Author's Note: Soooo Sorry I haven't been updating like a good little girl. I've been utterly bogged down with school work, and my computer's been virused to death, and is still in the process of being fixed, so I've been without it for about 2 weeks. I hope you like what I've been able to drabble in my spare time. Review quickly, and I may update quickly.
Erik
There was something unusual about that new stagehand, and yet, something vaguely familiar, causing my mind to stretch back to place that figure in an old memory. I came up with nothing. He wore a cap with the bill dipped low, making it difficult to study the face for any hopes of recognition. After introductions had been made, the crowd dispersed, and I watched the new boy, Sidney…or Magpie…whatever his name was of little consequence to me, as he followed the youngest stagehand, Remy, down to the other end of the catwalk.
Seeing as there would be no more worthwhile information to be gained on the young Irish boy, I turned my attentions elsewhere. The swishing of skirts announced the arrival of the first flock of ballet rats as they appeared in the wings below. They were soon joined by their ballet mistress Madame Gilbert, who immediately began leading them through their exercises.
'Little Meg Giry, the box-keeper's daughter, is late today,' I thought, distractedly. Which reminds me, I must get in touch with her mother soon, concerning a situation with Box 5.
Maggie
The snake…I glared after Joseph as I gritted my teeth in silence, following a safe pace behind Remy. I couldn't believe Joseph had pawned me off as his little brother, that conniving little oaf. His crafty deception botched up my original idea.
When he had nearly slipped my true identity, my resourceful imagination acted fast. I gave the pet name that our family had bestowed on me in past days, to give an air of personal friendliness, and blithe disposition, as well as a formal name, so as not to arouse suspicions that Joseph and I were in any way related.
So, I mentally constructed a quick story about coming from the same town as Joseph, hoping we would be seen as mere casual acquaintances instead of an Irishman who happens to look an uncanny bit like one of their coworkers, showing up (coincidentally) at the Opera Populaire for work.
But then…Oh, but then…he had to go and open that dim-witted, intoxicatingly polluted, grizzly trap of his, letting every stagehand and their mothers know that I was the lucky little brother of Joseph Buquet! That idiot. Didn't he know what he was risking? Didn't he realize how alike we really were? How I would now be walking on eggshells 24 hours a day, trying my best not to act and sound like him? We had to be more careful about how we spoke and behaved around each other from then on. His nearly-disastrous slip-ups were proof that he couldn't handle this; that he would instinctively act as a brother toward his sister, when it should be brother to brother.
As Remy began explaining which lines were connected what, I glanced over at Joseph, who was now mingling with one or two dancers in the wings. I could hear him laugh as the dancers stifled their giggles with delicate little hands.
'That's right, Jo,' I thought, irritably, following Remy up a ladder. 'You just go have a ball! Surround yourself with swirling tutus and scandalous girls…while I'm surrounded by testosterone and body odor.'
Joseph
I knew Maggie was not happy with me, though I couldn't exactly figure out why. She obediently followed Remy, and listened to what he and the other lads told her. She tried so hard to blend in.
Meanwhile, I discovered through the Corps de Ballet grapevine the confirmation that Christine Daae would be singing at the gala this very evening. The only word on La Carlotta was that she had suddenly and mysteriously taken ill. The abrupt change of plans would no doubt mean extra work and an abrupt change of pace for performers and stagehands alike.
Everyone would be racing to and fro. Costume adjustments would be made, last minute rehearsals…I doubt there would even be enough time to edit the programs. It meant it would be tougher on Mags, seeing as she didn't know much about the theatre or what labor skills were required. Judging by the sudden series of peculiar events that had taken place, a part of me suspected that ghost must be involved somehow.
Maggie
I learned a lot within a short amount of time. Worn out and breaking a sweat, everyone broke for lunch. I passed Jacques who laughed upon seeing me in a flushed and breathless state.
"Just you wait, boy. There's much more to what we do than what you've been shown today."
I groaned, leaning against a railing of an upper catwalk. "Fantastic."
"Don't worry, it's not always this chaotic. It just is during the hell week, which is the final week before the first performance…or emergency rehearsals like this one." Jacques explained to me on our way down the ladder.
"The Opera's original Diva, Carlotta Guidicelli is rumored to be ill. Her understudy, Christine Daae, is taking her place."
"That's too bad. Is she very good, then?"
"Which one?"
I shrugged. "Either, I suppose."
"That Daae girl's got a decent voice if fairly quiet and noticeably untrained. Now, Carlotta…"
He trailed off with an expression of concentration, as he stopped to tighten the knot in a nearby line that was done carelessly by a previous stagehand.
"Just keep your ears open when she comes back. You'll find out soon enough."
As I sat with several other men at the Café De L' Opera, I noticed a flock of girls about my age, all chorus members or dancers, filter in to find a table. Jacques leaned over so I could hear him above the increasing chatter.
"You see that girl, there?"
My eyes followed his pointed finger to a girl with long, golden, softly-curled hair, and fair skin standing next to a shorter girl with raven hair, and pallor complexion. The taller of the two appeared to be more timid when approaching the larger group. Both were still in their costumes.
"That's Christine Daae, the one performing tonight."
He smiled slightly at the surprise that briefly passed over my face. She sure didn't look like much to me, but then, who knew better than I how deceptive first appearances could be. The dark-haired girl glanced our way and I noticed Jacques gesturing for her to come over. Panic seized me immediately.
"What are you doing?" I hissed quietly, so no one else would overhear. Jacques looked at me as if I were missing teeth.
"What? I was inviting them over to introduce you. Is that alright?"
I kept fidgeting and biting my lip as my eyes darted back to see the two girls making their way towards our table. I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't at all ready to be ensnared in the company of my own sex, flaunting my disguise. I was sure they'd see right through it.
"Good afternoon, ladies." Jacuques's voice cut through my dread-ridden thoughts. "I'd like you to meet our newest addition, Sidney Buquet."
I sat, frozen, not sure if I should speak, shake hands or get up and bow. I remembered hearing it was good etiquette (at least for the upper class) to stand when a lady entered—or was it when they left—or both? Realizing I looked like an idiot just sitting there, I quickly stood, sliding my chair back, and bowed like I'd seen few men of social status do. Laughter erupted from around the table, joined by the stifled giggles from the two girls.
"No need to be so formal, mate," Salty passed behind and slapped me on the back as he and his mug made their way to the bartender. "They're just chorus-girls."
The dark-haired one stuck out her tongue at him before smiling back at me. "He's right. We're all too good of friends here to be treated with the respect we deserve. I'm Meg Giry—,"
"—Little Giry—"
"—Irrelevant information, Jacques. And this is my friend, Christine Daae."
We shook hands and I resumed my seat. They were invited to join us, which they did, much to my discomfort. 'Damn, I'm in a tight spot.' I thought. Suddenly, a pair of hands rested on my shoulders, and I tilted my head up to see the stubble chin of my brother.
"Don't mean to steal the belle of the ball, but I have a task that requires the assistance of my brother, here."
We made hasty farewells as I escaped (with little grace) from the table of impending doom, Joseph's hand on my shoulder, guiding me away.
"Good timing." I breathed a sigh of relief the moment we were out of earshot. Joseph shook his head before glancing at me.
"God, you sure know how to get in a fix," was his only reply.