A/N: I've only recently gotten into the world of POTO fan fictions and as I scrolled through potential stories-to-read, I couldn't help but notice that I couldn't find any gender-benders. A bit put back, I began to wonder why. Thinking on the story itself, having a woman (instead of a man) haunt an opera house and murder people and do a BUNCH of heavy lifting to set up traps and such seems a bit far-fetched. And then you have to think about Christine, this shy ballet girl who only wants to sing out and shine. How could that ... fragility be "transferred" into a male character? And then there was the whole kidnapping thing and it all seems too complicated and difficult. So I could only think of one response:
"CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!"
Even though I've said that it's a gender-bender, not all the characters' genders have been flipped. In fact, most of them have remained the same. The story itself follows the same lines, but I've had to rearrange some things and twist others to make it match, including the fact that the Phantom is younger and closer to Christine's character's age. I think that this is a mixture of Limoux's and ALW's POTO story, but it really is a thing all its own. I hope you enjoy and feel free to review. :D
~Raxi
(PS - I own NOTHING! Not Faust, not the Phantom of the Opera, not anything but my own thoughts and imagination. FYI - all lyrics are in italics and the Faust lyrics are the literal translation of the French opera.)
On the catwalk a tall young gentleman leaned on the rope railings, a dreamy look on his face as he listened to the music floating up from the stage below. It was the first rehearsal of the opera house's latest production of Faust, and Mephistopheles had just appeared to the old man below, with a deal ready to be signed. The man on the catwalk, who looked to be about twenty-five, began to whisper Faust's response to Mephistopheles's questions of what he desires.
"No, I want a treasure which contains all. I want youth," he softly sang, taking a moment to revel in the orchestra's rising and falling melodies, and absorbing the harmonic lines that helped support both the melody and the lyrics of the opera. "For me, energy, powerful instincts, and wild revels of the heart and the -"
"BOY!" A gruff voice called out in a stage whisper. When the young man didn't react, the voice said again, "Christian Daáe! Get your head out of the clouds." The voice got closer. "Chris! If you don't stop standing and staring out into space like a worthless louse, I will gladly relieve you of your measly position!" A large, hairy hand grabbed Chris's shoulder and roughly pulled him from the edge of the catwalk. Chris started when he was suddenly staring at a large, round bearded face that had fat lips, a long broken nose, and two beady eyes. Joseph Buquet glared at the young man's soft blue eyes with his own hard brown ones. "You're lucky you haven't been fired yet. I would have let you go days after you had started if you didn't work so hard when your head wasn't in the damn clouds." His voice was a gravelly whisper as to not disturb the actors below.
Chris lowered his head, avoiding those mud-brown eyes, "I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again, sir. I'll get right back to work, sir," he said in a monotone before turning right around and walking off the catwalk, still humming and singing under his breath, "To you! to you, to you, Phantom, adorable and charming!"
Erika silently slid from shadow to shadow as she followed the young stage hand. She drew closer as he stopped to gaze down at the actors below. Erika's breathing slowed as she took in his profile. Still watching him, Erika noticed his lips barely moving. Curious, she drew closer still until she could hear him softly singing. "For me, energy, powerful instincts, and wild revels of the heart and the -" his sweet voice was cut off by a loud whisper.
"BOY!" The heavy footsteps of the idiot chief of the flies were getting closer. Cursing silently, Erika slid back into the shadows and waited for the buffoon to leave. Normally Erika didn't take any interest in anything, but somehow this tall young lad had attracted her attention.
The day he had come to the Opera Populaire, Erika had been lurking behind the thin walls of Manager Debierne's office when Madame Giry had burst into the office. Erika had nearly cried out, but only years of practice had kept her silent. Madame Giry, who was normally composed and as easy to read as a rock, seemed unsettled by something. Debierne didn't acknowledge her and focused only on that month's figures until Erika, in all her frustration, hit the wall lightly, causing Debierne's portrait to fall.
Jumping in surprise, Debierne finally noticed Madame Giry after glancing back at the unharmed painting. Looking back down at the paper in front of him, Debierne only asked sharply, "What can I do for you, Madame?"
Madame Giry stared right at where the portrait had hung only moments ago for a time before answering. "A young boy has arrived today, looking for work in the opera house," she began.
"Madame Giry," Debierne sighed heavily before lifting his head. "I have no time for trivial matters such as this. And we have no money to hire any more employees. Signora Carlotta and Signor Piangi's demands have begun to take their toll on our profit. Now," Debierne looked back down, "if you would please see yourself out, I have other matters to attend to." He gestured absently toward the door, but Madame Giry didn't move.
"In all my years working here, I have promised and delivered the best ballerinas and asked for nothing extra in return." Madame Giry leaned forward, slamming her hands on the desk, making both Debierne and Erika, who was still listening behind the wall, jump. Normally nothing could rustle Madame Giry's feathers. Erika had seen her set a badly broken ankle without batting an eye. This was highly unorthodox.
Debierne finally heard the urgency in her voice and looked up into her deep green eyes. "That is true..." He leaned back in his chair, making it creak.
"Well, this child is the son of my dearest friend. I have only just found out, upon his arrival, that she has," Madame Giry nearly choked on the words, "d-died. But, I know for a fact that Christian is a hard worker and only requests a small salary, only enough to get him by, and free lodgings." At that, Debierne focused sharply on Madame Giry, leaning forward angrily.
"FREE. LODGINGS?" he spat. "This is an opera house, not some scummy inn! If he's so desperate for a house, and you seem so close to him, why don't you provide this Christian a home?" Debierne looked at her expectantly.
Madame Giry just looked at him grimly. "Think about it. You could pay him a proper amount for his work, which, may I remind you, is almost three times the amount he is asking, or you could pay him a minimal amount and give him one of the old, dusty, unused rooms." Madame Giry smirked at Debierne. "Your choice."
Getting flustered, Debierne exclaimed, "Or I can just not hire him! What about that?!"
Madame Giry smirked again, as if expecting the question. "Well, if you don't employ Monsieur Christian, I will be retiring from your employment and seek work elsewhere." She paused and then started, as if a thought had come to her. "His last name is Daáe, if that makes any difference..."
Debierne nearly fell out of his chair. "D-Daáe?" he stuttered. "As in the famous violinist, Daáe? T-that Daáe?" Erika softly snickered at Debierne's reaction, although she was impressed herself. Gustav Daáe was a self-made man who had risen from a street performer to a famous concert violinist. His name, although still relatively new to the industry, was still well known to anyone versed in music. I've never heard him mention a son before... Erika pondered. I don't think he ever mentioned a wife either...
"Yes. Christian Daáe is the son of Gustav Daáe, but I pray you, make no mention of his father to him. Gustav left Christian and his mother, Jacqueline, when Christian was very young." Debierne sat listening intently. "And even though he is still alive, Christian acts like he died when he left his family behind and claims to now be an orphan." Madame Giry held back a smile as Debierne nodded in a child-like manner. "So I take it you are considering my offers?"
In that moment, Debierne remembered himself and nodded sharply. "I have... And I've decided. I will let the boy work as a stage hand and he can lodge in the last room on the farthest hall in the East wing." Madame Giry looked practically ecstatic. "Now, leave me and give the boy your news. Go now," Debierne waved her out, focusing back on his papers.
Erika smiled softly as she remembered how she had practically run through the walls to get a glimpse of the oh-so-important, Christian Daáe. Unfortunately, it wasn't until a week later that Erika had actually run into him. He was definitely pleasing to the eye with red curly hair, a tall lean form, and soft blue eyes that seemed eternally melancholy. But it wasn't until Erika had heard his voice that she had taken an interest.
Before she could delve into that memory, Joseph Buquet, the previously mentioned chief of the flies, stormed by her hiding spot, muttering under his breath about "day-dreaming maggots." Looking down the catwalk, Erika saw Christian roll his eyes and sigh heavily before turning away. Swiftly pressing one of the secret panels, Erika slid silently into the now opened tunnel.
I must end this unhealthy obsession, Erika thought sadly. It's not like he could ever reciprocate with any sort of feelings...
That afternoon, Chris took his bath for the week before setting about his small room and getting dressed again. He had a very special occasion and wanted to look, and smell, his best. The opera house in which he worked as a stage hand was holding auditions for the chorus, and Chris, who has always wanted to sing on stage, figured that being in the chorus would be as close as he could get to being a leading singer.
It wasn't that Chris's voice wasn't good, or that he didn't have the will power to accomplish that goal; it's just that the manager stuck with what worked and wasn't a gambler. Plus, Madame Giry, his deceased mother's dear old friend, was naturally, if not automatically, in favor of him and showed it by letting him stay in one of the spare rooms at the Opera house. One could argue that Chris was getting a special treatment.
"One" already has but, thankfully, her protests have been ignored on every occasion. It seemed that, even though he wasn't direct competition, Signora Carlotta, the prima donna at the Opera Populaire, has had a death wish against Chris since he showed up at Madame Giry's doorstep three months ago. She took one look at his long and lean body, his blue eyes and curly red hair, and his constant smile and distant gaze and decided that he wasn't worthy of the Opera Populaire. Or of her.
Looking at the full length mirror long enough to adjust the vest that was secure around his clean white shirt, and to make sure that his hair was tightly pulled back, Chris bent down to clean up after his bath, a small courtesy he did every time he messed something up in the humble room. As he mopped up the creaking wooden floor, Chris softly sang a later part in Faust, the moments where a now young Faust is in town and searching for his beloved Marguerite. He was singing, "Where is she hiding, the beautiful child whom your art caused me to see? Is it a vain enchantment?" when he heard a loud thump from the far wall that held the hanging full-length mirror. Chris paused, and turned to face it, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. Shrugging, he turned back to his work and continued, "Won't you permit, my beautiful lady, me to offer you an arm, to guide your way?" And the thump sounded again from the same area by the mirror.
Completely confused now, Chris abandoned his effort to clean up the spilt water and meandered over to the mirror. He looked all around, floor to ceiling, for any loose or hanging object that could have made the noise. Seeing nothing, he looked directly at the mirror, tilting his head to the side and squinting. Slowly he approached the unsoiled surface, pressed his ear to it, and knocked twice. Moments crawled by and no responding knock resounded. Chris shrugged once more and moved away to gather his things and head to the stage.
Hidden behind the mirror, a slim figure gently rested its head against the pane and whispered softly, "Oh Christian..."