September 26, 1881

"Get up, you idiot!"

"Let me sleep, it's early!" Amélie moaned loudly.

"Absolutely not. Your stitches are almost done dissolving, it's time for us to begin."

"Oh, joy. Did you at least find the chemicals I requested?"

"Yes, I did." He held up a bottle. "Remind me why you wanted these?"

"My hair. I get it coloured, and without access to my colourist, my blonde roots are going to come back. Trust me, we don't want that." Amélie poured the mixture into the basin he'd given her for washing and turned around to stick her hair in. "Come back in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen—"

"You can't disturb me, okay? Otherwise, my hair will be a mess and you will not want that."

"Women!" Erik huffed.

"You're not funny, Erik. Now, will you go away? This is what's called 'girl time.' It's when I have some time to myself without you nagging me, or annoying me in any way."

"Bah," he scoffed, stalking off sulkily.

"Big baby," Amélie muttered, closing her eyes as she leaned back a little further. Thank God for secondary school chemistry. "Two full days of him… ugh!" Erik had 'not pushed her' over the past two days, which translated as 'stripping her naked, measuring said naked body, and commenting rudely about her figure flaws.' Amélie had been tempted to snatch off his mask and make a snarky comment of her own, but she'd decided against it. She'd valued her life.

XxXxXxX

"Are you done yet?" Erik groaned.

"FUCK YOU," Amélie hollered in English. She probably thought she was being clever.

"How eloquent. And you call yourself a writer?"

"I'm a journalist, not a novelist. Excuse me for not overly romanticizing every sentence that comes out of my mouth," retorted Amélie, striding out of her small grotto and drying off her hair with a towel. When she pulled it away, it fell to her waist in gently curling strands of wheat gold.

"You… You look lovely," Erik said quietly. It was true. With her hair reverted to its natural colour, she looked the very picture of innocence and sweetness.

"Spare me," she said briskly. "Now, are you going to start teaching me about singing, or not?"

"First thing we have to do is get you used to dressing properly while you sing. Here," he handed her the package sitting on the organ. "I picked this up in the black market. It's roughly your size."

"Thanks…" Amélie unwrapped it and examined the shimmering green dress. "It's pretty. A little outdated, if I remember the styles properly."

"It'll be enough for while you and I are alone. Now go put it on, then come back out here. And do not take too long."

"Hmph. Please, I am not one of those girls who takes fifteen years to get dressed," she huffed in annoyance, flouncing back into the grotto. "Wait, is that a corset? Oh, shit, no… I cannot do this…"

"Amélie, do you need help?" he asked warily.

"Pervert!"

"Trust me, I do not think of you that way, nor will I ever."

"Thank God for that… And yes, if that's the case, come help me lace this thing up." Erik grimaced as he stepped in. She'd had the foresight to put on the underskirt and chemise before he entered, thank God for that… He grabbed the laces and pulled, making her gasp. "Not so tight!" she shrieked.

"You're too chubby as it currently stands, Amélie."

"Whatever. Carlotta's fatter than I am. I saw photographs of her in the old newspapers."

"Yes, but she's a fat old toad," he objected, pulling at the laces again. She shrieked again. "Sorry. That may have been a bit much."

"YOU THINK?"

"Keep your voice down," he ordered. The glare she gave him was cold enough that he added a "please" through gritted teeth. "There. I assume you can do the rest on your own?"

"I can. So get out," she mimicked his tone to perfection, and he had to admit, it did sound annoyingly condescending.

"Very well. I yield on that point."

"Glad to hear it, O, Pigheaded one."

"Pigheaded one?"

"I don't hear you denying it," Amélie trilled smugly.

"Hmph. I want to hear you singing opera, not taunts. Understand?"

"Fine." Amélie stepped back into his vision. "Where do we start?"

"With scales. Like so." He played out a scale. "Sing it back to me. I trust you know solfage?"

"Do re mi fa sol la ti do?" Amélie sang.

"That's right. You're going flat because you have a heavy vibrato. We're going to have to control that."

"Oh, for cripes' sake, it's not like I have to be absolutely perfect."

"Actually, you do. The chorus, as it stands, is abysmal. Try it again. I'm giving you the starting note only." He pressed his finger on middle C.

"Do re mi fa sol la ti do," Amélie sang.

"And now you're going sharp. You can't focus on only one thing. You have to pay attention to notes and vibrato. Hitting a pitch is one thing, maintaining it is another. Understand?"

"I think so."

October 1, 1881

Clutching her sheaf of music to her chest, Amélie made her way through the Opera foyer. "Excuse me? Monsieur Firmin? Monsieur Andre? Is anyone here?"

"Who is it?" A portly, balding man came out of one of the doors.

"My name's Amélie Cammelle, sir. I've come to audition for the company."

"I didn't realize we were holding auditions," he muttered. "But we are short on cast members ever since that chandelier incident…."

"Chandelier incident?" Amélie repeated, feigning innocence. Of course she knew what he was talking about, but she couldn't let him know that…

"Er… never mind… Monsieur Reyer's office is down the hall, and the first door on the left. Go on now."

"Thank you, sir," Amélie gave a little nod as she headed down the corridor. "Monsieur Reyer?"

"In here, Mademoiselle." Reyer opened his door. "May I help you?"

"I want to audition for the company, monsieur." She pulled out the letter Erik had forged. "I have my references here, from London's Royal Opera House."

"Your voice part?" he asked briskly, taking the letter.

"Soprano. My voice can hit a D six comfortably." Erik's terms, not hers. Had it been up to her, she'd have been singing mezzo.

"Let's hear you, then. Your music."

Amélie handed over her folder. "It's Schubert's Ellens Gesang 3, Op. 52/6… the Ave Maria."

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Cammelle." Amélie closed her eyes, and started singing.

Ave Maria, Gratia plena

Maria Gratia plena

Maria Gratia plena

Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum

Her vibrato…. She needed to control it… she clenched her diaphragm and started the next verse.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Et benedictus fructus ventris

Ventris tui Jesus

Ave Maria

Ave Maria Mater dei

Ora pro nobis pecatoribus

Ora, ora pro nobis

Ora ora pro nobis pecatoribus

Nunc et in hora mortis

In hora mortis, mortis nostrae

In hora mortis nostrae

Ave Maria!

"Interesting. You have very good technique…. Reminds me of…" Reyer shook his head. "Never mind. Just go to the practice room at the end of the hall."

"Er… alright…." Amélie gathered the last of her belongings and started out. She had a feeling she knew who she was reminding Reyer of: Christine. And she hadn't even met the girl yet. She opened the door to the last room. Several girls in white tulle dresses, ballerinas, most likely, were stretching over at the barre on the far side of the room. A plump redheaded woman was arguing heatedly in Italian with an even fatter, swarthy man. Carlotta and Piangi, she guessed. And in the corner… easily the prettiest girl she'd ever seen. It had to be Christine. Her porcelain skin, pale blue eyes and flowing brown curls… it was almost ridiculous how perfect she looked. The only flaw Amélie could find was that her nose was a little bit wider and flatter than the traditional standard of beauty, but it only made Christine seem more attractive. She had an air of innocence and purity that was undeniably alluring. The petite blonde talking cheerfully at Christine looked over and smiled. "Look! A new face!"

"Oh, Meg, don't get overly excited. You'll scare her away," Christine said impassively.

"It's quite alright. I like getting a friendly welcome," Amélie replied, pasting a chipper smile on her face. "My name's Amélie Cammelle. I just came here from London."

"London, England?" Meg asked eagerly.

"Unless you know another London." Both girls giggled at that, and Christine rose, extending a hand.

"It's lovely to meet you, Amélie. I'm Christine Daaé, and this is Meg Giry."

"Hello…" Amélie shook both their hands, feeling her smile become more gracious. These girls might not have been her squabbling college roommates, but it was nice to be making friends. Yes, the pretenses were technically false ones, but she didn't care about that. She just needed someone besides Erik to talk to.

"So, Amélie, what's London like?" Meg asked eagerly.

"Crowded. Smoggy. Wonderful. I miss it dreadfully."

"What are you doing in Paris if you miss London so much?" Christine murmured, fingering the chain that went down into the collar of her dress.

"I don't really have much choice. I'm here until September."

"Why?"

"I… er… I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"Oh, yes. I know how that feels… Excuse me…" Christine rose, and stumbled out of the room.

"Christine, wait!" Meg called, running after her. "I'm sorry, Amélie. She's been acting very strange ever since…. Er… since June."

"What happened in June?"

"We're not supposed to talk about it, but the chandelier in the theater exploded, right after a performance of Il Muto. It would have killed Christine, if Raoul hadn't been there."

"Raoul?"

"Oh, the Vicomte de Chagny. He's the Opera's patron, and an old friend of Christine's. Most people actually think they're lovers."

"But there isn't any proof?"

"Not that I've seen, and I'd think my best friend would tell me if she were seeing someone. Are you seeing anyone, Amélie?"

"No!" she blurted, then regretted it. She should have just claimed she had one back in England. Meg looked like the matchmaking kind… "Well, actually, there is this one man back in London…."

"Oooh, who?"

"I can't say. I promised him we'd keep it a secret."

"No one tells me anything," Meg sulked, flouncing off to join the other dancers. Amélie seized the opportunity to sneak out of the room and make her way into the hall.

"I've missed you," a man's voice whispered around the corner.

"Raoul, it's been all of one day since we last saw each other," Christine replied tenderly. Amélie heard the all-too-familiar sound of lips locking. Joy.

"Was it? It felt like eternity." She knew that voice… it can't be…

"James?" she squeaked.

"Did you hear something just now?" Raoul asked, his voice becoming sharp and defensive.

"Raoul, it's probably nothing… Please, don't worry about it…"

"Just one moment, Christine—"

"It's not him, I'd know if it was! Don't you believe me?" There was a long pause before Raoul sighed.

"Alright, Christine. I trust you. I always have."

"Thank you." Ugh, more kissing. Amélie tried not to gag as she made her way back to the practice room. She sat down in the corner and started whistling Für Elise, the one tune that always calmed her down. Carlotta glared at her, and Amélie smiled sweetly before biting her thumb at her. Both Italians stormed off, jabbering furiously. Meg and the other dancers clapped quietly, and Amélie winked at them appreciatively. After a while, Christine came back in, her hair mussed and her dress slightly rumpled.

"Where did you go?" Amélie asked innocently. "I got bored and had to start annoying Carlotta."

Christine giggled. "Did you succeed?"

"She and Signor Piangi left, so I think so."

"Well done. She's positively hateful."

"I can tell. I have a way of knowing about people."

"Well, now that she's gone, can we hear you sing, Amélie?"

"What?"

"Oh, yes, Amélie, we want to hear you sing!" chirped Meg.

"No, I couldn't…."

"Of course you can! Let me see your repertoire!" Christine snatched up the folder Amélie had left on the piano. "Oh! Vedrai carino, I love this one! Sing it! Please?"

"Oh, fine! If only to get you all to stop pestering me!" The girls laughed as Christine started playing. Amélie clenched her jaw for a moment, then sang.

Vedrai, carino,

se sei buonino,

Che bel rimedio

ti voglio dar!

È naturale,

non dà disgusto,

E lo speziale

non lo sa far.

È un certo balsamo

Ch'io porto addosso,

Dare tel posso,

Se il vuoi provar.

Saper vorresti

dove mi sta?

Sentilo battere,

toccami qua!

As she stopped, she realized Christine was staring at her. "Is everything alright?"

"That technique… Who teaches you?" Christine asked dumbly.

"Er…" Amélie stalled for time. "He doesn't teach me anymore."

"What was his name?" Christine demanded, becoming more insistent.

"He was my brother… Bastien. He's gone. He has been for a long time."

"Oh…" Christine relaxed a little. "I'm sorry… I didn't…."

"Let's not speak about it again."

XxXxXxX

"I said nine o' clock. It's ten, now, you're late."

"Erik, I was with Christine and Meg. They were helping me get settled in!"

"Bah. I do not accept excuses."

"Oh, look at the big bad wolf, huffing and puffing," Amélie teased, pulling the pins out of her hair and letting it tumble down her back.

"Amélie, stop being rude. You are giving me a headache."

"Blaaaaaaargh," Amélie made a face, making her eyes bug out, and sticking out her tongue.

"Charming," Erik muttered.

"Only around you."

"Aren't I lucky…." he grumbled.


Oh, wow, it's a snarky brother-sister relationship. In any other story, they'd be falling in love, but not here. Not here. Points if you can catch the meme I referenced, in the form of your choice pairing for Where Epic Musical Characters Meet.