Disclaimer: I own almost nothing. I do own the lyrics to "Brats of the Ensemble", but if you tell anyone, I'll deny it.

I updated rather sooner than I said I would mainly because I already had this part written; I just needed to convert them to story form so they'd be allowed on this site. I've actually got a little more written too.

If Carlotta Accidentally Chops Herself Up In The Middle Of A Forest With A Chainsaw And There's No One There To Hear It (Since She's Already Obviously Deaf Anyway), Does She Make A Sound?

(Answer: most likely, since they'd hear her from Indonesia, and we assume this is a French forest.)

That accursed soprano was screeching again, but for once without calling it singing. Erik wasn't even sure to whom Carlotta was speaking, if you could call that. Madame Giry? Reyer? Piangi? Buquet? Yes, probably Buquet. Either way, she was yelling, "Look at-a ME, NOT at-a the stupid dancing girls! LOOK AT-A ME!"

Erik rolled his eyes and muttered. "No, thanks, I value my eyes. I'd rather spy on the ballet rats..."

For once, however, Madame Giry didn't care that her girls were getting distracted. They were doing some sort of weird tap dance along with a ridiculous song. Erik perked up his ears to listen to it.

"We're brats of the ensemble!
We'll show you a good tumble!
We've got big hearts and tiny parts
But you never hear us grumble!"

Erik frowned. "On second thought, I don't think I should. They are silly things."

He quickly forgot about the ballerinas upon the arrival of three people. One he recognized; it was Lefevre, the manager. The other two he did not know. But of course, he was to find out. After all, like in any good story, characters only notice plot points.

Whoever they were, they were completely messing up rehearsal, although the ballerinas' song had probably done that pretty well. Reyer cut everyone off with a wave of his baton and turned to Lefevre. "M. Lefevre," he began heatedly, "we are trying to rehearse! And while this may not seem important to you, it will be important when no one ever attends the opera again because this whole show goes up in flames! Er, metaphorically speaking, of course."

Erik grinned from his hiding place in box five. "Thanks for the idea, M. Reyer!" he thought to himself, chuckling.

"Well, you see, M. Reyer--he's our conductor, by the way," he shot out of the corner of his mouth to the two strangers, "the success of this opera no longer matters to me in the slightest, as I have sold it to these two men, M. Richard Firmin, and M. Gilles Andre."

Carlotta stepped forward to greet the men. With a syrupy tone masking underlying danger, she introduced herself. "I am ze prima donna of zees show, Carlotta Giudicelli. Have you heard of-a me?"

Firmin bent to kiss her hand. "Why, of course, mademoiselle. We have seen you triumph in many a show."

Carlotta drew her hand back, shrieking once more. "Then you should know to look at-a ME, NOT AT THE LEETLE BALLERINAS!"

Andre apparently immediately recognized the need of a highly important survival tactic: kissing ass. "Signora, we merely needed to get acquainted with the whole of the opera house! Now that we've completed our tour, nothing would please us more than to watch you perform!"

"Lefevre...just WHY are you retiring?" Firmin asked, staring in horrified wonder at the now appeased diva. Lefevre mumbled some excuse about his health. "Really?" Firmin pressed.

Lefevre appeared to give up. "Oh, confound it. I never wanted to own an opera...I wanted to be...A LUMBERJACK!" His eyes grew misty as he gestured madly with his arms. "Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! The Fir! The Larch! The Redwood! The mighty Scots Pine! The plucky little Aspen! The great limping rude tree of Nigeria! The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of mighty trees!"

He grabbed the arm of an unsuspecting Meg, who was too shocked to push him away. "With my best gal by my side, we'd sing, SING..." He burst into song.

"I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day!"

Everyone joined in except Meg (who was still too shocked), Madame Giry (who was glowering at Lefevre for grabbing her daughter), and Erik, who was merely observing, amused. "He's a lumberjack and he's okay! He sleeps all night and he works all day!"

Lefevre continued solo. "I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory! On Wednesdays, I go shopping and have buttered scones for tea!"

This time, everyone was caught up in the music. Even Meg, who decided Lefevre wasn't quite so bad even if he was old. Even Mme Giry, who figured that at least he was rich, so it wasn't bad that Meg was in his favor. Even Erik, who thought it was a catchy tune, though it had nothing on Music of the Night. But you'll have to wait for a later scene for that.

"He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch, he goes to the lavatory! On Wednesdays, he goes shopping and has buttered scones for tea!"

Carlotta was the first to snap out of the spell this song had cast over them. "'Ey, wait a meenute! 'Ow come 'e get a song when 'e only OWNED the opera? I'MA THE STAR! I GET THE NEXT SONG!"

Andre again showed his immense aptitude at averting disaster by sucking up. "Why, of course, mademoiselle! I know just the one! Isn't there a rather marvelous aria for Elissa in Act Five?"

"Three, sir!" some fat guy corrected. Everyone looked at him, wondering who the heck he was and where he'd come from, and then realized in embarrassment that he was Piangi, the lead role. Oops.

"Three," Andre amended.

Carlotta assented readily, always willing to show off her extremely...unique...vocal cords. "Sure, why-a not-a?"

Lefevre smacked his forehead. "Oh, beware, you fools!" he warned. "There is a beast so frightening, it will rip your eardrums to shreds!" Carlotta stepped forward on the stage as Reyer lifted his baton a bit hesitantly. Lefevre shrieked and pointed. "THERE IT IS!"

Firmin looked, wondering to what he was referring. "What, behind Carlotta?"

"It IS Carlotta!" Lefevre hissed. Firmin looked skeptic.

Carlotta began. "Think of meeeeeeeeee, think of me foooooooooooondly wheeeeeeeeeen we've said GOOOOOOOOOOOOODbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye, remember meeeeeeeeee, once in a whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiile, please prooooooooooooomise me yo-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU'LL t-rrr-yyyyyyyyyyy..."

Lefevre grimaced, covering his ears. "Oh, you see? I tried to warn you! But nooooo, it's just a harmless little OPERA SINGER, isn't it?"

Erik should have been used to it by that point, but there are just some forms of torture to which one is never fully numbed. He saved everyone's ears by moving a few well-chosen ropes that dropped a well-chosen backdrop onto a soprano that had not been so well-chosen for a star but was quite well-chosen for getting a backdrop on her butt.

It was quite obvious at this point that Carlotta was ticked. And while everyone in the room was happy at that moment due to the fact that the prima donna had stopped singing...it was a general rule that when Carlotta was unhappy, everyone else would soon be unhappy too.

Then Firmin got an idea! An awful idea! Firmin got a wonderful, awful idea! "Hey, let's say something that sounds like we're trying to help but is actually really stupid so she'll leave!" he whispered to his partner.

Andre obliged. " Signora...uh...these things do happen!"

Carlotta was, quite obviously, not appeased. "Si, si, I kind of NOTICED-A, since it appears to have-a happened ON TOP OF MY REAR END-A! So long-a, suckers!" She stormed out, to everyone's relief.

"Wow, you guys lucked out. See ya never!" Lefevre exited also, taking care to keep safe distance between him and Carlotta.

To my lovely reviewers: thanks! To my not so lovely reviewers...no, I'm kidding. You're all lovely.

(No, I didn't forget those on my list of great composers, though...I just directly stole the exact lines they use. Wagner's my favorite :-D)