A Wreath of Songbirds

-

This woman had not particularly intrigued the Count at all. In fact, her presence in his shop was something he'd seen all too often; some classless, disgruntled, filthy-rich client using one of his beloved pets to cope with some imperfection crossing their otherwise flawless lifestyle. As she yanked anxiously at her tawny, straight hair and squawked her sorrows at him, he merely poured a glass of tea for himself and his decidedly generic customer. This, he decided, would be a quick and simple transaction for a patron of a very similar nature.

"...and so that's how I ended up landing my gig at the Les Prieres Opera Hall. The problem is, Mr. D – "

"Excuse me, but I would much prefer being referred to as Count D."

"Right. Well, Mr. Count D, things there went very smoothly for a few weeks, but wow!" She drawled out her final word in a tone so aggravatingly urban that the Count's ears, seasoned by the piercing cries of many creatures, ached. "As far as the stress levels go, it's off the chart! And so yesterday, I was on stage, delivering my grand-finale rendition of 'Parle-moi de mere' and it happened! My voice just completely gave out! So there I am, at a literal loss for words smack-dab in front of the biggest big-wigs in Los Angeles, and what do I do? I burst into tears!" Count D delivered a practiced noise of sympathy. "I just ran off stage, too embarrassed to do anything else. After the performance, I tried to sing back at my apartment, and not a sound! Needless to say, Mr. Count D, my career's in soooome trouble!"

"Have you consulted a doctor, Miss Mariano?"

"Oh no, cut the formalities! Just Michelle will do!" With this rather canned line, she assaulted D's ears yet again with a laugh that no operatic octave could touch. D could hear his pets growing more restless with each foul sound that this woman made.

"Well, yeah, of course I've seen a doctor. He just says it's over-exertion of the vocal cords."

"No pet, Michelle, will cause your voice to recover faster. The most you need is some rest." D expected some other excuse as to his client's flakiness, and without fail she managed to deliver.

"Well, the problem is that I've got a huuuuge performance coming up in a week! The doctor says it'll take at least a month and a half for my voice to un-strain itself, and that's time that I don't have! So come on, Mr. Count D, I've heard some real good stuff about what you have to offer. If it's money you want, then I won't fail you!" Count D prayed that he would not have to deal with this idiot for much longer. He knew exactly which pet to pick out for her, and it would be wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

"If you insist, then come back here. I know what you'll need..."

-

"I'm home, lovely!" she called out, formidable voice echoing through the near-cavernous interior of her mansion. Its décor effortlessly reflected the lucrative existence of the talented opera singer, punctuated by a dizzying array of glass and crystal and marble and far too many exotic houseplants. No expense was spared with Michelle Mariano at the helm, and the man she chose to join her in the opulent venture of life stood there in the hall.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He took his young and vibrant fiancée into his arms and gave her a gentle peck upon the lips. "What's that you're holding?"

She grinned. In her right hand was a dome-shaped object, obscured by a crimson-velvet curtain, and with her husband's inquisition she rested it on a nearby table and whipped the veneer off. "Aren't they just the most beautiful things you've seen, Rick?"

They were indeed very beautiful; a trio of birds, all perched upon the same branch, plumed with wildly iridescent azure feathers. Their beaks were spotless arcs of orange, the ends sharpened to a pinpoint, and their tails were regal towers of violent green plumage. All three of the birds stood deathly still, wide brown eyes fixed intently on the man peering into their cage.

Rick whistled. "And how much did these cost?"

"You say it as if you CARE, love!" Michelle latched her lascivious lips onto his once again and ran her fingers through his violently cropped brown hair. Rick silently realized that she never actually provided an answer. "Now, there are three conditions that we have to keep 'em under at all times. First off, we've gotta give them one of these pellets every day after noon. " With this she took a small pouch of blue globes out of her purse. "We've gotta to keep them constantly exposed to some source of light, and finally – and this is the weird part – we have to make sure that no silverware is ever crossed within this household."

Her fiancé looked at her as if she was insane and released his arms from around her. "What the hell does that have to do with keeping birds?"

"I asked the same question! All the shop owner – hell of a guy, by the way – told me was that these birds came from Romania, which has to do with some sort of superstition and oh hell Rick who cares? They're going to improve my voice like no one will believe!"

"Wait, wait, hold on one second. You bought these birds...because someone told you that they'd help your voice?" Rick was completely flabbergasted. Michelle was only 19 years old, an era where women often fell into the relentless clutches of consumerism, but he had thought her less gullible than this.

Michelle stopped in her tracks for a bit. "Well...yeah."

"That's absolutely preposterous. And I'll bet you paid a fortune for them, too!"

"I..."

"Return the goddamn things."

"No! Rick, we're starting our production of Madama Butterfly next Sunday at the Les Prieres and I'm the lead! I...I don't know if these birds will work, but it's my only hope. My voice can't possibly recover so fast otherwise."

"If they don't work, you'd better return them."

"Rick, they're pets. You don't put a warranty on pets." Rick glared at her, then softened his expression, and finally turned his back on her with a noise of upset exasperation.
"Great. Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. I really hope these birds of yours work, Michelle."

She did not reply.

-

It was a surprisingly clear and chilly Sunday evening, a rare occurrence in LA's October, and Count D wanted to go to the opera. Attending the opera alone, however, always proves to be a rather dreary affair, so over tea and cake he invited a certain detective to come along with him.

"The opera? Come ON, D. The last time I had anything to do with opera, it was a bunch of people getting eaten by some crazy fish." All of a sudden, D's request to wear formal clothing made sense.

"Now, Detective. You haven't actually SEEN an opera, have you?"

"Uh...no."

"Well then, it'll be a good experience for you. Perhaps it will beat a little bit of class into that thick skull of yours." Leon said no more. He realized that, despite the tidal waves of refusal that he could turn towards the tenacious Count, he would still end up going with him anyway. He crammed one final bite of chocolate decadence cake into his mouth, threw his jacket on and braced himself for an hour and a half of sweet, sweet slumber.

"Oh, and if you fall asleep, Detective, I'll make sure Tet-chan has his way with you the next time you're here."

Leon moaned in utter anguish. Count D rose from his velvet-lined armchair and swung the ornamental red doors open with a great flourish, revealing the crowded and overcast streets outside. The back alley that the petshop was tucked away in was protected staunchly by a phalanx of tall, intimidating buildings, its diminutive stature belying the secrets that resided within. It was a colder night than Leon had accounted for, and he regretted having not brought a pair of leather gloves with him; not only were they warm and comfortable, but wearing them made him feel decidedly masculine.

The walk to their destination, the Les Prieres Opera Hall, was very brief. Leon was fairly surprised that there was an opera hall standing in urban Los Angeles, but his doubts were dismissed in a flash when he saw the well-maintained building standing proudly. Looking upon its equally upstanding clientele, transported by shiny new automobiles and decked out in fashions that the middle-class could never dream of having, his surprise quickly washed over to confusion. How could he have missed such a nouveau-riche establishment buried in the heart of skuzzy old LA?

Count D, however, appeared to be very well acquainted with the building and the people working under its employ. The doormen greeted him with a noticeable degree of familiarity, looked at the scruffy pony-tailed man in his tow, and gave the Count a perplexed look. Offering no apologies for his company, D silently paid for both of their tickets and strode into the lobby with the out-of-sorts detective.

The inside of the opera hall was just as resplendent as its exterior, highlighted by dazzling pillars of pure white marble and shining, extensive floors so smooth that Leon felt himself gliding across the surface. Red carpet richer than even the Count's magnificent furniture ran throughout the hall. It was one of the most architecturally beautiful places Leon had ever borne witness to, and it took extensive prodding by the Count to snap him out of the trance the room had locked him in.

"Come now, Detective...I don't need you dozing off before the opera even starts." And with that, Leon and D walked into the audience, assuming seats towards the center of the opera hall. Though not as visually scintillating as the lobby, the arced ceiling and formidable stage still managed to impress Leon. The Count peered down at his playbill, holding a pair of theatrical binoculars in his spidery hands. The casting came as no surprise to him.

A man sitting in the seat to the right of Leon's, a rather jittery-looking fellow with swiftly-receding brown hair and wide eyes, turned to the detective's direction, then looked past his shoulder, then back at the detective again.

"Excuse me...I'd just like to let you know that your date is absolutely beautiful."

Leon glared at the man, then glared at the unobserving Count, then glared at the man again.

"Shut up."

The man turned away, rather terrified. Leon leaned back in his seat, contemplating why he still associated with the Count when all the man brought him was some gender-bending bewilderment on the part of the public and a roaring mouthful of cavities. The Count must have some sort of allure, Leon decided, that was keeping him gravitated towards him. Was it his innately shiny purple hair? Complex and intricate kimonos? Perhaps he was slipping something into Leon's tea. Whatever the reason, Leon realized that the roots of this mismatch were so difficult and irrational to pinpoint that a 'friendship' like theirs was something of a miracle.

"Detective. The opera is beginning." The lights dimmed, and Leon whipped his head to the stage, where the curtains slowly drew themselves open. Standing front and center was a young, trim girl with hair so light brown as to tempt a shade of ginger and a form-fitting green cheongsam patterned with vivid red and blue butterflies. The detective found himself stricken by this unique-looking young woman already, and she had not even opened her mouth. Instead, she was downplayed by the unspectacular and decidedly boring voice of the military commander flanking her, strutting about the stage as if he were some sort of musical revolution. Leon was bored already.

Her time came, however, and the noises she made were unlike anything Leon had ever heard. The girl's voice, amplified to an unbelievable extent by the acoustics of the theater, pierced his heart like the arrow of some unforgiving muse. Her voice rippled effortlessly through glissandos attainable by few others of the human race; she slid from octave to octave with absolutely no effort whatsoever. The audience seemed intent on every movement of her mouth, waiting for her to deliver her next clarion tone. Immediately Leon was called to attention; her voice acted as some unearthly siren's call, enveloping him like the warmest of summer and betraying him like the coldest of nights. He understood this character that she was portraying, the love she felt and the honor that bound it, and he was touched in an indescribable way.

The rest of the opera proceeded in a very similar way. Leon found himself completely fixated on this epic tale, hanging on to every line delivered, spoken or sung. And every time the girl finally sang, it was like his heart took wing and soared away to some undiscovered, undisturbed paradise. The atmosphere she created was absolutely ethereal. At one point towards the end, Leon gazed over to the Count, and found him smirking smugly; how he could bring himself to have such a reaction completely eluded the detective.

After what seemed like a perfect eternity, the opera finally ended with the tragic suicide of the heroine. Leon quickly hid the tears rolling down his cheeks, but this secret shame was quickly dispelled when he saw that everyone else in the audience was crying as well. The only notable exception to this phenomenon was Count D. The curtains closed, and every spectator rose to their feet, creating an accolade that Leon had never heard before. The curtains opened once again, and each stage member took a bow, the last of which was the young girl herself. With her advent upon the stage, the audience's cheers and clapping rose to a deafening crescendo, and the girl waved gratefully to her new set of fans.

Leon seized the theatrical binoculars from the count to get a closer look at this mysterious Madame Butterfly; though beautiful, her appearance was not as unearthly as her voice. She was pretty but plain and her features were slightly knotted, like someone accustomed to dissatisfaction.

At that moment, Leon was the only person in the theater who saw the pearl of blood dot the corner of her mouth. It rolled down her lip, but she quickly noticed it and wiped it away before it could streak down her chin. With a new look of dismay, she continued her gratitude towards the uproarious applause, ever so slightly more unsettled.

Looking once again on the applauding Count D, who still wore his complacent smirk, the detective realized that he had something to do with this.

-

A/N: OMFG why is this so LONG. Gah. Oh, and one small problem...I've never seen Madame Butterfly. I hope I didn't bastardize it too badly. Anyway, Chapter 2 is to come soon, so please enjoy what I have at the moment.