Alright- this is all you get for now. Ha! I shall keep it in my possession until people review! Muhahahahahahahahaha (cough). Please review yall- the people on the phantom of the opera. com kind of suck at it with the exception of alittleballetrat who has stayed loyal to it (thanks again!). So yea, please review and there will be more to come if you all like it. I swear the next part is extremely good- meaning like in more Phantom. Thanks everyone!
-Olivia N.
An hour after sun rise Raylan flew out of the small apartment, barely taking the time to shut the door before sprinting down the hall. She was late- her first day as a seamstress and she was late. Vits had not been there when she had woken, Raylan automatically assuming that her roommate had already departed for work and had 'generously' allowed her to keep sleeping. Under her breath she cursed Vits for being so inconsiderate, but then instantly reminded herself that it was not Vits responsibility to see that she got to her job on time. No matter how alluring the idea was, Vits could not be held blame.
So her morning rituals had been a rush, trying her best to make herself look at least a tad bit presentable in the few moments she had. She had thrown on the closest thing she had to a nice dress. It was an emerald green, short sleeved dress that came down to about her ankles with a flattering neck line and pleated skirt, but the old thing was in desperate need of fixing for the stitching had been coming undone and now caused the sleeves to occasionally slide off her shoulders. She had thrown her wildly curling hair into a loose ponytail at the bottom of the back of her neck, and although she was completely aware that it looked more flattering when it hung free she had no time to mess with it at this point. Lastly she cleaned her face and added light amounts of eye shadow and blush, not enough to make herself look outstanding but just enough to look presentable as Madame Dacio had demanded her to be.
After that she had jumped into a mad dash out the door, sprinting as fast as possible down hallways and skidding around corners so clumsily that her feet almost flew out from under her each time. She ran in the direction that her hazy memory told her was the right way, continually convincing herself that every hall she turned into looked familiar, but after what she was sure was at least twenty minutes of searching she began to realize that somewhere along the way she had successfully gotten herself lost. Her pace had slowed into a brisk walk, allowing herself to be more observant of her surroundings.
The walls all looked the same, the same dulled brown wood, and the same darkness at each end. There were two hallways to either side, and the one she had come from. Both lead to black nothingness, and the one she came from lead back towards Vits's room. The question of where to go lay before her. To her left, a light flickered on, warming the end of the hall, before it turned. She would have followed after this traveling light, but a movement to her right caught her eye before she had begun to follow.
She would not believe, could not believe, but he stood there so clearly. Through the darkness she saw a man, his body veiled behind a stark black cape. Still half consumed in shadow most of his features remained hidden from her eyes, but one thing did stand oddly apart. A harsh white mask covered the right half of his face, sculpted and unfeeling, and from behind it stood out the most piercing green eyes. Instantly her eyes became captivated in his own, those haunting eyes that watched her, silent and grim. They beckoned her, an unheard hypnotic message calling her forward, mercilessly compelling her to grow closer. She had felt her feet begin to move, to dare to move towards this persuasive shadow, but the light to her left flickered out, distracting Raylan enough to make her turn to watch the warmth disappear. The soft swirl of a cape caught her ear, and she returned to look to the shadow, but as mysteriously as the man had come- he disappeared.
A chill rushed past her trying to cleanse the hall of the dark presence. The light towards the left flickered several times before coming on again, the hallways warming up from the returning light. From behind, an older woman grasped her arm, stern eyes glaring down at Raylan. She held a black walking stick, and wore soft black ballet shoes that disappeared beneath her skirts. Her hair was pulled into a severe braid. "What are you doing here, Child?" She asked harshly.
At first Raylan's voice was caught in her throat, still stunned by the strange image she had just seen, but slowly she was capable of recalling her words as she said cautiously, "I was looking for the costume department and became lost. Forgive me Madame, I just arrived here yesterday. I have yet to grow accustom to these halls."
The woman nodded, "You'd do better to pay attention where you're going next time, least you wish to end up dead. You're lucky I caught you." Suddenly she turned without letting go of Raylan, and began walking from where she had come.
Raylan allowed herself to be dragged by this unusual woman, not even thinking of resisting for she was more caught up in the woman's words. "Dead?" Her voice quivered but she continued to inquire, "Madame please, what do you mean? What was that I saw in the dark?"
"The Phantom has returned child, and the managers have not followed his orders. He is very angry- he will prey on the innocent," Her voice was wise and warning.
The woman's words for a moment made a shiver run along Raylan's spine, but she swiftly shook it away. "You're all mad- no, not mad- obsessed," Raylan laughed, shaking her head as if pitying the woman who pulled her along so urgently, "Tell me the truth Madame, who was that? Some stage hand trying to scare the new girl? Oh, I think I get it... it was Vits right? Vits put you up to this? I know she believes in that old ghost story but dressing up like some phantom and trying to frighten me is a little over the edge. You can tell her it didn't work. I'm not scared."
It was then that the woman came to a screeching halt, whirling about to face Raylan as she spat, "Vits is currently working on the set-you can ask either her or her crew. She, like the rest of us, has no time to entertain silly notions of scaring the new girl. The Phantom does exist Mademoiselle. And I'd be afraid. He's extremely skilled with his Punjab lasso."
"Punjab lasso? Right- because a ghost can hold a rope," Raylan rolled her eyes, "Listen, I don't have time to play your games- I'm already very late as it is. Can you direct me to Madame Dacio's room or not?"
The woman gave a disapproving sigh and nodded, "Down that hall-on the right." She let go of Raylan then, and without another word walked off, disappearing into through another hall.
Raylan shook her head and scoffed before following the woman's directions towards the costume department. This was crazy, all this superstition of some Opera dwelling ghost. It was down right silly. She had never been one to believe in the paranormal, no matter how much she enjoyed the creativity of the whole ordeal. From what she had gathered the story was intriguing, and the residence commitment to it was more than surprising, but going to the extent of dressing up like some shadow man was taking it all too seriously. Probably someone trying to make the whole ordeal more real, she figured silently, someone taking it too far.
By the time Raylan had made it to the costume department the entire place was in a nervous uproar, the girls whispering about a note- a note confirming that the Phantom had returned. Madame Giry had supposedly found it and promptly delivered it to the patron, who in all his greatness did not know what to do. What the note said was subject to a great deal of discussion-everything from firing Carlotta, to giving the entire Opera over to this mysterious O.G., in addition to delivering to him exorbitant sums of cash. A few girls added the permanent subscription of Box Five to the ghost. In truth, there was not a person in the Opera Populaire that did not have the word Phantom on the tip of their tongues.
Raylan's lateness had not even been noticed when she entered the costume department, everyone in too much of a nervous state to even care whether or not she was there. Madame Dacio had hardly even acknowledged her, glancing over her shoulder to say a swift hello and then turning back to her gossiping group of seamstresses. She did not join her fellow workers, but instead made her way over to her project, grabbing a needle and thread to finish the hemming on the dress La Carlotta was to wear in Act Six.
"This is to much like before," Stephanie, Madame Dacio's favored seamstress, whimpered softly, "The note that inside insults La Carlotta, demands for money and his precious Box Five- it's to similar to before. Oh Madame, this is too much to take. What if something terrible happens again- another killing, another fire, another kidnap? Oh dear, what if he takes someone again as he did Christine Daae?"
Madame Dacio's eyes widened in fear as she hushed Stephanie, "Quiet child- do not say her name. If he has indeed returned than he might be listening as we speak, and we would not wish to anger him with talk of such things." They were all silent for a moment, quiet as if straining their ears to hear some non existent foot steps or breathing.
"Oh Madame, I'm frightened!" Another of the seamstresses cried and the others chimed in with the same display of fear.
Madame Dacio went to silencing them just as Raylan let out a loud burst of laughter. All eyes were directed to her then, some of confusion and the others of anger to her reacting in such a way.
Madame Dacio inquired crudely, "Might I ask what is so amusing dear?"
Raylan shrugged, "You're all acting so childishly, like a bunch of ten year olds. You can't all honestly believe in this senile superstition."
Her words made the girls gasp as if she had just spoken blasphemy, and Madame Dacio swiftly rushed to Raylan, covering Ray's mouth with one age spotted hand. With her other hand she placed her index finger on her own lips, saying in almost a whispered voice, "Silence child, in this place everything is heard. You should be cautious with your words. One day he will have heard you, and by then it will be too late."
The curses echoed down the halls, bouncing off the walls, and magnifying so that it sounded like Vits was swearing, at the top of her lungs, right outside the door. The patron's responses could also be heard. Vits was obviously angry about something, and the patron sounded worried. As usually, Vits swore liberally and often spent some time exercising her large vocabulary under her breath. The patron had just finished adding a new extremely long list of orders for Vits, who already had a full plate.
She responded, "It's not my damn fault that you can't abide by the bloody instructions given to you! It's not that bloody hard to keep box five open! Since two years ago the crap hole barely sells anyway!" The patron responded that the only thing he knew about two years ago was children's stories, but Vits was not going to allow this pitiable excuse to calm her.
Again she screamed, her voice booming like merciless thunder, "It's not my bleeding fault you can't listen to the goddamn lore 'round here! Nor is it my fault you're new, and inexperienced!" She added several descriptive words that turned delicate stomachs.
"Chalondra Vitusia," The patron said, taking a warning tone- using Vits's full name.
She responded in the same tone, her deep baritone voice carrying off the unsaid threats better than the week tenor's of the patron, "Claud Burke." She leveled a glare with the patron, who was about to respond, but Vits cut him off, "I do well to advise you to listen to the note."
The patron steadfastly refused to follow the directions from an unseen hand.
Vits shrugged nonchalantly and said casually, "It's your own death. Don't come crying to me when he has his lasso tightening around your neck! I don't help the damned."
The patron spluttered, poorly trying to play it off like he didn't care as he commented weakly, "I don't believe in ghosts Vitusia."
Vits retorted harshly, "Tell that to Joseph Bouquet! The Compte deChagny! The hundred people that your precious chandelier fell on! You didn't bother to read the reports did you? They were left as a warning. And you bloody didn't even look at them. It's your own funeral. Dress nice."
The seamstresses in hearing this swiftly bustled out the door, each one eagerly wanting to see how the fight sounding from outside would end. It was only because Raylan recognized the voice to be Vits's that she also followed.
Vits was seen standing there, brandishing a heavy hammer, she had been dragged out of her shop in the middle of something-most likely important. Her shirt sleeves had been rolled up, exposing her nicely muscled arms. She stood there, in all her manly glory with a threatening stance, waiting for the patron to make a wrong move. She wielded the hammer with too much finesse to have just used it for wood work. The patron stood several steps back, trying to keep out of reach of the hammer, but Vits advanced with each attack, forcing the patron to take the weaker step back. He swallowed a few times, but at the entrance of the audience he grew a backbone to maintain an image he had long since lost.
Vits looked them over with a bone melting glare. She shouted at the patron, "Look! Look what you've done! You've brought the entire fucking Opera House into my shop! And all the little brats! Now how am I supposed to get your bleeding set up in time with those stupid idiots under my feet?"
The patron tried a weak attack, "It's your fault for raising your voice."
This through her over the edge, Vits taking a threatening swing with the hammer, and another advancing step, "MY FAULT? You're the one who barged into MY shop with that god forsaken note that you're refusing to listen to! OR heed any of the damned advice from those of us who know! Who were here last time! And the excuse that you're new-wears thin. You've had your honeymoon, now get on to shitty business! And leave me the hell alone to do my work!" Her last statement was clearly directed to everyone who had gathered in the room.
The audience swiftly retreated back to their places, the crowd of seamstresses pulling Raylan unwillingly along with them. Vits had glared them all into their places, waiting for the last to go, and it was only until every person in sight had vanished before she returned to her work with the rest of her crew. She would continue her day as if nothing had happened, as if everything was normal, but hidden inside she felt as the others did- waiting with baited breath to see what other 'gifts' the Phantom would soon bring.