(Erik's POV)
Good evening everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter I posted. Please forgive my delay in posting Erik's point of view, between work and summer classes, I've been busy! I would love to have you review and leave comments for me so I can better improve my work. Your humble servant, The Southern Rose
You think those two twits would have learned by now how much I HATE Carlotta. No matter how many 'accidents' occur around her, they CONTINUE to ignore my orders in MY opera house. Both Leroux and Badeaux are just as stupid and ignorant as Andre and Firmin when it comes to running an opera house. They belong in the office, not the art. Even Madame Giry is starting to show her anger, which hardly ever happens. For weeks now they have been rehearsing a newly written opera to celebrate the grand opening of the Opera Garner. Not that I truly meant to burn it down to begin with, but when no one truly takes your presence seriously, you must resort to drastic measures to 'capture their undivided attention'. As I continue to edit a piece I wrote long ago, a certain orchestra member is absolutely hell-bent in ruining a rather nice opera, not my taste in art, but art is art. The opening of the Opera Garner is in less than 3 hours and the prima violin still hasn't corrected his bowing. His awful playing is ruining my concentration. I grumble with disgust and put my quill down. Grabbing my full mask, I decide to head to the surface, hoping a walk in the air to do me some good, plus my pantry is rather bare since I have been swamped in my music. The square surrounding my opera house is rather busy and bustling with life; people are talking and blooming with excitement of the grand opening. I laugh, almost amused at their excitement. My ear catches a familiar melody floating above the flourishing crowd. Using my cane to encourage people out of my way, I follow the soft tune to a circle of people where 2 young boys are playing violins, a hat at their feet. Though they are good, I roll my eyes and turn to leave when I hear a small girl squeak with awe.
"Mommy look! She's so pretty! I wanna dance like her!" I glance over my shoulder to see a young woman has entered the circle of people. She begins to dance as the boys play. I know it by heart, but the boys seemed to have added a small, underlying countermelody, darkening the tune and making it more something I would write. Since they were so fortunate to capture my attention, I might as well watch. I stand behind the mother and daughter couple. For most of the performance, I only catch glimpses of the girl. Soon I see she is less a girl and more a young woman, with very promising talent, at least as a dancer. The piece briefly stops and the young woman faces me. She's mesmerizing; her hair wasn't quite red nor was it brown either, and her eyes were blue like fresh water in a stream. Oh how I could stare into them all day… I shake my head as the music continues. What a silly notion! I had my chance with love and I blew it! Soon the piece comes to a close and the girl wobbles, but lands her leap. People clap and throw francs at her feet and in the boy's hat before moving on to the next side show attraction. She gathers them quickly and goes back to the boys, kissing each one of them on the cheek. Now that they stand together, anyone could tell they are siblings, the girl must be the middle child. I go against the flow of the crowd to get a closer look at the curious family.
"Ich bin werde in meinen Shop eingestelle, ok?" The elder of the boys nodded his head, she then repeated the same phrase in English to the younger boy, who simply smiled and began to play a duet with his brother. Why did she speak German to one and French to the other? Why did she speak German at all? In my deep thinking the girl had changed into… pants?! She opened the side of a tent to display wooden objects. Boxes, toys, picture frames were all on display. Men and women were flocking to the tent to examine and buy what she had for sale.
"How much for the stool?" one man barked out.
"What about this jewelry box?!" Another woman cried, shoving it in the girl's face, demanding a price, and apparently was willing to pay about anything. Such gaudy, awful people; all they enjoy is spoiling themselves with things. Somehow I let myself get caught with the flow of the crowd and found myself at her tent.
"Fräuline bitte! Diese Steppdecke ist nicht zum Verkauf!" She scolded; the same woman who wanted the box was now invading this girl's private life. I clutched my cane, nearly bending the silver the head. The woman said something in German to the young girl and stormed off. I had to laugh a little, she looked like Carlotta storming off stage after one of my little 'accidents'. Her head was held high and she was screaming in a language I really didn't understand. While the girl put the blanket back into her tent, I decided to peruse her little shop. I picked up a picture frame with my free hand, it was elegantly made.
"See something you like?" My head snapped to, the girl standing behind the table with a smile. Damn, she was even more enthralling up close.
"I think this one will do. Tell me mademoiselle, did your elder brother make these?" She gave a stifled laugh.
"I have no older brother."
"Then the young boys you were performing with are not family?" I knew the elder boy had to be a suiter.
"Oh yes Monsieur, they are my family. I am the elder of my brothers." A middle aged woman pushes me aside and pick up another frame, demanding its price. The girl states the price, which she gladly pays and hurries off. Her eyes return to me. "For your kindness sir, please keep the frame. You are the first to actually have conversation with me that consists more than asking for the price of something." I bid her good day and leave the now empty square. I hear the girl's voice calling out to her youngest brother. I lurk in the shadows behind the tent she was using as a shop, which I see is their home. She praises the youngest brother for his work, and yet he still doesn't say anything.
"Schwester!" the older brother calls out "Diese ist useren finale zahlung!" I see the younger one pull on her shirt and she translates her brother's words, saying it's their final payment. Payment? Payment to whom? I hear more German gibberish before the girl emerges from the tent in more appropriate clothing and leaves, a box in her hand. While she is gone, the two managers of mistakes enter the tent, asking for the young man who made the frame one of them held in their hand. I rolled my eyes and left before this turned into a spectacle.