Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. In other news, what's this?! A chapter over 3 pages?! Bravo!

46

A week passed before another incident. The crew had banded together admirably, and had already completed the tiered flooring and started on the overhanging balcony framework. The next step was to complete the framework, followed by the actual balcony and the spiral staircases, which Marius was openly dreading. Kayla, who was used to a more modern theatre system in which she was reporting to senior designers and receiving continuous feedback, found it hard to come to terms with her own authority in the building process. Let alone the costume department, over which she ruled with Agatha and Marie Clare as her only subjects, and whom she had to instruct, as they had never created such outlandish garments before. Not that they were helpless, but even the two battle-hardened seamstresses were daunted by Kayla and Erik's designs. The costumes, however, were only in the design stages, such as picking fabrics and creating general forms, since the casting list had yet to be accepted by the managers, and therefore the opera cast. Suffice it to say, Kayla was exhausted, and was under no obligation, whether it be manners or otherwise, to take any shit from anyone. The only department working as hard as Kayla's was the orchestra, whom Maestro Reyer was leading in intensive rehearsals of the Don Juan score.

Her exhaustion, unfortunately, led to an argument with Madame Giry that narrowly bordered on becoming violent. Though Erik had stated that he trusted the ballet mistress in her dance expertise, Kayla knew – based on her knowledge of the finished product – Madame Giry's start to the Don Juan choreography, though beautiful, was not going to cut it.

"This is an opera house, not a brothel!" Madame Giry hissed as she pulled Kayla out of the studio, her French accent thick with anger.

"What are we in, the Regency era?! Oh, wait, we actually are…never mind. This isn't stripping, Madame, but the opera has highly sensual themes and will have to use dance to convey them."

"I will not let my girls subject themselves to this, it is inexcusable!"

"I think you may find that the composer disagrees."

"He has said that he trusts my judgement. I see nothing wrong with the dances I currently have."

Kayla gestured at herself in exasperation. "Hello? Ghost of Christmas future here?! I've seen the finished product, or at least portions of it, I know how it all goes down."

Madame Giry exhaled huffily, but did not refute her statement.

Kayla rubbed her forehead. "Okay, I have an idea. Swear at me if I'm out of line, but how 'bout we compromise: I'm going to handle teaching your older girls how to dance like complete tarts by your standards, and you're going to listen to me about certain segments. For the rest, you can choreograph as you like."

Narrowing her eyes, the ballet mistress stared contemplatively at the set manager. "Very well."

Kayla clapped her hands together. "'Kay, well that's decided. I'm'a channel me some Nicki Minaj."

"Who?"

"No one, don't worry about it."

And that's how Kayla came to be standing in the centre of the dance studio with a circle of half-horrified-half-intrigued ballerinas around her, dancing like a stripper whose rent was due the next day. And that was the moment – when she was drawing the skirt of her borrowed dance skirt up to expose her entire thigh – at which Raoul breezed through the door.

"MERCIFUL CROWLEY!" Kayla shrieked, ducking behind Meg, whose short form did not do much to hide the fact that the stage manager had removed her shirt earlier in the improvised routine, and was now wearing nothing but the black tutu-skirt and a sports bra.

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" Raoul, to Kayla's intense chagrin, did not seem fazed at all. "I hoped I might have a word with you in private."

"No you may effing not! I'm helping rehearsals! G-T-F-O!"

"Helping rehearsals, are you? My, my, how many departments are you assisting, mademoiselle? And what may I ask is the purpose of that divine costume?"

"None of your bloody business, now get the hell out!" The ballerinas looked shocked at Kayla's tone, which was nice as it had shocked any of them out of simpering at the Vicomte.

"The managers wish to speak with you in regards to the casting, and I would like to have a private word with you on the way to the office –"

"You are not going to get a single damn peep out of me, and I can escort myself, thanks! Now out!"

"But mademoiselle – "

"YOU HEARD ME, GET THE FUCK OUT!"

He did not resist that time.

"I thought the casting was already through? Maestro Reyer and I were organising that." Really it had been Erik who drew up the cast list, and Reyer, eager to get the whole ordeal over with, had already approved.

Kayla was standing in the centre of the managers' office, back in her pants and work shirt, boots tapping impatiently on the rug. Carlotta lounged against a bookcase, her gaze fixated on her own manicure, and Piangi stood next to her, hands clasped over his protruding stomach. Christine was seated on a chair in front of Andre's desk, while Firmin was seated at his own, with Andre and a smug Raoul standing behind. "Yes, but you see -" Firmin blustered.

"Should the managers and patron not get a say?" Raoul interrupted smoothly. "I believe we are entitled."

"Your place in in an office, not the arts," Kayla quoted angrily. "And you aren't entitled to shit, monsieur."

Christine flinched at the curse, but Kayla was too incensed to care. The set manager drew a folded paper from her belt. "This is a copy of the final casting list." She tossed it carelessly on Firmin's desk. "Question it if you will, but this is what both the maestro and I found in our offices, sealed by the composer himself."

Raoul snatched up the paper immediately. "This says Christine is Aminta, the lead soprano!" His tone was half smug and half furious.

Kayla shrugged. "Based on what Reyer's read of the score, the part s written for her. He is her teacher, after all."

"Was her teacher! That beast has no part in her life now!"

The young soprano curled in on herself, brown eyes wide and frightened. Carlotta marched over and tore the list out of the Vicomte's hands. "Eh, it is no matter," the diva snorted. "I do not care if I do not lead dis cursed opera. Strange that Ubaldo is da lead baritone – he is taking da title role, though it seemed da phantom did not wish it."

Aw, dammit… going to have to go bargain for Piangi's life now. Kayla made a mental note to organize a meeting with Erik to resolve the issue.

Andre retrieved the list and scanned it nervously. "This… this seems to be in order…" he agreed, his voice hesitant.

Kayla took it back. "Good. I need to make more progress on costumes, and that's going to require fittings. Can you let the cast know, Carlotta?"

The diva nodded briskly. "I will see to it." She swept regally out of the room, her fiancé in tow.

"I do not want to do it."

Christine's voice was small. Raoul hurried to her side, circling a protective arm over her shoulder. "Of course not, and you will not have to, my love."

"Christine." Kayla's voice was firm. "Look at me." The soprano reluctantly made eye contact. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to learn Aminta's part. You are going to get fitted for the costumes. You're going to go to rehearsals. And when the time comes you are going to get up on that stage and sing; you are going to play the role that destiny has chosen for you. We don't have any other choice."

Raoul exploded. "Of course we do! We do not have to perform this opera!"

Kayla face palmed before turning to glare at Raoul. "I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here. This isn't up to you. This is up to Christine and the composer. He's holding literally all the cards at the moment, so I would suggest you hold up on whatever pissing contest you're having with the Phantom of the freaking Opera and stand the hell down."

If the look on his face was any indication, Raoul – despite frequent exposure to Kayla – was unused to being spoken to in such a manner.

"Christine, I know you're freaking out, and this is way too much to handle, but you're strong enough for this. There are people who are more than willing to help you, and heaven knows I'm always here to talk, but trust me when I say that your performance is going to bring the bloody house down."

Internally, she winced. That was a wrongly accurate choice of words.

After a pregnant pause, Christine gave a timid nod. Kayla, though she knew the fight was far from over, allowed her face to relax into a grin. "Kay, cool. I think Maestro Reyer is doing a cast and chorus rehearsal in the morning, 'round nine 'ish? He'll have your parts for you. Try to be there, all right? I'll let you know when I need you for the fittings, but come see me whenever." Her work done, Kayla breezed victoriously out of the office without waiting for dismissal.

She had walked almost an entire wing away from the office when she was slammed against the wall. She let out an involuntary cry of pain, feeling the threads still holding her stomach shut stretching from the strain.

"How dare you undermine me in front of the managers and my fiancé?" Raoul hissed. "You have no right to place yourself above me, no right!"

"I'm actually ranked much higher than you in the usefulness, manners, and haircare departments," Kayla chirped. "So I've got that going for me."

He shook her shoulders, keeping her pinned to the wall and making her teeth rattle. "I am you better, mademoiselle!"

"Am I really about to have this debate with you?! You are not my better, Parisian hierarchy means nothing to me! I'm a human being, same as you!"

"You are a mere manager, and a woman at that."

"Wow! I hope you led with that when you were proposing to Christine! Why the hell did you waste your time following me all the way out here if I mean nothing to the likes of such a strong and mighty nobleman? Huh?!"

She could have sworn his eyes softened. "You could never mean nothing to me, Kayla." His gaze grew affectionate with bipolar swiftness. Smoothing back an askew lock of hair, he leaned forward. "You are beautiful when you are angry…" His face was uncomfortably close to hers.

"You and your fricking double negatives! Stand the hell down, asshole!"

He laughed roguishly. "Do not deny your feelings, Kayla. You want this as much as I do." His lips brushed feather light over her cheek.

"No I don't you pretentious bastard!" He chuckled and his lips moved to the underside of her jaw. "Oh my god!" She shoved at his chest. "ERIK!"

"Stop fighting, Kayla," he purred. "You want this."

"Get off me you son of a bitch! ERIK!"

"I have no idea who you could possibly be calling for, but these walls are thick. No one can hear you."

Unfortunately, he was right. There was not a rescue on the way. Her mind grew razor sharp with concentration. "Do you think I'm the kind of girl who gives a shit?" Bracing herself, she slammed her head against his. "ERIK!" Swearing, her assailant relaxed his grip. She pulled up her leg and drove her knee between his legs with all the force she could muster. Head pounding like a drum from the impact, she threw herself away from the wall as Raoul sank to the ground. "ERIK!" Kayla spun, her leg flying with deadly accuracy into Raoul's ribs. He wheezed as all the air rushed from his lungs. "Don't touch me!" Drawing her arm back, she clocked the Vicomte square in the face. He toppled over, and lay without moving on the carpet.

A panel slid open in the wall opposite, and a white mask emerged from the gloom. "I heard screams," he said slowly, green eyes flicking from the panting, dishevelled girl to the unconscious nobleman.

She pointed at Raoul shakily. "Could you… please just… check that…I didn't actually kill him?"

Erik stalked out of the tunnel, cloak swishing as he knelt and checked for a pulse, a disgusted look on his face. "He's alive. I could not care less if there is any life threatening damage, but I tend to doubt it. He might not remember any of this."

"Thank the lord. Where the hell were you?"

"Watching your crew assemble scaffolding. Thankfully I was in earshot. What did I tell you about avoiding the fop?"

"Not to, but it's not like I thought he was going to follow me," Kayla retorted, some of the shakiness leaving her voice. "Your name makes an excellent war cry, I must admit. Now let me in, I need a drink and I need to get back to work, and in that order."

Stumbling past him into the tunnel, she paused and turned back, watching him stare at the fop with a satisfied half-smile flickering under the mask. "I did not know you could fight," he remarked.

"I watch way too many Marvel movies for my own good."

"Marvel?"

"Marvel. It's one of those things about people with special abilities that I watch on my little black box, remember?"

"I suppose I will have to give up understanding all of your references."

"Probably. Unless you're interested in a visit to Canada in the modern age."

"I might take you up on that if this composing business does not work out."

"Deal. Now, let's go search your den for some alcohol."

Author's Note: My goodness. A chapter I'm not pissed at about minimal length. At last.

Welp, I start school in a week. Back to classes and all that. And there was a fiction writing course I was stressed about getting into, because I had to submit a portfolio as an audition of sorts, and they only accept at most 25 students out of hundreds of applicants. But my portfolio - which included an excerpt from this fic, by the way - was accepted and I'm in the course, people! So I'll try my best to get back into the swing of regular updates, but if I'm late occasionally, know that I'm working hard on becoming a better writer, which hopefully will benefit all you lovely people!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, etc, and to liandra2428, Guest, Guest, Detective Of The Opera, and bemyheroseverus for their lovely guest reviews.

Sending all my love out to y'all, and good luck to everyone who's heading back to school!

Hugs,

Tierney