Disclaimer: ...I'm, like, seriously running out of funny ideas for disclaimers. It's becoming pathetic. All you'se gotta know is that I don't own Newsies, though. Capishe?
A/N: So here it is guys and gals, my ::new:: story. w00t. After a like three months hiatus, I'm back, rearing and ready to go. I'm incredibly excited for Prima Donna, I've got all these great ideas and I'm just so happy!!!! It's the holidays, and I'm full of joy. Or something to that effect.
First, before we start, I have to clear a few things up. One--THIS IS NOT A SLASH FICTION. That is, the male characters aren't going to end up with each other at the end. They aren't going to end up with any females, either. It's going to HAVE lots of sexual-gay jokes…you'll be able to tell what this is about by the first sentence.
Two—This is a parody of The Phantom of The Opera, but it's not going to follow the story line strictly. I've got this huge intricate plot worked out, and I think it's going to turn out to actually be able to take place in NewsieVerse. I thnik that it takes place two years before the strike--1897. So not completely AU.
Third—there is no third thing, I forgot it. Silly me. Anyhoodles---enjoy the fic!!! And don't forget to review!!!
trans·ves·tite:: someone (usually a man) who adopts the dress or manner or sexual role of the opposite sex for sexual pleasure. Noun. - - - -
And that, dear friends, is exactly what Aaron was. A transvestite. It didn't matter what you called him—a drag queen, a he-she, a man-woman, or Just Plain Confused—a transvestite was what he really boiled down to. He was literally a man (well, a boy) who dressed up as a person of the female gender.
Aaron wondered what his parents would have thought of him, Mr. Aaron Meyers, now called Erin Daae, getting up in dresses and generally making an ass of himself. They had been dead for seven-eight years, and he could not picture them being none too pleased with his situation. In fact, he wasn't that joyful about it either, but Aaron didn't really have a choice at this point.
He stared at himself in the mirror, pointing out his flaws to himself just like the woman he pretended to be. His nose was too pointy, his fingers were huge, and to top it all off, he needed a shave. Badly. Aaron ran his tongue over his upper lip, feeling the hairy bristle. He shivered—he didn't like the feeling at all, but there was nothing he could do about it now. In five minutes he was scheduled for a rehearsal and he simply couldn't risk it. Shaving would have to wait.
"Hmmm," he murmured. Aaron pulled his dress a little bit tighter, feeling the fruits that made up his fake chest ride up. He pushed the oranges down, blushing, though no one could see him. Aaron was paranoid like that. But hell, so would you, if you lived in secret fear people would find out your true (male) identity.
Though it was unheard of at this point (and would be for several more years), Aaron's life belonged to someone in a James Bond Novel. Or else a very strange musical about sweet transvestites from transsexual Transylvania. Or something. Girls don't know how lucky they have it, thought Aaron.
But his thoughts were interrupted as someone banged loudly at the dressing room door. It was Toby, the clown. "Miss Daae?"
"Yeah?" Aaron-Erin replied, his voice deep. He cleared his throat quickly. "I mean, uh, yes?"
"It's time foah rehearsal, Miss Daae," announced Toby. " An' Medda wants ya ta meet the new owner. It's a kid named Francis Sullivan."
Aaron started, running a hand through his brown curly wig in surprise. He'd completely forgotten Irving Hall had been for sale! Now, instead of belonging to Fat Max Cohen, the original owner, some guy name Francis Sullivan (where had he heard that name before?) had bought it! Irving Hall could become completely different!
What if this "Sullivan" character decided to turn Irving Hall into a strip club instead of a respectable Vaudeville Theater? What if he made it a place for hookers and drunks? What if he ruined the place, and more importantly, the people inside it?
Worse, what if he was smarter than Fat Max and discovered Aaron-Erin's girl-secret?
"Miss Daae? Ya okay?"
"Sure, Toby," Aaron composed himself. Surely Sullivan couldn't be that bad! "I'll be right out."
"Okay! From ze top, everybody!" Medda, the (fake) Swedish Meadow Lark announced. "Girls, get in form for your kick line, please!"
Aaron scurried into place on stage, barely making it in time as the tubas began to play a cheery tune. He put on a toothy grin for show purposes only and then, with the rest of the group, began to perform a dance move known in some circles as the "can-can".
"Good! Good!" cried Medda, as all the girls (and Aaron) displayed a perfect in-succession kick. "Vonderful!"
She waltzed onstage, beaming happily as the girls (and Aaron) ended their dance and leaped up to her side, ready to perform the next song.
"Brilliant, girls, that'll be a kicker!" Medda said, dropping the accent completely. "Erin, are you ready for "Bananas?"
Aaron nodded. Medda had decided to give him a solo for one of the songs, on account of how he backflipped so beautifully. He hadn't wanted it, of course, but she had insisted.
And he had complied, because Medda was rather scary when she was angry.
But before Medda, The Swedish Meadow Lark, could continue, the front door to the theater swung open. It hit the wall with a defying-gravity smack! and as everybody in the theater jumped, a young man strolled in. He was accompanied by twenty some-odd people, who were his butlers, his hairdressers, his carriage drivers, his maids, his gardeners, his chefs, his shoe-shiners, his butt-wipers, and his clothes-putter-onners. Also, his small dog, from which dangled a collar. The collar read "Bruiser".
Well, actually, no. I'm kidding about that.
Only an older man, presumably his father, accompanied him. But his father did hold a small dog named Bruiser.
"Hello?" The young man asked politely. He had a slight British twinge in his accent. "Am I interrupting your rehearsal?"
"No, Mister Sullivan," Medda said warmly. "You're fine. But…" she turned around to Aaron. Aaron-Erin was a deathly white color, as if he had seen a ghost. And maybe he had. "Erin, darling? Are you alright?"
"Yes, Miss Medda," replied Aaron faintly.
He wasn't really, though, not at all.
flashback
flashback
flashback, goddamit!!!
…
wait, sorry. I think the flashback's gone all screwy, wait a sec
…
…there, I think I got it
flashback
"Aaron!" His mother called, raising her voice so the seven year old could hear her. "Come meet our new neighbors!"
Aaron, who was handling a small boat, set it down quickly. He leapt out of his huge room and raced down the gold-studded banisters, pulling up his knickers as he went. He couldn't wait to meet the Sullivans. They had just moved in, and there was a boy just around his age in the family. Aaron was excited.
He skidded down the long hall, almost tripping as he rushed to the living room. It was ungentlemanly to do such a thing, but for a seven year old, being a gentleman was not a priority.
"Finally," Aaron's mother said, exasperated, as he finally entered the living room. "Aaron, I'd like you to meet Mister Tomas and Mister Frankie Sullivan."
Aaron held out a hand to the father and son, smiling gently. The older man shook hard, with a steady, firm grip. The younger boy grinned, spat in his palm, and held his own hand out to Aaron.
'Frankie!" Mister Sullivan exclaimed.
Aaron grinned back and repeated the gesture.
"Aaron!" scolded his mother.
But for the two boys, a friendship had been made already…
end flashback
"Miss? Are you alright?"
"Wha?" Aaron said intelligently, staring into the face of his former best friend, Mister Frankie Sullivan. He shook his head to clear it. "I mean, uh, yes. I'm great."
Geez, I hate flashbacks, he thought. It makes the world go all fuzzy black and white.
Frankie smiled, and then frowned, like he was trying to figure out something. And maybe he was.
"Do I know you from somewhere, Miss?" he asked politely. "You look familiar. Like an old lady-friend, or something."
"No-o-o-o-o-o-o," Aaron lied through his teeth. "I've never seen you—"
Aaron was cut off by a shriek from one of the stage-girls on his right. He swiveled his head and watched with interest as she pranced around the stage, pointing at an off-white object floating to the ground. It appeared to have just randomly floated there by itself.
It was an envelope.
"It's a letter! It's a letter!" screamed the girl, whose name was Mary-Sue. "A letter from above! It must be a sign from God!"
"Mary Sue, you're fulla hot air," Medda said calmly, strolling over to the letter. "It ain't from God."
"Who's it from, then?" asked the older man. It was the first time Aaron had heard him speak since he was very little.
"It's from…" Medda started, pausing dramatically. If it were night out, lightning would have flashed. "The Phantom of the Opera!"
"Who?" Frankie asked, his handsome face confused.
"Ayah," said Medda, slipping back into her theater accent again. "Ze Phantom lives at this very theater, all by himself with no one around. He is ze ghost of ze facility but he is very real, yes indeed, for he makes odd things happen and un-happen."
Un-happen? Aaron thought.
"Ve do not flush him out, for he is useful to Irving, oh, yes. Ze phantom, you see," again she paused. "Designs clothes. He is a fashion designer. A very good one, too. He made my dress."
Medda smoothed out her dress, which was frilly and had lots of poufs. It was a nauseating color of pink, and came with a purple hat that clashed horribly. It was her favorite dress, but it made everyone else practically colorblind.
"I…see," said Francis, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, so you see, we need him. But he comes with a price, sometimes…"
At this statement, Medda ripped open the envelope. She gazed at it for a moment, and then held it out for all (Aaron, Francis, and Thomas) to read.
"Deer Gentlemen, (the letter said)
i habe been informed that u have bought my thaeter from Max and i just wanted 2 tell u that i require at last 100 dollars so dat I may contiune my woik. if you do not do this, bad things well happen. They well happen badly.
From
The Phantom"
"Hasn't got much education, has he?" asked the older man, with his super-spiffy English accent.
"We think he's a street rat from Manhattan," Medda answered proudly. "Either way, it draws crowds."
"Erm…" Frankie looked over at his father.
"Right," coughed Thomas Sullivan III. "Well, uh, I've gotta be going, ma'am. I don't want to miss my ship to Australia."
"You're going to Australia?" inquired Medda. "Why?"
Sullivan shifted, uncomfortable. "No reason. Just, you know, to get some sun and a nice tan."
…. It was December.
But before anyone in the theater could begin to ponder the atrocity of this statement, the man flounced away, still carrying the dog. He waved at his son, giving a cheery little grin, before walking out the front door and disappearing from sight. Aaron could hear the clip clopping of horses as the man's carriage rolled away, never to be seen again.
Frankie, apparently used to this, rolled his eyes. He grabbed Aaron-Erin's hand and kissed it, ever the gentleman. "You look so familiar."
Aaron went red. "Like your girlfriend?"
"Only when you blush—" Frankie grinned, causing Aaron to go even redder. "But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else…"
"Um," stuttered Aaron. He was not comfortable with this at all…especially since, you know, he had the problem of the whole "male-gender thing that no one knew about."
"A-hem," coughed Medda, saving Aaron from embarrassment. "Erin, honey, your song?"
"Right!" Aaron said loudly. "My song!"
"Your song? Do you sing?" Frankie looked too curious for his own good.
"She dances, actually," Medda was curt. "Now clear out so we can rehearse!"
"Right, ma'am," The young man apologized. "I'll just…sit in the audience and watch."
"I'll see you later," he told Aaron. Aaron shuddered inwardly. The last thing he wanted was a boy-friend.
But Aaron had to forget about that, for the time being. It was time to rehearse his number. The song that was going to (hopefully not) be his big break—the one where he would show off his unladylike back flips for the first time. The huge one, and it would probably be the highlight of the performance. Aaron was nervous.
The other girls cleared the stage, hiding behind the curtains to watch. It was just a song with Aaron and Medda—she was going to sing, and he was going to dance. To perform acrobatic stunts, specifically.
Aaron had no idea why Medda wanted back flips to an obnoxious song such as 'Yes, We Have No Bananas', and he was not sure he wanted to know. Perhaps it was for personal reasons.
"Five, six, seven eight!" Medda shouted, and the music began. Aaron backed up a few steps, and did a beautiful round-off for show as the Swedish Meadow Lark opened her mouth and began to sing.
"Yes! We have no bananas!" Medda trilled. "We have no banana to-day!"
Strangely, Aaron's eyes searched for Frankie's in the crowd. The rich young man couldn't take his eyes off him as Aaron shook and shimmed around the stage.
The (unwilling) transvestite's heart sank. This was not going to end well.
A/N:….sooo……? Was it bad? Good? Life Changing?