Sorry I haven't updated this story! The thing is, I never really meant to keep up on this one. It's just something I write when I'm bored or when I'm taking a break from one of my stories I'm actually dedicated to. Anyway, since so many reviewers seemed to like this so much (Honostely, I thought it would seem pretty ridiculous and most people would thinkk it was dumb) I updated! Hope you enjoy! If you like it I might actually take this story seriously, who knows? Its a fun little thing.

In which FirAndremin discover the importance of actually reading the pamphlet

Andre

It was never my idea to buy the Opera Populair. Really, I don't think it was Firmin's either. The two of us were just fed up with hearing people hint at how since we were now rich we should now also be cultured. It seemed a shame to give up on the business of scrap metal. It had been good to us, it had made us the closest of friends.

But I suppose it was time for a change. Firmin was bored and disillusioned with what we were doing. He wanted change, wanted excitement. I wanted him to be happy. So with a smile we eagerly rode to our new Opera House, and the new profits it would bring us.

We were greeted by monsieur Lefevre, the retiring manager. He gave us no real explanation as to why he was retiring but he seemed quite impatient to leave, handing us a pamphlet reading "How to manage a haunted Opera House." I shrugged this off and let my thoughts wander. The first thing I caught sight of were the beautiful statues, which were all nearly nude! I wondered absentmindedly if anyone would ever make a statue of me that way, or even of Firmin…

Good lord! What was I thinking? Nearly nude statues of Firmin? I shook my head as if to ward off any incoming mental images. This was all just a result of the long trip, that was all.

Monsieur Lefevre led us to the stage, where it seemed everyone was rehearsing. I did not realize we were interrupting until the conductor began to protest. I can't say I really felt guilty. If anything I was overjoyed. The building was stupendous, we would be rich!

Well, richer.

We were introduced to the Opera House's ballet teacher, Madame Giry. A frightening woman when provoked, if I ever saw one. I noticed the rapt interest with which Firmin studied the girls and I felt suddenly awkward knowing I was watching him. So I turned to the first pretty little tart that caught my eye, being a little blonde angel. I made a comment along those lines and was rewarded by a cold glare from Madame Giry who informed us that she was her 'dottair.'

Firmin, finding himself drawn by an exceptional brunette beauty, also made a comment. He was given that same cold glare as Madame Giry snapped "Ai zink of 'er az ay dottair az well!" I did not take the time to ponder her French accent, which for some reason was absent in all the rest of us, nor why we were speaking English in the first place. My mind was occupied with hating that brunette, whoever she thought she was, with her annoyingly curly locks and thin, almost skeletal figure!

I am not certain when a pair of ballet rats threw a chain around my neck. I found it most amusing and cast Firmin a look. He smiled and laughed. Victorious in gaining his attentions, I let myself relax for a while. What else could go wrong?

But then the diva, Carlotta Guidecelli, decided that our attentions were wasted on the ballet rats instead of on her where they should be. If the woman only knew!

So Firmin and I pleaded for her to stay, blah, blah, blah. Firmin convinced her to give us a private rendition. He was always the one with all the ideas!

Now here is a difficulty, putting on paper how Carlotta sounded. Well, I suppose it went something along the lines of this: "Thhhhhinka meEeEe. Thinka me FONdalyyyy when we a say a goOoOoOod…byeeeee! Rrrrrememba meEeEe!" I smiled, of course. I assumed such horrid singing was part of opera and I did not want to appear ignorant. But Firmin, how I admired him! He didn't hide his discomfort for a moment! He even checked his watch!

Then a heroic backdrop fell on La Carlotta and put everyone out of their misery. I made a mental note to promote the brave backdrop, but then Carlotta threw another fit and blah, blah, blah. So we were missing a star and on top of it all Madame Giry brought us welcome from a rather demanding Opera Ghost. The note read:

Sup new managers, I'm the Opera Ghost. I'm sure you've heard all about me.
Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you'd keep box 5 open for me and not, under any circumstances, sell it to some pretty boy Viscount who might want it or something. Also, being an Opera Ghost is probably the most difficult job in the entire theatre so you better pay me soon! Any questions, refer to the pamphlet.

-Your buddy
O.G.

I really wasn't all that concerned. I knew Firmin would come up with something.

In the end that all worked out. That damned brunette from earlier sang the part just fine. I have to admit, she even wormed her way into my heart. Flighty but lofty little thing she was.

So Firmin and I went off to our office to celebrate. But once their something most peculiar happened. We found a note had been left with us, not unlike the message from the Opera Ghost, which Madame Giry had read to us. It was a pleasant letter, congratulating us on our brilliant casting of Ms Daae (the flighty, lofty brunette's name, apparently) and even presenting us with the gift of a bottle of fine champagne.

"Firmin!" I told him excitedly. "Look! Let's celebrate!"

"Indeed." He took the bottle from me and walked out of the office, holding the door open for me. "C'mon! Hurry! Before all the loose ballet rats get taken!" I was beyond disappointed at hearing him say this. I had wanted a party between just the two of us like pals, buddies, chums, amigos, compadres, two peas in a pod, a pair of needles in a haystack, peanut butter and jelly, macaroni and cheese, chocolate and vanilla… I also realized Firmin was staring and tapping his foot impatiently. So I went out after him, taking a long swig from the champagne bottle.

In an effort to quell my disappointment, I drank until I couldn't see straight. Not that anyone noticed, almost everyone else was intoxicated as well. The details of that night are rather fuzzy but I do remember something about taking a pair of particularly trampish ballet rats out to dinner.

The next morning I woke up in the office with a migraine from hell. I sat up sluggishly, wincing and having to hold my pounding head, and realized that I was lying on the desk, wearing only one pant leg. The other dangled uselessly off the side of the desk. My shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, leaving my chest bare. What in the world had happened? What kind of champagne had that been?

Something stirred beside me and I noticed for the first time that someone was lying next to me. No… is it…? I turned slowly, half out of anticipation and half out of concern for my headache. Oh dear lord! It was our new patron! The Viscount de Chagny! Apparently things had not gone so well with Ms Daae. Yes, I remembered speaking with Raoul about her right before the world became a blur.

The viscount turned, beside him lay Firmin. "What in god's name?" I screamed and backed away until I fell off the desk.

Raoul grimaced and sat up, his eyes barely parted. "Keep it down, will ya? I'm trying to sleep." He noticed who I was and my inappropriate state. His eyes widened considerably and he sat there, blinking at me stupidly. "Hey, where'd the ballerinas go? They were here last night before you two passed out." So there had been women with us! I sighed in relief and… something else. Was it… disappointment? I couldn't quite tell… why would I be anything other than thankful?

Firmin chose that moment to wake. He seemed just as confused and panicked as I, though he did a marvelous job of keeping face. "Oh, Monsieur le Viscount. I take it you had trouble with Ms Daae?" He stood casually, as if waking up on your desk, half stripped of your clothing, with two other men, was perfectly normal.

"Ms Daae?" Raoul thought for a moment, then sprang to his feet. "Oh, that's right! That's what I was doing when you two invited me up here for some fun with the corpse de ballet. Christine's room is locked and I heard a strange voice! Call a blacksmith!" And, without so much as putting on his trousers, he bolted out, all the while repeating at the top of his lungs. "Call a blacksmith! A blacksmith!" I looked at Firmin. An unsteady silence settled in between us.

Firmin cleared his throat and began straightening himself out. "Well then. I suppose we should make breakfast then?"

"Indeed." I agreed, suddenly feeling my cheeks flame and turning around so Firmin could not see.

Firmin

The morning was already off to a horrible start. I had a migraine, I had no recollection whatsoever of the last few hours, and to top it all off a black horse had been stolen from the Opera House's stable, along with our private chef. So, damn it all, Andre had to cook.

And just to make a bad day worse, Andre insisted on wearing his frilly pink 'Kiss me, I'm French!' apron.

"Andre!" I groaned. "Must you wear that?"

"I think its cute." He replied indignantly.

"It's ridiculous! You look like a woman!" Didn't I know it…

"I am perfectly secure in my masculinity, thank you very much!" he said with the toss of his head. "Now, would you mind opening this jar of pepper for me?" I groaned again and pressed my fingertips to my temples. This day was not getting any better.

"Here, have some coffee. They say caffeine does a migraine well." Said a melodious voice beside me. I turned and took the cup he offered me.

"Thank you, Monsieur…" I looked up and caught sight of the man sitting beside me. Sometime, during my arguing over Andre's preposterous apron, a masked man clad in an evening suit had apparently snuck in and taken a seat. I stared, mouth agape, as he helped himself to my bacon. I quickly referred to the pamphlet. Under clause 24B dash little e, there was a statement claiming:

If under any circumstances the Opera Ghost should appear uninvited at breakfast, he secures every right to your eggs and bacon.

Below it was a little picture of a masked man stealing biscuits off the plate of the man beside him.

I would have screamed, err… that is at the ghost, not that I was frightened or anything. The thing is, at that moment Andre chose to serve me my eggs. He had sprinkled way too much salt on them and my fear, I mean anger, was replaced by annoyance.

"What, are you trying to kill me?" I shouted.

"Oh, what now?" Andre said, rolling his eyes.

"You know how high my sodium levels are!" I said, slamming my fist against the table and causing my fork to bounce, conveniently, into the palm of the Opera Ghost beside me.

"Well if you don't like it, don't eat it!" Andre retorted, his hands on his hips, as he poured the rest of the eggs for our masked visitor who ate them with vigor. "See? He likes them!" Andre said with a victorious smile as he crossed to the cabinet to retrieve some biscuits.

"Yes, yes, they're rather excellent, aren't they?" The Ghost said, wiping his mouth with my napkin. "Clause 76G dash little p: The Opera Ghost is entitled to your napkins, notes, bed sheets, handkerchiefs, or any other form of paper or thin fabric." He said smugly, as if reading my thoughts.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I found a forkful of egg in my mouth. "At least try them, Richard!" Andre pleaded, still holding the fork at the ready.

"Gilles!" I stood, exasperated. "This is the Opera Ghost!"

Andre looked over at the Ghost in confusion, then over at me, then back at the Ghost, then down at his plate, then back up at me, the to the Ghost, the to his plate, then to the Ghost, then to me, then to the Ghost, then to his plate, then to me, then to his plate, them back up at the Ghost. "Really?" he asked, finally.

"Guilty as charged." Said the Ghost, nonchalant. "Anyway, I must be off." He took my hat from the rack and placed it on his head as he moved towards the door. "And I realize I was late to last night's performance, but you must never sell my box again. That's why I was forced to murder your chef this morning, just so you'd learn your lesson. I hope you will be more cooperative in the future. It really is a great deal of trouble to go all the way and kidnap someone then murder them in cold blood…" he sighed as if he was very tired. "I tell you, I get all excited over a kill and then I never get to sleep!" With that he shook his head and threw my hat back at me. "And do try to acquire a taste in fashion, will you?" He smirked at Andre. "Nice apron."

"Thank you!" Andre beamed. "Are you sure you must be leaving so soon, monsieur Phantom? I was just about to make pancakes…"

"No, no. I must be off." The Ghost interrupted, putting up a hand to silence any attempts to sway him. "As much as I enjoy pancakes, I must get home. You see, I just kidnapped my first date ever and I don't want her waking up all alone in my home. She's not very bright, bless her pretty little head, and may drown in my two-foot lake." He smiled, dreamily. Then suddenly he frowned. "That and the fact that Hoo-hoo should be here any moment. I think I heard him catch the scent of food. MUAHAHA!" Along with the unexpected maniacal laughter came a puff of smoke, a few coughs, and a curse… and then he was gone.

"What an awfully nice ghost." Andre said, pondering. "Do you think he'll join us for breakfast again sometime soon?"

I slammed my forehead into the table in frustration. "That's not a ghost!" I said, my voice muffled by the wood of the table. "It's obviously someone from the cast trying to play a trick on us, that's all."

"Hmm, I suppose then I shouldn't have put so much extra sugar in those biscuits he was eating, huh?" I sat up, my eyes horrified at the thought of a sugar-rushed prankster pretending to be the Phantom.

I didn't have much time to ponder the thought, though. True to the phantom's word, Piangi came bursting in through the door crying "Hoo-hoo!" and leapt for our skillets. At first we were outraged, well at least I was. Andre was flattered to have someone who enjoyed his over seasoned food so much. But all that ended when he bit off a chunk of Andre's apron, scraping a bit of his skin in the process.

"He's tasted human blood!" Andre screamed as we rushed back towards the office, slamming the door and barricading it with all the non-edible items we could find.

From outside we could hear Piangi slamming himself repeatedly into the door, trying to break it down. "I suppose… this is… a good time to …go over… private business matters then." Andre said, gasping for air.

"We should've actually read the pamphlet before we took this job!" I nodded, taking out the pamphlet and checking it for any references on how to avoid being eaten.