A fictitious work of the more obscure POTO characters. It delves into Andre, Firmin, Carlotta, Piangi, Raoul, and Meg's pasts. But not to worry. Erik the Phantom and Christine the ingenue will appear but not together as this will probably develop into a an OC/Erik pairing.
Thanx for reading
Gigi
The Parisian night was quite bright like the warm glow of the sunset. It was probably because the Opera populaire was burning. Ashes and smoke floated and wafted down the rues of paris. They had wafted on the cold winter wind like they were searching fro something, someone.
The Opera Populaire was aglow with the bright orange light of fire. The embers were dying as the horse drawn fire pumps had come and the large vat of rainwater on the Opera's roof had been flooded on the fire. The operagoers were taken home by their private carriages and many more were whisked away to the hospitals because they had been hurt in the stampede to get out. Many of the actors and stage hands emerged from the glowing building by the back doors and had brought souvenirs with them of the strange opera Ghost.
The opera goers who had been transfixed by the fire got the rest of the story from these half drunk wet, smoky smelling people who talked about the Phantom. And the curse on the Opera, how that it was the Phantom's own work and that the creature that haunted them was an evil genius who lived in a house on the subterranean lake.
The nobility and the bourgeosie left to go to crowded drawing rooms and gentlemen's clubs to discuss the Strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. Many of the stagehands and actors who were now out of a job and a place to live went to the bars and drinking establishments in Paris, which was the city of lovers aglow with the odd fires of hell.
Two men in a bar in the seedier side of Paris near the Moulin Rouge actually sat drinking. Glass after glass of cognac filtered down these two men's throats. After six glasses each they were both completely drunk and ready to pass out or in the dark haired pompous one's case to lament their woes.
Apparently, they were ruined.
"Ruined! Andre! What the hell are we to do?'
"Bar tender, another cognac!"
"Oui." the bartender in his shirtsleeves and his long white apron filled their glasses again.
'Perhaps,' he suggested as he set the short glasses on the wood of the bar. "A trip to the Moulin is in order. Comfort with a woman is always working for the best men."
Andre the gray haired musical madman who in the first place had persuaded Firmin to even buy the Opera house nodded. "Come on Firmin. I'll get you a nice girl…Perhaps a chorus girl."
"No! No more Chorus girls!" was the mumbling of the Firmin as he stood up and stumbled. Andre quickly joined him to support him as they both stumbled down the street to the Moulin Rouge, the infamous dance hall.
