Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, etc own them. No copyright infringement intended. I'm just using these for fun.
Author's Note: My online friend, Nicolebsb from Neopets, created the character of Helene. All sections about Helene and thoughts, speech, etc. are all hers. I am writing the general stuff, plus Madame Giry, Meg, and Erik.
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New Beginnings: Chapter OneThe Opera House stood in the center of Paris, still a main focus, even after a fire had torn through it a few years ago. Sadly, its vibrancy had never been restored, but people still eagerly awaited the next production. The story of the Phantom had faded to a legend, and many of the players and musicians had moved on. New management had restored it somewhat, but there was still something haunting about the place. The well to do of the city still showed their patronage there, which was the main reason it hadn't closed altogether. In need of some fresh talent, the manager had called an audition day of sorts. People came from all over to try out for the famed Opera House of Paris.
On the stage of the Paris Opera House, many people were attempting to make it in some play in hopes to become rich and famous. Though most people were dressed in their finest clothes, finest jewelry, and finest shoes; the first person in the line to be heard was that of a girl around the age of twenty-four. She was not wearing any fine clothes, nor fine jewelry, or any shoes at all. In fact, she wore a plain tan dress and apron, along with a wooden cross on a string of leather tied around her neck. The girl had bright red hair that was put in a thick ponytail rather messily that went down past her lower back. Her eyes were a dull green color and she had a few freckles dotted across her cheeks. She was a sort of tan, though mostly pale, just because of her fright. The tan came from the hard work she had to do in the horse stables and gardens of the rich and pompous people of Paris. Altogether, the girl wasn't that unfortunate looking, though the fact she wasn't dressed well, and she had messy hair, did not go all too well with the people around her. Hélène was her name.
Miss Hélène was not practicing scales with her voice, nor attempting to memorize songs from a paper. Instead, she held a beaten, worn, and altogether old violin in one hand and the bow in the other. She wasn't practicing for a spot to play IN an opera but to play FOR an opera. Instrumental practices were held on stage as well, mostly to just save time. The fact was, Hélène could sing just a little bit, but she didn't like to do it on stage at all. Her voice was more… like a mother's voice: soft and plain. So, she did the thing her adopted 'Da' showed her: to play violin and the other assortment of instruments.
"Let's hurry this up, Mademoiselle," said a brisk voice of a tall man holding a wooden clipboard who was standing in front of the line of people waiting to perform. Hélène looked up at the man for a moment then scurried on stage, her bare feet patting against the stage floor. Hélène positioned the violin on her shoulder and took a breath, attempting to calm herself.
"Hélène… McDonnaly?" asked one of the men sitting in the front row, who were judging the players and singers. "You don't seem Irish," he said, not bothering to be polite to such a scruffy looking girl.
"My adopted father's name, Monsieur," Hélène muttered, lifting the bow slowly. Irish were not treated with high respect in France, or much anywhere else. Hélène didn't even have any Irish blood.
"Well, Miss McDonnaly, please begin," the man sighed, sounding as if he shouldn't even bother with this. Hélène breathed lightly then started to play her old violin. Normally, people played something formal, or even dreary on the violin, for that's what English and French music sounded like when played by the instrument. But, instead of a boring or fancy classical sound, which was common; Hélène played a quick, joyful, and very pleasant Irish folk song. These songs took much talent to even follow along to, much more than it took for normal European music. It was like the bow was a simple blur then anything else. The song itself was one of the fastest that Hélène knew how to play, and she had hopes that it would show her talent. She even started to lightly talk-sing in Gaelic, though barely audible through the loud and jumpy tune. This reminded her so much of her Da, who was no longer with her. She had been in an orphanage for six years of her life, going to the age of thirteen, until 'Mister' Patrick McDonnaly had found her and taken her in. The man played many instruments, including flute, violin, drum, piano and harp. He taught Hélène how to play all but the drums, which Hélène had not wanted to learn. When Hélène was twenty, 'Mister' (for he didn't want to be called Monsieur) McDonnaly died of a stroke at age eighty-two. Four years, the man had been dead, and Hélène still felt as if it had been just a few minutes prior.
Helene played flawlessly, she had been practicing this particular song for quite a while, just to show what she could do. The song seemed to be quite intricate, and quite long. Her memorization was obviously quite exceptional as well. The poor girl was quite good at memorizing music. The jumpy, happy song slowed suddenly to a more soft melody. Then, it stopped and Helene put her violin down and looked at the judge for a few moments as he and a few other people sitting around him (the dance instructor, the conductor for the orchestra, and one of the managers) and smirked.
"That was... interesting... But, we do not accommodate people who play such immature music," he shrugged, knowing that Helene was looking for somewhere to stay. "Also, you would not fit in for the position. We have many fine violinists, who are not only male but are... mature," he smiled. Helene stared at him.
"But... I can obviously play quickly, a-and I can memorize long pieces!" Helene said in a horribly offended way.
"Yes, but the music you specialize in is moronic," the judge laughed, the three people around him not speaking. The other auditioners were giggling and chuckling at the argument, though it was just sort of one sided. "Now, please leave before you embarrass…" the smiling fool started once more, when the conductor stopped him.
"This girl would be more than adequate for the position. She seems to hold her tongue well, and she plays wonderfully. Those traits are hard to find in violinists these days. The opera that has been submitted has a bit faster than average pieces... Miss Helene, I accept you in my orchestra," he said gently. "Unless... you refuse?" he asked the manager sitting next to him. "It is up to you, of course." The man shrugged.
"You may sleep in one of the extra dancers' quarters. The renovated ones," the manager said after a moment's worth of thought. Helene smiled broadly.
"Thank you! Monsieur, God bless you!" she exclaimed, almost seeming happy enough to start jumping up and down. Sure, they had said pretty cruel things, but she didn't mind. She finally had a well paying job!
The manager nodded to a man standing off to the left of the stage. This man worked at the opera as part of the stage crew, so he knew the place more than he knew his own mother.
"Jules, please take young Miss Helene to room number five, in the renovated portion of the cabins," he spoke dully. "You may move in as soon as you can."
"Thank you again, sirs," Helene repeated, smiling broadly. The man Jules, who was about thirty-five with blonde hair and gray eyes, sighed and started walking to the stage exit. Helene held onto her violin and bow tightly as she almost skipped right off the stage, excited about being able to not only STAY here, but to play here as well. It would, no doubt, be wonderful. Of course, she wasn't putting the fact that she was a woman and the fact she had an Irish last name into consideration. No doubt, she wouldn't be treated well at all.
Helene followed after Jules, attempting to talk to him, though not getting any response. After figuring that she was being ignored, she shut up. Well, he was not too nice, now was he? Of course, she was used to this by now, but it still bothered her. It never really made her happy that people liked to ignore her. The poor girl stared at her feet, figuring that it was best to just not speak. Being judged by having an Irish father wasn't enjoyable. Jules walked down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and down another hall. Before she knew it, Helene was dumped off in front of a room. Jules sulked off, mumbling about having to do something as petty as leading a stupid girl to some stupid room. Helene frowned, but let out a sigh as she opened the door to the room.
It was small, with a small bed, a coffee table, a couch, and an empty wardrobe. She would have to get her things, which weren't too many belongings, and bring them in. Helene walked to her coffee table and set the old, battered violin down, along with the bow. Then, she left, deciding to go get her things.
