A/N: And here goes another Phanfiction. I'm trying some new things this time around so bare with me. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks!
Chapter One:
The Street Rat
Darcey looked around the front hall of the Opera Populaire. The statues were gold and shined brightly in the sun. The marble floors looked freshly polished. It was beautiful. The overall effect left a person feeling unworthy and dirty, especially a certain street rat. Darcey was busy admiring the statues and marble floors and didn't notice the woman in the hall.
"Hello? May I help you, Monsieur?" she said, looking at the boy.
He straightened his vest and cleared his voice. "Yes, Mme. My name is Darcey Bois. I would like to work here."
She looked at him with disbelief, at his ragged appearance. He had a pretty face but who knows if he had talent. "Can you sing?"
The boy blushed. "I meant to help clean or set up props or something. My voice is... inappropriate for the stage."
The woman's face eased into a gentle smile. "Ah. So you want to be a stagehand?"
The boy seemed to relax as he smiled back. "Exactly. I'll work hard. I just want a place off the streets. Can I get a job?"
She looked him over from head to toe. He had green eyes with dark blue rims, black, mostly straight hair that went a little past his ears, was slimly built and slightly tan with freckles from time spent in the sun. He wore a white shirt, dark green vest, and black knee-length trousers. He looked honest enough, far more honest than some of the current stagehands, and looked capable. "Alright. You've got the job. My name is Mme. Giry. What did you say your name was?"
"Darcey D... I mean Bois."
She looked at him suspiciously but let it go. "Welcome Monsieur Bois."
"Please, call me Darcey," he said, a smile on his face as he offered a hand for her to shake.
She shook his hand, noting how delicate and small it looked. "Let me show you around.
"That sounds great. You have no idea how grateful I am for this job."
"Think nothing of it. Everyone needs a place to call their own. Which reminds me that I should show you to your quarters. Do you need to go get your belongings?"
Darcey shook his head. "This is all I have, Mme." He looked embarrassed so she dropped the subject and began to show him around.
'Who is this boy and what is he doing in my opera house?' the Phantom of the Opera thought. The opera ghost had watched the boy as Mme. Giry had shown the little street rat around. He didn't belong here. Even as a stagehand. There was something about the boy that wasn't quite right. He appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen and his voice had yet to change. Under all the dirt, he seemed to have a pretty face. The poor boy would probably be swarmed by the ballerinas. No. He wasn't going to be staying. There was something untrustworthy about this boy.
After Mme. Giry had shown the boy to his room, the Phantom had stood, watching the boy as he looked around in awe of his surroundings. He then walked to the mirror to look at his reflection. He frowned, grimacing at his dirty appearance. He walked over to the bowl of water on the bedside table. The Phantom blushed when the boy stripped off his vest and shirt only to frown when he saw the bandages wrapped around his torso. What had happened to him?
The boy dipped a cloth in the bowl and began to wash off layers of dirt. The Phantom started to turn away, to leave the boy in peace, when a long cut was revealed on his arm. The boy hissed in pain but continued washing the wound, the water in the bowl gradually turning red and brown from the blood and dirt. What had happened to this boy? As more cuts were revealed, the Phantom frowned. Sure he didn't want the boy to stay but he didn't want him to die either, and if the cuts were a sign as to the extent of the chest wound, he needed them taken care of. The Phantom grumbled to himself as he left to go to his lair to get medical supplies.
"This does not mean he is allowed to stay," he said aloud to himself as he gathered the supplies. He placed them all in a bag He hesitated before he went and grabbed some old clothes and placed them in the bag as well. He wrote a short note before he returned to the boy's room to find he had finished bathing and had fallen asleep on top of the bed. The Phantom shook his head at the boy's sleeping form. He hadn't taken the time to dress more than his trousers. He had a pretty face and a slender form. He shuttered at the sight of the water basin but set the bag down on top of the dressed, placing the note on top before leaving the boy to rest.