I do not own nor do I gain any profits from the Phantom of the Opera or this fan-fiction. This is just the work of my over-active mind.
Also, I have used Google Translate for the french, so if it is wrong, sorry :( but, I suck at french.
(This is the un-beta-d version. I wrote it on my notebook and it doesnt have enough memory to handle MS Word. I will go on my PC tomorrow and check it over)
De Paris avec Amour
Le Fantôme vit Encore (The Phantom still Lives)
After 7 years of hard labour and sheer will, Opera Populaire was back to normal. The burnt seats were back to their usual plush, red colour. The stage was fixed and cleaned, the large chandelier was broken beyond repair but was replaced with a much larger and beautiful one with stronger ropes and chains, and the other areas in the Opera Populaire were back to their rightful ways.
Most of the old staff had returned; including Carlotta Giudicelli, Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg Giry. The Opera Populaire had new owners, Monsieur Jean-Pierre Volclain and Monsieur Alexandre Richelieu. Both from wealthy and high-ranking families, both of them had been friends since they were very young. On an impulse buy, they bought the Opera Populaire and decided to return it to its former glory.
Monsieur Jean-Pierre stood on the stage, hands clasped behind his back and his black suit was impeccable. His blue eyes roamed over the vast area in front of him, watching as members of his staff - new and old - dusted and plumped the red seat to perfection. Even though they were not rehearsing an opera at the moment, he wanted to view the Opera Populaire in its full glory before chaos ensure with rehearsals.
"I would have thought that you would have had enough of looking into the audience" a voice sounded from behind him. Jean-Pierre turned to see his best friend, Alexandre, smirking at him as he dusted off his jacket sleeves. Alexandre's deep, brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he walked towards his best friend.
"Well, Alexandre. How did the banking go?"
Alexandre let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his shoulder length brown hair, before speaking.
"Do not even start with that. Sanglante Anglais! Never again shall I trust them with or money again. Banquiers stupide!"
Jean-Pierre let out a deep laugh, nearly throwing his head back as he listened to Alexandre curse the bankers under his breath. He looked around the stage, taking in every rope and rigging above the stage. He let a smile on his face.
'Mon Dieu! I still cannot believe that we bought the Opera Populaire'
Jean-Pierre could remember being a boy, no older that seven, and walking with his mother and father to the Opera Populaire and seeing the latest opera. Each time he went, he made new memories, so the feeling of nostalgia always hit him when he walked through the door, sometimes even before he reached the door.
Alexandre felt the same, as this was the very opera house where he and Jean-Pierre became friends.
To both of them, the Opera Populaire meant the world to them, and now that it was theirs, no one would take it from them.
On the walkway in the dome area of the Opera Populaire, where the chandelier took up its rightful place, a man decked out in a black cape with a pristine suit underneath looked down at the new owners of the Opera Populaire. A gloved hand reached up and gingerly touched the white mask that covered the right side of his face before his green-ish grey eyes glared at the two men down below.
"...I welcome you, to my opera house..."
Sanglante Anglais - Bloody Englishmen
Banquiers stupide - Stupid bankers
Mon Dieu - My God