Reviewer Responses
Reviewer responses for all future chapters will be posted in the following blog, because Breadstick REALLY doesn't have anything better to do. But seeing how the following two points are relevant to all readers, we'll put them here:
http:flyingbreadstick. blogspot. com/
We can't seem to get the double / to work after the http: bit…Feel free to ignore all the inevitable ranting you will come across, and just go straight to the "Review" post.
Point 1. This is NOT an Erik/OC romance. Now if this was under the Breadstick's control, however...
Rose: Poisson stupide, give me the computer NOW!
Breadstick: (sulks)
Point 2. We will TRY to update at least once a fortnight, but it's quite inconvenient, writing a joint story such as this…
Point 3. As for the blonde comment at the end… Well, try placing two fan fiction writers of questionable sanity in a room with computer access at 2 AM, after they've had plenty of time to inebriate themselves on oxygen, and see what silly immature you come up with!
Illusione: I'm ill! Don't leave me!
Breadstick: OK.
Disclaimer: No own equalsno sue.
The following is the result of a kidnapped notebook and a sick mind (literally ill--coughing, sneezing, legalised minimal attendance at school... look above)
Chapter One: Einstein and Eggs
Erik jumped out of the closet wearing a frizzy wig. "E equals MC squared!" he shouted.
Christine gave him a blank look. "Fried eggs please?"
"I'm Einstein, you imbecile," Erik replied.
"Really?! …Who's that?" asked Christine.
Suddenly Meg Giry jumped out of the closet (like you do). "Wow! I was wondering if you could explain general relativity to me."
Erik rolled his eyes. "Why can't you be more like her?" he asked the soprano. But alas, the delusional chit was too busy dissecting a biscuit with a nail file to notice.
The End
Breadstick: Ostrich, wtf are you doing?!
Rose: Astrid, what the hell did you do?!
Illusione: (death glare for bird comment) (suspiciously) Dissecting cookies…
Breadstick: (backs away from glare and ends up in Australia) Hmm…this is new… (sees kangaroo) BUNNY!!! (hops in pursuit)
Rose: What, no fish? ...Or phantoms? ...Or SHEEP?!
Breadstick: (snorts in derision) What am I, INSANE?
(The REAL) Chapter One: Giry's Gossip
No one noticed the sudden appearance of yet another ballet tart; the only thing distinguishing her from other dancers was her considerably older age (although this was not immediately obvious at first glance) and her noticeably reputable behavior. The only person that seemed to notice her manifestation was the observant Meg Giry; the appearance of her warm smile and kind words could not indicate anything other than the need to introduce herself (and subtly pry into the stranger's affairs…a woman's entirely natural curiosity).
"Marie Destler," she'd answered shortly, carefully avoiding the inevitably destructive blow to her self-esteem should she stop to compare her slowly fading beauty with Meg's youthful allure. But alas, she couldn't fail to notice the ballet rat's immaculately gold hair, carefully pulled back with a dove-white ribbon; could not ignore how her fair skin complemented her big azure eyes and how her small, adorable nose reminded Marie of the naïve innocence of a young girl-child…
For God's sake, woman, why must you insist on torturing yourself?!
…Because I'm an idiot.
"Giry? I trust the fact that you, a dancer, sharing a name with the ballet mistress is not a happy coincidence?" Don't think about how stupidly conspicuous that sounds…
"Well of course not; maman has lived in the theatre for the majority of her life, and I have the joy of sharing the same fate."
Damn, she won't go away… "So you enjoy dancing, mam'selle?" Go away, go away, go away…
"Almost criminally! Mother always said I'd danced my first pirouette before I'd learned to stand."
How remarkably interesting, Marie thought derisively. Now leave me in peace!
At long last, she came to realize the unpleasant fact that it was easier to shoot a pigeon out of the sky blindfolded than to get the petite blonde to shut up. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she quickly turned the incessant chatter to her advantage. "I'd heard Miss Daaé's performance at the gala last night… I have never heard anything so heaven-sent in my life; would you happen to know where I could find her?"
Something remarkably close to envy flashed in her blue eyes, but the emotion passed too soon for Marie to identify. Nevertheless, she'd catalogued the unidentified emotion for future reference; all entertainers and performers were notorious for their bitter rivalries and backstabbings, and young Giry's hidden resentment towards her fellow chorus girl could prove useful in the event of…well…
"Oh," she said, "that girl has vanished into thin air." A wicked smile twisted her sweet face as she leaned closer in confidence. "The press say that she wished for solitude after her triumph over Carlotta, but everyone knows that she's ran off with her lover…"
"Le Vicomte de Chagny?" Marie inquired sharply, instantly alert. "Forgive me for bursting your bubble, dear child, but I believe I am correct in assuming that the young man knows as much of Miss Daaé's whereabouts as the rest of us."
The girl laughed; a soft, sweet sound that did nothing to reveal her wicked thoughts. "Oh, Christine couldn't care less about him, poor boy, but I doubt he'll stay lonely for long—" her gaze flickered to an unnamed raven-haired goddess twirling in a costume that left very little to the imagination— "not if La Sorelli (she'd sneered the title of the prima ballerina) has anything to do with it… She and Philippe had a lover's spat very recently, you see, and there is no more excruciating form of torment than to hang off the arm of your younger, supposedly inferior brother." She shook her head to gather her thoughts. "I apologise, I am straying from the point… Well, sweet, precious Christine has eyes only for her Angel…"
A raised brow was enough to prompt her into continuing her ridiculous tale; no one enjoyed gossip of the strange and unnatural quite like little Meg, and she had more than her share of tall tales…
"Christine started receiving…visits from her 'Angel of Music' a few months ago… He gave her singing lessons every night in her room, and believe me, I have never seen her so eager to return to her room after rehearsals as when her Angel was waiting for her…"
"Well, your presumptions hardly qualify as evidence that Miss Christine—"
"She told me about him!" The sudden ardour in her tone was stunning. "When I asked her how she'd transformed her voice from a blackbird's to a nightingale's after the gala, she told me, Marie (she started at the confidential tone her Christian name had been spoken with)—and she believes it so completely, and no matter how naïve Christine Daaé is, she's not fool enough to rant about a God-sent teacher unless she was absolutely certain he existed… And he must have, I've no doubt of that, Marie… Her voice could not have improved so greatly without professional tuition…" The ballerina paused to gather breath to conclude her rant, cheeks flushed with excitement before continuing softly, almost reverently, "Christine and I are very close; we'd always find a way to steal into each other's rooms in the dead of night, but for a few months now I'd always had to go to her… And whenever I reached her door, sometimes I'll stop and listen, for I thought I heard a voice that was just my imagination…So beautiful, it was almost painful…" she sighed, gazing longingly at the wall.
Marie had heard enough. Making a vague excuse concerning unpacking, she took leave of the teenager, who continued gazing wistfully at the polished marble.
So, I have come in search of an Opera Ghost…
…and I have found an Angel of Music…
TBC
And now, the laws of nature require our discontinuation of typing as it is 1:22am, and we are inebriated on oxygen...
Votes on Breadstick's questionable sanity?
Breadstick: Poisson mal!
Rose: Query answered... but we would still like your opinions... (cough) REVIEW! (cough)
