, until they had made it to Rome, and Antoinette realized that not only had her monthlies ceased, but there was Something stirring within her stomach.

----

“What are we going to do?”

“Have it I guess.” Honestly, she was rather bemused by the whole thing. For many fairly obvious reasons, she had never planned on being a mother, but now that it was happening, Antoinette found herself warming to the idea. Perhaps it helped that it was on her terms; no husband to help or shelter them, yes, but no man to order her around, to force her to bed, to keep her from dancing.

Things would work themselves out, not because they just did but because Antoinette Giry had spent the last 32 years willing them to do so.

Suddenly Erik grabbed her wrist, and it hurt as he hissed “But what if it looks like me?”

She looked down at his hand. She was silent.

He pulled away.

“We will deal with that when that happens. For now, I would much rather we concentrate on getting to our destination before this child comes. We can handle everything once we are at our own Opera.

The birth itself, on the outskirts of Paris, was rather uneventful, albeit painful on her end, and absolutely horrifying on Erik’s end. Antoinette died that day, and in her place came Madame Giry, recently widowed with a new babe to feed yes, but her record was impeccable, her manner firm, and honestly the corps was such a mess and she was willing to work for the wages that the Opera Populaire could offer that Lefevre was willing to look the other way.

Erik helped her set her rooms up, and then disappeared into the catacombs below. He wasn’t interested in Meg. But she wasn’t surprised.

There was only ever one mistress, one love, one focus for Erik, and it was nothing human.

(one day she would rue that thought)

----

After the not his first, but his third successful libretto performed, Madame Giry went down into the catacombs.

“I think you need to be paid,” she said, once she had recovered her breath from dodging the labyrinthine and bizarre traps that Erik had decided to set for some reason throughout his home.

Erik looked around, from the food that was pilfered from various events and from the markets nearby, to the building materials taken from the repairs on the building he put to his own ends, and finally back to Madame Giry.

“But I have everything you need.”

"Your daughter does not.”

“I don’t understand.”

He didn’t see her and Meg, shivering under their threadbare blanket in the garret they were given to live in, didn’t see breasts whose milk had dried up, didn’t see the chilblains on her legs in addition to the sores already on her feet, the tooth that was uncomfortably loose in her mouth.

“Twenty thousand francs.”

As unworldly as Erik was, even he knew how large that figure was.

“Twenty- Antoinette, what do you need that for?”

(well at least he got that part at least)

“I refuse, for another day, to let our daughter starve. To let her be cold.”

“But 20,000-?”

“And further more,” Madame Giry continued, “I want our daughter to have choices, more choices than a rich man’s plaything left in the gutter after a few years, tossed out when her feet can no longer go into pointe shoes.”

“Oh....”

Erik had had a hard life. She felt pity for him, constantly. But he could also be so boneheaded sometimes.

“So, 20,000 francs?”

“I’ll let you decide how to tell Lefevre, I know you enjoy the theatrical.”

---

What was it that led her to betray the father of her daughter?

(and it had been years since she had even really thought about that, with time keeping Erik more and more to his own devices, lost in his music, and Giry simply busy with raising Meg and acting as both teacher and chaperone to a revolving cast of 40 to 60 teenaged girls)

It wasn’t simply the act of murder, if she was being truthful with herself. They had both done things, awful things, in order to survive in those early days before Paris. It frightened her a bit, after Piangi died, to look inside of herself and instead of shock or horror, finding instead indifference.

She guessed.... she guessed that she just expected better of him.

He had been sold into captivity, treated horrifically, abused by the world. He was a genius, a revolutionary, and his music moved her to tears. He was larger than life, more than human....

And at the end of the day, he was just a middle aged man, choosing to seduce a teenage girl no older than his daughter.

A man who had spent his life abused, now playing dark mind games on this young girl.

Madam Giry really didn’t care overmuch about Christine; she was a kind girl and a good friend to Meg which was what was most important to Giry, but she was also as interesting as a blancmange.

But she didn’t deserve this, to be groomed into Erik’s plaything and toy.

Also, honestly, Erik used to actually cover his tracks if he had to kill someone. The whole thing with the Punjab Lasso was just absolutely ridiculous. True dime novel idiocy.

So she continued to play the acolyte to Raoul, to the rest of the company, and if anyone knew the sigh of relief she gave as she led Raoul into the underground well....

Madame Giry had been living a lie for the last 15 years. What was one lie more?

---

She was tucking her daughter in, a few weeks after her fifth birthday, when Meg asked, “Mama? Who... who was my papa?”

Madame Giry froze. She looked at her daughter, who her own biases aside, was the epitome of beauty and health. Gorgeous curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, rosy red cheeks.

(Erik was relieved, that Meg was healthy, that she knew.

But to have been born so whole and hale...that he could not swallow either. And thus the wedge was thrust between him and her.)

“I will tell you one day Meg Giry-”

“Ma-ma!”

“Hush dear one. But for now, rest and know that he is always near.”

#phantom of the opera #madame giry #antoinette giry #the phantom #phantom #poto #seiya writes!

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thedupshadove · 4 years

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And I thought shipping Phiry was hard.

Now I’m actually learning more about the Daroga and hey presto! getting on the Pharoga bandwagon. But I don’t want to let my Phiry go. So I’m doing what I always do when I have two ships involving the same character: trying to turn it into a throuple.

And if that’s not a rarepair, I don’t know what it.

#Phantom of the Opera #the phantom of the opera #erik #the persian #the daroga #nadir khan #madame giry #Antoinette Giry #erik x madam giry #phiry #pharoga #daroga x madame giry #pharogy?#I have a whole new backstory plotted out in my mind that lets Erik have history with both of them separately #before coming to the opera house on his own #Annie ended up there as well by coincidence along with Meg (who is Erik's daughter)#while Nadir came specifically to look for him #and I could go on and on and on #and maybe someday I will

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pastel-cryptids · 3 years

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Been thinking about POTO costumes ;P

#Phantom of the Opera #POTO #le fantome de l'opera #Christine Daae #Carlotta Giudicelli #La Carlotta #Meg Giry #Raoul de Chagny #Il Muto #Masquerade #.PNG #Fancy dress party photographs were my savior #Many women LOVED dressing as Marie Antoinette so there are several photographs of what Victorians portrayed 1780s fashion as #And it's mainly accurate to the time period #The biggest change is the same silhouette of the waist #aka shorter waist #The smaller wigs make me sad tho :(#LET'S BE EXTRA GIRLIES

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kadimdenuyanisa · 2 years

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ST. GERMAIN KONTU ve SİMYA

Simya tarihinde Comte de St. Germain'in adının geçmemiş olması oldukça dikkat çekicidir. Sanatta uzman olduğuna şüphe yok, ancak bu olağanüstü adamla ilgili birçok hikayeden, bu özel alandaki başarılarının hiçbir rolü yok gibi görünüyor.

St. Germain şaşırtıcı bir kişilikti. Tespit edilebildiği kadarıyla, Transilvanya Prensi Racozy'nin oğluydu, ancak her halükarda, soylu bir doğuştan, büyük kültürlü ve incelikli bir adam olduğuna şüphe yok. St. Germain'in Avrupa'daki çeşitli görünümlerinin kayıtlarının 110 yıllık bir süreyi kapsadığı hatırlanabilir, çünkü onun uzun ömürlülüğünün gerçek sırrını oluşturan harika iksiriyle birleştiğinde diyet olduğunu söyledi. asla değişmedi. Her zaman orta yaşta iyi korunmuş bir adam olarak göründü. Madame la Comtesse d'Adhemar, örneğin, "Souvenirs de Marie Antoinette"de, Büyük Frederick'in "ölmeyen adam" olarak bahsettiği Kont'un ve monografında Bayan Cooper Oakley'in mükemmel bir tanımını verir. 'The Comte de St. Germain, the Secret of Kings', 1710-1822 yılları arasında çeşitli isimler altında onun izini sürer.

İtalyan maceracı Jacques de Casanova de Seingalt, Kont'un büyü sanatlarında usta ve yetenekli bir kimyager olduğunu kabul ediyor. St. Germain'e akut bir hastalıktan muzdarip olduğunu söylemesi üzerine Kont, Casanova'yı tedavi için kalmaya davet etti ve üç gün içinde onu mükemmel sağlığına kavuşturacak on beş hap hazırlayacağını söyledi.

St. Germain'in athoeter'ı Casanova hakkında şunları yazıyor:

Sonra bana Athoeter adını verdiği magistrumunu gösterdi. İyice kapatılmış bir şişede bulunan beyaz bir sıvıydı. Bana bu sıvının Doğanın evrensel ruhu olduğunu ve tıpanın mumu birazcık delinirse tüm içeriğin yok olacağını söyledi. Deneyi yapması için ona yalvardım. Bunun üzerine bana şişeyi ve iğneyi verdi ve şişe boşken ben de mumu deldim.'

Casanova ayrıca St. Germain'in on iki sous parçasını saf altın madeni paraya dönüştürdüğü bir olayı kaydeder. Ünlü Kont'un, adi metalleri altına dönüştürmenin mümkün olduğu simyasal toza sahip olduğuna dair başka kanıtlar da var. Çağdaşların yazılarında belirtildiği gibi, bu başarıyı en az iki kez gerçekleştirdi. St. Germain'i laboratuvarında ziyaret eden Marquis de Valbelle, simyacıyı fırınlarıyla meşgul buldu. Markiden altı franklık gümüş bir parça istedi ve onu siyah bir maddeyle kaplayarak küçük bir alevin veya fırının ısısına maruz bıraktı. M. de Valbelle, madeni paranın parlak kırmızı olana kadar renk değiştirdiğini gördü. Birkaç dakika sonra, biraz soğuduktan sonra, usta onu soğutma kabından çıkardı ve Marki'ye geri verdi. Parça artık gümüş değil, en saf altındandı. Dönüşüm tamamlanmıştı. Kontes d'Adhemar, sekreterinden çalındığı 1766 yılına kadar bu paraya sahipti.

Bir yazar bize, St. Germain'in okült kimya bilgisini her zaman Asya'daki ikametine bağladığını söylüyor. 1755'te ikinci kez Doğu'ya gitti ve Kont von Lamberg'e yazdığı mektupta şöyle dedi: "Mücevherleri eritme konusundaki bilgimi Hindistan'a yaptığım ikinci yolculuğuma borçluyum."

St. Germain'i böyle bir başarı için bir şarlatan olarak kınamak için çok fazla gerçek metalik dönüşüm vakası var. Halen bu ailenin elinde bulunan Leopold Hoffman madalyası, şimdiye kadar kaydedilen metallerin dönüştürülmesinin en seçkin örneğidir. Bu madalyanın üçte ikisi keşiş Wenzel-Seiler tarafından altına dönüştürülerek orijinal hali olan gümüş dengeyi bıraktı. Mevcut durumda madalyanın bir kopyası olduğu için dolandırıcılık imkansızdı.

St. Germain'in hayatındaki olaylarla ilgili bu notlar için Bay Manly Hall'un 'En Kutsal Trinosophia' (Comte de St. Germain) hakkındaki tanıtım materyaline ve yorumuna minnettarım.

'En Kutsal Trinosophia' veya 'En Kutsal Üç Katlı Bilgelik' on iki bölümden oluşur. Aynı zamanda, İnisiyasyon sürecinin bir resmi ve bir Simya incelemesidir, dikkatli bir incelemenin ortaya koyacağı bir gerçektir. Bölüm XII'den alıntı yapayım:

Az önce girdiğim salon mükemmel bir şekilde yuvarlaktı, kristaller gibi sert şeffaf maddeden oluşan bir kürenin içini andırıyordu, böylece ışık her taraftan giriyordu. Alt kısmı kırmızı kumla dolu geniş bir leğenin üzerinde duruyordu. Bu dairesel muhafazada nazik ve eşit bir sıcaklık hüküm sürdü. Yeni bir fenomen hayranlığımı uyandırdığında şaşkınlıkla bu kristal küreye baktım. Salonun zemininden hafif, nemli ve safran sarısı bir buhar yükseliyordu. Beni sardı, nazikçe kaldırdı ve otuz altı gün içinde beni dünyanın üst kısmına taşıdı. Daha sonra buhar inceldi. Yavaş yavaş aşağı indim ve sonunda kendimi tekrar yerde buldum. Sabahlığım rengini değiştirmişti. Doluya girdiğimde yeşildi, ama şimdi parlak kırmızıya dönüştü.'

İşte kum banyosundaki pelikanın bir resmi, içeriğin süblimleşme süreci ve Felsefe Taşı'nın hazırlanmasında laboratuvar süreçlerinden birinde meydana gelen renk değişimi. Bu hazırlığın laboratuvar ortamında su, imbik, kum banyosu ve fırınlarla gerçekleştirilen fiziksel bir işlem olduğuna şüphe yoktur. Simyanın tamamen psişik bir bilim olduğu ve aslında hiçbir dayanağı yoktur. Bir bilimin bilim olabilmesi için her bilinç düzeyinde tezahür edebilmesi gerekir; başka bir deyişle, 'yukarıda nasılsa, aşağıda da öyle' aksiyomunu gösterebilmelidir. Simya bu teste dayanabilir, çünkü fiziksel, ruhsal ve psişik olarak tüm formlarda ve tüm yaşamda tezahür eden bir bilimdir.

Yukarıdaki çeşitli kayıtlar, bir ölçüde, simyanın, metallerin özelliklerine ilişkin içsel bir bilgiye dayanan bir fizik bilimi olduğu iddiasına tanıklık etmelidir. Sadece Casanova'nın St. Germain'i tanımlaması, on sekizinci yüzyılın ikinci yarısı kadar yakın bir zamanda, her halükarda, metalleri dönüştürebilen ve hastalıkları iyileştirebilen fiziksel bir "Taş" hazırlama yönteminin uygulamada olduğunun kanıtıdır.

Modern bilim, yalnızca bir kırmızı toz tanesinin eklenmesiyle kurşunu veya cıvayı katı altın benzerine dönüştürebilecek hiçbir madde bilmiyor ve bu nedenle simyacıların iddialarını çok verimli bir hayal gücünün ürünleri olarak alay etmeyi seçebilir. 'anlamsız' olarak yazıları. Ancak, "iddiaların" tarafsız gözlemciler tarafından desteklendiği ve Hermetik metinlerdeki "anlamsız" sözlerin sıradan insanlar için modern kimyasal deyimlerden çok daha az anlaşılır olduğu gerçeği akılda tutulmalıdır.

#st. germain #simya

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myfanfictiongarden · 3 years

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Night, Day, and Everything In-between- POTO fanfic

It is long past midnight and through the thick walls of the building one can make out the distant toiling of bells from Notre Dame. There is no moon tonight to light the streets and so a nearly eery silence lays over the opera house and its tenants. If it weren’t for the torches and gas-lamps to light the many passages and corridors on its nearly countless floors, she knows the unending paths through the opera house would easily turn into a labyrinth, each corner filled with more shadows then the other- not even counting the secret passages and underground maze. As it is, she makes her way along the changing rooms to her own quarters without so much as a minute of thought. Living for years inside this walls she knows every single corner by heart. Nearly every single corner.

As always before a great premiere there were many things to be discussed and arranged, sometimes those meetings between the opera inhabitants and employees could last deep into the night, and she as the one responsible for the dancers liked to always be good informed. Some would call her strict, but she liked to say she was well organised. That is why she left the two little girls sleeping alone. It were two now, although she had only one daughter.

She is only a few steps away now from her lodging when a familiar whisper stops her.

“Don’t enter now, you’ll spoil their fun.” It is the voice of the only inhabitant of the Opera Populare that knows more about it secrets than her, and like a ghost he moves along in it, a shadow as blinding as night itself.

“And how, Monsieur, do your know they are not sleeping like well-behaved children?”

“Because while the maman was away, the papa kept an eye on them. And their merry little voices were hard to ignore. Let them have their fun.” She can’t help it but let out a loud sight at this. This little play has started a few weeks ago when she had brought the orphan girl to live with her and Meg, a step she had made out of Christian duty to give the poor child's father peace of mind in his last hours, but her companion in the shadows had immediately jumped on it as a way to start one more of his make-believes. She would be the mother to both, he the unseen guardian to the orphan. A perfect fantasy. But a fantasy nevertheless.

A many would have fainted in fear to hear shadows talking to them like this, but not her. The corridor is far too dark to see, she can only make out the dark silhouette of him standing not far away from her, the whiteness of the plaster mask seemingly floating in midair.

They had already lead this discussion about his new fancy, his new game. What else can a man learn growing up in the shadows of the opera then plays and illusions? And having known him for years it is hard to deny him a wish of such innocent nature. Yet, she can’t help but make one last attempt at his reason.

“It is far too late for little girls to have fun. They should have been asleep by now.”

“The restrains of life will corner them soon enough. For now let them tell each other stories of magic. The new one has laughed for the first time since arriving here.”

It is true that the little orphan Christine, daughter of the late Swedish violinist, had come nearly apathetic to the opera. It is no wonder, with the loss she had suffered, and still, to see a child of 7 to loose interest in life so much was more than heartbreaking. The only thing that had kept her living were the visits to the chapel, the idea to be able to speak to her beloved father once more. The idea which had made Antoinette’s companion in the shadows form his own ideas.

“Your investment is really touching, mon ami, but-“

“But what? Haven’t I been careful this past weeks? Didn’t I promise to be careful? Didn’t I promise she would never feel forgotten? Didn’t you promise me to allow at least the illusion of me being a wanted human being?” His voice has gotten harsh from emotion while their conversation had minutes ago started nearly playful, and that was one more thing she often missed to avoid- missed to avoid him remembering just how lonely life on earth can be. Living hiding in a theatre could make one eccentric with time, but there are worse fates out there in the streets for those unwanted.

“She had no one when you brought her here, she barely knew some French. Now she started to open up to your Meg. Let me only watch over her. Allow me sometimes to comfort her. Let me at last imagine how a life I can never lead could look like. Please, Antoinette.” He was pleading now. He had never asked her for anything with so much emotion, and Heavens know he could had asked much through all these years.

Nearly as silently as he could move she advanced towards him, her slender ballet figure now inches from his tall person.

“Have it your way. Just promise me you’ll be careful, Erik.”

….

The sun is shining warm and bright through every window and every open hole in the grand opera's many floors, its countless inhabitants busy as bees and the cacophony of voices sounding just like it. Summer is the time when things would quiet down a bit, but even though that time was approaching there were still sold out nights to be performed at, to be dressed and to be staged. Yet, every stage-men, seamstress, dancer and performer, all looked forward to time for a bit more leisure.

In the dormitory under the roof where the female dancers lived, the place housing more then two dozen ladies of various ages, the heat kept getting harder and harder to bear, and so one afternoon after rehearsals many of them were lazily resting on their iron-wrong beds, some using fans to cool themselves, others giving in to the despair of the heat. The burning sun turning the attic into an oven. What was usually a place of chatter and gossip now was heavy with silence of exhaustion. But to one of them it seemed not to matter.

With her 12 years, Christine belonged still to the youngest girls in the dormitory, but by the age of 10 both her and Meg had grown too big to share a tiny sleeping place in Madam Giry´s privat quarters, so for both the dormitory it meant. Never in her young life had she been so constantly surrounded by so many people like since arriving under the wing of Madam Giry. Although, the phrase “under the wing” would have been in in a way misplaced for there was not more attention given to her then to the other girls, or even Meg. There was no denying that Madam took good care of her and loved Meg, but she had a strict hand and everyone, especially the older girls, could feel it. Nevertheless, Christine- although very young in age- could not but feel grateful towards Madam for giving her a roof to sleep under. She liked dancing very much and Meg was her best friend. Still, at times she couldn’t help but feel lonely. There were rare occasions when she would join in conversations with the other girls, their joys and dreams were so different from hers.

While thinking all this she had descended many stairs and the air was already getting cooler. Her agile feet had carried her down, down many flights of stairs, down along all the way to the chapel. By now the air was not only cooler but also damp, damp from moisture from the walls and stuffy from the many candles burning. Christine didn’t mind.

It is a rather tiny room, but to her it's one of the dearest of places. In this country people look a bit different to religion, different then in the far north from where she came from, and she had got used to it after the many visits to church on Sundays, yet here in this stuffy forgotten chapel her heart feels at home. She doesn’t have another one anymore.

Resting her head on the cool surface of the stained glass window she remembers how, upon arriving in the opera house, she had caught bits of hushed conversations, conversations she couldn’t understand and only with time grabbed their meaning. They had talked of how she seemed to suffer from melancholy, rather unusual for such a young child. It is odd how she couldn’t understand them talking when she came here although she used to know the language quite well after living in this country till then for nearly two years. Yet, when her papa was gone the language seemed to be too, and it had only come back slowly. She remembers how they came to France, just the two of them, always the two of them. They were on a concert tour and then he had been offered a teaching position at a rich family's house. The younger of two sons was to learn the violin so she and her papa made many visits to that grand house. She liked to watch her papa play the violin, liked to hear it. She liked the boy he was teaching, they were best friends. Fondly she remembers him, and wonders if he remembers her too.

Her eyes begin to itch and tiny tears stream down her face.

Dry your eyes, my child.

With the back of her hand she dries them away while something between a sob and a lough escapes her lips.

It's him. The Angel.

Her young heart feels sadness lifted from her very being. She isn’t alone. It takes only two steps before she is by the candles, kneeling down, lighting a new one, clapping her hands, and feeling perfectly at peace.

…

It is a clear sky, the colours slowly changing from light to oranges and purple, advancing towards the deepest shade of night blue. Stars will soon be alight. There is not a single cloud merging the view, windows glitter in the setting light, shadows slowly spread along the many streets as people linger around them, each in their own pursuit. Night is close by.

He is standing on the roof-top of the grand Opera Populare, on a terase between the changing stores, well hidden behind one of the decorating statues, nothing more than another shadow. No one can see him here. It has been for long one of his favourite spots when he wished to partake in the everyday life of the Parisians around the opera house. Not that their woes and sorrows could touch him who had experienced their most cruel side- but at times he had a wish to at least imagine what a life among them could look like.

This, however wasn’t the only reason of why he stood here today in the early autumn breeze. His eyes suddenly caught sight of a group of young girls advancing slowly towards the opera house. Young ballet students of various ages returning from a day-long excursion to the countryside outside the cities edges, one of the rare occasions of change in their rather strictly organised daily routine. Their familiar white dresses and blue capes, their youthful light step and their ribbons in hair, joyfully returning from a day of fun. It is only the students that went out with their instructor, the grown up ladies were free to move around as they pleased.

As they come closer and closer he dares to peak out of his hiding a bit more, the shadows now too deep to make anyone suspect someone on the roof. The girls are now close enough to make them out clearly and there is one he wished to see. The curly head of 11 year old Christine was among them, right at her best friends side like usual. Her curls have partly come loose from her ribbon, her laughter ringing brighter then anyones else’s. A few moments more and the little group is already inside the building, just as the street lamps are lit. He steps back again and is gone in the darkness of the shadows.

It had been an idea he had long thought of when the little orphan had been brought to the opera house. Now, being poor or an orphan or both was nothing special inside the walls of the opera house, few of its inhabitants were anything else. What had first catched his attention was the fact that this particular orphan was the child, the only child of a most talented and too early deceased young Swedish violinist. Her father had been a true artist and genius, and never lived to see his upcoming fame. The other thing though that made him feel drawn to her was the loneliness she had shown and one he could feel with. The melancholy with which she had first come, the countless hours she had spend in the tiny chapel, the desperat attempts to at least in some way reach her beloved papa through prayer. And rather than leave her trapped in silence he spoke to her. First he had feared he might scare the rather tender little being, yet she had been only a bit startled at first and calm ever since. Her child soft voice had spoken of an Angel to come her father had promised her, spoken with such earnest believe that it had left him in awe of her little heart. It had kept him thinking until he made up his mind.

What harm can there be to comfort such a lonely heart? What crime in making someone feel not forgotten? What easier play for him, who knows every single corner in this building, then to remind a child that she is not alone but watched over and cared for! The many a hour he had thought of ways to deliver an Christmas present to make the days less dull, the joy on her face upon finding in the chapel a little whistle shaped as a bird with her name on he had carved out himself, the pink ribbon and hair-clip and note sheet that followed in years. She had a talent for music and he found joy in whispering her instructions and following her impressive progress.

Years went by like this, spring followed winter, autumn followed summer, and round again it went, the days seemingly flowing over into each other. Time looses meaning in the closed off world of the opera's walls. For him, it could have gone on like this forever.

One night, it is late evening, he walks along one of the many secret passages, when a person in the chapel makes him stop. He is standing in a passage between the chapel and outside walls close to the grated window that had so long ago given him entrance and shelter. It is dark but for the few candles illuminating the scene, and for a moment it looks far too sacred for any human eye to see. It is a young female figure that kneels there, the ankle long skirt having replaced the short one of girlish days, a plain black ribbon on top of the long curly hair, hands clasped in pious prayer, the cheeks flushed in the light blush of young womanhood to come.

It was Christine.

That night he hadn’t spoken to her, he had actually forgotten that he was about to take a walk in the deserted streets and rather reminded stuck on his spot for many hours after she had left, wondering what had came over him. He didn’t attempt to see her for many days after. When, a few weeks later, he watched the rehearsals from a hidden place far above the scene like he often did, and saw her among this low-lifes of actors and dancers and stage-hands, it stuck out to him how she seemed to be too noble to be among them. The female dancers with their pedestrian manners disguised him, the dandy actors with their huge egos made his blood boil. She, on the other hand, shone more the brighter.

This thoughts troubled him. His heart ached with a yearning he had never felt before, a song had entered his mind he very much wished to ignore. Hadn’t he been close to happy until now? Collecting a fine salary from the superstitious manager, turning a cave into a lavish lair, roaming the secret passages and opera by day, at times the streets by night, and always composing at his hearts desire? Wasn’t he glad to be able to comfort a lonely child, contempt to play the invisible surrogate father when life had had closed that door forever for him? Wasn’t he her friend, her angel, her guide, guardian, teacher?

More than once did he repeat this words in his head, yet no matter how often he did they could nothing to stop the other ones that somehow always found a way to sneak right into it. For days he would avoid the stage, roam the streets at night unaffected by harsh weather, ride off to the countryside where no human had ever sat foot or hide in the darkness of his lair. When it didn’t improve his condition he would do it all over again. He felt restless and wild. The mirrors in his abode seemed to mock him even more than before, and wishing to find peace he often sat down to write and compose, but nothing would help. There was only one melody to him now. He knew he had found music in the most sublime and pure form. Her face would appear in ink among his compositions, and haunt him in his dreams. Her voice would ring in every single corner, and ring in his ears.

It was music like he had never heard before- and he wouldn’t let it go.

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AN: Trying to fill out some missing years we didn't get to se in the story that led to the events of the movie. Also, I was very much inspired by this story.

#look at me writing again!#phantom of the opera 2004 #fan fiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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rosalie-starfall · 2 months

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Madame Giry

The Phantom of the Opera - 2004

#Miranda Richardson #Madame Giry #The Phantom of the Opera #2004 #antoinette giry #my gifs #movie edits #movies : Musical #movies : Period #andrew lloyd webber #I've loved Miranda longer than time has had meaning in my life

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masksonmasks · 4 years

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Phantom of Manhattan Ch 2

Last time on Phantom of Manhattan: - Mme Antoinette Giry tells us about Erik’s sordid backstory and how she saved him/stole him from a caravan. - Devil’s Child origin point revealed. Despite being the cleverest, most talented lad around, Erik Devil’s Child-zoned. Why would he ever be encouraged to show off his mad skills at a traveling fair? - That talk about working for the Shah of Persia is either forgotten or a convenient showman’s tag because Erik is like 16 here and knows nothing but circus. - Erik is afraid of open flame, we can only presume he still is, and lives in perpetual fear of the candelabras he stole to adorn his home.

- Erik’s education is MOSTLY based on the opera’s library. - Meg is Christine’s maid after a tragic ballet accident (at least that’s what Madame Giry believes).

- Mme Antoinette “Diva Who Talks Like An Author Who Doesn’t Want To Describe The Surroundings So The Story Takes Place In A Speech Void” Giry takes up altogether far too much of a priest’s time and, not so promptly, dies. - She’s sent some guy to go to America to check in on her “poor boy”, and so we must go too! Join us today for Chapter 2 on Twitch where we, presumably, get to meet Erik! Time will be at 5 PM BST (Noon EST/11 CST). Why not stop in, check our videos, and marvel at how far/not so far Love Never Dies came, especially now that it’s up on Youtube for a short time?

#poto #phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #phantom of manhattan #pom

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childofthcwilderness · 4 years

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⌞ʾ⁎ ⊰ aslihan malbora, female, she/her ⊱ i think i just saw MEGHAN GIRY walk across trafalgar square, singing to JUST THE GIRL ( THE CLICK FIVE ). you know, the TWENTY-THREE year old DANCE STUDIO SECRETARY / SWIM INSTRUCTOR (both part-time)? people claim that they are just like MEG GIRY from PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. it must be because they are BUBBLY and RECKLESS as well… though i could be wrong. all i know for sure is that they live at BUDAPEST apartment. ⌝

{ ooc rambles -- so i just realized i had never done an intro for my child???? so here it goes it’s long but please love her }

{also, please note that all of this can be changed if we get a Madame Giry character -- personally, i’d love them to have a good and healthy relation }

B I O:

Meghan Eléonore Giry was born in New York City, on the 27th day of March. She’s the only daughter of Antoinette Giry and an unknown father.

Meg was always a very energetic child. Social and talkative, she was very curious, wanting to know more about anything. Making friends was easy. Setting bedtimes was impossible.

She grew up in backstages and theater curtains around the world. Her mother, known to most as Madame Giry, was a well-known choreographer to many of the most famous ballet companies around the world. Sometimes, mostly around the debut date of the performances, Meg would spend days without seeing her mother.

Dazzled by the beautiful ballerinas her mother would coach, Meg used to think being a ballerina was the closest to a princess someone could ever get. At the age of five, she asked her mother to teach her to dance. At first, it seemed like an impossible mission. Her short attention span many times showed as a strong hindrance. Stubbornly, she never gave up .

Also very young, Meg discovered her obsession with the water -- taking a bath was one of the few things that would keep the girl quiet for more than 20 minutes. She learned how to swim – swimming seemed to make her feel as if she was floating, her body relaxed and her mind at ease

As she became older, her energy never faltered, which made her experiment various types of activities, from knitting to horseback-riding.

She graduated high school two years later than expected, due to her learning difficulties and busy schedule with rehearsals and competitions and she felt lost. College didn’t seem like a viable option; she struggled enough with school already.

She focused solely on her dancing, trying not to dwell on her insecurities, working harder than she ever had before. Until the day she was invited to travel on her own to Canada, for a ballet competition. The experience (and her second-place trophy) opened her eyes to a world that she had never realized how big it was. From that moment, she knew she wanted to travel. For almost a year, Meg worked in as many jobs and freelances as possible, gathering money and planning.

She only told her mother she was moving two days before the date of her reserved plane tickets. The conversation did not end on the best terms.

She lived away for almost two years -- she lived in Paris, Sydney, New Zealand and, finally, Brazil. Most of this time, Meg worked at hostels, normally trading her work for a room, some food and a little money. The girl would also pick some shifts at cafés and pubs. She took her time to meet people and learn more about each culture.

One night, as she sat in the doubtful quality sheets of yet another hostel, she realized just how worn out she was. It was time to settle down. But where? She couldn’t go back home. She’d have to start a new adventure. . .

M O R E I N F O :

Meg is a people’s person. She loves to meet them and learn everything she can, to the littlest details. She tries to be as kind as possible and, even with the difficulties she has to keep contact, she’s very loyal and protective of her friends.

Growing up, the girl would often feel lonely. Madame Giry was a workaholic with a strict personality, but most of all, she was distant—both physically and emotionally. Meg caught herself plenty of time wondering why her mother didn’t love her. She never met her father, nor did she look for him.

( ILLNESS TW ) Although she was never diagnosed, it’s been strongly suggested that Meg lives with ADHD. She also suffers from Chronic Insomnia. Her lack of sleep can send her into some periods when she struggles with depressive crises.

( MEDICAL TW ) She’s completely and utterly terrified of doctors. Rarely goes to them, unless it’s an emergency.

Reckless – almost too much – but sometimes she doesn’t even realize how stupid or dangerous her plans are until someone points out to her.

Don’t challenge her. She’ll take to extremes in order to prove herself.

Can often be found at bars, either working or drinking. Or both.

Identifies herself as bisexual – but girls, man. Girls.

H E A D C A N O N S :

As a child, Meg had an imaginary friend she’d call “Phantom”. In her mind, talking to him was the same as talking to her father.

When she started learning ballet, she used to think she’d earn her mother’s affection if she did well enough.

She can cook the basics, but doesn’t like cooking for herself, so most days she just ends up eating out on fast foods, trading meals for snacks or making some buttered noodles.

On a similar note: Meg. Can. Bake -- and she’s fairly good at it! She loves to try out new recipes. Some nights, when she can’t sleep, she’ll take over the “Budapest” kitchen and after finished, she slices and leave in the common area with a note offering to whoever passes by

She’s got a major sweet tooth. It’s not rare for the girl to have more than one type of candy in her backpack.

Loves the sea. Can’t surf

She adores all types of animals, but never had a pet

Unconsciously throws some Portuguese words and expressions around in the middle of sentences

#musicalhqs: intro #{ for your perusing at times confusing possibly amusing -- intro }#{ child of the wilderness -- meghan giry }#{ ooc rambles -- this........ is late........ }

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