Second chapter, first act.

That's right.

Stuff is getting serious.

You can (and should) listen to the overture and the first act here: ww w. youtube .com /watch ?v=lW1_LJn6keY (without the spaces, naturellement).

Atto Primo

"Five … ten … twenty … thirty … thirty-six … forty-three!"

Silently they stared at the screen as the first plot lines of the opera were unwoven in song and surtitles – Figaro kneeling to measure the room, his fiancée trying on a lace bridal veil. No English subtitles were provided on the television in the performers' waiting room, but her Italian was good enough to make do without the translations the audience in the hall would be given.

"Yes, I'm very pleased with that; it seems just made for me. Take a look, dear Figaro, just look at this headdress of mine."

There was something frightening about the natural perfection of Euphie and Suzaku's act. If Nunnally didn't know the truth, she'd have thought them to actually be the couple they pretended to be: her annoyed by her fiancé's obliviousness, him annoyed by her interruption of his work, but deeply in love underneath those superficialities as finally Figaro duly admired her bridal veil and they gently embraced each other, singing in unison.

Nunnally looked up from the television in the corner to stealthily observe her brother's profile. He hadn't changed too much: still raven hair engulfed his face, though he would soon put it away under the wig he was turning in his hands, still his deep purple eyes looked piercing and omniscient, still his mine always seemed to look self-confident and amused.

She quickly looked back at the television when big brother seemed to notice her gaze.

"What are you measuring, my dearest Figaro?," Susannah asked over the sound of the harpsichord when the orchestra's music had faded. Figaro had already taken up the ruler again.

"I'm seeing if this bed which the Count has put aside for us will go well just here," he answered. Once more Nunnally looked at her brother – it was as if he had been completely unaffected by their separation, as if time hadn't passed for him. She wanted to say something, but no sound would come out.

"In this room?," Susannah asked with disbelief. Figaro laughed.

The plot unravelled as Susannah declined the room, appalled, to which her fiancé replied that it was the most convenient room in the Count's palace.

"Supposing Madame calls you at night: Ding ding … ding ding! in two steps you can be there from here. Or if it should happen that His Lordship should want me, dong dong … dong dong: in three bounds I'm there at his service."

"And supposing one morning the dear Count should ring: ding ding, ding ding, and send you miles away, dong dong, dong dong, and the devil should lead him to my door? Dong dong, in three bounds …"

And so Susannah revealed to her oblivious fiancé of the Count's advances and how he wanted to force her into his bed using an ancient feudal right – Nunnally found herself staring at the screen, her throat dry as dust, greedily taking in every note and every syllable. They looked so natural together – as if her sister and Suzaku had died and become mere hulls for their roles the moment they had entered the stage. She, Nunnally, had never been able to fully become one with her role like they did now – she was superb at acting, but it always remained an act and never life. She found herself unable to cross that crucial line – the line where the line between "life" and "role" blurs even for oneself. She could never hide the fact that she was alone, alone and despaired, and that her music had become a mere job, perhaps solace, instead of the pleasure it had been before.

onstage, the two lovers' scheming to outwit the Count was interrupted by a light ring. With one last embrace, Susannah hastened offstage to attend to her mistress, leaving a gloomy Figaro behind, feverishly pacing up and down the stage, rubbing his hands.

"Well done, my noble master!," he uttered recitativo. His voice was dripping with spite and sarcasm. "Now I begin to understand the secret ... and to see your whole scheme clearly: to London, isn't it, you go as minister, I as courier, and Susanna … confidential attachée ... It shall not be: Thus speaks Figaro!"

Then suddenly Figaro grinned. Slowly, he began to sing:

"If, my dear Count, you feel like dancing, it's I who'll call the tune. If you'll come to my school, I'll teach you how to caper! I'll know how … but wait, I can uncover his secret design more easily by dissembling." His grin widened as his aria fastened, triumphantly he took one of the wigged mannequins, speaking to it as if it were the Count himself. "Acting stealthily, acting openly, here stinging, there mocking, all your plots I'll overthrow!"

She gulped. She hadn't expected to be constantly reminded of … all that. Oh, quanto amore …, she remembered Gilda's words from Rigoletto, well, all right, but why not her too?

To a round of applause, Suzaku hastened offstage. Instead, Sayoko and Jeremiah entered from the side, Marcellina imploring the lawyer Dr Bartolo to help her in gaining Figaro's hand for her own by exploiting a contract they had once made.

Kaguya closed her magazine and rose from the couch. "I guess I'll get going," she cheerfully said, oblivious to the tensions between her fellow singers. "See you guys out there."

Nunnally silently nodded, not even turning her gaze from the screen. She liked the girl, she really did, but to speak would mean attracting big brother's attention and she just couldn't tell him, nor could she have a normal chat with him after all that had happened …

Anyway, Kaguya didn't seem insulted in the slightest as she cheerfully strode out the waiting room.

And now she and big brother were alone –

"Revenge, yes, revenge is a pleasure meant for the intelligent; to forget insults and outrages is always low and base. With astuteness and acuteness, with judgement and discernment, I can do it … The case is serious: but, believe me, I'll bring it off. If I have to search the whole legal code, if I have to read through the whole statute book, with a quibble or a paraphrase I'll find some obstacle. All Seville knows Dr Bartolo: that rascal Figaro will lose the day!"

In her mind, the thoughts were chasing each other like goldfish in a bowl. She couldn't just leave and sit by the stage because she would not have any part before the second act, but neither could she just stay sitting here and hope big brother didn't notice her [and what if …], and she couldn't just storm out because you just … didn't …

"Nunnally …," big brother suddenly said. Something about the way he said her name – woeful, warm in the icy atmosphere – made her shiver. Nunnally couldn't hide a blush, yet thankfully big brother wasn't even looking at her, but at the wig he was twisting in his hands. "I came back to London to see you," he quietly said. "You are angry with me … and I am sorry for whatever I did to disappoint you."

She gulped …

Finally Lelouch turned on his couch, intensely looking at her. Nunnally avoided his piercing gaze.

"I love you, Nunnally. I really do, no matter what you may think. I just want us to be like before again …" Big brother paused. She remained frozen like a marble statue. Then he sighed. "Look. I've got an offer from Bayreuth to sing Siegmund in this year's Die Walküre. And I'd like to take you with me – just for fun. I could get you tickets to the Ring, and then we'd just do holidays together, like we used to … we could go to Berlin, then Paris, perhaps … or visit Milan and Venice – you still like Verdi, don't you? It'll be …"

Nunnally had already stopped listening. Her eyes had teared up, she quickly rose. "E...excuse me, I've got something … something in my eye …" Before big brother could respond, she had already stormed out of the waiting room.

He didn't follow her.

Slowly Nunnally wandered towards the stage, the duettino of Susannah and Marcellina becoming louder with every step. The first tears ran down her cheeks, hot and wet.

She passed between two movable walls, a deep, narrow gorge. It was dark behind the stage, where the coulisses were being stored, so that Nunnally had to feel her way forward.

It hurt. After all that had happened, it still hurt to see all her greatest fears proven true. It was obvious now – big brother didn't care, nor love, nor feel.

He didn't even take her seriously.

Slowly she leaned against one of the movable walls to her sides; slowly she sank to the floor. Her shoulders were trembling, shaken by silent sobs. She had failed – all her plans, all her naïve dreams of reconciliation and of past love shattered like the figurative glasses destroyed by figurative sopranos.

Nunnally winced when she heard slow steps – most likely big brother on his way onstage … she held her breath, drew back a little further into the shadows.

Then the steps faded away.

And still the tears were running down her cheeks.

It was obvious that he had not meant a single word of what he had said about "going back to before" – he probably had simply been in need of a female companion for the Bayreuth festival and didn't want to disappoint any of his fans. Well, how convenient he still had a little sister somewhere …

And there were first doubts tormenting her mind – not about big brother, whom she had already unmasked, but about herself.

… no.

This couldn't go on.

She could not allow her heart to be eaten way by big brother like this, she just couldn't. She needed to move on and get over his betrayal. She would have a damnatio memoriae, just for herself and big brother, and forever ban him from her thoughts. She would go to Dame Ceciniah after the performance and tell her that it had not worked out and that she didn't want to sing with Lelouch Lamperouge again.

She would simply delete the man she had once fiercely loved from her life and get on with it.

It would be easy. She felt nothing for him. Of course not.

Perhaps, if she kept telling herself just that, this pain in her chest would go away.

Nunnally gulped and closed her eyes, then opened them again. It was still completely dark. She could hear Euphie and Kaguya's singing onstage.

She needed to get on with it. Just this one evening (perhaps a little more), then she would take the dreaded step and get on with her life. But now she couldn't fail Dame Ceciniah and the people out there, couldn't fail big sis, now she had to sing –

Nunnally opened her mouth. The first notes of the Countess's first aria were muffled by tears and broken by sobs, then it got better. "Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro al mio duolo, a' miei sospir…"

"I speak of love when I'm awake, I speak of it in my dreams, to the stream, the shade, the mountains, to the flowers, the grass, the fountains, to the echo, the air, the breezes, which carry away with them the sound of my fond words ... And if I've none to hear me I speak of love to myself."

Shivering and wide-eyed, Kaguya's voice silenced and the pageboy Cherubino's aria ended. Within seconds Susannah had drawn the boy into a deep hug, more motherly than anything else (which the page apparently misunderstood, judging by the hand she had to slap away). There was a round of applause from the audience and some 'brava's.

Then, suddenly, steps.

"Ah, I'm lost!," Cherubino yelled, hiding behind the easy-chair. Susannah looked up; "Heavens … it's the Count!"

Quickly she stood between Cherubino and the door at the back of the stage. "Woe is me," she added, frightened, then the Count strode in.

Euphemia had to admit that she was a little amused: instead of the wig Lelouch had agreed to wear after a long struggle, he had merely tied back his raven hair with a black ribbon. So at least this had not changed about her brother … Susannah hid her smirk behind a mask of fear and puzzlement.

"Susannah … you seem to be agitated and confused," the Count greeted upon entering.

"My lord ... pray excuse me," she frantically stuttered, "but ... suppose someone caught us ... I beg you to leave."

Slowly the Count approached her and sat in the armchair.

"One moment and I'll leave you. Listen." He took her hand, which she withdrew with some effort.

"I mustn't listen," she insisted, to no avail.

"Just two words. You know that the king has appointed me ambassador in London; I planned to take Figaro with me …"

Quickly, she interrupted him. "My lord, if you'd allow me …"

The Count rose from the chair and once more attempted to take her hand. She shrieked back. "Speak, speak, my dear, and with that right, which today you may assume of me as long as you live … ask, require, demand!"

Susannah fled to the front of the stage, he slowly followed her. "Let me go, my lord, I claim no right … nor wish, nor intend to …"

She sighed, looking away. This was tricky … "I'm so unhappy …"

Although she didn't look at him, she could almost hear the lascivious smirk on his face. "But no, Susannah, I want to make you happy! You well know how much I love you, Basilio has already told you; now listen: if you'll give me a few minutes, in the garden at dusk … ah, for that favour I'd pay …"

The Count Almaviva was interrupted by a muffled voice offstage. Frightened, both of them turned to the door. "Who spoke?," the Count warily asked her.

"Oh heavens …"

Then he regained his composure. "Go out, and see no one comes in," he commanded.

"I'm to leave you here alone?," she hissed, outraged. Another murmur from the hallway. The Count hastened to the armchair. "I'll get behind there."

Susannah quickly stood in his way. "D...don't!"

"Hush! And get rid of him."

The Count stepped forth to hide himself behind the armchair, Susannah stood in his way. Gently he pushed her aside, but it was enough time for Cherubino to steal in front of the chair and hurl up inside it. As the Count knelt behind it, Susannah covered up the page with the cloth on the armrest.

Not a moment later the door opened and Basilio – played by Clovis D'Arke – entered, vested in a Catholic priest's soutane.

Euphemia remembered Clovis from her time at the Royal Opera, and the fact that she thought him an arrogant jerk certainly helped her act.

"Susannah, may Heaven be with you," Basilio greeted. "Have you by any chance seen the Count?"

Susannah winced and quickly marched towards the priest, pointing at the door. "What should the Count be doing here with me? Please leave."

"Just a moment, listen: Figaro's looking for him."

Wide-eyed, Susannah turned away. "Oh heavens!," she exclaimed towards the audience, still recitativo. It felt rather strange to speak so much, as always – or rather, to neither speak nor sing. She preferred singing through-composed operas, but there was something enthralling about The Marriage of Figaro …

Then she turned back to Basilio. "He's looking for the one who, after you, hates him the most?"

To the side, the Count quietly interjected "We'll see how I am served …"

Basilio chuckled and shook his head. Susannah didn't bother hide her disgust, though Euphemia did. "I've never heard the proposition that he who loves the wife must hate the husband. To tell you how the Count loves you …"

Susannah hushed him away, shoving him back through the door. "Begone, base agent for another's lust!," she yelled. "I don't need your propositions, your Count or his love …" Fuming, she turned back to the stage's front, the door opened and the priest came back onstage.

"There's no harm done: everyone to his own taste: I'd have thought that for a lover you'd prefer, like any other woman, a generous, prudent, and discreet nobleman to a youngster, a page-boy …," he mischievously noted.

"To Cherubino?," Susannah amusedly inquired.

"To Cherubino, that amorous cherub …" He got even closer to her. Involuntarily, Susannah retreated. "Who at daybreak this morning was prowling about here, trying to get in …"

"Liar!," she furiously exclaimed, flushing red.

Basilio smirked. "To you, everyone who keeps his eyes open is a liar. And that little song he gave you? Tell me in confidence; I'm a friend and won't let it go any further: was it for you … or for Madame?"

Bewildered, Susannah startled a little. "Who on Earth told him about that …?," she wondered aside.

"By the way, my daughter," the priest continued, slowly wandering towards the armchair, "it would be wise to warn him. At table he gazes at her so often and with such avidity that, if the Count noticed … you know, on that point he's ferocious."

"You wretch!," she furiously exclaimed, marching up to him. "Why do you spread such lies!"

Basilio feigned indignation. "I! You wrong me!," he called out. Directly behind him, Susannah saw the Count slowly rising from behind his hiding-place … "I only say what everyone's saying!"

"Really?," the Count snarled. Susannah turned away, covering her eyes with her palm, Basilio grimaced. "And what is everyone saying?"

"Oh dear …" – "Oh Heaven!"

With five trembling chords, the orchestra finally replaced the meek sounds of the harpsichord, and was soon supplemented by her brother's divine baritone, now arioso, deep and with barely contained fury.

"What do I hear? Go at once and throw the seducer out, throw the seducer out!"

Quickly Basilio turned towards the Count, raising his hand appeasingly. "My presence is ill-timed here, pray excuse me, my lord …"

Susannah was close to fainting as she meekly commented offside. "Unhappy me, I'm ruined!"

"Go at once and throw the seducer out!"

"My presence is ill-timed here, pray excuse me, my lord …"

"Throw the seducer out!"

"I'm overcome with misery …"

While still singing, she was staggering. Within seconds, Basilio and the Count were by her side to support her (she knew Basilio was supposed to be groping her breasts, that didn't change anything about it being sickening).

"Ah, the poor child has fainted! Lord, how her heart is beating!," they both sang and Basilio added: "Gently, gently, on to this seat …," pointing at the armchair. Carefully the Count drew her to the chair, but Cherubino was still hurled up in it, hidden under a dress …

"Where am I …? What's going on …?," she meekly sang, then suddenly she revived and repulsed both men just before the Count could place her in the chair. "How dare you! Go away!" Retreating from them, she quickly adjusted her dress.

"We're only helping you. Don't be alarmed, my dear …," the Count tried to calm her, and Basilio joined in: "We're only helping you. Your honour is quite safe."

Then he turned towards the Count, trying to appease him once more. Even he was apparently trying hard to retain his calm, as evident in his ostinato. "What I said about the page was only my suspicion …"

"It's a wicked lie, don't listen to him!," Susannah quickly added.

The Count remained firm. "That young fop must go!" (Euphemia was beginning to believe that her brother was just perfect for this role.)

"Poor boy …," both she and Basilio appealed.

"Poor boy!," the Count only snorted. "I've found him at it again."

"How so … what?"

He grimly smirked. "Yesterday, I found your cousin's door locked; I knocked, and Barbarina opened it, more flustered than usual. My suspicions aroused by her appearance, I looked and searched in every corner …"

Slowly, he went over to the chair, lifted up the dress. Susannah held her breath … Basilio took the other end and together they carried it across the stage, more for comic effect than anything else.

"Very, very softly, I lifted up the tablecloth … and found the page." In one fluid motion, the Count threw the dress to the ground, revealing a trembling Cherubino who had tried to stay hidden by crawling behind it to the audience. Slight laughter.

Only then the Count saw the page. "Ah, what do I see!"

Susannah turned her face in fear. "Oh, cruel Heavens …"

Basilio, however, was snorting with laughter. "It's getting better and better …"

The Count turned to Susannah. "Oh, most honourable lady!," he spat, brother's deep violet eyes gleaming furiously. "Now I see what's going on!"

She did her best to ignore him. "Nothing worse could come about! Heavens above, what more's to happen!"

"That's what all beautiful women do!," Basilio commented aside with great pleasure, looking down on frozen Cherubino on the floor.

"Basilio, go off and fetch Figaro. I want him to see …," the Count ordered, switching to recitative.

"And I want him to hear!," Susannah quickly added. She was certain her love, if no one else, would believe her.

"Wait!," the Count called to Basilio, then turned back to her. "What's your excuse when your guilt is obvious?"

"Innocence has no need for excuses."

"But when did he come in?"

She sighed and closed her eyes as she answered. "He was with me when you came in. He was asking me to beg Madame to speak for him. Your arrival threw us into confusal, and so he hid himself there."

"But I sat down there myself!," the Count protested, pointing to the armchair. "When I came into the room!"

"Th...then I hid myself behind it," Cherubino hurriedly explained, demonstrating his actions by jumping behind the armchair.

"And when I moved behind it?"

"Then I hid inside."

Shocked, the Count turned to Susannah. "Heavens! Then he heard all I said to you?"

Cherubino was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I tried not to …"

More laughter from the audience, slightly delayed by the reading of the English surtitles above the stage.

"Perfidious rascal!," the Count furiously yelled, taking a step towards Cherubino, who jumped off the armchair and tried to hide behind Susannah.

"Restrain yourself, someone's coming!," Basilio snapped.

"Stay here, you little viper!"

Suddenly, the three doors on the sides of the stage were opened.

After a moment's pause when everything from the performers over the orchestra in the pit to the audience seemed to freeze, the chorus entered, several dozen young men and women, peasants in their churchgoing outfits. All of them were expectantly looking at the Count, who involuntarily retreated a few steps; many were holding flower baskets.

They were led by Figaro, who held a white lace bridal veil in his hands.

"Happy young people, scatter flowers before our noble lord!," sang the chorus, approaching the Count. Figaro quickly stepped to Susannah as the Count retreated to the edge of the stage from the flower-wielding tenants. "His generosity keeps a young flower intact for her love! Strew flowers before our noble lord, our lord!"

Slowly the Count sat in the armchair, maintaining a forced smile as the villagers knelt before him and reached out their bouquets.

Alarmed, he quietly turned to Basilio behind him. "What's this fuss all about?" The priest merely shrugged.

"Here we go, back me up, my dear!," Figaro whispered to his fiancée aside. "I'm not hopeful," she replied, annoyed. The barber turned back to the Count.

"My lord, do not disdain this humble display of our affection. Now that you've abolished the dreaded feudal right …"

"It exists no more, what of it!," the Count quickly interrupted.

Figaro took Susannah's hand and gently drew her forward. "Today we've come to gather the first fruit of your generosity," he solemnly proclaimed, both he and Susannah kneeling before the Count as the villagers looked on. Slowly he offered him the veil in his hands. "Our wedding is already arranged. May it please you to crown her, whom this gift of yours preserved spotless, with this white veil, symbol of virtue."

Susannah had to suppress a giggle as the Count's eyes widened in shock and understanding. He had planned to reinstate his feudal right – Droit du Seigneur – with her, but how could he do that after being forced to affirm his abandonment in front of so many of his tenants?

He uttered a slight curse, brother's eyes glistering angrily; "Devilish sly!" Then his mien brightened and with a grand gesture he rose. "My friends," he loudly spoke, "I thank you for your honest feelings. But for this I do not deserve any tribute or praise: it was an unjust privilege, and by abolishing it in my domain, I have restored to nature and duty their right."

"Vivat, vivat, vivat!"

"What nobility!," she applauded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What justice!"

The Count turned to Susannah and her fiancé again. "To you I promise to perform the ceremony … but give me leave for a while. I wish to complete your happiness before all our friends and in the greatest splendour!"

There was a bit of an excitement amongst the villagers and the Count quickly turned to Basilio: "Fetch me Marcellina!" Then he raised his voice again. "Now leave, my friends!"

Bowing and strewing flowers before him, the peasants repeated their chorus and stepped offstage.

Susannah felt her face flush red in anger. Once more the Count had found his way around giving a clear answer and once more – rather, still – she had to fear to be forced into his bed.

"Vivat!," she sarcastically snorted as the Count was still looking after his vassals.

"Vivat!," added Figaro and Basilio. Then, Figaro noticed Cherubino, who was silently standing aside, twisting his tricorne in his hands. "And you're not applauding?"

Uneasily he opened his mouth to respond and closed it again. "The Count has sent him away," Susannah quickly explained.

"On this happiest of days!," Figaro begged.

"On our wedding day!"

"When everyone's applauding you!"

The Count remained silent. Cherubino hastened up to him and knelt, grasping his master's hand. "Pardon me, my lord!," he begged, near tears.

"You don't deserve it," Count Almaviva coldly replied, making Susannah shiver. "He's still a child!," she objected, outraged.

"Less so than you think!"

"I … I did wrong," the pageboy continued, "I know, but I'll never mention …"

Strangely, the Count winced. Then he took the page's hand and roughly rose him to his feet. "Alright, alright, I pardon you!," he hastily said. Then a smirk slid onto his face, her brother's deep purple eyes glistering cold as stars on a winter night's sky. "Even better: there's a vacancy for an officer in my regiment. I nominate you, go at once, goodbye!"

As Cherubino's eyes widened in fear and shock, he turned to leave, signifying Basilio to follow. Quickly, Susannah and Figaro stood in his way. "Just let him stay until tomorrow!," they begged in unison.

"No! He must leave at once!"

"I … I will obey you …," Cherubino quietly said, his shock still evident in his broken soprano.

"Then embrace Susannah for the last time." As Cherubino hastily rose to do so, the Count sniggered. "That took them by surprise," he applauded himself.

With forced cheerfulness, Figaro put his hand around Cherubino's shoulders when they had parted. "Well, captain, won't you give me your hand?" When it seemed like the Count didn't look, he quietly added: "Before you go, I want a word with you."

She could virtually see Cherubino shivering.

"Goodbye, master Cherubino! Within seconds your destiny has changed …"

Slowly, with calm, untroubled steps, the Count left the stage, followed by Basilio.

Euphemia found herself looking after her brother: his act had been superb, of course, as she had expected of him, but it seemed like it had come to him far too easily. The role probably was perfect for Lelouch; it wouldn't have been before she had left for New York.

With a low chord the strings set in, replacing the rough cadences of the harpsichord, and Figaro started singing, perhaps with a very slight bit of mocking.

"Amorous butterfly, no more will you be fluttering around at, disturbing the ladies night and day, you pocket Narcissus, you Adonis of love. No more fine plumes or dashing hats, no more long hair, airs and graces, rosy cheeks."

(She couldn't help but think that Kaguya as Cherubino looked like a kicked puppy.)

Suddenly, the brasses and timbals set in, and it became clear: that this was not some meagre aria of love or hate or similarly exalted feelings, but a march.

"You'll be swearing like a trooper, complete with moustache and knapsack!," Figaro strongly sang, picking up the ruler he had used before, pointing it at the page-turned-soldier like a sabre or an officer's baton. "Musket on your shoulder, sabre at your side, stand straight! Lots of honour, little money …" Slowly, he pressed the ruler into Cherubino's hands. They closed around it without a second of hesitation."And instead of dancing the fandango, marching through the mud! Over mountains, through valleys, in snow and days of listless heat, to the sound of guns and cannons, making your ears sing on every key. No more fine plumes or dashing hats, no more long hair, airs and graces, rosy cheeks. Amorous butterfly, no more will you be fluttering around at, disturbing the ladies night and day, you pocket Narcissus, you Adonis of love – Cherubino, on to victory, on to glory in battle! Cherubino, on to victory, on to glory in battle! On to military glory! On to military glory!"

Slowly, he reached out his hand, and almost immediately the page firmly took it, to the sound of a march.

Quickly, curtain fell and the music was drowned in thundering applause.

Suzaku let go of Kaguya's hand and brushed the sweat from his brow. Euphemia smiled at him; he smiled back. "You were great. I really enjoyed it." He blushed, then she realised and blushed as well. "That … came out wrong."

Kaguya giggled. "Let's get out of the way, guys. Stage is being reset."

Surprised, Suzaku pointed to the scarlet velvet curtain. "No curtain calls? They sound like they'd like one …"

Euphemia smiled patiently. "It's Dame Ceciniah. She absolutely loathes applause between acts and, seeing that she can't forbid it, she does not allow anything that might encourage the audience, including curtain calls. Come, let's get out of the way."

They quickly left the stage and went for the folding chairs, the towels and water bottles, when they noticed Lelouch approaching them from the performers' waiting room. There was a worried frown on his face. Euphemia put away the bottle of water she had just opened. "What's wrong?"

"Has any of you seen Nunnally?," he asked.

Euphemia's eyes widened. "Weren't you two … what did you say to her?"

"Nothing!," Lelouch indignantly responded as Suzaku confusedly looked from her to him and back. "I just … oh, never mind. She'll be onstage for the second act, I'll just talk to her during the interval."

She shook her head. "I'll look after her. She's not in the waiting room?"

"No. This is between her and me, you shouldn't bother her now …"

"Nunna's my sister, too!," she snapped back. "I don't know what you said to her, and I don't think I want to know, but she will need me now. Excuse me, Suzaku."

Lelouch opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again as his sister stormed off to the dark backstage. The two men silently looked after her.

"What … what was that all about?," Suzaku finally asked. The star slowly sat in the folding chair next to him, took his towel and brushed the sweat from his brow.

"You got a lot of applause," Lelouch obscurely replied, his voice dull. "Two minutes and 36 seconds; I counted."

"Um, thanks," Suzaku made. "Well, the audience is larger than the ones in Sydney …"

Lelouch frowned, sullen and indignant. "That is beside the point. Of course it is louder. The point is that it was two minutes and 36 seconds, and that without a curtain call. They were all yours. You had them – you, the nameless newcomer."

There was a long and uneasy silence. The hurried noises from the stagehands had quietened, everything was prepared for the next act.

Suzaku gulped. Just when he had thought the star had opened up to him … "I had an aria. It's only natural … I guess … you don't have any larger parts till the second act, and it's the arias that get the applause …"

"No." He shook his head, slowly, three or four times. "No. I know an audience when I see one, and this one is all yours and Euphie's." He rose from his chair. "I should have chosen a different opera … stay here. I'll search for Nunna. You should get started, it won't take too long."

Quickly he marched off into the darkness. Suzaku wanted to apologise, but he didn't know for what. Then, Lelouch turned and looked at him.

"Enjoy the next acts, signor Figaro," he quietly said.

Please review. It always freaks me out when I get an e-mail from that someone reviewed me, only to find out it's for ancient stuff.