Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its songs or lines. I do however own ALL of my OC's and if you touch them I'm gonna bite you. *nom nom*
Thanks to my amazing beta Fearless Fault for helping me fix these horrid chapters!
Sorry that Erik's not in this chapter, but I promise, soon. So please, bear with me!
"Welcome to the Opera Populair Mlle. Moreau. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will show you to your workplace."
M. Daignault's voice rang through my ears as I gazed around the grand foyer of the Opera House. I had been to a few operas in England, but none were ever housed in a building such as this. Walking behind the painter, I tried not to become so distracted that I did not hear him. I had a feeling that ignoring this staunch man would be unwise.
Walking past the main stage where the ballet troupe was currently working, I paused to admire the agility of the dancers. My eyes went wide at the show of talent and beauty. All the girls wore varying shades of white, pinks and blues. One girl caught my attention the most though. She was slim, with a head full of extremely curly brown hair and chocolate eyes. She moved with a grace that astounded me. She must have been well taught to say the least!
"-oiselle? Do you hear me?"
Turning to my guide and new supervisor, I nodded, embarrassed that I had ignored him. Giving me a pat on the shoulder, the sandy- blonde haired man laughed.
"Don not worry about it Mademoiselle! You are not the first one to be caught staring at the ballet girls! Though I should say, you are the first female to do so in such a…shall I say, awestruck manner?"
Grinning at my tomato red face, he led me into a large set of rooms behind the stage. The first room was full of colorful backdrops with men putting the final touches on them. The net room was again, full of canvases only this time, they were only half done. The final room we came to was stocked to the brim with all the makings for the sets, as well as paints and varnish. The men who were working, paused as we walked back into the first room. Turning to look at me, the older gave me a small smile as he explained to me my hours and terms of working.
"You are to be here at five-o-clock each morning except for Sundays. You will work until nine, here in the final phase of the process. You are the first woman to ever be placed in this position and I do hope that you will not let us down." Turning to the men who were still staring at me, he bellowed to them.
"Hey you lot! This is Mademoiselle Haydee Moreau. She is going to be on the touch up team with you and I know that you will do your best to make her feel welcomed and safe." He seemed to put extra emphasis on safe, as if it was of special notice. Calling over a black haired youth, not much older than myself, he introduced me.
"Mlle, this is M. Covet, he will be your mentor and guide for as long as you are here. If you need anything, you may go to either him, or come to myself."
"It is a pleasure to meet you Mlle." Said Mr. Covet, whilst giving me a full smile, "You may call me Benoît, or Ben if it pleases you." Reaching for my hand, he took it as if to kiss it but stopped when I shook his hand instead.
"It is indeed M. Covet, and please, since there is no need for formality, call me Haydee. I look forward to working with you."
Recovering from his shock, Ben laughed. "As do I."
Pulling me away from the smiling man, M. Daignault gave me a few final words.
"If you have any trouble with the men, contact me. I will not stand for it. Also, I have been made aware that you do not have any accommodations in Paris, is that correct?'
Nodding, I grimaced at the information. Since my arrival, I had been staying in a hotel near the Populair, and my funds were running short.
"I thought so. You will be staying in the loft above the workshop then. It is unoccupied and only needed when we are having rush jobs, so it is really no bother. I will have a cab bring your things."
"M-Monsieur! I cannot accept that!" I stuttered out. This kind of kindness was as unwarranted as it was unexpected.
"Nonsense! It is the least I can do for an old friend's daughter. Yes Mlle," he said, at seeing my shocked face, "I knew your father quite well. We were colleagues and friends…but that was a long time ago. Now off you go, you have work to do and I have papers to fill out. Your bags should be here in half an hour."
Still stunned by the generosity of Monsier Daignault, I walked, half dazed around the room, as Ben introduced me to the workers. Nodded and smiling as countless people shook my hand, I couldn't help but get over the feeling that I was being watched. Glancing around the room, I scoffed to myself. Of course I was being watched! I was the only woman in a room full of men!
Turning to Ben, I gave him the best smile I could muster with my nerves being in such a state.
"Shall we get to work?"
Hours later, I found my way to the little loft above the workroom. As M. Daignault had said, it was small. However, it wasn't cramped, and once I put away my trunk and fix the small bed, it felt somewhat…homelike if not comfortable. There was a dresser with a mirror attached, a small bed in the corner with a bedside table to the left and a changing screen in the farthest corner of the room.
As I began to unpack my trunk, I surveyed it's contents carefully. Everything seemed to be in place, thank heavens. You never know what might happen if someone were to go through my trunk!
Grabbing out my nightgown from said trunk, I slipped out of the cotton shift and into the comfortable linen. Flopping onto my bed I sighed as I remembered my day. Ben had been kind enough to introduced me to many people, including some of the ballet girls. Most of them were either snobbish or silly and I really had no desire to be around them. There were two however that I thought I might be able to become companions with. First there was a blonde girl named Meg, the daughter of Madam Giry, the ballet mistress, who had been kind, funny and really quite charming. Then there was Christine. She was the girl with the chocolate eyes that I had seen earlier in the day that had captured my attention. She was quiet and shy, but I thought perhaps, once I had the chance to know her a bit more, she would open up to me.
Overall people had been wonderful, except for the few who weren't (i.e a couple stage hands who thought it necessary to whistle at me and make rude gestures. I caught one of their names, Joseph Buquet, and I made a mental note to do my best to steer clear of him.) and I was more than glad. However, all throughout the day I had caught people whispering more than once about "the opera ghost" and "I wonder what he will do". It was starting to make me uncomfortable to say the least!
Turning over onto my side, I noticed a plain, white envelope with the oddest seal I had ever seen sitting on my bedside table. It was a red skull that was lifted off the seal; like someone had made a pop-out image. Wondering how I couldn't have noticed the letter before, I carefully pried open the paper, careful not to damage the wonderful seal.
My eyes grew wide from shock and then outrage, as I read its contents.
Mlle. Moreau
Welcome to my Opera House. I was quite surprised when they allowed a woman to work in the scene department of my opera, thinking that you would have been better in the sewing rooms or even the ballet with your figure. And I find that I am still of that opinion.
I will give you two weeks to show yourself worthy of working in my Opera, and after that time, if you have shown yourself of use, you may continue on under a probationary period. If however, you do not show yourself worthy of such an honor, then you shall be removed from this place in the quickest possible way. My Opera is not a charity and will not be run like one.
I have only a handful of rules that are extremely easy to follow, unless of course you are an idiot of the highest degree.
1.) I do not stand for slander against myself, or my name. That being said, please refrain from spreading idle rumors that you women seem to be so fond of.
2.) You are not, under ANY circumstances to go into the cellars.
3.) You are not allowed to go into box five under ANY circumstances
4.) If any of the above rules are broken, you shall receive a strike against your name. After the third strike, a disaster worse than you can imagine shall occur.
The last thing I have to tell you Mademoiselle, is that you are to discontinue any thoughts of friendship with Christine Daae. She is far above in every possible way, and it would be wise to remember this.
Fondest Greetings once again,
O.G