TAP, TAP, TAP

A man rapped on the maestro's music stand. He was dressed like a businessman, not like someone that attended the Opera Populaire frequently. Two men, looking even less like they belonged followed behind him, whispering to each other. Behind them was a third person, but Erik couldn't exactly tell who it was. He saw hints of a blue dress, but other than that, she was unknown. Erik stopped mid-step slowly, his hands barely touching the ballet girl's waist in front of him. They were about to do a complex lift and turn in the second song of act two. He was the third in the chorus line of dancers. Luckily for him, he hadn't raised his partner quite yet. The man in front of him, however, was now standing awkwardly with a thin girl raised above his head, crinoline tutu in his face.

"Ahem.."

"Monsieur Le Ferve! I am rehearsing." The small, old man on the podium protested, waving around his ivory stick, gesturing to the hodgepodge of costumed dancers on the stage.

"Monsieur Reyer, Monsieur Chagny, ladies and gentlemen, please, if I can have your attention, thank you…" the manager trailed off. He cleared his throat and looked about the stage, waiting for the actors to gather round the floor-lights downstage. The dance to the left of Erik put his partner down with a soft thud as her toe shoes hit the wooden stage.

"As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement." He clasped his hands together nervously, glancing around the entire Opera, from the seats to the rafters as if someone, or something would punish him for interrupting the practice.

Odd, considering that he just mentioned that he's aware of the gossip. In other opera theaters, the management would yell and scream at his cast for spreading rumors. It would be like LeFerve to be a coward about it, however….He is a rather insignificant man… Erik's blue eyes turning cold as his lips became a hard line.

"…I can now tell you that these were all true, and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gilles Andre." With this, the two aforementioned men stepped from behind the former manager, leading a beautiful blonde angel of a woman. "…And we're deeply honored to introduce our new patron, the Vicomtess de Giry."

By this time, Raoul, one of the only sensible men in the ballet, had made his way over to me. Whispering, I could feel his infectious smile, "…she's so... beautiful." And it was true. Megan had always been a pretty girl. She was about a year younger than I, yet still had the face of a cherubic child. Her body, however, was nothing immature... she had curves hidden beneath her taffeta-blue dress. The last I had seen of her, she was a five year old sniveling girl. She had been crying all day because my father and I were moving. Meg's blue eyes were piercing my soul, due to them being red and swollen. I remember that she didn't cry prettily; her nose had been running profusely.

"My parents and I are honored to support all the arts," she spoke, with a tender, delicate manner. It had the tenor of a the small, fragile girl I once knew, but had the authority of a member of high society. "Especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire." She finished, beaming white, perfect teeth at all of the cast and orchestra.

Meg… I remember when you taught me, the son of a fiddler how to waltz... and I almost got shot when we were discovered together in the stables, laughing about how you thought I would have a chance of auditioning to be a part of the workshop, here at the opera…

"Gentlemen, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli our leading soprano for five seasons now." Leferve continued, gesturing to the ostentatiously dressed woman that was glaring daggers at the beautiful, delicate flower that was Meg. That "soprano" was no more than a groomed parrot that squacked, strutting across the stage. I had seen parrots before when my father had taken me to Persia to play. They were more beautiful and quiet than her. Even the untrained ones. Pity.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Carlotta's fat lover cried from somewhere backstage as he entered. He walked to the center stage and stood right in front of me, applauding for the diva standing downstage, right.

"…Signor Ubaldo Piangi." The former manager continued, undaunted by the outburst.

"An honour, Signor." Meg bat her eyelashes as she looked at the obese man. As he moved to the side, she kept her expression, our blue eyes meeting. "I believe I'm keeping you for your rehearsal." Meg laughed politely behind a white glove. "I will be here this evening to share your," she glanced my way again. It was hard to miss her blue gaze, being as brilliantly coloured as they were, "Great triumph." The blond turned, her blue eyes looking over her shoulder at the small maestro. "…My apologies, monsieur."

"Thank you, M. Giry, once more if you please, Signor?" Andre asked, trying to close up the conversation.

"D-did I see that look of recognition on your face, Erik?" Raoul whispered, a giggle on his breath.

"I knew her as a child, yes. She wouldn't recognize me." I lied, wanting the boy to stay away from Meg. I knew they would be a wonderful couple... but she was my childhood. My little Meg.

"She didn't see you." He retorted, poking me in the ribs. "You've gotten taller and as skinny as a corpse. It's a wonder you can do lifts with how thin you are."

"Shut it." I coughed, my voice becoming ominous in a warning as I saw Raoul's elder brother, Philippe give us a stern look as he walked towards the new managers. Even though there was a blood relation through Raoul being my friend... and personal friendship I had with the man, I didn't want him angry at us… he was a stern dance instructor. One of the few people I would name as a master of his craft.

The maestro chattered to the orchestra, letting all of us settle back to where we had begun. His hands raised, and the music started up a few bars before it had left off. I smoothly did a leap, landing me right where I was needed to lift my partner. Some say I had a freakish grace; in reality, I just knew how to connect one movement to the other, so that the motion flowed.

…I had perfected pickpocketing in this manner. I laughed inwardly, remembering my time as a homeless gypsy, right after Father had died.

For the next move, the girls went in front of the men, bound in chains to represent the slaves. I took the opportunity to read the new manager's lips. Curiosity drove me to learn this; anything dealing with the arts had plenty of gossip involved in it. Gossip meant information. Information was the key to getting an edge.

"We take a particular pride in the excellence of our ballets, monsieur." Philippe began, trying to make small talk with the two buisnessmen.

"I see why, especially that well-built fellow in the center upstage." Firmin replied, gesturing to Raoul.

"My brother." Was the curt reply. He was still obviously upset at his brother for gossiping in front of such important guests.

"And that exceptionally graceful man… no relation I trust." Andre joined in, politely adding his little complement. He looked my way; I pretended to be watching the maestro. I gained a sense that the two managers acted very much like a married couple... building off of the other. Complaining to the other. Bickering... they came into the room chattering with each other. Interesting...

"Erik Daae, promising talent M. Firmin, very promising."

I smiled at my teacher, seeing my own name grace his lips.

"D-Daae, you say? No relation to the famous Swedish violinist?" Firmin stuttered, gasping at my face. I quickly glanced away again, not wanting to be caught intruding on their conversation. My mind began to wander, thinking of music... thinking of my muse. My Angel of Music...

...I had a lesson with her tonight at one in the morning.


"His only child, orphaned at seven when he came to live and trained in the ballet dormitories." Philippe explained, a smile on his face. He was proud of the boy. What once had been a broken, effeminate soul turned into a man much like himself. They both were cynical, but refreshingly so. Many of the dancers here were into the more freer ways of thinking; the women were loose and the men were eager. Only Erik and himself abstained from it all, really. Raoul was not as wild, but still, he was just a boy.

"An orphan, you said?" Andre asked, leaning over his friend and business partner. He was clearly not up to the times; M. Daee had been dead for about fifteen years. However, the manager still held the look of genuine shock at hearing the news. And these are the people that now own the world's greatest theater. Wonderful... Philippe inwardly moaned.

"I think of him as a brother more than I do Raoul, sometimes. That little Changy is quite the social butterfly. Erik and I share a more traits than is common for even a father-son blood relationship."

Both men laughed, looking at the two friends onstage.