PP12: Chapter 4 of Phantomhive of the Opera!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera nor the characters of Black Butler, I think you got the idea...
Oh and thanks to Promocat, Vintageroses158 and Awsomeangel for reviewing ^^
Backstage, the dancers whom had gathered around the Undertaker gasped with awe and a hint of fright as he held up a piece of rope for all eyes to see. His disturbing grin startled the dancers and a creepy laugh softly drifted from his lips.
"Like midnight ebony is his skin, he garbs a pair of eyes that swallow you like a black hole…"
He swiftly moved his hand between the noose and his neck and tightly pulled, his hand protecting his neck from the rope. Impressed and slightly alarmed with his performance the dancers gave a round of applause.
"You must always be on your guard," Undertaker added with a wide grin, "Or he will catch you with his magical lasso!"
The dancers screamed in terror when a looming shadow of the phantom displayed on a hanging curtain, gradually growing in size and disappearing after the dancers fled in a hurry. Undertaker waved at them paying no mind of the strange occurrence, for he was occupied with the presence of Lady Francis who glared at him scoldingly.
"Undertaker you fool! Hold your tongue or he will burn you with the heat of his eyes!"
The man only chuckled and traced his finger against the rope around his neck. "No need to fear, milady, in fact it's quite interesting witnessing what that ghost can accomplish." A more energetic giggle escaped his lips. "Yes, it's much fun indeed…"
"Are you mad?!" Lady Francis exclaimed. "Talk like that and you'll be facing death within a second!"
Undertaker merely grinned wider and slowly walked away with a quiet laugh, and cackling when he disappeared into the shadows.
Lady Francis sighed, exasperated. "That man is a lunatic…"
In the manager's office, Sir Randall busily scanned through the articles on the newspaper he held in his hands. The workplace was filled with baffled murmurs of the paragraphs he read.
"'Mystery after gala night, mystery of soprano's flight!"' he recited, intensely looking at the headlines, "'Mystified," baffled Surete say, "we are mystified we suspect foul play!"'
He put the newspaper on the desk and paced around the room in bewilderment.
"Bad news on Soprano scene, first is Grell and now Ciel!" Randall stopped in his tracks. "But still at least the seats get sold…."
A small intrigued smile appeared on his face. "Gossip's worth its weight in gold."
He was interrupted by an infuriated shout from Abberline who burst into the office.
"Damnable!" he bellowed with anger written all over his face. "Will they all walk out? This is damnable!"
"Abberline, don't shout," Sir Randall said calmly, though slightly startled as he approached him. "It's publicity and the take is vast! It's publicity!" He showed Abberline the article and he interjected whilst shooing it away.
"But we have no cast."
Sir Randall sighed. "Abberline, have you not seen the queue? Oh, what's this?" He turned to his desk to see two unopened letters within the pile of files he organised. "It seems you've got one two."
"Indeed?" Abberline questioned before Sir Randall handed him a letter and Abberline looked at it for a second, glancing at Sir Randall who gestured him to read it. Abberline opened it and read what was written:
"Dear Abberline. I must say, what a charming gala. Ciel enjoyed a great success. We were hardly bereft when 'Miss' Sutcliff left. Otherwise, the chorus was entrancing but the dancing was a lamentable mess!"
Sir Randall raised his eyebrows and took another letter, tearing it open and reading it:
"Dear Randall, just a brief reminder that my salary has not been paid. Send it care of a ghost, by return of post. Moreover, no-one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders were obeyed."
The managers looked at each other in outrage.
"Why, who would have the gall to send this?" Abberline demanded, shocked.
"Someone with a puerile brain!" Sir Randall answered with aversion in his tone. He glanced at the initials written on the bottom of the note. "This is signed 'S.M'."
"Who the hell is that?" Abberline wondered, reading the letter again and widening his eyes. "The use of language is familiar, is it not?"
"Yes," Randall agreed, furrowing his eyebrows. The sound of footsteps entering the office silenced the managers and they turned to the door where Elizabeth marched in.
"Where is he?" she asked them demandingly.
Abberline wrinkled his face in confusion until he was stuck with realisation.
"Oh, you mean Grell?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I mean Ciel. Where is he?"
"How should we know?" Sir Randall replied, paying no interest to the girl and focusing on the letter. Elizabeth walked up to him and snatched the letter from him, receiving his attention.
"I want an answer! And I take it that you sent me this note?" She held up a note she had clutched in her hand in front of his face.
"Of course not!" Abberline exclaimed, raising his hands in defence.
Elizabeth eyed Randall. "So he's not with you then?"
"Of course not," Randall responded.
"We're in the dark," Abberline added.
"But isn't this the letter you wrote?" Elizabeth asked in confusion.
Randall glowered in misunderstanding. "And what is it that I meant to have wrote?"
Abberline and Elizabeth stared at him silently and Randall grumbled. "Written," he corrected.
"Here," Abberline said, holding out his hand, "Let me read it."
Elizabeth gave him the letter and waited as Abberline unfolded it, his eyes skimming over the elegant calligraphy.
"Do not fear for Ciel Phantomhive; the Angel of Music has him under his wing. Make no attempt to see him again." Silence filled the room and neither spoke a word. Elizabeth folded her arms and frowned in puzzlement.
"But…if you didn't write it, then who did?"
"WHERE IS HE?" an outraged voice shouted. Grell furiously stomped into the manager's office wearing heavy amounts of makeup that caused a scare to the managers. He too held a letter in his hand.
"Ah, welcome back," Abberline greeted.
Grell ignored his salutation and waved the letter in the air. "Where's your precious patroness?"
"What's going on?" Elizabeth questioned, and Grell furiously spun towards her.
"I have your letter!" he screeched. "A letter which I rather resent!"
The managers looked at Elizabeth but she was quick to answer. "I sent no letter to you!" the girl refuted.
"I- huh?" Grell stopped mid-sentence, frozen in place. "So you didn't send it?"
"Why on earth would she?" Abberline asked.
Grell huffed, unconvinced. "You dare to tell me that this was not the letter you sent?!"
"And what is it that I meant to have sent?" Elizabeth enquired.
With an unhappy scowl Grell held the letter out to her, his body trembling with rage. Elizabeth slowly took the note and the managers were already getting tired of the amount of received letters.
"Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered," she read, "Ciel Phantomhive will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take his place…"
Growing annoyed and bothered, Randall took away each opened letter and was tempted to dispose of them. "That's far too many notes for my take," he muttered irritably, "And most of them about that boy!"
"I agree," Abberline frowned, "All we heard since we came was that young lad's name."
"Ahem!"
Lady Francis cleared her throat and they all spun around to see her accompanied by Alois.
"Ciel Phantomhive has returned," she announced.
Sir Randall gritted his teeth. "Oh has he now?" he asked dryly, "I trust his midnight oil is well and truly burned?"
"Enough," Elizabeth said and walked over to the dance teacher. "Where is my Ciel?"
"I thought it best that he went home," Lady Francis answered sternly.
"Weak thing needed rest," Alois added with boredom in his tone.
Elizabeth gently took hold of the teacher's hands. "Then may I see him?" she requested with hopeful eyes, but pouted when Lady Francis shook her head.
"No miss, he will see no-one."
"That is NOT important!" Grell shrieked, flicking his hair in frustration, "Will the brat sing or not?!"
Lady Francis simply took out a note she had kept in her pocket. "Here. I have a note."
The managers groaned in unison.
"Let me see it," Randall instructed, walking over to her and taking the note from her. Everyone surrounded the manager and not a sound was made except for the sound of unfolding paper, and Randall brought the letter to his view.
"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature," he read aloud, already not liking what was written, "Detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance…."
Ciel Phantomhive had returned to you, and I am growing anxious his career should progress. Therefore in the new production of 'Il Muto', you will cast Grell as the Pageboy, and put Ciel in the role of Countess; the role which Ciel plays calls for charm and appeal. I should mention the role of the Pageboy is silent which makes my casting in a word…oh, how should I say it….ideal?
I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five which will be reserved. This shall be your final warning: should these instructions be ignored, a disaster worse than anything you can imagine will occur.
"I remain gentlemen," Randall read the final verdict, "Your obedient servant, S.M."
Elizabeth's lime eyes widened with shock.
"The letters…they were from the Phantom, weren't they?"
"It appears so."
The group was heavily focused upon the strange letter that they didn't notice Grell's face reddening with anger.
"That BRAT!"
The managers heard his cry and rushed over to him in an attempt to calm him, but Grell pushed them back. "It's all a ploy to help him! I know who sent this!" He pointed an accusing finger at Elizabeth. "The patroness! His lover!"
"Can you believe this?" Elizabeth asked the managers in disbelief. They never answered her and focused on Grell's tantrum.
"We don't take orders," Abberline said to Grell whose face was continually getting red no help to the powder. "You are our star and always will be!"
"Ciel Phantomhive will be playing the Pageboy," Sir Randall declared, throwing the letter away, "The silent role, and Grell will be playing the lead."
"It's useless trying to appease me!" Grell hollered, his voice raising pitch farcically, "You're only saying this to please me! You have reviled me! You have replaced me!"
"I must see him!" Elizabeth cried, her words falling upon deaf ears against the chants from the over-the-top redhead.
"You have rebuked me!"
"No, you will sing for us!" Abberline encouraged.
"He can't replace me!"
"Don't be a martyr!" Sir Randall responded, not hearing Lady Francis talking to them, but mostly to herself.
"To who scorn his word, beware to those. The Angel sees….the Angel knows…"
The commotion within the office quickly turned into chaos with everyone talking over each other in panic. Suddenly they were all silenced when in vexation Grell vocalised to the top of his lungs, holding a high note that echoed the walls of the office in vibrato. Gobsmacked eyes fell upon him and the managers approached him fondly.
"Your public needs you," Randall told him.
"We need you too," Abberline confessed as he put a hand on his shoulder. Unassuaged, Grell kept the pout on his lips and sighed.
"Would you not rather have your precious little ingénue?"
The managers shook their heads. "No, miss, the world wants you."
Respectfully the managers stepped back to give him some space, knowing exactly what method to use in order to persuade the soprano singer.
"Prima donna first lady of the stage," Abberline sang with a fond smile, "Your devotees are on their knees to implore you." He hooked an arm around his shoulder and used his free arm to gesture the imaginary audience before them. "Can you bow out when they're shouting your name? Think of how they'll all adore you."
Grell closed his eyes imagining the sound of applause and roses thrown at his feet.
"Prima Donna, enchant us once again," Abberline continued with Randall joining in, "Think of your muse and all the queues round the theatre."
A smile found its way upon Grell's powdered face.
"Can you deny us the triumph in store," Randall queried before the managers coaxed together, "Sing Prima Donna once more!"
Grell stepped forward with a flashing grin and raised his arms triumphantly.
"Prima Donna your song shall sing again!" he sang loudly in victory, "You took a snub but there's a public who needs you!"
The managers smiled jubilantly. "Think of your public!" Abberline praised.
"Think of their cry as undying support! Follow where the limelight leads you!"
While the managers acclaimed the singer's attained joy, Lady Francis worriedly looked at the ceiling. "He has heard…." she murmured, and Alois gave her a puzzled look.
"What'dya mean, that blimey ghost?" He scoffed. "You still think he's real."
"Watch your words!" Lady Francis snapped but her voice still wavered with fright. "Those who defy him are destined to be cursed. You too heard his warning."
"And do you expect me to believe that rubbish?" the dancer questioned.
Lady Francis glanced back at Grell and the managers, the grip on her cane tightening in anxiety. "Heaven help you, those who doubt."
Elizabeth admittedly was growing alarmed after hearing the letters and doubt began to fill her mind. The Phantom had enough power to set free a horrible calamity that could be anything. Malfunctions, destruction, even taking one's life. She wondered if it was worth risking her life, but then she thought of Ciel and puckered with determination. "Ciel must be protected…" she murmured, and the girl turned to the group and clapped her hands to get their attention.
"Yes, what is it now?" Randall inquired. The patroness stepped on the leather chair near the desk and treaded upon it so that she was in full view. The managers stepped back a bit, taken aback at her poise.
"His game is over!" Elizabeth declared with a firm stance, "We cannot let this Phantom win!"
Lady Francis widened her eyes. "This is a game you cannot hope to win!"
"And in Box Five, a new game will begin!" Elizabeth announced, ignoring her warning. The mangers nodded in agreement.
"You'd never get away with all of this in a play," Sir Randall said to Abberline, "But if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue…"
"It's just the sort of story audiences adore, in fact a perfect opera!" the other manager exclaimed.
Randall grinned in delight and ripped the notes in his hands. Lady Francis clenched her heart as she watched the confetti of paper flutter to the ground. "So it is settled. Ciel will be playing the Pageboy."
Grell gasped and his face lightened with joy. "And I get the role of Countess?"
The managers smiled at him. "Indeed," they both said and Grell smiled so wide that, either because of his jagged teeth or by the heavy layers of makeup, it looked frightening. With a satisfied look on their faces, the managers then made their way out of the office never noticing the light flickering within the room. Elizabeth looked up at it curiously.
"That definitely needs fixing."
Suddenly the light went out and the area was engulfed in darkness. There was a frightened scream from Alois who had been petrified of the dark his entire life. A disembodied laughter echoingly filled the room.
"So be it, the die has been cast."
The three were silently frozen in fear until light quickly returned to the office, revealing Alois clinging to the desk and Lady Francis putting a hand on her heart, her face growing pale as if she were about to faint. Elizabeth immediately rushed over to her.
"Are you alright, madam?"
Lady Francis regained herself and glanced at the door where the managers walked out and turned to look at Elizabeth.
"Look what happened..." she said with tremor in her voice. "You're all fools, you have sealed our fate!"
PP12: Listen to 'Notes' and 'Prima Donna' for better results! R&R pleeeeease~