Eve Williams had been to the Paris Opera House once or twice before, and was quite undistracted by the grandeur of the place. True, it was a far more ostentatious building than her own London Opera, but an Opera was an Opera; a sanctuary for artist and their arts, nothing more. The only thing that mattered to Eve was whether the place had good acoustics or not (a thing hardly discernable from two hundred feet away)
To the other extreme was Muriel. Her visits to this Opera were numerous, both as participant and patron, yet her excitement was at a peak. Eve laughed, only in her mind, at her traveling companion. Muriel; so stoic at times, calm and collected, always keen on details, as capable and hardened as a military general when situations arose… And equally capable of twittering like a ballet brat.
"What do you think, Eve?" Muriel inquired, looking intently out of the hansom's window. "Oh, I'm sure the managers will adore you, they must! You will let me play before your do, won't you? They would think nothing of me if you went off first!"
"If you wish," Eve was also looking out of the window, her gaze untouched by excitement, but certainly by disgust. How dare her managers send her off, away from her opera house? Oh, yes, no mistakes made in that statement: London had most certainly been her opera house. A simple violinist she might have been, but everyone listened when Eve spoke. The carriage halted abruptly at the front steps of the Opera Populaire. Muriel bounded out while Eve lingered a moment. Perhaps… perhaps…
If she were ever wield any power over this place, it was best to start now. She stepped out of the coach, blatantly ignoring the coach-guard's expectant hand. After a moment taken to straighten her cloak, she turned to him. "You will wait for us. This interview will not take long." She had spoken deliberately, her French flawless, in a voice that hinted at the consequences of noncompliance.
For a moment the coach guard had stood dumb before saying: "Mam… Mam'zelle… Madame: we have another engagement to take up…"
Eve stared down at the pitiful man, whom was most likely trying to sort out what type of madwoman stood before him, and growled.
"Break it"
With no more time allotted for an answer, Eve walked briskly off. The golden door loomed before her menacingly… as did Muriel's sea-green eyes.
"Eve, woman, what possessed you to do that?" she hissed, "It was deal! No more 'managing.'"
Eve laughed gaily. "My dear Grimsby, that deal was made before I was aware of the exact circumstances. From what I hear of Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard, that are complete nitwits, completely incapable of running a good opera house. I feel it my God-given duty to assist. And if that means keeping every stagehand, chorus-girl, and door-shutter under my thumb, so be it."
Muriel stared at her coldly. She had known her friend would never change-her ways were too enigmatical to do so-but she always maintained hope. As Eve stared down at her, grinning brilliantly (manically, too) Muriel sighed the white flag of defeat, only shooting one last retort.
"Assist, indeed. God-ordained duty, indeed. Hot air flowing from the mouth of one who doesn't even believe in God."
Eve shrugged; she was still smiling, even as they entered into the golden foyer of that supreme Temple of Music.
"Well! It isn't like there's a darker shade lurking in the shadows!"
So? What do you think? Is Eve a good enough foil for Erik? Or, perhaps, is Erik a suitable enough foil for Eve? Only time will tell! That being said, I have very little intention for romance to enter into this story, I just wanted to create a character that could be understanding towards our Phantom. But, as I said-- who knows?