Summary: Tenten is suddenly given the lead role in a mysterious ballet. But as she is living out her dreams, she finds the opera house the perfect setting for a nightmare. Inspired by "Phantom of the Opera"
Disclaimer: I do not own "Naruto" or "Phantom of the Opera" or their respective derivatives.
Kiba propped his head on his elbow, craning his neck for a better view of the leggy blonde who had risen from the bed to get dressed. She bent down to pick up various pieces of clothing. He never realized that women had to wear so much under their dresses: petticoats, corsets, slips, ribbons, frills, and laces. If he had his way, women wouldn't have to wear much at all. And he usually got his way, being the composer and playwright of the opera house that employed him. But he'd rather think that it was his dashing looks and gleaming smile that attracted the young dancers and singers who he directed. Either way, he was content.
Content, that is, until the point when he remembered that he had to meet with the director of the opera house about the new ballet he just finished composing yesterday. He groaned inwardly when he remembered how the director had chewed him out and demanded that they meet immediately, especially since the ballet was supposed to have been due months ago. The blonde sat on the edge of the bed, trying to lace up her corset. He sat up to help her and she held her long hair up out of his way.
"So this new ballet that you've written," she mumbled, her lips holding various clips as her hands wound her hair into a bun. "Do I have a lead in it?"
Kiba sighed and tugged the strings of the corset a little tighter than necessary. "You ask this now? You should have come to me a week ago when I was still writing it," he muttered.
The blonde stabbed the clips roughly into her hair and whirled to glare at him straight in the eye. Kiba was not intimidated. Her clear blue eyes reflected his smug composure. "I want the lead," she said tensely.
"And I want," Kiba said quietly, his hand trailing gently up her arm to the strap of her corset, "you to come back to bed." He grinned toothily. "Naked, preferably. Perhaps you could give me some inspiration?"
She huffed and snatched her dress off the floor. It was deep blue, like her eyes. "The 'inspiration' that I gave you last night should be more than enough for you to write at least twenty ballets," she said as she struggled into her tight dress. She smoothed the fabric over her abdomen and stepped into her shoes. She turned to leave.
Kiba looked at her exasperatedly. "Aren't you satisfied with being a singer?" he pleaded. "Your name is always printed on the programs and the posters that advertise the operas." And she really did have a beautiful voice, when she wasn't screaming or complaining or nagging.
She looked over her shoulder. "And deprive the audience of seeing me dance on stage? Even I am not that cruel, Kiba. My fans want to see the name 'Ino' on the fliers that you hand out for the next ballet" With that, she slammed the door and left.
Kiba flopped himself back on the bed. Oh, the tribulations he had to suffer. Divas were never satisfied with what they had now, be it lead roles or money or headlines or attention. He wondered why it was up to him to give them what they wanted; though he always got what he wanted from them, they never seemed as exhausted as he was at the end of the day.
He sighed and rose again, pulling on his shirt and sitting at his desk. He stared at the parchment and the ink scribbled on them. Honestly, he was in no mood to meet with the director, Tsunade. He was never in the mood to write another ballet in the first place. He stretched his limbs and yawned. What was another ballet to her? It wasn't a great work of art, he had to admit, and the opera house could always reuse one of his older works. That was it, he decided. He stood up and grabbed his hat and jacket and proceeded to head out, muttering to himself over which ballet to reuse again and which excuse to explain himself to the proprietor for missing another deadline.
Several young ladies giggled and waved a good-morning to him as he walked into the lobby of the opera house. He smiled and tipped his hat to them in return. Behind them, he suddenly saw the proprietor approaching with a young gentleman and lady on his arm. His smile faltered as he looked left and right for a place to hide, but it was too late.
"Kiba!" the proprietor, Iruka, announced. He slapped a hand on Kiba's shoulder and led him to the young couple. "Kiba is the pride and joy of our Konoha Opera House. He writes all of the operas and plays and ballets performed here."
Kiba smiled and bowed timidly at the two in front of him. The man returned the bow but not the smile and the lady smiled sweetly and curtsied. "This is Mr. Hyuuga and his cousin, Hinata," the proprietor introduced them. "Mr. Hyuuga has been looking to invest in a share in our opera house and Hinata has been a long-time avid fan of the arts."
Kiba cleared his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hyuuga," and he extended a hand for a handshake.
"Please, call me Neji," as Neji grasped his hand firmly.
Hinata smiled at Kiba again. "Kiba, your work here at the opera house is truly phenomenal. I was particularly taken with your ballet, 'The Kyuubi'."
Kiba couldn't help but beam at her. "Well, as luck would have it, Miss Hinata," ("Please, just 'Hinata' is enough," she blushed) "Our opera house will be performing it again at the end of the month."
"Oh, pish-posh," a voice came from behind. "Why that old ballet when you've already written a new one?"
"Ah, Tsunade," Kiba turned to greet the director. She was still in her sleeping robes, but she saw no harm in waltzing across the lobby floor to the group. She strode regally, the edges of the robes fanning out behind her. Kiba grimaced. It would be difficult to deny the desires of a queen such as her. "I see no harm in performing a piece that has such a fond place in Hinata's heart." He made an effort to conceal the urging strain in his voice.
Hinata blushed again and raised both her hands to shake off his offer. "Oh no! Please, I assure you, I'd much rather see your new ballet." She nodded excitedly and looked at Kiba expectantly, slightly wondering why his face was slowly draining of color.
Iruka grinned and slapped Kiba's back. "It's decided then! Once you've handed in your ballet, we'll have it performed as soon as possible! Come, I'll show you the rest of the opera house."
Neji tipped the brim of his hat lightly before leading Hinata away, who was now concerned about the paleness of Kiba's face. But the Hyuuga cousins left the lobby with Iruka to explore the rest of the magnificent opera house, and Kiba was left with to face his own misery and Tsunade. Tsunade looked him up and down and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and breathed in deeply. She sighed and blew the smoke out into his face, and with that she left. The message was clear enough: bring her the ballet immediately. He pulled off his hat and sighed for the millionth time that day, trudging heavily back to his room.
Once he got there, however, he could feel something was different. The bed was still rumpled and unmade and there was still the unmistakable musk of dust and alcohol. But on his desk was no longer blank parchment. Instead, a neat stack of manuscript was tied together with twine and an attached note. The note read, "May this suffice. From, a friend of the opera." Kiba untied the twine and looked at the front page. Already it looked more promising than his shoddy work. " 'Katana'," he read aloud. " 'A ballet about a love found amidst the battle' starring…" Kiba's mouth dropped open.
"Tenten as the prima ballerina," he finished, incredulous. Tenten? She was only a newcomer, her name not even printed in the programs and she herself rarely seen and recognized among the other dancers.
He looked around his room in astonishment. There was no way anyone outside of the opera house could have known about her. Though they all did it, dancers and singers would never admit to anyone else that they clamored to Kiba for lead roles. Kiba shook his head, a little sad for Tenten. Such a nice girl like her would never climb to his bed, and unfortunately, she would never have the spotlight. It was the ways of the opera house after all.
As he scratched out Tenten's name that headlined the ballet and replaced it with Ino's name, he pondered about something else. That there was someone at the opera house who was patient and talented enough to come up with an entirely new ballet was equally, if not more, surprising. He would have to discuss it with Shikamaru, he decided. But first, he had to turn it in to Tsunade.
Kiba fiddled with the brim of his hat as Tsunade flipped through the pages of the ballet. His heart beat with anxiety when she frowned and he felt sweat trickle down his temple when she flipped back a few pages to reread. Once she reached the end of it, she sighed and brought her hands forward to cup her chin. She looked at him squarely. He felt like fainting.
"Kiba," she said finally. Kiba nodded tersely, willing himself to stay erect. Had he remembered the anxiety of facing her scrutiny he would have forced himself to write a better work, a ballet of ballets, a masterpiece. He would have given anything than to face her disappointment, and worse, the possibility of losing his job and his lifestyle. But too late for that now, because –
"Absolutely magnificent!" she roared with approval.
He blinked. Did he hear her correctly?
She stood up, teetering somewhat as she grabbed the manuscript and glided over to him. She threw an arm around him and shoved the paper to his face, wanting him to see with his own eyes the artistry that he had supposedly produced. The reek of alcohol suffocated him.
"Such an exquisite story, much unlike anything you've written before! Of course, your little countryside folk tales were quaint and pretty, but the poetry! The elegance! The raw emotion and tragedy, this is astounding!" There was no end to the gush of her compliments. He wanted to say something, but at that moment Iruka entered and Tsunade went over to him to share her enthusiasm.
Kiba sighed with relief. What luck to have such a wonderful gift thrust upon him. And from heaven above, no doubt. He thanked his stars and his guardian angels and whoever it may have been that saved him. He swore to never again procrastinate on another assignment and that he was indebted to that magnanimous spirit. He was just about to swear off gambling and women when Iruka and Tsunade bounced back to him, clapping him on the back and tittering excitedly over preparing for the ballet immediately.
"There is, however, one question that I have," Iruka began, waking Kiba from his daze. "The matter of casting Ino as the prima ballerina, I feel, must have been done without much thought. Would you please reconsider?"
"Ah, that is, I cannot, my dear friend," Kiba managed. "Ino as the star of this ballet will attract her fans and draw an even bigger audience and bring even more fame to our humble opera house. I find her completely able and suitable for this role."
"But she doesn't fit the role of the heroine at all!" Tsunade protested. "The heroine must disguise herself as a boy and Ino would never think of donning pants in front of the stage, much less play the role of a maid when she looks like a princess! And the routine the heroine must go through is indeed too vigorous for a novice dancer like her."
"Well, you see, Ino is very capable and – did you – I'm sorry, did you say that the heroine had to be 'a boy'?" Kiba sputtered. He should have read the bloody ballet first before handing it in, he cursed himself.
Tsunade looked at him curiously. "Yes, I did. Even I was surprised that you threw in such an element, though it resonates well with this story."
Iruka nodded his head. "I agree! We'll go with the casting you had initially decided upon and star Tenten as the lead!"
"Gather the dancers backstage as soon as you can. We'll begin preparations immediately." Tsunade beamed proudly at Kiba. "Again, good work!"
She and Iruka walked out of her office, still giddy over his ballet. As the door closed behind him, Kiba looked at the ballet in his hands. He sighed. He might as well start finding out what all the commotion was about and started to read.
"We'll start designing the sets next week when the lumber arrives and the crew is called back from their construction jobs. Dancers, please start meeting for practice and rehearsals every morning at five. And don't you dare come late, Naruto."
Naruto grumbled at Tsunade and headed out the dressing rooms, ready to get some lunch. The other dancers whispered to each other excitedly and already a small group was huddled around Tenten, congratulating her on her new role. Kiba watched the brunette smile bashfully and express her gratitude and surprise at being chosen. She was serene and humble in the way she promised that she would do her best. She was, after all, dressed in tights and a leotard, her point shoes ready to be worn and laced up as soon as she could excuse herself from the group and go practice in the studio.
Kiba was still reeling from the shock he'd received from reading the ballet. A story of a young maiden, fiercely loyal to her lady and her country, forced to shuttle back and forth between opposing sides of a bloody civil war to pass back love messages between her lady and a soldier. He shuddered as he thought of the ending.
"Well, I've never heard of this before," Shikamaru gruffly said behind him.
Kiba turned to see him puffing away at a cigarette butt. He sighed. "Neither did I. The story is something I'd never write; I'd never imagine that Tsunade would be so willing to design the sets for a battlefield. It's too extravagant!"
Shikamaru shook his head. "No. I meant I never heard of you giving the lead to a dancer who didn't strip her tutu off for you."
"Oh. Of course." Kiba blushed. He still hadn't been able to talk to Ino yet because she was still avoiding him. But he had enough to worry about now; he didn't need to go bother himself about some prissy diva that would be better off singing. And with Iruka speculating that thousands would come to see the ballet, Kiba wouldn't have to worry about whoring out lead roles to willing dancers and singers when he would have enough funds and luxury to last him for a lifetime.
"That and the fact that I've never heard a story quite like the one you've written," Shikamaru puffed away.
"Then which bothers you more? That I've become a decent man and am giving roles to deserving dancers, or that I've become a parasite and now have to rely on the works of a stranger to get by?" Kiba snapped at him.
Shikamaru blew out a cloud of smoke. He sighed. "I wouldn't be so bothered about taking credit for this work. Authors are supposed to leave their mark on all their works, and seeing none from this benefactor of yours, I believe he wants you to take it, mate." He coughed into his elbow.
Seeing the troubled look on Kiba's face, Shikamaru took another long drag. "At this point, it's hard to see any ulterior motive. You read the story yourself, didn't you? (Kiba nodded.) And you found no hidden meanings or any secret messages? (Kiba hesitated, and then nodded again. Though how he was supposed to realize if a message was secret or not was beyond him.) Then don't worry about it. You have enough on your plate as it is."
Shikamaru jutted his chin in Ino's direction, who was sitting by herself in the corner, most likely brooding about how she failed to make her dance debut. Shikamaru looked at him pointedly, the bit of cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Kiba didn't need Shikamaru to tell him to go explain himself to Ino. With so much going on, and he himself feeling out of the loop, Ino deserved to be told everything; or, at the least, that he hadn't intentionally broken his promise to her. He strode over to the blonde and sat next to her, evidently startling her when she looked at him in surprise.
"Kiba," she began, but Kiba didn't let her finish.
"Can you keep a secret, Ino?" he whispered to her. She nodded, her eyes still wide. She must have been deep in thought to not have noticed me, he thought.
"This play," he continued. "I didn't write it. Not one word of it. But when I vouched for you to be cast as the lead instead, Tsunade and Iruka - "
"Please, say no more," Ino said quietly. She was looking down at her hands and fidgeting. "I… I don't want the lead for this ballet." Kiba looked at her incredulously. "It's not my place to say whether I deserve a role or not. I… I should be happy… grateful for the fame and security I have right now, as a singer and not as a dancer." She looked up, her eyes trained onto the space in front of her. "I shouldn't interfere," she whispered softly.
What just happened here, he wanted to ask her. The glassy expression, the discomfort, the wavering voice, none of this was Ino. She rose and gave him a quick smile that didn't reach her eyes and exited the backstage.
And when one diva left, Tenten, the budding star, approached him, hands neatly clasped in front of her as she stepped elegantly towards him. Having caught his gaze, she bowed her head. "Thank you, Kiba, sir, for the opportunity you've given me. I promise I won't disappoint you or the opera house," she said. When she lifted her head, he could see tears brimming. Her innocence was endearing and sickening to him. He nodded tersely and stood up to leave. Honestly, he barely had the capacity to attend to one drama at a time. No wonder he could only spit out a new ballet once every blue moon.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Tenten beat her fists against the wall of her bedroom. She sighed, thankful that her roommate wasn't there with her to hear her beat herself up. She groaned, thinking back to how Kiba had looked at her with such disdain. I can't believe I almost cried in front of him, she berated herself. It wasn't as if she were auditioning for some sob story, she'd already gotten the part, for crying out loud!
She was just so happy that someone (Someone!) had noticed her. For years she practiced at the bar, hidden behind the skirts of other dancers and then kept again behind the prima ballerina as she danced her part as a village maid, a wench, a nymph, even as the wind. The role of the princess, the lover, the heroine was never hers. She might as well have been the audience, watching the story unfold in front of her. It barely mattered whether she was a part of it or not.
But it was different now! She, the lead, the prima ballerina of a tragic love story! She giggled, she couldn't help it and twirled around the room. The emptiness of the sparsely-filled room invited her to dance around and she was tempted to leap onto her bed and jump up and down with glee.
A series of quick sharp knocks at her door tore her from her celebration. She went to answer it and saw Naruto there, the stack of manuscript in his hand.
He grinned widely when he saw her. "Hello, Tenten! It's your turn to read it. Here's the ballet." He handed it to her. Paper was scarce and Kiba the composer was too busy to rewrite the same work over again, so the performers would merely pass the material between themselves and share it during rehearsal. By the time it got to Tenten, there were already scribbles in the margins and bent pages. But, for all she cared, the script could have been covered in mud; she revered it as if it were made of gold.
She beamed back at him. "Thank you, Naruto! I look forward to seeing you at rehearsal tomorrow morning." He nodded back, though somewhat less enthusiastic about the early morning practice.
He peeked into the room for a split-second. "Sakura's not here?" he inquired. Tenten shook her head. "Ah, I'll go find her so we can practice tonight. You're welcome to join us if you want."
Tenten smiled. "I'd like that very much," she said sincerely. With that, he waved good-bye and went to search for his pink-haired friend. She closed the door, clutching the manuscript to her chest, and slid slowly to the floor, stirring up the dust from the floorboards. She breathed in deeply the dry smell of musky parchment and ink.
As she flipped through the pages, she felt so happy seeing the lead given so much time on the stage, because she knew that it'd be her. The grand pas d'action, it would be hers!
She read through it all in blur, the familiar motions of ballet running through her mind. Plié, grand jeté, pirouette on demi-pointe… what? Did she read that right? She blinked and the word reappeared in front of her: demi-pointe. But only men went on demi-pointe. Ballerinas had the shoes to go on pointe. It must be some mistake. But as she read and reread the script, it only confirmed the obvious. She'd have to learn how to dance like a boy, and all within one month before they were scheduled to perform.
She sighed. She'd have to learn the dreaded tours en l'air. Even the most athletic dancers had trouble with jumping and rotating in the air. She looked back at the parchment, searching for some sort of answer, for some sort of clue to help her, but all she saw was the stark black writing presenting to her the bleak reality of her ordeal.
She squinted at the margins, something had caught her eye. There was a very faint note etched out. It looked like it said "8 o'clock Western Dance Room Gai" but in the dim light she couldn't be sure. But the extra practice couldn't hurt, so whether or not this Gai would be at the Western Dance room, she'd be there, regardless, to practice.