Meg Giry's mother told her that she should wear something nice to the masquerade. Not nice like Christine of course—Christine would be dressed as a fairy princess, a suitable accompaniment to the Vicomte's knightly costume—but still something pretty and bright, probably with lots of flairs and sequins. Most of the ballet girls were wearing such things. Tights up to their knees and flouncy little skirts. It was their usual, and it was Meg's usual too.
This year, she had originally planned to do the same. She had a top and a small skirt in maroon with lots of frills, and the same nice tights as ever, the dark ones she rarely wore for ballet except on occasion, along with a pair of slightly tomboyish boots. It was a good outfit, and it always attracted a little attention but not too much, not enough to get a man stuck to her all night. She didn't want that.
At the last second, however, she changed her mind. This was because of Christine, or more specifically because of her Vicomte.
The Vicomte had brought his costume with him to the opera house, and he changed into it in Christine's dressing room (while she was out of it, of course—wouldn't want to cause a scandal). And he left his clothes there. So when Meg dropped by Christine's room right before heading down to the gala, just to pick up a mask that she had also left in Christine's room, she found a nice set of fashionable male clothing.
Who knew what possessed her to try it on? But anyways she did, and she found that while the pants were loose and just a little long, they looked presentable if she rolled up the cuffs just a little, and the shirt fit admirably well. Since she was wearing a corset, once she had the shirt fully buttoned and a vest and suit coat over it one could barely tell she was a girl at all. Except for the long hair, of course, which she already had in a ponytail with a black ribbon. And some men did keep their hair long. Not many, and not that long, but some.
So, before she could over think it, she pulled on the maroon mask she had planned and tied a cravat at her collar and headed down to the masquerade.
In the foyer where the dancing was all was a whirl of excitement and motion. The colors were blinding. She barely managed to make her way to Christine's side and get Christine's attention over the noise, tapping at Christine's shoulder.
"Christine!" she hissed.
Christine turned. A gold mask sat on her upper face, its metallic glint contrasting with the gauze of her skirt. "Yes?" she said loudly but politely. The Vicomte, standing next to her and wearing a similar gold mask that matched the buckles on his costume, curled a possessive arm around her waist.
"Christine, M. le Vicomte, do you mind if I borrow your clothes?" Meg almost yelled.
At this they looked very startled. Then Christine said (in the voice of one who has reached an epiphany), "Meg! Oh, it's you. How do you like the dancing?"
"You look like a man," Raoul hollered. "I mean…That is…" He coughed. "Is that my cravat?"
"It's your entire suit. May I borrow it?"
"What?"
"I said may I borrow it?"
"Certainly. I don't mind. You might look a little drab, though."
Meg did not care about looking a little drab. If anything, in this garish crowd it might help her stand out. And the simple suit of a gentleman disguised her more thoroughly than her crimson dress would have. That much was clear if Christine hadn't recognized her.
It was all in good fun.
Also, it was attracting the attention of a lot of girls.
She had thought she might blend into the background like a member of the waitstaff (which would have been amusing enough), and if that got boring she had planned on wandering back to Christine and stealing her for a few dances. She knew the man's part, of course—as a dancer she had to know all sorts of dances, and both sides for most of them. But as it turned out this was unnecessary. Perhaps the drabness of her outfit set her out indeed, or perhaps it was the fact that her clothes while gray and black were very expensive and fashionable, belonging as they did to the Vicomte. But for whatever reason, she was swarmed.
It wasn't like girls intimidated Meg. Of course not. She was a girl herself, and always surrounded by them as a ballerina. She talked to girls day in and day out, laced girls into their ballet outfits and gave them advice on romance (unsure why they came to her about it, since she had never had a man of her own and didn't even want one). She helped paint on girls' rouge and lipstick. She gave girls back and foot massages, on a daily or at least a weekly basis. And it was all very casual. Of course, she'd had her small crushes on girls, and she could be a little too flirtatious sometimes, a little aggressive. But all ballerinas, she thought, did so at some point or other. In any case it didn't matter because girls, whether she liked them or not, never made her nervous.
Only, even when she'd flirted with girls, they'd never looked back at her like some of these girls were now. A couple who weren't wearing masks had openly winked at her (girls she recognized, which was rather awkward—she cautiously waved in response). One or two had begun speaking to her, somehow using a giggly falsetto above the clamor of the dance hall. And of course they all wanted to dance with her, some whispering that she seemed more mysterious than anyone else here, others that they had seen her dancing earlier and thought she looked good and would she please teach them some of her moves? And when she danced with them, the way they stared at her…Under her mask, she was beginning to blush. She hoped it didn't show too much on the lower half of her face, and very much feared that it did.
Girl after girl pulled her into the dancing. Every time she wandered off the floor to catch her breath or get a drink, another girl. Some of them cut in on her with their partners to swap. She could barely tell the differences between them all—with the masks they looked the same—but the changing girls and the spinning and the music were beginning to make her dizzy. She stumbled off the floor and leaned against a pillar, catching her breath and glaring at anyone who looked in her direction. Being a man was more tiring than she had thought. (Although honestly, she probably would have danced just as much in girl's clothing.)
Someone tapped her shoulder. She turned, ready to glare at them too, but froze when she saw who it was.
La Carlotta.
If Christine was the princess of this masquerade, Carlotta was its queen. She wasn't dressed particularly colorfully—her costume was spider themed, with webs trailing on a high crown and all around her skirt and bodice as well. Indigo and black and gray. It wouldn't have been attention grabbing on anyone else, but Carlotta herself was more than her costume, flaming red hair and arrogant posture seizing the eye more surely than the brightest color could have managed. A queen here only because she was a queen always, always the imperious diva no matter how much Christine's admirers protested, no matter how many fits she threw or how many complaints were brought against her.
Right now she was smiling at Meg, something Meg was fairly certain she had never done before. Ever.
"Good—good evening, Signora," Meg stuttered.
"Good evening, monsieur," Carlotta said. "Are you enjoying our little masquerade?"
"Oh, yes," Meg said. Where was Piangi? She'd thought Carlotta and Piangi had come together. Piangi would have stopped Carlotta from looking at Meg this way—lips curved into a smug smile, eyes crinkled in a pleased manner. Surely…
"But you look tired," Carlotta said. "Perhaps you should leave this chaos for a while and rest."
And before Meg could come up with an objection, Carlotta had dragged her out of the foyer and down the hall. They were heading past the ballerina's rooms, past Christine's dressing room (Meg let out a small sound of protest at that and slightly tugged her arm, but Carlotta had a firm grip on her sleeve) and then into Carlotta's own dressing room. A room crowded with gifts from Carlotta's various fans, walls covered in posters and photographs. Meg had been in here before (practically every ballerina had been forced to fetch Carlotta or get her opinion on something at some point), even alone with Carlotta in here before. But closing the door to the sounds of the milling masquerade, and standing before Carlotta as she sank into the chair at her dressing table, felt entirely different.
"Monsieur, you look uncomfortable," Carlotta observed.
Meg rubbed the back of her neck and shifted a foot back. "I had not thought we were going back to your room, Signora."
"Have you never played a private visit to a lady before?" Carlotta said with a small smile. "A handsome man of means like yourself? Really, monsieur, you surprise me."
At this point, meeting Carlotta's expectant eyes, Meg completely broke. "Signora Carlotta, I'm afraid I've deceived you. Please forgive me…you see, I'm not actually a man, I'm…well…"
"Saucy Meg Giry in a pair of trousers," Carlotta finished. "What, did you think I was fooled by the nice suit coat? Other women, yes, but la Carlotta? No."
Meg gaped.
"Your mother would throw a fit if she saw you in that costume," Carlotta said. "Certainly you do not look like any other ballet girl tonight."
"Please, please don't tell her," Meg said. "I will put my dress back on immediately…"
"Why would I tell her?" Carlotta said, wrinkling her nose. "Calm down. Really, must you cause a fuss?"
Carlotta was one to talk of fussing. Meg said, "I will change back though."
"Why? You look very nice as you are." Carlotta held out her hand and Meg hesitantly took it, allowing Carlotta to pull her closer. "In the whole crowd of masqueraders, you are the only one who has really fooled them all tonight. One ought to enjoy the chance, monsieur. To be something other than what you are."
"I suppose so," Meg said. She had been, when she first put the clothes on. Even on the dance floor, though that was overwhelming. It was just something about Carlotta's tone, the way she was tilting her head ever so slightly…
"If you like," Carlotta said. "You may kiss me."
Meg gasped. "Signora! But I couldn't!"
"If you're dressed as a man," Carlotta snapped. "You ought to be able to act like one, no?"
"You're dressed as a spider," Meg retorted. "But are you spinning any webs?"
Carlotta tossed her head back and laughed. Then, smiling, she said, "I dressed as a grand lady tonight and the men flocked to me and I ruled them. So you see, I have not betrayed my costume in the least." She pursed her lips. "You may still kiss me, if you like. I have seen the way you look at me during rehearsals."
Still Meg hesitated.
"But if you don't want to," Carlotta said pointedly. "There are plenty of…"
Meg leaned forward and quickly kissed her. A bit too quick, unfortunately—she ended up pecking Carlotta's nose.
Rolling her eyes, Carlotta took Meg's chin in her hand and more carefully kissed Meg on the lips.
Meg almost collapsed. She had to grab Carlotta's arm to steady herself. This, though Carlotta had barely done anything—but she'd never been kissed by a woman before, not that way.
"It's all right," Carlotta said consolingly. "Most of the men I kiss do that too."
"Do you kiss a lot of men?" Meg said faintly.
"Oh, not that many," Carlotta said. "Cheer up. With a bit of practice, you could be quite good." She sniffed and stood up. "Come by my room Wednesday at eight and we'll see what we can make of you."
She strode towards the door.
"Excuse me, what does that…" Meg hurried to catch up with Carlotta as she strode into the hallway.
"Silly girl. Calm down. You'll do just fine," Carlotta said. "Now we should really rejoin the gala. People will be missing me…and, of course, the mysterious stranger. I'll save the last dance for you, so do try to save a little energy." And with that she walked off at a brisk pace, back towards the foyer.
Meg stared after her, then ran to follow.
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AN: I'm beginning to just ship everyone in Phantom of the Opera. Okay, not quite. I still don't ship the managers with everyone, and I ship Piangi only with Carlotta. Other than that it's a free for all. And I feel like it's been a while since I've written femslash. :)
Reviews would be much appreciated. Or find me on tumblr at .com