Philippe had no interest in these arts anymore. Not with his foolish brother whining incessantly about that performer Christine Daae. If he hadn't somewhat cared for Raoul, he'd be looking for replacements.

He heard the door to his box seat open, rubbing his temples as he was expecting Raoul; "Have you given up on Ms. Daae's heart yet--" He paused, realizing you are in fact; not Raoul.

"I believe you have the wrong box seat." There were some barely discernible hints of judgement behind the polite facade.