MJ-Skywalker: I greatly appreciate the info. I kind of figured that, but I just wanted to make sure. I have meant to read the novel before I heard of the film, however, seeing as how I've been bombarded with work and training, I haven't been able to, so excuse my ignorance for now. And, yes, as ridiculous as it sounds, I have stumbled upon quite a number of writers, writing from the same root, who have all 'created' the same name for an anonymous anime character (not on this site, but one that I used to write for a while back). Turns out that the author allowed others to use that name, so, naturally, whoever stumbled upon that piece of writing (which was quite a bit) was lazy enough to use that name instead of either coming up with their own or challenging themselves to keep the character anonymous. I am thus forever cursed by paranoia. I was by no means implying that the writers were uninformed/misinformed.
SilentPhantasy: er… yeah, I know… typo.
PhantomSith: er… I thought that was pretty self-explanatory. I'm not too good at descriptions, especially surroundings, nor am I a fan of such detail. Describing the surroundings TOO much well only drag the story on and dry it out, which is why I don't bother if it's already rather obvious. Plus, the reader will not pay much attention to that kind of description while reading, so all they will remember are the statues and random dance scenes. As for the paragraphs, they are smaller when written, however, sometimes they get squished together after the chapter's been posted. This is beyond my control. Do me a favour and do not imply that your other reviewers have been dishonest (yes, I've read your reply). They probably have enjoyed your stories as much as they say have. I'm not such a great writer, but I usually look at pieces of writing from a critic's point of view, so I've got a habit on picking at the mistakes and may come across as harsh. Plus, as you may have noticed, I'm not a big fan of too much detail, and yours went overboard… And thanks for the link, but I've found the book at the school library.
A/n: Thanks for the reviews and all the info. Immensely appreciated. As for the whole name thing, I don't know if I feel comfortable enough to use the name 'Erik', since I do not know what the actual character is like, and it would only confuse me (strangely enough). So, he shall continue to remain anonymous, though, if I (or the readers) become overly annoyed by it, I will start (or at least try) to use his official name.
One more thing: as you may have noticed, this is not the typical PotO fanfiction, so, I've added my own characters, possibly my own little 'world' etc…. Having said this, if the reader cannot tolerate outside characters, press the escape button before fragments of your computer is decorating your floor. You have been warned, and I will not tolerate flames about what I've just mentioned.
Christine lay awake, her eyes shut, waiting for sleep to finally seize her consciousness. She shifted around in bed, finding the spot closest to the tingling warmth of sleep… but her consciousness would not release her. Her honey eyes snapped open and she stared into the deep, musky darkness for a good while, a routine she'd picked up ever since she'd run away with Raoul, to try and help her fall asleep… who knew? Perhaps ultimate boredom would help. But she knew from experience nothing would. Not even counting sheep. As she'd do late every night, she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake up Raoul, who was snoring and mumbling quite loudly. She groped the darkness in search for a bathrobe and accidentally yanked it off of a hanger, sending other articles onto the floor along with it, consecutively smacking the ground with many small but clamorous clanks. She jumped and froze as the racket suddenly shattered the thick silence, letting out a small yelp of surprise.
All of her except her ears numbed as the silence crept back into the room. She listened for any signs of consciousness. Raoul mumbled incoherently, but went right on snoring. Upon deeming it 'safe', she carefully tiptoed out of the room, tripped her way down the cold wood, large spiral stairs and finally rested on the bottom step, where she huddled up against the wall and let her thoughts whirl around her.
Getting used to the perfect silence during the night seemed so strange. Back at the burned down Opera Populaire dormitories, the sounds of restlessly squealing orphans and ballet girls would be her lullaby, along with the calming voice of what was once known to her as the Angel of Music. She leaned her head back on the wall as his smooth, soothing voice crept back into her mind, bounced off every wall of her skull and echoed powerfully in her ears. Not even the irritating buzz of silence could dilute his pure voice, but it could never be the same. Never WOULD be the same after that one event.
She gripped her bathrobe and shuddered as the memories gusted through her head like a cold icy breeze.
-------
The creak of an opening door echoed throughout the Opera Populaire replacement. The natural light was strong enough, so there was no need to turn on the gas. Firmin still mechanically touched the wall for the light switch. It was then he realized that there, in fact, was no light switch. "So, this what our Patron got for us?" he asked dryly, unimpressed with it at first glance.
"Apparently…" Andre followed.
All staff, cast and crew members stood behind the managers eagerly, whispering and poking their heads out to the side to look at what M. de Chagny had found. Because no one was able to see it from where they stood, the crowd pushed and shoved and even trampled the struggling managers until all of them were standing inside.
The light of a bright new day ran over every ugly, unfinished detail of the new opera house. Wood was still hanging from the ceiling, there was nothing to brighten it but the natural light, and screws stuck out from every direction. Along with a new Opera house, came a few new dancers, chorus girls and actors, and many new, young musicians. Andre and Firmin still managed the newly born (or reborn) opera house and Raoul was still patron, this time though, having Christine by his side.
Almost the whole crowd moaned as every detail settled in. This was not an opera house! It was a disaster! Though the stage was larger, it was placed so randomly in that massive room, no one knew how this set up was going to work. No seats or rows were installed. The Boxes looked as though they threatened to fall, so everyone stood clear of them. Again, there were no seats or rows installed. The décor… no, wait, there was no decor… unless all the screws count.
"PATRON!" Firmin roared, temporarily forgetting Raoul's social status. He had to almost literally throw a few people aside before finally finding the young man. "What is this? A joke?"
"Monsieur, this was all that was available." He replied calmly.
"M. Vicompte de Chagny, have you ANY idea how long this will take to build! We haven't the time! And where do you expect us to get the money!" Andre yelled, coming to Firmin's side at once, in that same state of rage.
"Stay calm, Monsieurs." Raoul's dully-placid face annoyed the managers. "Your subordinates have trained their crew for the new gala during this long vacation, no doubt. We still have time. You need to put more trust in your subordinates, Monsieurs. I'm sure everyone is all ready for the gala, so we don't need to practice as much. The extra time can go into building up the house."
"Yes, you seem to have forgotten about the money…" said Firmin through gritted teeth, slightly twitching with irritation.
"I'll take care if it." The patron seemed so confidant, he sounded almost Naïve.
Firmin twitched again, momentarily unable to remember any words to penetrate the patron's child-like naivety. "Fine!" he snapped. "Shall we see what our crew as put together?" He glided his hand through the air in the direction of the random stage.
The orchestra set up right away on the floor, the actors and sopranos stomped onto the stage with such egotism, they seemed to have owned it straight away, though displeasure stilled rippled their arrogance. The ballet girls took off their shoes almost immediately and followed Mme Giry onto the stage.
Meg was shaking. Her eyes seemed distracted and she was mindlessly studying the back of her mother's head for God-knows-what reason. Her nervous hands fumbled restlessly with a loose thread hanging off her robe. She received another letter from him. He needed her help again, but the mere thought of his request made her hands shake uncontrollably, even though it was not much larger than the others. Still, it meant indirectly betraying her best friend and prolonging the heavy secret from her mother. I don't get it… she thought to herself hopelessly why me? Why do I have to- "OW!" she yelped, and ripped her bare foot from the unpolished stage as if it were set ablaze. She instinctively held her foot in her tremulous hands and took a look at the pain-inflicted area. There, with its extended point embedded in her heavily calloused foot, was a long wooden splinter.
Madame Giry turned around sharply and shot her seemingly permanent harsh eyes at her daughter before throwing the managers a look that could have sliced through steel like tissue paper… though, admittedly, she was quite relieved. Now, her dancers would not have to perform a dance, which had not been properly coordinated yet. Very little could have been done in a mere month or so. This calming emotion, however, was covered up with perfection by her terrible piercing eyes, which instilled instant fear into the managers.
"This stage is not polished." She snapped. "How are the dancer's supposed to perform now?"
"Uhm." Andre choked.
Oh how hard it was not to chuckle. She had them right where she wanted them.
Firmin rolled his eyes. He was still furious. "Well don't ask us! Tell that airhead of a Patron." He pointed a harsh finger at Raoul.
Madame Giry sighed, simulating great irritation. "Either way. Meg is injured and we cannot perform today." She weaved her arm under Meg's and ordered all the dancers off the stage.
Upon crossing the managers while coming off of the stage as the girls rushed to put their shoes back on, the ballet instructor threw a look at both the managers and the patron that chilled the air. "Govern yourselves accordingly." She hissed before disappearing through the front door, all of her dancers streaking behind her and Meg on her shoulder, one shoe on one foot and the other in hand.
Raoul rushed after them, while Firmin sighed. "Anyone else?"
When no one replied, he nodded his head at Mr. Reyer, signalling the commencement immediately.
Carlotta sang a fast Celtic tune, which seemed to pleasantly nourish the sharp pitch. Her own music floated around her, temporarily letting her forget all her hardships. Her spirit floated high above. She was no longer standing on solid ground, but soaring peacefully through the air, casting all emotions into the wind. One emotion she hung onto, though, was the happiness and freedom she felt while singing… and that she was no longer compared to Christine, who had declared her retirement the night of her wedding. Why? Carlotta didn't care, and was too busy suppressing the pain in her heart while Christine gave her speech.
The orchestra, now composed of both elderly and young, struggled to keep up with the fast tempo, especially those on string instruments. They also had little time to prepare for this sudden presentation… though they did not have an excuse to escape from it. Even so, they managed to play well enough to suit Carlottta's voice and tempo.
Andre and Firmin savoured the sounds with almost sleepy expressions, drinking in the harmonious music with their eyes closed. Perhaps the Patron was right. Their anger and frustration towards the young man slowly diminished as the music flowed delightfully in and out of their ears and weaved in between, emitting an enjoyable peace and relaxation throughout their bodies…
A horrific screech abruptly broke the wonderfully flowing music. Carlotta was no longer soaring, but plunging through the air and hit the hard bitter ground of reality only moments later.
The hairs on Andre and Firmin's necks pricked upwards stingingly and both shuddered at the cringe-worthy noise. Their anger toward the Patron struck them again, and they both thought about how lucky he was that he was not there… they would have had his head for sure.
Carlotta, along with everyone else on stage pressed their hands to their ears, while all orchestra members darted their eyes at the one who'd caused the atrocious distraction.
"Why is eze music estopping?" Carlotta asked, screaming over the chorus of disturbed moans. She didn't mean to complain, but she couldn't last without music for long… it served as a dam, holding back an agonizing wave just waiting to beat against her battered and bruised heart.
M. Reyer rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air with a small moan. Now he was in for it.
"Signora, please," Andre started immediately to calm her down, without realizing her expression was not irritated at all, but desperate.
Old habits die hard, apparently.
"It was probably just an accident." Firmin completed the unfinished statement.
"You must train your violinists monsieur Reyer." Said Andre, imitating a scold, though it was obvious he was simply trying to stop Carlotta's annoying tongue before anyone got a lashing.
"They are not used to this Irish style." M. Reyer defended calmly, though his inward irritation seeped through his composed tone. "We've barely had a month of practice!"
A small hiss of pain was heard from the orchestra. Followed by a deep, dry "…great…" obviously coming from a young man, though his struggles were in vain, for whoever latched onto his right ear did not seem to want to let go.
"Silence, child." An elderly man scolded while he pressed his hard chalky nails further into the young man's ear. "Thiery, learn your instrument."
"Child… keh. I am twenty-seven years old, for god's sake…" retorted the one who was known as Thiery. He winced again as the old man increased the pressure on his ear and pulled upward. Some of his unruly deep black locks were caught between his attacker's dry fingers as well, only causing his hazel eyes to squint even further. A muscle in his wide-set, yet not-so-powerful-but-well-structured jaw twitched as his ear started to burn. He grinded his teeth together, revealing a slight under-bite. His violin was held clumsily in one of his long, bony hands while his bow was held as if it were a dangerous weapon.
"ESTOP IT!" Carlotta snapped all of a sudden. She could feel hot, unwanted tears pool in her eyes while her empty chest burned with soul-deep anguish. She needed a cover and fast. "WE START OVER!"
Thiery pulled back roughly with a sharp hiss and settled his violin back onto his slim shoulder.
--meanwhile--
"Mme Giry, wait!" Raoul shouted as he dashed after her and the dancers under the scorching sun. He held his hand above his eyes to protect them from its painful rays of intense light. He even envied some of the girls, who wore large hats over their heads, which shed a protective shadow over their eyes. "Wait for the rest of the tour. The best has yet to come."
"If you don't mind Raoul," She hissed while coming to a stop, though a huge smirk spread across her face the instant she opened her mouth. This was just too amusing. "My daughter was hurt by your imprudence. Who knows how long she'll have to wait before she could dance again." She knew inwardly that a simple splinter took no more than a few days to heal.
"Madame, if you please, there is a reason why I chose this building-"
"You mean other than the fact that it was all there was left?" she interrupted wryly, her back still turned to him.
"Weeeelll…."
"Good day monsieur." She kept walking, hitting her feet purposely against the hard ground. Some of the girls could not hold back a giggle when they saw their instructor's shoulders twitch with laughter.
"What about the dorms Madame!" he yelled after her, in obvious desperation. "You and the orphans need shelter, do you not? Would you not like to see where you would be staying this time?"
Madame Giry froze. Her stern face returned, suddenly becoming serious again. The joke was over. "Very well." she turned round on her heals and stomped forward, right passed Raoul and back into the music-filled, disastrous opera house. Meg struggled to keep her grip on her mother's shoulder.
At the first sight of Raoul, Firmin pounced and grabbed his collar. Though anger was suppressed at the moment, his eyes radiated dangerously with nuclear rage. He rubbed his eyebrows with a twitching hand and said in a strained tone, "they are not ready… what are we to do?" He clenched his fist tighter around the collar as his hands began to perspire.
Raoul kept his eyes on Madame Giry, obviously not paying much attention to the older man's complaint. "We need to hire some carpenters and craftsmen, then." He said dismissively, removing the manager's slippery hands from his collar effortlessly and quickly disappeared down a staircase… to Firmin's frustration…
Firmin flinched as his head shot down into shuddering shoulders as the music came to a halt, caused by another devastating sound, followed by several shouts: "THIERY!", a wince from the young violinist and a comment: "Get off my ear, you old fool." … then came a retort: "Silence child. That's no way to treat your elders." … and then Carlotta interrupted: "FROM THE TOP!"
Both managers slapped their own foreheads…. What a day…
Raoul, however, was having more luck than the managers. Mme Giry seemed pleased with the much larger dormitories, vast enough to fit more than double the amount of the previous house… and they'll need it too, seeing as how the younger orchestra members also needed a place to stay.
"A real diamond in the rough." She said, while keeping her eyes on the long halls and immense rooms. Meg's eyes followed in her mother's stare. Unlike the rest of the house, these parts were unfinished, but liveable, meaning that the orphans and the two Giry's were no longer obliged to stay at a cramped, temporary location.
"Do whatever you wish with it, these parts are yours to decorate." Raoul said. The woman's eyes never fell upon the patron, but still absorbed the surroundings. "Oh, there's a larger room just down another staircase. That could be used as a practice room, but you'll need to install your own equipment."
Mme Giry nodded her head as she pushed Meg up further onto her shoulder. The orphans, even the older ones, screamed with delight and ran wildly in and out of rooms until they found their own… not that they were much different. Shouts of "Called it!" and "Shot-gun!" drowned out the excuse for Celtic music from upstairs. There was no specific pattern as to where they slept, but most of the males and females grouped together on either side of the hall.
-----
The sun was setting, casting its heavenly colours through the vast, multi-coloured stained-glass windows. His long, mahogany hair bathed in striking colours of red gave it an air of crimson blood. The room from days ago was abandoned, and the ghost moved about freely, though still lost within the shadows of the lightless room. His cloak made thick sounds as it swished swiftly to and fro, dogging upturned chairs and dismantled tables.
"Where is she?" He whispered, though barely a sound was emitted.
The choir's voice was diluted into a ghostly sound from that room, though to his ears, it was far from beautiful. The priest needed singing lessons, the women needed to control their pitch and the men needed to sooth their tempo. All of them needed to coordinate.
Almost as if to prove how it's done, he opened his mouth and followed the priest's words and gathered some of the tune. Impeccable notes floated from his mouth, bringing the broken piece of music together into a masterpiece, though to him, it was merely for amusement. He didn't sing loud enough for anyone to hear him at first, but as he became more and more familiar with the song, he got carried away and his voice arose with the adrenaline. He was so absorbed after a certain amount of time that he hadn't realised the eventual halt of his 'background sound'. He couldn't have known for sure, but he was certain the choir heard him, just like he was able to hear them.
Rapid footsteps were heard from not too far off into the distance. Even so, that gave the Phantom just enough time to vanish into the shadows of those androgynous statues with just one whoosh of a cloak. The long braid fell at his back after a small delay…. Meg will have to come another day.
Nervous huffs and puffs of a man went about the room, followed by clumsy footsteps and a few clanks, obviously caused by the priest tripping over tables and chairs.
"Where is he?" he mumbled silently, frightfully. "That voice, it was here, I heard it-"
"Father Francis?" a small voice cut off his ramblings after a pyramidal strip of orange light cut through the darkness. It remained there as long as that boy stood in the doorway and cast his own shadow through the light.
The priest jumped with anxiety. And by the subsequent consecutive clatters, the musical mastermind knew that the man of god had most probably slipped and landed on some of the props. "Didn't you hear it?" he stammered. "There's someone here!"
"It was probably your imagination, Father." The child replied and led the priest out of the room.
The human ghost peaked his head out from that statue, and made sure no one was looking before stepping out of his hiding spot and slipping through the still slightly opened door. His eyes hurt and squinted at the illumination flooding his vision violently.
He could have easily been noticed, had the priest and the boy faced him, however, their backs were turned and he made not a sound as he ran off the opposite direction, hidden in the shades of the walls. Time to explore…
-----
Raoul plopped down in a chair beside his wife. She turned her weary eyes to him and smiled warmly, though it looked almost painful with tiredness etched on every feature. He smiled back, or at least tried to, but the best he could pull off was a look of sheer worry and sadness… but Christine's eyes were still closed so she wouldn't have noticed.
It almost hurt him to see her like this, so exhausted. He found her early that morning propped up against the bottom step, and decided not to wake her up as he left for work, but by the looks of it, she still barely got any sleep.
He turned his eyes away from her and looked straight ahead in a tired daze. He was not fully awake either, but he felt a little more alert, seeing that his partner was completely worn out.
She moved in close to him and laid her head on his scrawny shoulder. "How's the house?" she asked sleepily.
"They have yet to appreciate it." He answered with a yawn.
"What about Madame Giry?"
"She didn't seem pleased at first, because Meg got injured, but she lightened up after seeing the dorms." He smiled tiredly and landed a small kiss on her head. "We have a lot of work to do."
"mhnnn….." Christine groaned sleepily.
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I know, this was a boring chapter, but it serves as a bit of an introduction, so it could not be helped. Bear with me. And review.