"Head back just a little more, Near." The seventeen year old boy obeyed, straightening his back and pushing his shoulders back just a bit more. His eyes, easily the darkest feature of him, were blank and staring straight ahead of him. The Phantom prowledbehind
the wall, his fingers twitching. The urge to run the slim appendages through Near's hair hadn't abated at all in the past seven years, which was only a vague annoyance. Still, he worked past it in order to focus more on the pale boy's training.
"I only have another twenty minutes." Near said tonelessly, his own voice just this side of monotonous and blank. The stone allowed it to sound a little louder than it usually would have been, and as his voice carried Near looked just the slightest bitproud.
Had he spoken at the same volume just two years prior, there was no way he would have been heard. Still, he had much further to go, and he only had one willing teacher to take him such a distance. The Phantom growled at the interruption tothe
much needed training he still needed, but the pale boy remained unfazed. "Rehearsal will be soon, after all. Lawliet doesn't appreciate it when I'm late, especially given that I'm not able to properly explain my reasoning for it."
"Fine." The Phantom crossed his arms, mind now buzzing about the rehearsal instead of continuing with Near. There was something going on, something he wasn't sure was a good thing. Whammy, the old man who managed the opera house, had decided that he wasdue
forretirement. The old man had already decided on his replacements, more than one because he felt that his job would be too much for one single person alone. That notion didn't sit well with the resident Phantom, who was already irritated that
/the man was leaving; he felt it meant Whammy was leaving his precious opera house toincompetent people. He watched with a thoughtful frown as Near's posture relaxed, though the boy didn't move from his spot in the middle of the room. They stood
ina comfortable silence for a few moments, both lost in their thoughts. "Well, run along then little one. Wouldn't want you to be late for your rehearsal, after all."
"Misa would pitch quite a fit." The Phantom scoffed irritably at the prima donna's name, irritation flaring through him at her mere mentioned presence. He watched quietly as Near tilted his head to the right, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular; hisunseen
companion watched in fascination as his pale fingers buried themselves in his snow white hair and began twirling the strands. He'd been about to comment on the action when Near spoke again. "Would you happen to know why she is being particularly
/difficult as of late?"
"Why is that overgrown child ever difficult?" He scoffed again, shrugging even though he knew Near couldn't see him. Near's eyes focused on a different spot entirely, far too close to the area where the Phantom stood. He moved silently; the small alcovewhere
they practiced was perfect for moments like these. Careful to make sure his voice continued to echo throughout the small space, he continued, allowing his irritation with her to lace through his words. "I'm fairly sure it's the girl's only setting,
/after all." The hint of a smile crossed Near's face, the corner of his lip twitching upward only once. Warmth began spreading through the Phantom, both from his heart and on his face. Seeing Near's amusement as openly as that was so rare that it made
/him feel a sense of accomplishment.
Footsteps made their presence known, and a few seconds later Linda burst into the room. She was red and panting, her bangs sticking slightly to her forehead from running. The Phantom didn't move, pleased that he hadn't been in the midst of a sentence
/when she came in. Near had yet to move to acknowledge her presence, though; not even his finger was twirling in his hair anymore.
"There you are!" Linda was suddenly trying to control her obvious panting since shed found who she was searching for. Near finally deigned to turn around, his face back to impassiveness. The other ballerina pushed her hair back just a bit, trying to gather
/herself and look more presentable. It was an unconscious movement on her part, one that Lawliet trained into his dancers from an early age. Her eyes darted around the empty room almost nervously. "L's sent me. He wants you to be reminded that practice
/is in twenty minutes, and he expects you to be on time for this one. Misa won't hesitate to have you thrown out of the performance this time. She's been really on edge lately, for some weird reason."
"I was just preparing to leave." Near informed her bluntly. He twisted around slowly, almost unwillingly. His eyes roamed the walls quickly, as though hoping to look through the stone. "L didn't have to send you at all."
The Phantom smirked just a bit. Lawliet had sent Linda as a warning for them both, thought the pale dancer didn't realize it. An irritating one for Near, but also a silent one for him; after all, the man knew of his plans for the young danseur he'd taken
/under his tutelage, though the ballet master could only help to an extent. He turned a blind eye to Near's tardiness, pretending not to know what kept the pale boy so behind in time, and defended his skills against Misa when the prima donna pitched
/her temper tantrums.
Still, this rehearsal in particular was rather important, and as such, tardiness was much less tolerated.
"What were you doing in here anyway?" Linda was asking nosily, already turning to walk back to the stage on the lower floor. Near's posture stiffened just a little bit, but his answer was cool and calm, if just a little bit irritated.
"I was praying." He said. Linda flushed darker, this time having nothing to do with exertion, and Near continued as if her embarrassment meant nothing to him. "After all, this little alcove is used as a sort of makeshift chapel, is it not? For prayer
/and memorials and whatnot?" She pursed her lips and glanced back into the room as the paler boy strode past her. He could hear Near's voice as he said something else, but it was muffled by the walls and Linda closing the door.
His young protégé gone, the Phantom walked casually through the halls that made up the walls of the opera house. The torches weren't lit, but he knew all the twists and turns by heart; he didn't need them on, and even in the dark his footsteps were sure
/and steady and silent. He knew Near and Linda would reach the stage on the first floor before him, because they were rushing and had practice to get to, but that wasn't his current destination. After all, he didn't have practice to go to, though he
/was likely to show up anyway. He loved watching Near's achievements in both dance and song, and he wanted to get home quickly so that he had more time to watch.
The hallway gave way to a set of stairs, narrowed and stone. He descended quickly, jumping over the step that activated the trapdoor in this area. His footsteps were more rushed now, louder in the confidence of knowing no one would hear him. His progress
/now unhindered by that particular worry, he made it to the bottom of the stairs in almost record time.
These particular set of stairs led to a damp hallway, one that was not particularly long. At the end of it, just barely in his sight, was the outline of a door. He hastened to it, pulling it open and nearly blinding himself; after quite a few moments
/in the dark, even the dimly lit candles were almost too much for his poor eyesight.
The door was the entryway to a room, his own. There was his bed in the corner opposite, neatly made for the next night sleep would take him. There was a single bedside table, a white mask nearly glowing upon it. There was another door near the foot of
/the bed, leading to a closet that held clothes. On the wall to his right was a chair, a cello leaning against the wall beside it. To his right was another door, this one leading to the main room of his cavern. Candles were one in each corner, lighting
/up the nearly empty space of his room.
He entered quietly and shut the door. The key was where he'd left it, and he turned the lock so that this particular route to his room was barred. Reaching up, he took a hold of the heavy velvet curtain and pulled it down, hiding it from sight. As he
/turned, his shoes scraped against the cold stone floor. They echoed his steps as he crossed the room, opened the door that lead to the main room, and closed the door behind him.
The light was brighter now, many more candles decorating the living area, but his eyes had grown used to the bright glow and it no longer blinded him. He walked quickly past the giant piano that was directly in front of his room, running the back of his
/hand over the smooth surface of it. It stood to the left of the giant space; in the center of the living area was a sofa, big enough to comfortably sit six people on it. Behind the sofa was a door, one that lead to a kitchen and dining area. A few
/feet to the right was another door, one that housed another room that he ignored for the moment.
Instead, he set his gaze upon the side table next to the sofa. On the top were two papers, both written on and unsealed, opened to dry as best as they could in the damp cavern. They had been written early this morning, and he plucked one up to scan it
/briefly.
'My new managers,' it started, and he folded it gently with a sigh. This one would have to be sealed soon, because their new managers would be arriving at any moment. It was crucial that they get this right away, because he was certain that Whammy wouldn't
/want them to change how he ran his opera house. Besides that, as their menacing ghost, he wouldn't like having to relearn how to manage the opera's usual day to day stuff.
Glancing back towards his room as he sealed the letter, he wondered if he should retrieve the white mask on his bedside table. He wasn't going to be staying behind a stone wall, after all, he was going out into the open where people would be able to catch
/a glimpse of him. As their Phantom, he was almost obligated to give them a face to their fears; a simple glimpse of the white mask and dark cloak would mean instant recognition, and would therefore give his orders some authoritative edge. They would
/be more likely to follow his wishes with the frightened population of the Opera House clamoring because they'd seen him lurking over the stage.
Yet the mask itself was extremely uncomfortable, hard and unyielding against the scars that decorated his face. And the cloth ones he had were all dark, helping him to blend into the shadows of the stage. He sat gracefully on the sofa, staring almost
/broodingly at the door to his room while the wax set.
Ultimately, he decided against it. He had no wish to return to his room at the moment, because the exit he was going to be using was on the other side of his own living space. He would have to make due with the letter and the fear filled words of the
/opera's populations to sway the managers at this moment.
Grabbing his cape and throwing it on, he walked out of the living area and up a set of stairs directly opposite his room. They were wide and open, creating the perfect view from which to see the majority of his home with a single glance. These particular
/set of stairs only Lawliet used; they led to the man's office, where there was a large ceiling to floor mirror doubling as a door. There were no traps along this route, and it was the quickest way up to the stage for him at this point. He checked
/his pocket watch as he went up, the time reading close to two-thirty in the afternoon.
Whammy would be interrupting rehearsals soon, to introduce the new managers of the opera house.
XxX
He grit his teeth in annoyance, his rage a silent one in the midst of the crowd. He'd gone up to the stage, and gotten briefly distracted by watching Near as he danced. The boy was still small, but he had a calm, graceful sort of presence that drew the
/eye towards him even when he was dancing in the third row.
He had changed out of his normal day to day wear, white pajamas that were just a bit too big for him and softer than any other material. Now he was dressed from the waist down, heavy golden jewelry adorning his neck and arms. His costume was a bright
/crimson, small and worthy for the depiction of a slave. Of all performances to leave before, Whammy had chosen their production of Hannibal.
Still, Near looked breathtaking, catching his attention enough to keep Misa's shrill screeching blocked out. He noticed that as the boy danced, Near kept a constant movement of his mouth; no doubt he was following along with Misa, having learned what
/words she would be singing as his practice. It was a habit he'd developed when deciding to train Near. Whatever lead role the prima donna had, Near would sing her parts in training. It gave him a nice range to work with, while also helping along with
/his plans for the boy's future.
The point being, he'd been distracted and focusing on Near. Which meant that when Whammy had appeared on stage with a man and a woman behind him, he almost didn't realize who they were right away.
Until he heard them introducing themselves as Takada Kiyomi and Mikami Teru. He scowled at her, casting her from his thoughts almost the second he lay eyes on her. A woman, thinking she could run Whammy's Opera House? No wonder the old man had gotten
/two managers. She would be too easy to control, being that she was a woman and was probably prone to being frightened by the kind of pranks he would pull. And as for Mikami…he scoffed. What kind of man needed a woman's help to run a business?
His eyes were drawn to Near once again, who was twirling his hair in his fingers. He looked especially bored with the proceedings, even allowing Linda to stand next to him and chatter his ear off. His dark eyes darted up to the darkness where the stage
/hands worked, searching the rafters for something only he knew. The Phantom watched as the dark orbs glanced over him, mixed into the shadows, a small smirk on his face. His young protégé most likely wanted to know if he was there, trying to search
/him out on the chance that he was keeping an eye on him like he'd promised.
The dark eyes were brought back down to the stage as the other dancers began to make way for someone else, someone who was apparently a little late when it came to appointments. The Phantom watched as they parted way to reveal the Vicomte who would be
/their patron, a young man with plain clothes that looked more expensive than the entire wardrobe of the opera's populations. He was dismissive of him already, until Near caught his eye for a third time.
The boy was whispering fiercely to Linda, straightening his back the way he did during training and staring straight at the Vicomte. There was a strange look in his dark eyes, recognition and excitement, one that looked nearly hopeful as the Vicomte neared
/him. Linda was practically squealing into her hands, watching with wide eyes between the two boys.
The Vicomte strode briskly past them without any consideration towards the dancers, not even a glance to show he saw them. Near's posture slowly returned to his usual slouch, his fingers intwining with his hair instantly; his eyes regained their normal
/blank look, not necessarily looking at anything but taking in everything. Linda looked disappointed enough for him, putting one hand on Near's shoulder. In response, he hunched his shoulder in a bit more, and she pulled her hand away from him as the
/Vicomte was introduced. She said something quietly to him, and he shook his head negatively in response to whatever question she asked him.
The Phantom looked their new patron over carefully, watching as he spoke. He was young, certainly, for a Vicomte. His youth wasn't spoken in his posture but in his face and the way his words were formed eagerly with a sort of rehearsed air; as if the
/roundness of youth hadn't yet faded away completely and someone else had written out the words he was to say. He was well dressed and clean, much cleaner than the opera population could get on any given day, and very handsome. The Phantom watched
/his excited expression as Misa was introduced as their main headliner, the way excitement fell to a respect when her husband Kira was introduced from the stage.
It wasn't until Misa's screeching pierced the air that he finally took his gaze off of Near. Wincing at her shrill voice missing her high notes, the Phantom glanced back to the front of the stage.
There were the two managers, doing what everyone else was doing: pretending to appreciate Misa's singing in order to appease her. The opera populations, far more used to this than the new managers, were successfully hiding their winces at each strangled
/note. He allowed her a few moments of the spotlight; swiftly as he dared, the Phantom pulled himself up to the catwalk where the ropes were tied. There wasn't anyone around because their practice had been interrupted, which meant he had free reign
/to do as he pleased.
He untied a single rope, feeling the weight of the backdrop in his hand. Misa hadn't hit the chorus of the song yet, and so he waited for just a few moments longer; he reached over the side and dropped his letter, watching it as it fluttered gracefully
/to the floor. Right as she paused to take a breath, he completely let go of the rope and the backdrop fell.
There were screams from the dancers as it crashed to the stage; it knocked Misa off of her feet, completely covering her in the heavy cloth. She shrieked loudly, damaging her voice even more than it was before. Smirking, he fled up several catwalks to
/hide in the shadows once more. From his viewpoint, he watched the chaos unfurl: dancers were crowded together upstage, in various stages of panic. Downstage, Misa was struggling under the backdrop, Kira having flown to her side to pull it off and
/help her up. The new managers looked startled, Whammy and Lawliet both turning to the side to hide what was undoubtably amusement. On the catwalk, Light was skidding to a careful stop to where the backdrops were tied to the rail, looking around as
/if he could still catch the culprit.
"Light!" Mikami called authoritatively, trying already to begin his role as manager. Lawliet had crossed the stage easily, unnoticed by everyone as he did so. The Phantom watched as he walked off stage calmly, eyes already on the ground. "Light, what's
/going on up there?"
"I don't know!" Light called back. One of the stage hands had gone down to the stage, grabbing the rope that held the backdrop and tossing it back up to him. The stage hand caught it easily, throwing it up over the rail that held the backdrops up. Catching
/it once more, he pulled it up, straining only the slightest bit with the weight of it. It raised itself up slowly, and Kira shot his brother a dirty look as he helped his wife up.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" He shouted, accusation coloring his voice. "You're the one in charge up there, aren't you?"
"It wasn't me!" The stage hand shot back, offended. "There's no one here. It must have been him!" The dancers screamed again, huddled closer together and looking around in fear. Whammy straightened, looking somewhat serious and somber. The managers, however,
/looked confused.
"Who could it have been?" Takada asked.
"Our Phantom." Light tied the rope securely, and didn't move from his spot. He crossed his arms and leaned on the rail, looking down at the crowd below him. "If there was no one here, and there wasn't a single soul, then this accident was the fault of
/the Phantom."
"That's insane!" Mikami frowned. "You think this was the fault of some-some ghost?"
"It's not insane!" Misa had straightened her dress and was yelling furiously now. He appreciated that he could see, even from so high up, how deliciously embarrassment painted her cheeks. "That's the second time he's dropped something on me this month
/so far! He's been a thorn in my side for the past three years. How dare he!" The Phantom, secure in his hideaway, sniggered silently at her outrage. It served her right, what he did to her. How the prima donna treated the people around her, and her
/atrocious singing, was cause enough for whatever he did. She was lucky it wasn't worse, what with her propensity towards temper tantrums like the one she was throwing now.
"Now, now." Takada said soothingly, reaching out as if to place a calming hand on Misa's shoulder. The blonde threw a furious look at her, almost daring her to say what the prima donna thought she was going to. The black haired woman pulled her hand back,
/but continued anyway. "These things do happen sometimes, my- - -"
"These things do happen?" Misa repeated incredulously, cutting Takada off. The manager looked annoyed at that, but Misa stomped her foot. "Didn't you hear me? For the past two weeks, 'these things do happen'! Hell, for the pastthree years, 'these things do happen'!"
/She threw a furious finger at Whammy, who was standing to the side looking innocent. "And did you stop them from happening? No!"
"Miss Amane, honestly- - -"
"And you two are as bad as he is!" The girl stomped her foot again. "You have no right to say that to me! You don't know what it's like, having him as a menacing shadow in the background, knowing that he can do what he wants without any repercussions!
/I can't believe this kind of treatment is going to be happening into new management!"
"Now, really," Takada tried again, "see here- - -"
"No,yousee here!" Misa glowered, "either you find a way to stop that damned Phantom from harassing me, or this production is not going to be going on! Because I quit!" There was a stunned silence to her proclamation. She spun on her heel, her
/dress spinning gracefully around her as she did so. It was the only thing about her that was graceful as she strode off stage, Kira following after her. The Phantom smirked as they left, sending them off with a mocking wave.
"On that note, I shall take my leave as well." Whammy bowed to Takada and Mikami respectively, keeping a straight face when they looked at him with twin horror. "I would remind you both that Miss Amane has no stand in, as she is our usual lead and had
/never before missed a performance. Since that is the case, I would recommend that you have this situation sorted out as quickly as you can. I wish you both the best of luck."
"There's no- - -you're just…" Takada faltered as Lawliet appeared, holding the letter opened in his hand. She sighed heavily, covering her eyes as she asked, "Lawliet, what is that?"
"I have a message for you." He said, looking back down at it. "From the Opera Ghost."
"Good lord." Mikami rolled his eyes. "You're all obsessed with this thing!"
"Whether you believe in him or not is irrelevant." Lawliet shrugged without looking up. "He welcomes you to his Opera House," and ignoring Takada's incredulous cry echoing his words, "and would like to inform you that as Box Five is the best seat in the
/audience, it will continue to be kept open for his use and enjoyment." There was a brief silence as Lawliet scanned the letter quickly. "And would like to remind you that his salary is due on the first on the month, so it would be in your best interests
/to keep that in mind when planning expenses."
"A ghost has a salary?" Takada's voice was only barely heard by the Phantom in the rafters, where he was watching her with narrowed eyes. He was beginning to reevaluate her ability to be a nuisance, and he was liking these new managers less and less with
/every word they spoke.
"We won't be able to pay anything if we don't have a show!" Mikami shouted. The Phantom leaned forward, suddenly much more interested in what was happening below him. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, what he'd been counting on by irritating
/the hell out of Misa Amane for the past three years. He was practically holding his breath as the new manager buried his face in his hands and yelled, "we shall be refunding a full house because we have no lead and no back up!"
"There is a stand in." Lawliet said. The Phantom's heart was thudding in his chest. The opera populations fell silent once again, everyone looking at Lawliet curiously. While the managers looked hopeful, the rest were looking as if their ballet teacher
/had lost his mind. Everyone was aware of the fact that Misa refused to allow for a stand in, and the fact that he told them there was one was very confusing. Lawliet allowed the ghost of a smirk to cross his face as he held his hand out to the dancers.
/"Near."
The pale boy frowned, stepping forward slowly. Linda, who had been hanging on to him because of her panic over the Phantom, loosened her grip to allow him to walk downstage. Placing his hand in Lawliet's, Near stood straighter, his posture a perfect mimicry
/of Misa's as leading role.
"A chorus boy?" Mikami scoffed, while Takada merely raised her eyebrow and said, "A boy take Amane's spot?"
"Don't be fooled." Lawliet glanced out of the corner of his eye. "I've heard him before. His voice would be perfect for the role. And there wouldn't be a single member of the audience who would know that Near is a male when he's singing, not by his voice
/and certainly not by his physical state if we manage the costuming right." Near, the Phantom could see, wasn't phased at all by the praise Lawliet was giving him. It wasn't from doubt of his own abilities; he'd more than assured the boy that he had
/a hard earned talent that needed to be taken care of and cultivated. More than confident in his singing voice,, he could tell even from so far above the pale boy that his protégé was trying to find his teacher's endgame.
It took very little prompting for him to open his mouth and begin singing. Near started off just a bit shyly, not used to singing in front of anyone with the exception of his teacher; still, he gained confidence as he continued, closing his eyes and stepping
/away from what little comfort Lawliet provided. His voice was clear and smooth, a much better fit to the role than Misa's off tune screeching. The Phantom kept his eyes on him, pride running through his body at the impressed look the managers were
/sharing. Near had as good as gotten the part on his own.
Opening night was sure to be wonderful.
XxX
He stormed around in the underground, fury coursing through him in unrelenting waves.
Opening night, and his new managers were already disobeying his explicit orders. They'd sold his normal seat to the Vicomte, the new patron of the Opera House. As promised, the audience was filled with people and so he was not able to witness his protégé's
/very first public performance. He hadn't even known beforehand, as he'd doubled Near's practice time and was completely dedicated to helping him be an instant success. He hadn't even managed to do anything other than send Lawliet a letter detailing
/his instructions for praising Near after the show, and so not even the ballet teacher had been able to give him warning.
The echo of Near's voice carried down to him, just hitting that one note he'd had trouble with beforehand; it sounded, to his trained ear even under two stories, as though he'd managed to finally hit it properly. Scowling despite his pride, the Phantom
/slammed a clenched fist into the wall. Pain radiated up from the spot where flesh connected with stone, but he paid it no mind at all. This had been his night to shine through Near, to be able to watch the boy from his box seat and know that nothing
/would have been possible if not for him. To know Near was on that stage because of his plans, and that he was performing the way he was because of his tutelage. To watch with pride as the boy took his personal training and flew with it, soaring high
/above the common folk and enchanting them with his voice alone.
This night had been meant for him!
Takada and Mikami would pay for this, he vowed darkly as applause thundered its way down to him. Somehow, in some way, they would pay for this terrible error they've made only a few weeks into their management position. He wanted, for the very first time
/in his life, to resort to actual violence; damaging and long lasting, something that would match the grievance they gave him. This was not an opportunity that would be repeated for him. Even with Near gaining Misa's spot, there would be no more first
/opening that would surprise the crowd with this boy's voice. This was a one time experience, and he had missed it due to his new managers' inability to follow simple instructions.
And yet something held him back. Maybe it was Lawliet's stern words, echoing now in his mind from the dark recesses of his memory.
Maybe it was Near's influence, the quiet eyes and solemn expression coming to the forefront of his mind and calming him slightly. No, he mused as he drew his injured hand to his chest, it wouldn't do to damage them too much. They were idiots, yes, but
/they were trainable and still too new to the workings of the Opera House. The rumor mill had done its job, and whispers of their managers had been added to it; while normally he despised gaining information in such a way, he'd gotten what he needed
/to know. Mikami had run a seamstress shop before this, apparently, and Takada only had the fact that Whammy adopted her as a child going for her. They were hardly management material, but having different managers not picked by the old man would be
/worse than these two.
As the intermission went on, for it had to be intermission around this time, he found his mind forming a different plan. One that wouldn't lead to any harm, at least not physically. Maybe financially, but only for a short while, not too long. And though
/it would give them cause for panic and alarm, it was something he'd been debating on for quite some time now; after all, Near's hair was beginning to look more and more tempting each time they met. Perhaps it was time to reveal the man behind the
/wall, to look Near in the eye and have the boy looking back at him. He paused just a bit in his walking, turning back to glance behind him, and decided. Spinning on his heel, he strode back as quickly as he could so as to head back to his home.
After all, he had to make it much more presentable for his plan to work.