10If you know me at all, you know that Aida is one of my all-time favorite shows (possibly tied with Phantom) and I've wanted to do an Aida AU for-literal-ever. It's different than I imagined. It's an Aida AU, it's a Met Gala AU, it's a Soulmate AU...basically, it's a whole hot mess and very much self-indulgent..
I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!
Life may not be a fairytale, but every once and a while, a miracle happens to make it feel real.
At least, that's what Christine had always been told.
Her childhood, like so many others, had been filled with fantastical tales set in far-off lands, of daring knights and damsels in distress, acts of valor, ever-lasting love and good always winning in the end. Many nights had been filled with dreams of attending a royal ball in a fanciful gown on the arm of her own handsome prince and she would awaken with a dreamy smile and a heart full of hope.
As she grew, of course, those dreams faded, as more childhood fantasies do, carefully tucked away in the secret corner of a heart until one day-one far-off day- something calls the memory back and suddenly, those castle in the air became all too real again.
So, life might not be a fairytale, but today certainly felt like one.
The first Monday in May dawned dour and dreary, with gray skies and rain-heavy clouds. Once spent, however, they were quickly pushed away by the sun's warm rays, bringing back a bright, brilliant blue that slid gracefully into a temperate evening just in time for the her grand entrance.
Christine ducked low, attempting to dodge the relentless flash of the cameras as she accepted Raoul's hand and stepped out of the TownCar that had delivered her to 1000 5th Avenue. Lifting her gaze, she allowed a moment of indulgence as she stared at the Met's gothic facade before finding the sympathetic eyes of her date. "Doing okay, Chris?"
She managed a tenuous smile as she allowed him to half-lift her onto the red carpet, clutching the hem of her crimson gown while she found her footing. Raoul watched as she settled herself, then tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Just relax. Pretend it's just another of my dad's boring fundraisers. Just…..add in every major celebrity you can think of and accept the fact that they are the only ones the camera truly care about."
She chuckled, "Can you honestly tell me that not one of those vultures will notice the mayor's son here tonight with someone who is clearly not his fiance."
He scoffed. "Anyone who has half a brain knows who you are and as for the other half, well," he shrugged, "they'll know after tonight, won't they?"
"Meg is going to be so pissed that she's missing this."
"Oh, she is," Raoul confirmed, smiling tight, pulling her closer as a photographer blocked their path, the snap of the camera cementing a moment that would be all over the internet in five to seven minutes. Acknowledging the nod of thanks, he pulled her further onto the red carpet. "But she's also glad you agreed to be my date tonight so I didn't have to, in her words, 'fight the gold-digging tramps that might try something' if I were alone."
Christine bit back a smile and patted his arm. "Consider me your insurance policy for the night, then."
"Also known as my oldest and dearest friend," he corrected, squeezing her hand tighter. "Arguably my first love."
She stopped, causing him to start and the abrupt motion turned more cameras their way. "Raoul, we grew up together. We went out once when I was sixteen; I was visiting you while Dad was away on tour. You took me to McDonalds, we ate too many chicken nuggets and then kissed me once in your dad's pool house before we both hurled our brains out. I hardly consider that worthy of being described as your first great love affair."
"Of all times to relive that memory," Raoul muttered, his free hand unconsciously moving to his stomach. His gaze slid to hers as they stopped further down the press line. "Although I still stand by my statement ."
With a sly smirk and slight shake of her head, Christine drew a deep breath, "I wonder what all of these press outlets would think if they knew of the infallible Raoul DeChagny's chicken nugget overdose.
His eyes snapped to hers. "You wouldn't dare…"
She grinned back, eyes dancing at the deer-in-headlights expression on his handsome face, knowing it was inevitable that one of the numerous cameras would catch this moment and he'd give her hell for it later. "You're right. I'm not that cruel. Besides, Meg would kill me."
"Meg knows?!"
Her chestnut curls bounced as she shrugged. "She's my best friend; Of course she knows. Look, she still agreed to marry you, right? Clearly it's not that big of a deal."
Nothing brought Christine more joy than watching Raoul deChagny, poster child for the straight and narrow, blush to the roots of his russet hair, like he might sink into the carpet. "That remains up for debate," he muttered. 'Remind me why I brought you again?"
"Because Meg is sick and you hate attending these things alone, yes, even the Met Gala,"
"So, in short.."
"...Meg made you."
"Ah…"
"Mr. De Chagny! Raoul, over here!" The friendly bickering was quickly halted by the appearance of a reporter in their path. Clearly a rookie, as evidenced by the over-eager demeanor and the awkward way he fumbled with his camera while shouting right at them. "Who's your new lady friend? Does this mean you and Meg Giry are done-zo?"
Christine felt Raoul cringe beside her, both at his brazen questioning and his debatable vernacular. Her fingers gripped the material of his sleeve, a subtle hint to ignore and move on. Professional, reputable, press waited just steps away. This was a huge night for Raoul and his family; she wasn't about to let this idiot start false rumors in pathetic attempts to gain clout and a following.
But Raoul, ever gracious and accommodating, stilled her fingers with his own touch and pasted his "press smile" firmly in place. "Miss Giry and I are still very happily engaged. Unfortunately, she couldn't accompany me tonight on account of feeling a bit under the weather." His free hand pressed into her back, forcing her to take a step forward. "The lovely lady on my arm this evening happens to be one of my dearest friends."
Before she could react, the wannabe papazaari had flashed his camera, snapping a photo of her stunned expression. "You got a name, babe?"
She faltered, "I..I don't-"
"This is Christine Daae," Raoul cut in smoothly, stepping slightly forward to put some space between them. "Her father was Gustave Daae, a world-renowned violinist and the most recently, concertmaster of the Boston symphony." He flashed another charming smile. "It's common knowledge that the Daae's are old family friends and consequently, Christine and I grew up together."
"So you're telling me she's single?"
When she didn't answer, the man studied them for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth, as if trying to assess the credibility of Raoul's words. She avoided eye-contact, suddenly aware of just how many people would be watching tonight. For his part, Raoul's smile never faltered and he continued to chat up the reporter, confirming nothing and denying nothing further, even as her own gaze darted around the red carpet, in search of something - favorite stars, a familiar face, an exit?
She blinked, drawing a deep breath through her nose. Raoul's voice slowed to a dull din, mingling into the background with the thousand others that surrounded her, melting and blending into a single, long drone. She swallowed hard, fingers digging deeper into the wool as her eyes roved furiously around, still searching for an anchor…
…and fell on him.
A stranger on the other side of the Met's mammoth entrance. He appeared to be looking for something himself as he stood facing the street as she studied him in profile. Even from the distance, he seemed impossibly tall, towering over most of the attendants, yet filling every inch with a lanky elegance. He held a folder in one of his hands- one much like her father had owned growing up.
A musician.
Another flash startled her and she gave a cry of surprise, lifting a free hand to shield her eyes. Raul's concerned inquiry vaguely reached her ears, but she waved him away, keeping a hand over her face until he resumed conversations around him.
Breathe, Christine. In. Out. In…. Out… You're at the FREAKIN MET GALA. You've looked forward to this too much to lose it now.
With a heavy sigh, Christine composed herself and lowered her hand. Shooting Raoul a reassuring smile, her gaze drifted away again to take in the fanfare and opulence, murmuring appreciatively at the elaborate gowns and star-soaked guest list.
Like a moth to a flame, her eyes languidly slid across the red carpet to the other side of the stairs…
…and immediately locked onto an intoxicating pair of grey-green ones.
Christine froze, hand against her heart as they stared one another down. In an instant, the crowds, the red carpet, New York itself faded away until only he remained. In the silence, her heart lurched as she became aware of a detail she had not noticed before; not when she had viewed him in profile.
Half of the man's face was concealed beneath a white porcelain mask.
She couldn't move, couldn't gasp, couldn't react. Her mouth opened…closed.
No fear. No, she was not afraid of this mystery man. If she could just get to him…
A voice. Distant…alluring…familiar.
Wait for me, Christine.
You promised me…
'Do I know you?'
Come back to me, Christine. You promised.
The man lifted his chin slightly, the visible brow furrowed. He appeared to be as confused as she. Was the Voice speaking to him as well?
Find me, Christine.
'How?"
Christine…
"Christine?"
Raoul's voice was her ear, jolting her out of whatever trance she had been in. She blinked, attempting to regain her faculties. "Yes, right, that's me. What's happening?"
When she mustered the courage to look up at him, he was gazing quizzically at her, voice touched with concen. "Are you alright? What happened? You seemed almost..numb."
"Oh, I'm fine," she reassured him, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I guess I just…" her gaze flicked back to the other side of the met stairs, only to find them empty. "..zoned out for a minute." she finished lamely.
"Right," Raoul didn't seem convinced, but didn't push her. "Well, it seems our lovely friend has moved on to other victims, and I've spoken to all of Dad's golf buddies." His eyes flicked to the grand doorway. "Shall we?"
She nodded, still too unsure of what had just happened, but allowed Raoul to guide her inside. Once through the door, she swept the room, hoping to catch a glance of the masked stranger, but wherever he had disappeared to, he was clearly gone for the time being.
Still, the massive halls seemed to echo with a desperate plea.
Find me, Christine
You promised.
Beside her, Raoul cracked some lame joke and she forced herself to smile even as her mind spun with numerous questions and even less answers about masked strangers and distant voices.
She would seek them out later, the answers to her questions. Right now, she was going to enjoy a night out with one of her best friends at one of her favorite places in New York. She had no time for her life to become some demented thriller.
One thing was for certain, though- she wouldn't be drinking tonight.
I imagine this will be about three chapters. Given my history with multi-chaps, we all know this is a risk, but I give full permission to come after me with pitchforks if I leave this lingering...
Thanks for reading and please leave a review on your way out!