Okay, I'm trying to do my own translation of the Italian here, but I'm a bit handicapped on account of having an Italian dictionary and knowledge of Spanish grammar, but not actually knowing the Italian language. I'm only going to quote scattered parts of the original opera, anyway.

Also, I would like to take one more moment to plea for comments, although in consideration, I suppose there are probably a fair number of people who aren't around this time of year, and this fic is probably not very prominent to discover.

Oh yes, and Merry Christmas!

Ben's POV:

I opened my eyes to a closet, hats and overcoats hung upon pegs. Behind me, I could hear a group of people singing: "Dell'invito trascorsa è già l'ora? Voi tardaste." ["It is past the time of the invitation. You were late."]

I hung up my hat—it looked a little fake, among the real hats of the time, but that couldn't be helped—and tucked my backpack into a corner, careful to note where I'd left it. Then I stepped out to join the partying throng, craning my neck for a glimpse of Violetta or Alfredo, or even a minor character—but would I recognize them?

The second chorus passed by through the door: "Giocammo da Flora, e giocando quell'ore volar." ["We were playing at Flora's, and when playing, time flies."]

And yes, there it was, a soprano voice approaching! "Flora, amici, la notte che resta d'altre gioie qui fate brillar, fra le tazze più viva è la festa." ["Flora, friends, the remaining night shines of other joys when you are here, the party is livelier between the cups."]

I had put so much anticipation into this moment that my leg was twitching, but I managed to calm it enough to walk. I turned sideways and slipped through one of the choruses, my skinny body easily working through the gaps, until I came to the edge of the crowd and was looking out at Violetta.

My eyes widened, and I blinked to keep from staring. How could she be so beautiful? Even more than when played by Teresa Stratas… no wonder she's so famous a courtesan. Her features were smooth and exquisite, the black hair silken and glossy, arched eyebrows accenting her face, expression perfectly encapsulating all her strivings, hopes, fears, conflicting desires, even already lines of despair from her illness. I shook myself. Darn it, I myself hate it whenever anyone judges someone else by beauty. I shouldn't get preoccupied over it as well! After all, I always shudder when I hear someone described as a "pretty girl," as if her defining characteristic were something beyond her control. No, it was her mind that drew me to the character Violetta.

As I stood there, bedazzled amidst the splendor and song, I saw as a pair of men approached Violetta; one must be Alfredo, the other his friend, Gastone. The crowd was dispersing through the house, but I lingered, watching Gastone introduce Alfredo to her: "In Alfredo Germont, o singora, ecco un altro che molto v'onora; pochi amici a lui simili sono." ["In Alfredo Germont, o lady, there is another who honors you much; few friends are like him."]

I smiled. And so the tale of love begins. "Another who honors you much"… what an appropriate phrase. Of course, it's meant for Alfredo, but here I am, more "other" than they could realize, but also honoring the timeless Violetta very much.

There was a tap on my shoulder and a few words in Italian.

I turned around to see a young servant girl. "Sorry, what did you say?" I asked in Italian, hoping that my intensive studying had dispelled my accent.

"The table is set for dinner, signor, and most of the guests have gone there now… but you seemed lost."

"Oh, thank you." I looked around, trying to spot the table, still listening to Gastone telling Violetta of Alfredo's devotion.

"It's right there, signor." The servant pointed to the table, plainly in view a ways in front of me.

I grimaced at my obliviousness. "Yeah, I see… thanks." I started over, then turned back. "Oh, what's your name?"

"Annina." Of course, Violetta's maid. I didn't remember her being in this act, but oh well. "Enjoy the party, signor."

I nodded, heading over to the table. "Thanks, you too, Annina."

She only shook her head and receded back to her cleaning tasks.

The table was full with men and women, chattering and eating, but I didn't pay them much attention, merely sitting down on an empty chair and taking out my copy of the libretto for a quick review of the words to the chorus part of the drinking song. Once finished, I looked up at the food glumly. I should have realized this would be a problem… dishes upon dishes of meat, and I, nearly a vegetarian. Maybe if I snack on the appetizers and chicken, no one will notice that I'm passing over the beef. At least I'd already washed my hands before I left. I frowned. This whole party was really uncomfortable; in real life I would never have gone. A bunch of people chattering among each other, mostly about topics I found crude or uninteresting… well, that was nothing new, really, but I fit in even worse now.

The beautiful sounds of Violetta's singing approached, and I looked up to hear her sing: "Pronto è il tutto?" ["Is it all ready?"] The servants nodded, and she beckoned for her companions to come: "Miei cari, sedete…" [Sit, my dear ones…] but then stopped, frowning, the orchestral accompaniment halting for the first time since I had arrived, right in the middle of a sweet phrase of music. "The table is short a setting."