(A/N Before beginning the lovely story of Boston's descend into madness, I'd like to credit the creation of the character Mercedes to my dear RabidGerbil666. Or something like that. Something radiby and gerbil-involving. Anyway, her name I know and I bow to her for filling the gaps of my unimaginativeness.)
"I hate my life." Boston decided.
"Why's that?" Rio asked, admiring herself openly in the mirror.
She glared at the blond from her position on her bed. "You have an amazing voice and you're gorgeous, and you're still somehow crazy and happy. Me, I'm average, mousy, and absolutely crazy and unhappy."
"Why should you be unhappy? Here, I'll fix your hair if you want me to."
"I don't want you too."
"Why? I'm better at it than you."
"That's exactly why!" Boston flinched away from Rio's probing comb.
"Ohh... jealous green monster. Tsk, tsk. If you're so self-conscious why are we doing this?"
"Because it's cool." Boston clapped a hand to her mouth. "Did I just say 'cool'?"
"Yes."
"Ugh. I should not be living with you."
"Hey, Americans may be pretty thick, but we're trendsetters. And you need an American friend to go to a function like this."
Boston glowered some more. "It's not a 'function'. It's a party for a bunch of patrons and cast members and snobs like you."
"I'm not a snob. I work for a living."
"Yeah, between acting and bagging groceries."
"Hey! You bag groceries as much as I do."
"No, I was a sales clerk. Sort of."
"Just... shut up." Rio narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She looked good in her evening wear, but she was having problems with her hair. "Okay, long beautiful locks work okay for 19th century frilly dresses, but not for modern gala-wear."
"Straighten them and pile it all up on top or something." Boston had the urge rub in her own manageable brown, average-length hair, but decided it wasn't worth the argument, especially since she'd just successfully criticized said hair.
"Easy for you to say." The shallower edge of the girl had come out. "You're nice and tall and slim."
"I look like a strangely tall mouse-creature." The alto insisted.
"Only when you wear gray."
"Thanks." A rapid knock interrupted their bickering. Boston got up with a groan. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
"Hello there, my pretties." It was Jess.
"What are you doing here?" Rio asked suspiciously, wrestling with a difficult earring as she emerged from the bedroom.
"Well, you know." She shrugged. "You guys are on the way and I'm not sure I'd feel safe with one of you driving on the road around here."
"We're not that bad." Boston insisted, but when Jess raised her eyebrows she sighed and said, "Yeah, okay, just don't rub it in."
"Why would I rub it in? It's fun driving you around while I'm young."
"Are you ready yet?" Boston shrieked suddenly, causing Jess to jump and Rio to scuttle up alongside them.
"Me? What about you?" Rio asked. "Are you just going to leave your hair down like that?"
"Yes. So?"
"Alright, I don't want to supervise any heated discussions here." Jess jerked her head in the direction of the hallway. "Shall we?"
"If we must." Rio sighed and took her friends' wrists, dragging them down the hall.
"I get the feeling this wasn't her idea." Jess mumbled to Boston.
"What, are you kidding? She hates these little 'functions', as she calls them. They 'cramp her style'. Not like I encouraged her."
"I can hear you!"
"Of course you can. You're about two inches in front of us."
"So why aren't you talking to me? And why in God's name are the stairs so far from the apartment?"
"Because you're too stupid to use the elevator." Boston grumbled. The pair lived on the third story and Rio insisted upon using the stairs for everything after the kid-losing-breakfast incident. Something about power supply and the environment, although Boston was sure it had to do with squeamishness.
"Hey, I know how to use an elevator..."
"Sure you do." Jess snorted. She, too, had been a victim of Rio's abstinence from elevators several times, even before the kid-losing-breakfast incident.
Once they reached the parking lot, after much complaining and snapping about high heels and stairs and stubborn, environmentally safe sopranos, Jess decided to make all their lives worse by forgetting where she parked the car.
"I can't believe you forgot where you were five minutes ago!" Rio literally screamed at her. It was cold, and the 'environmentally safe' soprano had, apparently, had a memory slip and she hadn't worn hardly anything at all.
"Oh, there it is!" Jess cried, finding her tiny purple car in the corner of the lot. "Now, let's go!"
"I hate functions." Boston snapped to no one in particular as she struggled to be comfortable in the tiny car. "I hope I'm not expected to dance."
"Does every sentence you speak begin with 'I hate'?" Jess said in a disgustingly cheerful voice.
"No. That one began with 'no'." She rubbed her thighs. "These heels are killing me."
"That wasn't a sentence." Rio chimed in. "It didn't have a subject and verb and didn't express a complete thought."
"It did so express a complete thought. It expressed 'no'." Boston gave her a comic, fake smile with the word 'no'.
"Well, if it helps, you both look beautiful." Jess tried for a nice, friendly statement from the driver's seat. "And you both have dates, too."
"Correction: Rio has a date. He's meeting us there." Boston sighed. "I haven't had a date to anything since high school."
"Hey, I'm you're date, stupid." Jess reached back and whacked her. "Does anybody care about the thirty-year-old single soprano?"
"No." Both girls muttered.
"Well, that's just rude. I drive you to rehearsal every day. And I saved Boston's life one day, what with that freaky incident in the chapel."
The only alto in the car rolled her eyes. "The only thing you saved was your own sanity, whilst pushing mine over the edge."
"Ah ha!" Jess cried. "We're here!"
"Finally!" Rio clambered out of the car, searching the lot for her boyfriend. He appeared on the steps of the theater, a big smile on his face. Bryant was handsome, not entirely tall (Jess towered over him, but she was an exceptional case), but studying to be a lawyer. All in all, he was quite a catch, and Rio loved to rub it in others' faces.
They kissed and Jess made a face. "Get all lovey-dovey later, if you must. For now, let's have our own little modern masquerade."
"Sans Red Death." Boston muttered, shivering. "Hopefully."
"Oh, I don't know." The oldest there said a little immaturely. "I think that'd be exciting."
"Trust me, it wouldn't." She stared at the black sky, which only reminded her of how black the shape had been.
"What?" Jess raised her eyebrows at Boston.
"Nothing. I didn't say anything. Did you think I did?" She said a little too quickly. Her companions shrugged and dragged her towards the door. "I don't wanna go!" she wailed.
"Maybe if we kidnapped one of my friends and forced him to go out with her..." Bryant mused.
Rio shook her head. "Boston has values. She doesn't believe in kidnapping."
"Sure, I have values." Their captive scoffed. "I'll give you values, you posh opera singers."
Bryant cleared his throat. "Uh, I can't sing for my life."
"Right." She sighed. "Whatever."
Jess pushed the door open with her shoulder, and then even Boston admitted it was a good idea coming. The hall looked beautiful, almost as golden and shining as it would have a hundred years ago. The people were a little more modernly dressed, if almost as finely. They were a mix of various colors ranging from rainbow-like to pitch black.
Boston looked down at herself, and sighed. She was dressed in that 'tiny black dress' which she had so often been told looked good on her, but had never managed a real date in it.
The hall itself was ornate and reminiscent of some 1800s party involving waltzing aristocrats. No one was waltzing, but they were dancing rather slowly.
Rio dragged Bryant onto the floor and Jess gave Boston a hopeful look, but was discouraged by the Brit's glare. She stalked off, in search of some poor other character.
Boston sighed, feeling a bit lonely. It wasn't the first time she'd been left alone among whirling, happy dancers.
As if to ease her loneliness Dori conveniently appeared at her side, accompanied by the company's Joseph Buquet, Percy.
"Percy!" Boston quite literally jumped on the poor man, almost knocking him over. "Dance? Please?"
Percy laughed, but obeyed. "What about Dori?" He asked.
His partner shrugged. "Dori, I love you!" She called, earning a laugh and a head shake. Dori wasn't lonely, though: she'd brought her own date.
Boston heaved a sigh and smiled. "I was starting to think I'd be standing in a corner all night." Percy wasn't attractive, nor was he single, but the two were good friends and he had no problem doing her a favor.
He voiced those sentiments, and she smiled gratefully.
The music stopped, and the dancers all glanced up and around. Standing on the balcony was Brianne and the owner of the Opera Populaire, Mercedes. Ironically, the two most important people in the Opera were two women, as opposed to the Andre and Firmin of old.
"Sorry!" Were the first words out of the feisty director's lips. "But you can continue fraternizing in a bit, after we've bored you with our thanks."
Mercedes, the dark-haired, middle-aged, formidable and rich lover of the arts, laughed at her colleague's words. "I don't have anything nearly as witty or amusing to say as my favorite director or her talented actors, but I would like to thank all of you for lowering yourselves to attend our little gala."
Smattering of laughter and applause from the crowd. Boston chuckled to herself. Her life was filled with strange, brilliant people who often ruled it.
The owner continued after a skillful pause. "I don't want to take up too much of your valuable talking and dancing time, but I'd like to pause the fighting to have you all participate in a tradition here at the Opera Populaire."
Boston stifled a laugh. Not this, she thought. It was funny, but significant. Ever since the Opera had been reopened and restored they had held a yearly gala like this one (she pushed back amusing thoughts of the last one: things had not gone entirely as planned) and at every gala the guests were 'forced' to dance to the score of Masquerade.
The gala was never an actual masquerade, and guests were most often dressed in their most modern-as-possible finest, but everyone obeyed. It was nice to waltz, for a change, and was often a lot of fun to be whirled around the floor. Someone always knocked something or someone over in the process, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
Boston didn't like to think of the last time she'd danced to 'Masquerade'. Well, technically, she hadn't danced, as Percy had had a date the year before and she'd ended up on the stairs glaring at the doors like they were her troubles. This year looked better, as Percy's fiancée was home with the flu and he was only coming out of cruelty from Brianne.
This year would be different, however. Out of sheer boredom and spontaneous idea, Brianne had taught the entire cast how to sing the song, and had given them all somewhere to be during said song.
So, obediently, Boston, now Meg, took Percy's, now Buquet's, hand and led him to the top of the stairs. Percy cackled a bit evilly, much as his vulgar counterpart might have. Boston gave him her best innocent smile and twirled in her un-twirl-able dress.
"Enjoy." Mercedes said with a mysterious smile that held no meaning for Boston. "I believe my esteemed colleague has something a little... weird... planned for this evening. In honor of this season's coming attraction."
The guests murmured among themselves, unsure of what to expect. True, Brianne had been known to do some strange things in her life.
So, the music started. First, things seemed no different. Then…
"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade ...
Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!
Masquerade! Every face a different shade ...
Masquerade! Look around - there's another mask behind you!"
Boston felt a bit sick twirling on the floor, but sang obediently, trying to be as Meg-like as possible. The patrons and other guests were delighted, however. They almost forgot to dance, while Boston's mind was filled was remembering the shape.
"Flash of mauve, splash of puce …
Fool and king, ghoul and ghost ...
Green and black, queen and priest ...
Trace of rouge, face of beast ...
Faces ... take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round ... in an inhuman race ...
Eye of gold, thigh of blue ...
True is false, who is who?
Curl of lip, swirl of gown ...
Ace of hearts, face of clown ...
Faces ... drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned in the light ... in the sound ..."
"But who can name the face?" Rio, having turned on her own hidden microphone, sang her solo.
The cast took up the chorus again, while Boston clung to Percy for dear life.
"Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds ...
Masquerade! Take your fill - let the spectacle astound you!
Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads ...
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!
Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies ...
Masquerade! You can fool and friend who ever knew you!
Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes ...
Masquerade! Run and hide - but a face will still pursue you!"
A face will still pursue you…Boston hastily turned on her own microphone, just remembering she herself had a part.
"What a night!" Brianne materialized on the stairs, playing the part she'd given herself as Madame Giry.
"What a crowd!" Boston joined her on the arm of Percy.
"Makes you glad!" A short, dark-haired actor name Marlon, a.k.a. Andre, sang. He'd been with the theater almost as long as Brianne.
"Makes you proud! All the crème de la crème!" Frémon, or Firmin (no pun was intended in this casting), appeared at his costars' sides.
Jess struck up the song, trilling and on the arm of her Piangi, Gustav the portly tenor. "Watching us watching them!"
"And all our fears our in the past!" Boston felt a swell of pride at singing with Brianne, although her own fears hadn't exactly disappeared.
Marlon: "Six months..."
Gustav: "Of relief!"
Jess: "Of delight!"
Marlon and Frémon: "Of Elysian peace!"
Boston and Brianne: "And we can breathe at last!"
Can we really? Boston thought, remembering the various 'accidents' that had occurred of late.
Jess: "No more notes!"
Gustav: "No more ghosts!"
Brianne: "Here's a health!"
Marlon: "Here's a toast: to a prosperous year!"
Frémon: "To the new chandelier!" (Although there was no new chandelier: there hadn't been a new chandelier since the old one, the one that had fallen as Christine Daaé's feet, had been restored.)
Jess: "And may its splendor never fade!"
"Six months!" Frémon said, as the company continued down the stairs. Boston just remembered how 'six months' applied to the current Opera Populaire. Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera would premiere in six weeks, not months, but Brianne insisted this was close enough to apply.
"What a joy," Brianne looked at Boston. She was happier than Boston had ever seen her: Brianne was only happy when acting.
So she sang, "What a change!" with enthusiasm for her director, although she felt increasingly uneasy with every whirl.
Frémon and Marlon picked it up, "What a blessed release!"
"And what a masquerade!" Finished Marlon. The cast skipped the scene between Raoul and Christine, as they didn't want to take too much of the guests' time. That, and Rio had argued fiercely that it would be a spoiler for the show.
"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade!
Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!
Masquerade! Every face a different shade!
Masquerade! Look around - there's another mask behind you!
Masquerade! Burning glances! turning heads ...
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!
Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds ...
Masquerade! Take your fill -"
The company stopped. The guests, on the verge of bursting into applause at their dramatic ascent down the stairs, froze.
It was pitch-black: the lights were gone and the music had stopped. Boston nearly fainted with shock and horror.