Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

31

The next two weeks of Il Muto passed by with no especial incidents. Christine and Carlotta performed lead on alternate nights, every performance garnering thunderous applause and audience approval. With all the money flowing into the coffers of the Populaire, Andre and Firmin wandered about the opera house in a state of utter bliss. The dancers were full of rumours of imminent rises in wages, even for the ballet rats. Kayla received her first paycheck on October 13th, following the final performance of Il Muto; ninety six francs. She had no idea if that was a lot of money or not, but she was getting free room and board pretty much, so Kayla decided not to worry.

The previous week, when she had confided in Madame Giry about Carlotta's party, the ballet mistress had promptly sent her to the Populaire's resident seamstresses. Agatha was a round, friendly elderly woman with fluffy cloud grey hair and a manner similar to that of Downton Abbey's Mrs. Patmore. Marie-Clare was the opposite, rail thin and tall, with sharp limbs, a knobby hazel brown hair, and a shrewd face, but underneath the prickly exterior, Marie Clare was just as friendly as Agatha. Once Kayla introduced herself, explained who she was, and slyly inserted the name of the powerful ballet mistress, the two head seamstresses were more than pleased to help her. Especially when Baptiste's name came up, as Agatha was his grandmother. The Populaire seemed to be becoming a family affair.

And that's how Kayla came to be standing in front of the full length mirror in the dorm, fidgeting with the crisp fabric of the skirt of her new dress. It was simple, as per her own request; it would not bode well for her to too closely imitate a station she was not a part of, but it was still it was one of the fanciest dresses she had ever worn, surpassing even the short cherry red taffeta she had worn for her grade twelve graduation. Her tanned skin, paling now after almost two weeks of exposure to the start of Parisian autumn and winter, looked almost creamy next to the deep azure of the dress. The gown was almost floor-length, brushing the tops of the newly-polished work boots that comprised the entire shoe section of her wardrobe. The A-line skirt fell from her waist in sharp yet graceful folds, and the bodice hugged her torso comfortably, though the corset beneath – laced as loosely as humanly possible – diminished the comfort aspect somewhat. The neckline swept straight across her collarbone, curving over her shoulders, and ending in a cleanly cut triangle between her shoulder blades. Her shoulder joints were capped with soft royal blue bows, perching on her shoulders like butterfly wings. The sleeves were short, and only reached down a couple of inches, hugging only the very tops of her biceps. A wide sash in the same shade as the shoulder bows was tied about her waist.

As it was Friday, the set crew was out celebrating the conclusion of an utterly successful performance period. They had sworn to Kayla that they would behave responsibly, and Kayla had privately charged the seniors to ensure that the merriment did not progress too far. The ballet rats, male and female, had all been sent home that afternoon for the whole of the next week to visit their families and hand over their wages to their guardians. Some of the ballerinas and the cavaliers were at a pub down the street, commemorating another triumphantly completed show in the season. The most committed of the corps, the primas, the leads, and most elite seniors in particular, had holed themselves in one of the dance practice rooms with a pile of food and contraband choreography lists from Madame Giry's office, already starting to practice for the roles and solos they wanted for the next opera.

Meg Giry had held off accompanying her fellow seniors to help Kayla get ready. "I can't believe you are actually going to spend the evening with La Carlotta of your own free will," the young blonde remarked disbelievingly, shifting the knot of Kayla's sash so the line of fabric was completely straight.

"She's lonely," Kayla commented offhandedly, leaning closer to the mirror to swipe some of her personal stash of pale blue and silver eye shadow over her eyelids. "She's got fans, but she doesn't really have good friends."

"Well, she is awful, it is no wonder," Meg, said flippantly, running a brush through Kayla's streaky dark blonde hair and dividing it into three sections before beginning to braid.

Kayla slipped her eye shadow back into her bag before turning and staring exasperatedly at the sixteen year old ballerina.

"What?" Meg demanded, firmly twisting Kayla's head back to its previous position and continuing to weave the locks.

"You can't just say something like that, it's rude," Kayla scolded maternally. "For heaven's sakes, have you learned anything about treating people the way you'd like to be treated?"

"Carlotta's simply awful to everyone!" Meg protested.

"No denying that," Kayla allowed. "But she's not awful to me."

"You stood up to her, she knows you will not allow her to treat you badly," Meg said dubiously.

"Yes, but I'm also nice. Sarcastic, but civil," Kayla added, staring at her own reflection as the tiny ballerina's hands moved gracefully through her hair.

Sweeping the completed braid into a satin azure ribbon, Meg deftly twisted it into a firm knot on the back of Kayla's head. "Still, I don't know how you do it," she sighed, tying another braid around the bun as the younger girl slid in some hairpins through the braids to hold the style in place.

"Well, to answer your question with a question, why are you friends with Christine?"

The ballerina paused at Kayla's question. "She needs me," Meg replied after a long pause, stepping back and circling Kayla, carefully examining the details of Kayla's outfit.

"Well, I think that Carlotta needs me," Kayla explained firmly, cocking her head to stare at her own reflection again. "Christine's got you for a friend, and she's going to be stronger because of it. Carlotta doesn't have that luxury, and maybe, just maybe, I can soften her up a bit."

Meg shrugged, brushing an invisible speck of dust off of Kayla's sleeve. "Well, I admire you for trying," she admitted, tilting her head critically at Kayla's hair. "That's the best I can do," Meg announced, throwing up her hands.

Kayla looked herself up and down. "Thanks Meg, I owe you one. Do I need a hat or something? Is that a thing at social events?" she pondered.

Meg shook her head. "You will be fine, don't worry," she assured, shifting one of the shoulder bows so it was straight. "Are you going to be okay? You will be spending the whole evening with La Carlotta, after all."

Grinning, Kayla turned to look at Meg. "Two words for you, my doubting friend," she smirked.

"And what would those be?"

"Free. Food."

As the managers had also been invited, Andre and Firmin graciously offered Kayla a seat in their carriage. So Kayla, though still feeling rather awkward, was not alone as she ascended the stone steps to Carlotta's grand front door. Her blue cloak wrapped tightly around her, her boots thumped on the stone steps as snowflakes drifted slowly down from the grey clouds above. The sun sank below the horizon, framed by shades of rose and lavender. Swinging open seemingly of its own accord, the wooden double doors gleamed in the light of the gas lampposts. A plum-liveried butler greeted them formally as they stepped inside.

Her cloak was whisked away instantly, and Kayla was thankful that she had not brought her phone, because she 100% would have stored it in her cloak pocket. Raising her hand self-consciously to her hair, she stared around her in awe. Every surface had been polished until it shone, glass and wood and marble all reflecting light and colours like mirrors. The foyer was a mass of people, chattering and laughing, black coat tails and rainbow gowns swishing back and forth, kaleidoscopic. Kayla tugged at her azure skirt, feeling rather plain next to the elegant confections of silk and lace that surrounded her.

"ABBOTS!"

Her arm was yanked to the side by a firm hand. Looking in the direction she was being pulled, she became aware of the red-haired diva grinning at her. Carlotta. Grinning. It took a couple of seconds for Kayla to completely process the unexpected facial expression.

"You're late! But you made it!" the Primadonna stated, almost excitedly.

"It's been a slow night, then?" Kayla queried sarcastically, gazing once more at the busy room. "Surely there are more interesting people than me to associate with."

"No," Carlotta snapped, rolling her eyes. "Managers," she greeted stiffly, peering over Kayla's shoulder at the simpering older men.

"Signora, you have our congratulations on this auspicious day," Andre declared dramatically, arm sweeping out as he bowed.

"And our tokens of appreciation," Firmin added, indicating the gigantic, gold-papered packages he held in his arms.

"Grazie, monsieurs," Carlotta acknowledged, sounding bored. An impatient flick of her hand signalled the sudden appearance of two footmen, who appropriated the packages before disappearing again. "Thank you for coming. Now, if you will excuse me and Miz Abbots. Enjoy da party, monsieurs," she inserted more cheerfully, grabbing Kayla's arm again and whisking her away into the crowd. Kayla saw the managers staring confusedly at the two women as they vanished behind a screen of guests.

"Look at you!" Carlotta exclaimed when the diva deemed they had moved far enough from the managers. "You are not wearing your ridiculous pants!"

"I do have some sense of propriety," Kayla returned dryly.

Carlotta's amber brown eyes shifted up and down Kayla's form approvingly. "Look at dat! You have a figure today!" she commented.

Kayla blushed. "And you're short!" she snarled. Carlotta shared her height with the actress who portrayed her, Minnie Driver, who was 5'8. Really Carlotta wasn't all that much shorter than Kayla, but she was too flustered to come up with a better insult. "Gees, what was I just saying about propriety?"

Carlotta cackled. "I am not shorter today!" she crowed, lifting the skirt of her long, fluffy violet and gold-laced gown so Kayla could see her bright purple heels.

"Okay, fine, not today," Kayla admitted, letting a small smile escape.

"I tease! You and me, we are mean! But we are mean together!" Carlotta nodded emphatically, looping her violet silk clad arm through Kayla's bare one. Kayla burst out laughing.

The laughter did not stop there. Everyone could say whatever they wanted about Carlotta's mannerisms, but the diva could host one hell of a party. Every room in the mansion was nearly full, except for the bedrooms upstairs, which were strictly off limits. The guests were wildly varied, some being Carlotta's fans, while others, likely to Christine, Meg, and Raoul's eternal shock, were Carlotta's friends. Kayla was introduced to group after group of comrades, including an entourage of Italian cousins, one of whom looked even more like Minnie Driver than Carlotta herself.

Dinner was served in an elegant banquet hall, on long mahogany dining tables. Rich brown damask curtains framed the three tall, narrow windows looking out onto the frosted ivory gardens. The party was too large for one table, so the guests were split between two different tables. Kayla, from her spot between Carlotta, who was at the head of the first table, and Carlotta's brown haired cousin Allegra, whom Kayla was privately referring to as "Minnie", saw Raoul and Christine sitting halfway down the other table, across from the managers. The other table was led by two other cousins, Delfina and Enrico, who were boisterously leading an energetic conversation about French politics, a dry topic made incredibly humorous by the two good-natured Italians. Because Kayla faced the other table, she was able to spare the occasional quick glance at the gold-toffee haired patron and his pale brunette companion. The nobleman was in dress uniform, a military style red coat with gleaming brass buttons and black shoulders, and sharp black trousers and boots. Raoul was intent on the conversation, leaning forward over his plate and hazel eyes gleaming intently as he spoke to the rest of the table. Christine was smiling proudly, her fingers unconsciously looping around the gold chain around her neck, the ring it held hidden under the low collar of her pastel lilac gown. Kayla caught Carlotta glaring at the other soprano more than once. "Hey, let's be civil now," she hissed at the prima donna when the red haired Italian scowled over at her nemesis for the third time in under a minute.

"She's wearing my family colour," Carlotta hissed back.

"Too bloody bad," Kayla replied sharply. "Red's my second favourite colour after blue, and it's the colour of my university crest, but you don't see me heading over to rip de Chagny's throat out."

Carlotta snickered. "Let's wait until after dessert," she whispered. "Then we will reclaim our colours. We could accost them in the garden."

"And bury their bodies in the snow," Allegra interjected, leaning in from Kayla's other side to grin conspiratorially at the two other women.

There was a pause. "You have good taste in family," Kayla announced to Carlotta finally, barely holding back her laughter as she nodded approvingly at Allegra.

After the delicious five courses of supper, including delicate individual plates of fluffy tiramisu and whipped cream filled cannoli, the guests all adjourned to the ballroom on the opposite side of the house. Kayla was full of food, due to the fact that Allegra and Carlotta took it upon themselves to make sure their younger guest was well-fed. She felt like a child with all the adults around her plying her with second helpings, which was strange, as she was not the youngest guest; Christine was. Nevertheless, an excessively fed Kayla was hit with a wave of sleepiness as she walked into the ballroom beside Carlotta.

A string quartet was playing their instruments in the corner of the room. A crystal chandelier, smaller and more delicate than the infamous one at the Populaire, twinkled gently from the gilded ceiling, reflecting shards of golden light onto the gleaming maple floors and the mirrors that formed two of the walls. The wall that contained the door was covered in swirling gilt gold carvings and panels of polished wood, while the opposite wall was pure glass windows, looking out over the snow covered lawns of the estate, and a pair of firmly shut French doors.

As the music swung into a smooth waltz, Piangi approached Carlotta, bowed, and swept her off onto the dance floor. Many of the other guests quickly paired off, and Kayla awkwardly turned towards the chairs lined around the edges of the room. A hand lightly tapped her on the shoulder. "Pardon me, but may I have this dance, mademoiselle?" Enrico asked politely, curly black head inclined as he bowed with one olive hand outstretched. Kayla blushed.

"Okay, but you'll have to forgive me, I don't know much about French dances," she agreed bashfully, putting her much paler hand in his.

"I am Italian, mademoiselle," he laughed. "I know naught of French balls either. We shall muddle through it together."

Author's Note: School totally got away from me last week, but it's Reading Week now, and therefore I shall have more time to write. Maybe I'll even get another chapter up today, who knows. I was going to have Carlotta's party just be one chapter, but it was a beast so I'm splitting it into two.

Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favourited, and reviewed, including E-man-dy-S, Guest (DetectiveOfTheOpera), and Guest. And in response to DetectiveOfTheOpera's question, yes, I am a Whovian. :)

Anyway, hope you guys had a good weekend, and thank you for reading this far. Feel free to review or PM with questions or comments, and follow or favourite if the mood strikes you. Feel free to follow me on tumblr if you wish, and let me know if you want to see updates or anything of that sort on there! My url is readpaintwrite.

Thank you all for being awesome!

Tierney