Loup Égaré

Authoress' Note: Aaaand the plot actually begins! I do include some of the dialogue, but in other parts I tend to skip it over unless it has some meaning, or I'm just rather fond of those lines.

Rating: M (Warnings in first chapter)

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

Regret had never been much of a useful thing to Kit.

Other people said regret was useful, regret made you remember, made you more cautious of future choices and helped you avoid the same circumstances if you took heed. The redhead found, though, that involved regret and simple and detatched acknowledgement were quite different where memories were involved.

Regret did not make things better. It did not change the past, or automatically make you a better person, or soothe wounds—be they physical or mental.

Regret was a waste of energy and time.

Regret led to wishes. Wishes were worthless to the Masagobi. Wishes such as 'I wish I hadn't said yes', 'I wish I had not gone there', 'I wish I had done something more', 'I wish I could forget'—All dangerous, painful, double-edged thoughts.

Regret brought wishing, and then for Kit, wishing led to even more pain and memories.

The only thing you could do is make the best decision you could at the given time and deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. The Masagobi often pushed away regrets, before they would swallow her whole and leave barely a husk behind, and had come to strive to never regret, as her choices were in her hands—if not her path by her decisions, but her reactions to circumstances.

However, try as she might...

Kit was beginning to regret her latest decision.

Joining the chorus had seemed a good choice at the time, but she was starting to think perhaps she would have a more enjoyable time in the phantom's lair below, where she did not have to deal with catty chatter of the ballet rats, and hear Carlotta's ridiculous squawking, and deal with the rowdy stagehands and the shudder-inducing stare of the drunkard Buquet.

Carlotta had taken a clear dislike to the younger redhead and sought to embarrass her at every turn, to give her a verbal lashing with every moment available. Her entourage went along with it, and the ballet rats, out of what she knew would be their desire to either get in Carlotta's good graces or at least stay out of the range of her sharp tongue and ire, had followed suit or ignored her.

This past week and a half alone she had food 'accidentally' dumped on her twice, the laughter of Carlotta a grating and tittering affair behind her fan as the prima donna looked on in glee, she had narrowly scraped by with avoiding Buquet entirely, and had had her poor feet stepped upon and nearly tripped by someone purposefully stomping on the back of her skirt as she tried to step off of the stage.

She bore it all in silence, and did not mention any of it to Erik, dismissing the stains of food and dirt on her clothes that she carefully cleaned off as mere accidents that could happen to anyone in a crowded mess hall when he asked. She blinked back her tears and faced the none-too secretive gossip with as good a grace as she could muster, and dealt with the growing loneliness as best she could.

They all shunned her when they weren't ridiculing her, and it made her feel like she was back in high school, only worse, as the only one she considered a 'friend' was Erik, who she only got to see and talk to in the morning and at dinner after he had returned from teaching Christine.

Ah, Christine. She now knew how the Angel of Music's protege looked, blue eyes and lovely blonde hair that fell in curls down her back. She was pale, and young, and so very beautiful.

So far, Kit noted, she had not let the true power and sound of her voice show. Christine sang, certainly, as she was part of the dancing part of the chorus, but so far what snippets of singing the redhead had caught had been lovely, but not quite amazing. Her voice blended well, and she carried a tune—important assets to a chorus member.

The blonde stayed close to her friend, Meg Giry, and Madame Giry, who clearly loved Christine as her own. Kit found herself avoiding the Giry women, however, as she saw the sharp eyes on the elder of the two and would rather she not work out that Kit knew of and lived with the feared Phantom so many of the ballet rats chattered on about fearfully and excitedly whenever anything would occur.

Kit was walking backstage after quickly downing a quick lunch, not wanting to stay in the mess hall to invite more chance for Carlotta or anyone else to antagonize her further. Her hair was beginning to loosen the ribbon she was still trying to get used to tying in her hair, her last elastic long having snapped and been tossed out with the garbage, so she reached up and slid it from her hair. Taking a seat upon a set piece she combed her hair back with her fingers, and once it was sufficiently tied back she stood and decided on going to go get some fresh air at the opera's entrance.

She hadn't gotten more than five steps when she and a man accidentally and quite literally ran into each other.

Kit stumbled back, hand coming up to brush the hair out of her face that had shifted with the sudden stop, straightening as she'd fallen back into a set piece and had caught herself. "Oh, I am so, so sorry, Monsieur—!" Kit fell silent as she was faced with an older man, with eyes the colour of jade, darker skin and an astrakhan cap upon his head.

'Fuck. Daroga.' She felt alarm bells go off in her head.

Oh this could be bad. Very bad.

She had to try not to get noticed by the Persian, she felt it in her gut. She had had no inkling he even existed in this strange reality she found herself in, though she had been excluded from most of the chatter of the other members of the opera company that hadn't involved barbs about her messy hair, or her clumsiness, or what she must have done to not be kicked out of the chorus for her abrupt absence. She may have missed the gossip about this particularly strange fixture of the Opera Populaire.

"I apologize, mademoiselle," The Persian inclined his head, seeming quite genuinely apologetic.

"Ah—It's okay. I wasn't looking where I was going." Kit tried to keep her voice level. "I must be going. I apologize, again," The redhead then made her escape, taking care to even her steps as much as possible as to not raise suspicion from the jade-eyed man.

He was looking for Erik and she knew from the Leroux novel that he was extremely perceptive. He had to be to have played such a huge role in the phantom's life. She was also aware that he crept around and looked for entrances to Erik's home, and was smart enough to get around some, not all, of the traps.

If he figured out that she was even an acquaintance of Erik, that she regularly went to the phantom's home—well.

This could definitely go poorly.

The Persian watched the redhead quickly dissapear from sight, jade eyes sharp. He gave a smile, straightened his cap, and then strolled from the spot himself.

XxXxX

Time had passed quickly and soon it was time for dress rehearsals, the gas lighting turned on brightly and the production very nearly ready to perform. Kit had gotten better with hiding her winces at Carlotta's strutting. She was one of the nameless of the chorus that would approach from the back of the stage, the ballet girls dressed as 'slaves' in their red and green costumes.

Kit licked her lips and her voice rose to join the others. "With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration, we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation!"

The men's chorus rang out now, "The trumpets of Carthage resound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to our step on the ground!"

She took in a breath, ready for the wonderful swell of music to reverberate through her body as everyone sang, "Hear the drums - Hannibal comes!"

She managed to be on time with the choreography, ending up bowing as Carlotta came onto the stage in her grand costume, holding the decapitated head prop that Kit struggled to not giggle at whenever she saw the lumpy thing. Mainly because the prima donna dropped it quite often and rarely accepted it was her fault.

Piangi, dressed in his Hannibal costume, stepped forward. "Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by Roma's far-reaching grasp." He took a breath to continue but was cut off by Reyer.

"No, no, no, NO!" Reyer came stalking up onto the stage. "Signor...if you please: Rome. We say Rome not Roma!"

Piangi seemed agitated, and even Kit herself groaned.

The Italian often had issues like this, so it was of no big surprise that he had gotten the pronunciation incorrect once more. The first time he had had such an exchange Kit's heart had about leapt into her throat, but now it served as a normal, near-daily annoyance.

"Si, si, Rome, not Roma—Is very hard for me."

"Once again, then, if you please, Signor. 'Sad to return...'" Reyer made a gesture as if to say, 'so on,' and returned to his spot in the pit.

Kit felt her stomach twist when she saw Monsieur Lefèvre step onto the stage, alone with two which she could only guess were Firmin and Andrè as he talked to them. She knew of what, though she couldn't hear them, and she watched them look down towards Reyer.

Lefèvre, seeing a lull in the rehearsal, decided to try to get everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, some of you may already, perhaps, have met Monsieur Andrè and Monsieur Firmin..." Andrè and Firmin bowed politely, Reyer's eyebrow twitching at the interruption.

Reyer was a man who hated interruptions, and with all the responsibility he held, the redhead didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Lefèvre, we are rehearsing." His lips pressed into a thin line. "If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment...?"

Lefèvre sighed and waved it off. "My apologies, Monsieur Reyer. Proceed, proceed..."

Reyer sniffed and nodded, having come out of the pit and seemed that he would stay onstage for a little while. "Thank you, monsieur." He turned back to Piangi, directing him to start again at a specific lyric.

Lefèvre sighed and turned towards the two gentlemen accompanying him and said something softly so as Reyer wasn't to hear. 'Likely about how Reyer is a tyrant or something,' Kit thought with a small upturn of her lips. She wasn't bothered by Reyer as others were oft to do—he wanted the best and was strict, and she could understand why. That was basically his job and he took it seriously.

Piangi began again, everyone having drifted back to their marks. "Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp. Tomorrow we shall break the chains of Rome. Tonight, rejoice - your army has come home!" Reyer gave the man a nod, Piangi having shot him a few glares during it which didn't phase the much thinner Reyer, even as the Italian tenor had given heavier weight to the word 'Rome' in an unsuccessful attempt to get under the chief repetiteur's skin.

The ballet girls began their dance, but the managers were in center-stage and very much in the way, though the ballet girls were doing their very best to work around the obstruction as they chatted. Madame Giry, dressed in her usual black utilitarian dress, banged her cane sharply on the stage to gain their attention.

"Gentlemen, please! If you would kindly move to one side?" The ballet mistress gestured, leaving the men to be led to the side while Lefèvre apologized to the eldest Giry. Kit watched from where she stood with the other non-dancing chorus members as the men all spoke to each other, as first Meg and then Christine, playing their roles as the lead slave girls in the ballet become prominent.

Kit bit back a sigh as she saw Christine fall out of step. Certainly the girl danced beautifully and the redhead knew the voice of an angel apparently lay hidden within her, but she often had her head up in the clouds and let her thoughts wander.

Kit flinched minutely as Giry banged her cane against the stage sharply as her sharp, dark eyes caught sight of the blonde's mistakes. "You! Christine Daae! Concentrate, girl!"

Kit's stomach twisted further. If Christine sang the aria to the managers, if Carlotta stormed out, the events would be set into motion. The redhead found herself anxious- to the point of being slightly nauseated—by the thought that it was finally happening, her palms feeling somewhat damp.

The amber-eyed woman nearly missed the cue but took in a breath, opening her lips to let her voice join in the chorus. "Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests—the elephants of Carthage! As guides on our conquering quests, Dido sends Hannibal's friends!"

The elephant was pushed onto the stage, and Kit shifted slightly away from it. Looking at it in a video was far different from being up-close and personal with such a hulking prop, especially when it was moving—it was a bit disconcerting to her and she was vaguely aware that if it fell over it would be rather heavy. The end of the scene came all too quickly.

Once their voices had fallen quiet and the instruments in the pit had as well, Reyer gave a gesture to be at-ease. Kit stood there, ignored by everyone around as they were either chatting with friends, or in case of Carlotta, being brought her 'little doggy' and pampered by her entourage.

Lefèvre clapped for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen—" He was very much being ignored, and he sent a pleading glance to the strict ballet mistress, who banged her cane on the wood of the stage.

That made everyone quiet instantly, Kit thought with slight amusement, even as she twisted at her skirt, a nervous habit of hers.

Lefèvre cleared his throat but inclined his head to the woman in black. "Madame Giry, thank you—may I have your attention, please? As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my Imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true," Carlotta was off primping to the side, saying how she 'knew it' and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gilles Andrè."

Things happened quickly then. Carlotta singing the aria for the new managers—with everyone hiding their winces at points as she preened under the very specific attention she could draw from the new managers—and then her aria was cut short as a heavy backdrop came tumbling down, hitting the stage with a loud thud, throwing the stage into chaos though nobody had been hit. People dashed away from the backdrop, and the redhead dodged a person or two who had nearly shoved her over in their haste to get away. Kit herself was rather calm though she had startled slightly. It had been quite loud, even if she had known it was coming.

Meg shrieked and she and Christine dashed to Madame Giry. "He's here: the Phantom of the Opera!" Meg spoke with a fearful voice, Christine and she huddling closer together.

Murmurs of much of the same, panicked and fearful, rippled through the rest of the company, though Kit herself stayed silent, eyes trailing up involuntarily to the catwalks above. She could have sworn she caught a flash of white.

Piangi looked up, furious at the catwalks. "You idiots!" He reigned in his anger and instead turned it to focus on his shaken lover. "Cara! Cara! Are you hurt?"

Lefèvre and the new managers approached and were all concerned for Carlotta, when the former manager insisted it had to be Buquet.

"Get that man down here!" Lefèvre turned to Andrè and Firmin, clearly angry. "Chief of the flies. He's responsible for this." He turned his attention to the old stagehand who had been quickly fetched. The dirty man held a length of rope that looked a bit like a noose—Kit wondered at that. Why would he need such a thing, unless he was replacing some part of the intricate rope-work up in the catwalks? "Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?!"

Buquet shook his head. "Please monsieur don't look at me: as God's my witness, I was not at my post." He insisted, hands holding the length of rope tightly. Kit's eyes narrowed.

'Why were you not at your post, Buquet? That makes no sense...' In fact there had been quite a few instances lately of Buquet not being where he was supposed to be, up in the flies.

The man with the ruddy complexion continued, "Please monsieur, there's no one there!" He got a little smirk. "And if there is, well then... it must be a ghost!"

Meg looked up fearfully. "He's there; the Phantom of the Opera!"

Andrè scoffed and sent her a scathing look. "Good heavens! Will you show a little courtesy?"

Firmin seemed to have tired of the wave of scared tittering that spread through the rest of the ballet rats and company. "Mademoiselle, please!" He addressed Meg, who's cheeks pinked and she bowed her head.

Firmin then did one of the worst-advised things, and tried to placate the prima donna. "These things do happen."

Kit could not help but be faintly amused by the tomato-red shade Carlotta's face took even through the thick makeup, and soon she was storming out dramatically with her furs, little dog, and Piangi. Lefèvre chose that time to leave, likely going to be heading near-directly to Frankfurt.

Andrè tried to lighten the mood by saying the prima donna would return but Giry interrupted. Kit had noticed her draw a letter from her pocket. "You think so, messieurs? I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost."

The ballet rats all gasped and chattered fearfully.

Firmin groaned. "God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!"

The ballet mistress continued, unphased. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due." the managers laughed but Giry continued. "Monsieur Lefèvre paid him twenty thousand francs a month." Their jaws went slack and they paled at the amount. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron." The dark-haired widower revealed, much to the whispering of the ballet girls. Christine in particular seemed nervous. It was then revealed that the Vicomte would be attending that night's performance, and as there was no understudy that this was a huge problem.

The amber-eyed Masagobi hung back, biting her lip and her eyes closing as Meg and Madame Giry both pushed Christine to the front of the group, telling their new managers that she could do it, she could perform the part and save that night's performance.

Kit stood back with the other members of the chorus as Christine, pale and slender, skirt of her ballet costume moving gracefully as she came forward, standing in front of the new managers. At first, she was in starstruck awe at the voice filling the air once Christine had relaxed and breathed properly, even as she took the breath away from all in attendance.

An angel's voice indeed...

Kit, however, instead of remaining focused on the soprano, instead found her eyes drawn up to Box Five, her heart aching and stomach clenching around a cold lump that had grown with the swell of Christine's amazing voice.

It had begun.