Disclaimer: We don't own so don't sue.
Rose: I'm typing this time so no one needs to worry about Steph's obsession with writing unoriginal romances. Actually I think she's still chasing the 'bunny'
Breadstick: (Ayer's Rock appears in the distance as Steph continues to hop after the kangaroo with wide eyes) BUNNY!
Rose: Ok. I lied ... she's being turned into a slut by Amy.
Breadstick: A FUTURISTIC WHORE, to be precise.
Reviewer Responses:
Kaya DC Pandora: Actually, we're unable to respond to your query as I am worried that answering this may give away much of the future storyline. Maybe Marie is Erik's daughter; maybe she isn't. Amy (Illusione) will love your compliment as she wrote the false chapter one.
Tsar of Hell: Amy ... when did you get a sex change? Or did you mean to type "Tsarina"? Anyway, of course YOU liked the dummy chapter ...
... YOU BLOODY WROTE IT!
Chapter Two: The Divas Strike Back
A week of gruelling rehearsals had passed before Christine Daaé's return was announced. That was good news - a beautiful young soprano was always an asset to the management of such a place as the Opéra Populaire. The bad news was the unexpected return of a certain Italian diva, back to reclaim her numerous possessions instead of (surprisingly) the stage.
Thank God.
"Where is he!" the redhead screeched, a crumpled envelope clenched within her grasp as she stalked towards the two managers and her unfortunate target.
The vicomte's face visibly hardened before he reluctantly (and with a good deal of annoyance) turned to the madwoman demanding his attention. However, a strict upbringing and naturally gentlemanly nature prevented him from being anything but civil towards the prima donna that blatantly wished for nothing more than for his intestines to be removed (and staying that way).
"I have your letter!" she accused, and all but flung the offending note into his face.
Patiently prying it from the "lady's" clasping fingers, the blond man flicked the paper open in order to read the patronising commands in a lowered tone that Marie failed to catch. Finishing, he looked up to see a toad's twisted face creased further by enragement.
"Miss Daaé has returned," Mme. Giry informed the assembled company, her pretty daughter beside her in her Il Muto costume, evidently on her way to the undergoing rehearsal that Marie herself had escaped from.
"I hope no worse for wear as far as we're concerned," M. Firmin exclaimed.
"Where precisely is she now?" the other manager chimed in.
"I thought it best she was alone," the ballet mistress replied.
"She needed reoh!" at the pointed look from her mother, the leader of the ballet du corps clasped a hand to her mouth, excused herself, and all but ran towards the stage.
"May I see her?" Raoul eagerly (yet gravely) asked.
"No, Monsieur, she will see no one"
"Will she sing? Will she sing!" Carlotta and the managers demanded anxiously.
"Here, I have a note," Mme. Giry responded, as though this will suffice.
"Let me see it! Please," Firmin added 'civilly', taking the aforementioned message and reading it aloud.
When he was finished, there was a moment of silence.
A moment only.
"Christine!" Carlotta shrieked. Three miles away, a very precious four-hundred-year-old church window cracked. "It's all a ploy to help Christine!" She whirled towards Raoul, sending fur flying. "I know who sent this - the Vicomte - her lover!" she accused. Said Vicomte narrowed his eyes into slits.
"Indeed - can you believe it?" he inquired to no one in particular. By now, Marie had abandoned all pretence and was openly eavesdropping. After all, it was what she was (going to be) paid to do...
By this point, the witch known as La Carlotta had pushed her way passed the patron, storming towards her dressing room with her obedient servants following her. It's strange, Marie noticed, how one can fail to noticed the rejoicing of the general entertainers. How one human being could ignore a so very bare backside was a mystery to her. She turned away in disgust (although that wasn't the only reason she'd shied away).
Continuing to follow the procession, Marie felt a stab of anger as she witnessed the ugly, overly-powdered thing (actually, that could be a compliment, in Marie's opinion) push a blonde ballet tart in an intentionally-revealing outfit to the side like one would push open an unlocked hinged door. The managers, of course, were too immersed in grovelling to pay the action any mind (though not too busy to leer at the unfortunate girl, to Marie's annoyance).
Redirecting her eyeballs to the sky, she was greeted by the nauseating sight of a male backside. Men, she thought in disgusted annoyance. Thay haven't yet learnt the meaning of 'decency'... And doubtless never will.
The blonde ballerina that had gotten unceromoniously pushed aside appeared out of nowhere, adjusting the sleeve of the maid costume. "Mlle. Destler," Meg began calmly, "witness the return of the beast."
She snorted. "Are you sure that's an adequate description of her?"
"...No, but it is the most acceptable within the boundaries of civillized conversation."
Her eyes slid towards the slightly shorter girl. "Oh? Care to share the rest?"
Meg looked conspicuously around at the rest of the ballet du corps. "And set a debauched example for my inferiors?" She shook her golden head. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Marie let that comment go, focusing on the task at hand. "So Mlle. Daaé has returned to us?"
The younger Giry sighed. "Oui. I love her dearly, truly, I do..."
"But...?" Marie egged on.
"Well... She has a tendecy to...get carried away," she finished unhelpfully.
"On?"
Meg shot her a belittling look. "I have told you of her Angel of Music, have I not?"
"Yes..."
"Well isn't that enough!" Meg burst out.
Marie barely batted an eye. "No, not at all close." She levelled her gaze. "Didn't you say once that she was highly-opinionated?"
Meg blinked in befuddlement. "I did?" She frowned. "That doesn't sound like me at all."
"Well you did imply it."
Another batting of lashes. "...Imply?"
This is useless, Marie thought in aggravation. "Yes, mademoiselle, imply: hint, nudge, insinuate, entail, mean, undertone, suggest, purport, invoke"
"I don't recall" suddenly, she stopped. "This is because I'm blonde, isn't it?" she accused. "You come in here, and you see a lovely girl with beautiful long hair and immediately assume that because she is employed as a dancer, evidently she possessed neither skill nor intelligence with which to apply any other position, don't you?"
"If a pretty girl has no skill or any other positive trait, she'll simply marry wealth. That's the aristocracy's raison d'être." She paused, collecting her thoughts, warming to her new topic. "If a girl has talentof any kindshe will simply employ those talents to her advantage. But enough of that; I've a grave question to ask:
"Is Christine courting a raving psychopath?"
Meg merely shrugged. "Wouldn't put it pass her. She's thick enough."
"So you think Christine is stupid ..." Marie paused for thought, "Is this based on her hair colour?"
"Christine is just naïve and misled. And besides, aren't red-haired people supposed to have fiery tempers?"
"As you have just pointed out, people who judge an individual's personality by their hair colour alone are generally shallow."
"Meg!" her mother admonished. "You gossiping little chit, get yourself positioned in the left wing immediately!"
The ordered girl looked towards her mother in annoyance. "One moment!"
When she'd turned her gaze back to her companion, she was gone.
TBC
Sorry for the delay! We'll try to get the next one written within the week! Please review!
Oh, and if you will be so kind as to view this profile and see other works of the authors, we will be very grateful. Don't worry - they're better than this because there are no artistic clashes! Also, it's The Flying Breadstick's birthday on Wednesday - look at hers at least!
