A/N: I did it! I saw Phantom for the FOURTH time on Sunday! -happy dance- Oh, and I just went out and bought the extended version of the movie soundtrack, so you can kiss those nasty lyric errors goodbye. I'll go back and fix those soon, not because you all care, per se, but because I'm a perfectionist and proud of it. Lol.
Disclaimer: "Here, I have a note." (Psst! This is where you all say "Let me see it!")
Dearest readers,
I am here to inform you quite tersely that while the author of this so-called "phanphic" falls easily under the category of a so-called "phanatic," she most certainly does not own me, my Opera House, or Christine Daaé. However, I cannot speak for the Vicomte. (Nade jumps in to squeal excitedly. "Mine, MINE! ALL MINE!" -takes Raoul and runs-) Ahem. Anyway, I find this whole disclaimer business to be rather tedious, so I do not wish to hear any more of this legal mumbo-jumbo. If you should continue to require this ridiculous little formality at the beginning of every chapter, I'm afraid one of my infamous "disasters beyond your imagination" might be unavoidable. Now leave me alone, you obsessive lunatics.
I remain, your obedient servant,
O.G.
True to her word, Christine remained perfectly silent as we crept through the cold, narrow crawlspace just above the main floor. Her shallow breathing and the constant, gentle pressure of her hand on my ankle both soothed and reassured me; never before had I enjoyed traveling through the dark passageways of the Opera as when Christine was there beside me, lending her warmth to the otherwise frigid, foreboding atmosphere. Even when we stumbled upon a nest of fat, hissing rats, Christine remained calm; the only sign of her discomfort was the way her nails dug painfully into my skin and the subtle change of pace in the intervals of her breathing. After shooing the rodents away with the wave of a blazing match, I turned to my frightened companion, grasping her forearm gently.
"Shall we go back?" I asked quietly. In the flickering firelight, I saw Christine's wan face lift in a brave smile.
"Over a few pesky rats?" she replied breathlessly. "No, of course not. I'm not afraid. Go on." I stared at her uncertainly for a moment before she nudged my shoulder, gripping my ankle meaningfully. "I'm fine. Please, let's continue. I've never done anything so daring in my life." Her smile was genuinely thrilled, so I swallowed my skepticism and protective instincts and did as she said.
Fortunately, we did not run into any more rodents, exceedingly large spiders or the occasional snake that sometimes occupied the cool, quiet passageways. When we finally reached a dead end in the tunnel, I let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. I dug in my pockets for my book of matches and, upon finding it, struck one of them, turning to face Christine. I beckoned for her to lean closer, and began to whisper instructions into her ear.
"It is paramount that we remain completely silent throughout this next portion of our journey." I gestured to the slab of wood on which the two of us crouched, and she nodded her understanding. "Directly underneath us is the hallway that leads to La Carlotta's dressing room. The passage that encircles her room is inaccessible by any other means but this: we must drop through the ceiling, and take immediate cover in shadow. Next to the third gargoyle statue there is a small knot in the stone; I want you to remain hidden in the doorway below us until I beckon for you to follow. A small section of the wall next to the knot will swing open; this is the secret passage from which we will be able to see and hear all of the goings-on of the diva's room. Understood?"
Christine's eyes danced in the firelight, her lips twitching in a mischievous smile. "Understood." I nodded somberly, but could not keep an excited glint from my own eyes. With any luck, we would soon witness the utter humiliation and resulting tantrum of the prima donna as the managers finally got my not-so-subtle hints and replaced her with Christine in that night's gala.
Just as my match burned out, I grasped the rusted copper handle of the trap door, gesturing for Christine to move behind me. The rustle of her skirt followed, and when I felt her warm fingers come to rest on my back, I nodded to her, and opened the wooden door with the tiniest creak of the latch. We both cringed; of course, the sound seemed ten times louder to our anxious ears than to any passersby, of which there were none anyway. Once sure that the coast was clear, I dropped lightly to the ground below, and held my hands up meaningfully to Christine. She followed suit eagerly, falling into my waiting arms with a practiced grace that shed light on her extensive ballet training. I smiled at her briefly, placing my hand at the small of her back and ushering her quickly into the shadowed doorway. Down the hall, we could already hear Carlotta's moaning, the scrape of furniture against the stone floors, and the distinct shattering of glass. Christine flinched at this last sound, and I stroked her back gently in reassurance.
After looking the hallway up and down several times, I crept stealthily down to the aforementioned statue, prodding the knot roughly. My obedient Christine had remained in her hiding place, the only visible portion of her being those large, excited brown eyes and a tuft of chestnut hair. I nodded to her, extending my hand. She darted out from the doorway and clasped my gloved hand in her own, following me willingly into yet another dimly lit passage.
Sure enough, each of Carlotta's heavily accented words rang clearly through the thin walls, but now several other, distinctly male voices accompanied hers. I cocked my head slightly out of habit as I listened, and picked out the individual voices.
"Piangi, Firmin and Andre are with her," I whispered into Christine's ear. She nodded, her fingers squeezing mine excitedly. I led her deeper into the tunnel, still listening intently to their heated conversation, most of which was undecipherable over the nasal wailing of the Italian diva. We finally reached a spot where the stone had cracked in such a way that the two of us could look on simultaneously if Christine nestled in my arms and held her face close to mine. She did so casually, flashing me her trademark warm, wide grin as she settled comfortably into my arms. For a moment, I had to remind myself to breathe; such close contact nearly had me passed out on the cold, hard floor. I basked in the warmth of her body, which fit so neatly against mine it was if we were two puzzle pieces, intended to meld as we did now.
The moment was promptly spoiled as Carlotta threw another glass item (a vase this time) at the two stammering managers, who dodged the flying item instinctively. The vase smashed into hundreds of pieces as it collided forcefully with the corresponding wall, and the diva collapsed dramatically into a plush pink armchair, clasping her forehead with one hand.
"Please, signora!" Andre sputtered, offering her an elaborate bouquet of brightly colored flowers, which she slapped away irritably. Think of your muse…
And of the cues 'round the theatre! Firmin piped in, lowering a box of expensive imported chocolates for the diva to inspect. She eyed these a bit more keenly before remembering herself and letting out a distressed sob; with a sharp wave of her hand she turned these down, too. The managers, however, were not deterred; they ducked in and out of the adjoining hallway with one bribe after another, droning on in those horrid voices (laughably, they went so far as to attempt to harmonize, at which point Christine and I exchanged exasperated glances).
Can you deny us the triumph in store?
Sing prima donna once more!
My breathing came in hard, quick gasps, and my blood began to race hotly through my veins. Christine's posture loosened a bit, and she leaned back into my arms, slumped in defeat.
"It was a good try, mon ange," she whispered. I sucked in a deep breath of air, my heart hammering in my chest. A worried expression settled on Christine's beautiful face, and she cupped my left cheek gently. "Perhaps next time…"
I shook my head fervently, my eyes stinging viciously as I refused to blink. "No… no." I finally swallowed my pride, if not my rage, and glanced down at her. "You will sing the part of the Countess, Christine. I promise you"
She swallowed, the muscles in her throat tensing visibly. "You also promised me you wouldn't hurt her," she breathed.
My gaze snapped venomously to Carlotta, and I narrowed my eyes. Why, why had I made that promise to her? But I could not take it back now, and I would never betray her trust. "That I did," I admitted sullenly. She stared at me for a moment more, then, apparently having assured herself that I would keep my promise (which, as a matter of fact, I did), turned her focus back on the Italian diva.
Predictably, Carlotta seemed to be enjoying all of the attention, and did a horrible job of hiding it (she was not, as I have mentioned before, the best of actresses; even the worst chorus girl could outshine Carlotta's over-exaggerated style). Through her mascara-stained tears her eyes glinted greedily at all of the managers' gifts; she finally found two which she simply could not refuse: a hand muffler made from dyed mink fur, and a brand new, ribbon clad teacup poodle. Eventually, to my utter horror, she, too, began to sing (screech!) along with her managers.
Prima donna, your song shall live again!
You took a snub, but there's a public who needs you.
I snorted, and Christine began to shake with silent laughter. I smiled despite myself; at the very least, I could entertain her in these painful moments.
Think of your public! Andre and Firmin reiterated. I leaned forward, my lips grazing a lock of hair tucked behind Christine's ear. "What is this public they keep talking about?" I whispered. Christine began to laugh harder, trying very hard to remain silent. She clamped her right hand over her mouth as I continued. "Everyone in the queue this morning was calling for the magnificent Miss Daaé, not Carlotta." Her chest rose and fell in a content sigh, and she settled back cheerfully into my embrace, her head falling back on my shoulder.
Those who hear your voice liken you to an angel! Firmin and Andre cooed, dropping to their knees in front of the diva. Christine and I looked quickly at one another, then burst into full-out laughter (quietly, of course). I fell back on my elbows, and Christine collapsed on my chest, her entire body shaking violently with suppressed giggles. Never had I overheard a worse pun in my life, intentional or not!
Carlotta continued her vain solo, now completely oblivious to the serenading managers.
Think of their cries of undying support
Follow where your limelight leads you…
Concurrently, the two managers exchanged exasperated glances. They suddenly realized the price they would pay for bringing Carlotta back to the stage; she now held absolute power over them, or so they thought. Little did they know that I held the strings to all of them, but soon they would learn better; for even as I sat watching them, I began to scheme and plot for the abrupt end to Carlotta's career. Christine was perfectly still and silent in my arms; a distinct air of disappointment had suddenly re-enveloped her, and it left my heart aching for my sweet, worthy student. She doubted my ability to place her back in the leading role, perhaps, but I didn't believe that to be the problem; the managers had turned her down after she far outshone Carlotta as the lead in Hannibal, and they knew it. After such a let-down, she most definitely had the right to be frustrated and morose, but I took a more direct approach; I wanted justice and revenge and I wanted it immediately. Even I had to wonder at the managers' motives; I didn't doubt the extent of their stupidity for a moment, but even two deaf, blind men could tell which of the two women was more deserving of the role of Countess.
We get our opera;
She gets her limelight!
The two managers bumped shoulders, seemingly very pleased with themselves. Carlotta began to sing a tuneless, off-key assortment of painfully high notes, and suddenly their smug expressions dissolved once more into exasperation.
Leading ladies are a trial! They agreed. I rubbed Christine's forearm defensively, a frown etched into my features. She offered me a nonchalant shrug and a forced smile, but the sparkle had disappeared from her eyes. I fingered my Punjab lasso thoughtfully, eyeing the managers with a rapidly increasing hatred, but Christine's warm fingers covered mine and I ceased my murderous thoughts for the moment. Their fates would be decided another day; somehow I could not bring myself to kill in front of her.
Prima donna, your song shall never die!
You'll sing again, and to unending ovation!
It seemed that as Carlotta's vanity swelled, her voice became progressively more insufferable; one piercing note bled into another until I was sure my ears would start to bleed in protest.
Tears… oaths…
Lunatic demands are regular occurrences.
I glared venomously at the two managers, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling in complete abhorrence, my breathing coming in hisses through my bared, clenched teeth. How dare they insult me in front of Christine! First I was puerile, and now on top of that I was a lunatic? Oh, they would pay very dearly for this… very dearly, indeed…
Think how you'll shine in that final encore
Sing, prima donna, once more!
Gritting my teeth, I lowered my eyes from the horrendous sight. My only consolation was the thoughts of vengeance that ran rampant through my mind. There were so many ideas… so many excellent ways to exact revenge upon the empty-headed diva and the two raving lunatics who had the nerve to cast her. In all fairness, I had warned them several times that a disaster beyond their imaginations would occur should they choose to disobey my commands, and disobey them they had. Now it was time for me to uphold my end of the bargain.
"I've had quite enough of this," I whispered somberly into Christine's ear, and she nodded with a sigh. Slowly I untangled myself from her embrace, but my flesh howled in protest as I did so; the stale air was frigid against the places which her skin had warmed so efficiently. She, too, gave a shiver as we rose to our feet, rubbing her hands unconsciously over her bare upper arms. I wrapped one of my arms around her shoulders as a compromise, and together we began to walk back towards the hidden entrance in a considerably more dismal mood than the one in which we had come. Firmin and Andre's voices floated tauntingly after us; I ignored them at first, until one snippet caught my attention forcefully:
Who'd believe a diva, happy to relieve
A chorus girl who's gone and slept with the patrone?
Raoul and the soubrette, entwined in love's duet
Although he may demur, he must have been with her…
I halted in my tracks, my spine going perfectly rigid. Christine, too, tensed in my arms, then looked quickly up at me with wide eyes.
"It's not true!" she squeaked. "Angel, you know it isn't true…"
There it was; my temper began to flare uncontrollably within me, like a volcano as the magma came bubbling towards the surface. Now… now they had gone too far…
I wheeled around, my cape whirling out behind me, and began to race down the hallway. Christine followed after me, just barely remembering to keep her voice down.
"No… Angel, no!" She grabbed me tightly around the waist, laying her head against my neck and digging her heels into the ground. Reluctantly, I stopped, taking deep breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm myself.
"I'll kill them both!" I hissed, my eyes wild with hate. Christine shook her head fervently, her fingers snaking up to caress my neck and cheek.
"Please," she begged, her voice wavering softly. "Please, Angel… let's go back. I will sing for you. We must practice for the performance tonight. Come." Her hand found its way into my own, and I felt my resolve melting away. I stood firmly for a moment, my fists clenched, before slumping in defeat, allowing myself to be led by my gentle Christine back through the innumerable trap doors and hidden passageways to the glorious seclusion of my private lair.
With Christine by my side, singing sweet songs of laughter and love, all morbid thoughts dissolved rapidly in her radiant light, and I forgot the revolting accusations of the managers and the putrid screeching of the Italian diva. As my beautiful angel sang to me, I was suddenly struck with inspiration, as I so often was in her presence. With a gentle smile, I took up a quill and paper, and scribbled down a brief collection of notes and lyrics. Christine leaned forward curiously, eyeing the paper with a warm smile. It read, quite simply:
No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy;
No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love!
Christine hummed the tune pensively, and her smile widened. "I love it. What is it for?"
I returned the smile mysteriously, tucking the paper into a folder atop my organ. "A surprise, for another day." I placed my fingers over the keys, and began to play. "Now, let's try that aria again…"
A/N: More responses to you lovely, lovely people:
Venus725: Haha! Well, you are! And no, there is nothing better than having your writing complimented, though I'm glad you like my little "respond to the reviews" idea. I live for reviews. Kind of sad, actually… lol…
Hriviel: Ah, you spoke too soon, my dear. -cackles evilly- Our Erik will have his revenge, fear not… I had Christine go with him for a reason, otherwise you're right; the Opera would have been missing a chandelier and two managers before you could say "Phantom!"
Sakume: I adore you. -hugs back- LOL. My ego's about the size of Texas thanks to you. I'm glad I can be an inspiration, but really, I don't get it… I really don't… -blushes-
Inkie pinkie: Giggle fits ARE fun! And really, there aren't enough giggle fits in Phantom; I had to tie it in there somewhere. I'll get that website name to you ASAP… it's on my favorites list downstairs, and if Mom catches me still awake, I'm a dead woman, and no more story… -cringes-
Haizea: Thank you! Planning on it! ;)