It has been nearly two years since the disastrous events 1881 brought to the Opera Populairé. Now under new management, the theater begins to recruit a fresh cast, including a young chorus girl who has no home other than L'Opera. However, her fate takes a different path when she settles in a small, vacant dressing room; a dressing room that once belonged to a Mlle. Daaé…
I'm baaaack!! This is a 'phic' half created by request and have created from the author's pervy fantasies.. ((O))
All of the readers from "Of the Wicca"-
I'm still trying to come up with the next chapter!! GAH! I absolutely hate this kind of writer's block! I have the story completely worked out, but I can't seem to come up with a way smoothly form these next few chapters! I'm trying! Don't hate me!
And now, on with the show! Hope you like!
Pax
Rain fell steadily, pattering on the muddy street the lay before the formally grand Opera Populairé. For the past three days, there has been always a constant spell of rain pouring from the cumbersome gathering of dark grey clouds over head, casting a most dreary and grim atmosphere over the city. As for the theater itself, the late autumn downpour only intensified the air of bleakness that had situated about the building since its last catastrophic performance, near two years previous.
MM. Amaud and Garnier sat in their office, the latter peering through the curtains with an expression on his face that clearly expressed his bête-noir for the situation. M. Garnier's face was similar in build to that of a bloodhound, long and slender with pale, sad eyes and a droopy grey mustache that was trimmed with the utmost precision. M. Amaud also boasted a mustache, although it was thick and bushy, and he himself was quite the opposite to that of his colleague, having round and naturally ruddy cheeks as well as a small, pointed beard upon his chin.
This rather peculiar pair were none other than the successors to MM. Moncharmin and Richard, the previous managers of L'Opera. The stated two gentlemen had taken their permanent leave after the wretched events involving the Vicomte de Chagny, the soprano Christine Daaé, and, as the rumors had it, the Opera Ghost himself.
Of course neither MM. Amaud or Garnier, being the upstanding and educated men they were, believed that a phantom had truly played a role in the Daaé's disappearances nor the death of the Comte de Chagny. However, whatever had occurred behind the stage and in the dark cellars of the opera house had left the establishment in a state of complete disorder and eventual abandonment by both the cast and the public.
All such business, now, had long sense past, and in M. Garnier's keen, industrious mind, to ignore a profitable factor like the Opera house was nothing if not criminal. And so the good Monsieur sought about the purchase from its previous owners with his business partner Amaud. Negotiations and meetings with the previous managers transpired, and not two months ago the ownership of the mighty Opera Populairé was passed into their hands.
Garnier, feeling thoroughly dejected from his solemn gazing out the window, made his way across the room to the desk where Amaud sat busily perusing a stack of papers.
"All this rain," he began in his low, drawling voice, resting a hand on the smooth mahogany table top, "it makes one feel quite dismal."
"Indeed," replied his small partner, flipping through the sheets with vivacity.
Feeling bored, Garnier picked up a form in his long fingers and squinted at it. On the paper was a list of dancers and vocalists, fifty seven in all, who had past the mandatory auditions. His new dramatis personae.
"Have the preparations for the Ball begun?"
"Yes, Garnier. I organized a committee just this morning."
"Very good. Then all there is left to do is choose a production and a date, I suppose?"
"I would say as much!" replied Amaud cheerfully.
Garnier nodded once, and, with a sigh, he set the page back where he had found it, and returned to his vigilance at the windowpane.
Meanwhile, on the grand staircase the led up to the front doors, a forlorn and sodden individual paused halfway in her assent, eyes raising and narrowing against the rain to silently observe L'Opera. Although she wore a tattered cloak, it now provided no defense against the weather, so utterly soaked as it was, but she could not yet take her gaze from the prodigious structure, however formidable it seemed on that stormy day.
Shaking the water from her pale face, the child continued to climb the flight of stairs, towards the shelter of L'Opera.
If anyone wants my character descriptions (including age, hair/eyes, background, "type of Erik" ., and so on) drop me a line in the review section (and a review, perhaps?) and I'll crank them out before the next chapter.
Pax