Over Again

Quick message to my faithful readers,

I'm so sorry about taking almost a full month to update! College has been crazy with my headaches and trying to get an appointment for the correct treatment I need to help alleviate at least some of my nerve pain. I guess my insurance isn't taken locally (not even at my own college), therefore I was going back and forth between this other pain facility and my original neurologist in CA, all the while dealing with excruciating nerve pain in the back of my head. Almost three weeks ago, I had requested for my neurologist in CA to fax over all the needed information in order to even get an appointment at the pain facility here and just last week my mother called me and told me that everything was faxed over, except for my MRI imaging (which is the most important part). I guess my MRI was done at CHLA and the neurologist needed me to request it directly from CHLA and anyway, it was this big to-do. I finally get the appointment, drive to BHM and get lost on the way there. My roommates and I are late and once we arrive, we are dreadfully informed that the doctor has already left. Let me ask you something... WHAT KIND OF FUCKING DOCTOR LEAVES BEFORE THE OFFICE CLOSES AND BEFORE YOUR LAST PATIENT GETS THERE? I had already called ahead to tell them that I was going to be late, because we were lost... I just... I don't know. We drove an hour out for nothing, but I did get another appointment and it is tomorrow. I'll be out until Friday, but I wanted to give you a deliciously well-earned update right now. (I will be update DT later tonight after I finish my notes.) Having said all that, it was more of a vent, than a message. I really have no excuse for not updating, but I thank all the gods on Mount Olympus for all my faithful readers. I love you all and in fact, you are the ones keeping me going in the stressful time, thank you.

Without further ado and much gratitude,

A.

"Christine, please... Don't go..." The excruciatingly silent escape of the tiny dancer's feet put a hush over the company as the composer stood to his feet, the bones of his knees cracking in the process. He could already tell that he was deteriorating every second she was gone. Straightening out his jacket and button the front, the composer adjusted his mask and turned towards the wide-eyed company, their jaws agape.

"Director?" The masked man inhaled slowly, letting out the air in his lungs even slower, closing his eyes. He wished nothing more than to be alone on the stage.

"We shall begin the full dress rehearsal now. I want everyone - the stage hands, the orchestra in the pit, the dancers - everyone in their places for the opening number." Swiftly, the director made eyes with the twenty year old red head in the first row, her hair tightly pulled back in the typical ballerina's bun. "You." As the rest of the company disappeared to their proper positions, the director eyed the ballerina with such mystery, not even Erik himself could predict just what he was going to do or say next.

"M-Me?" She squeaked back, stepping forward gently in first position as he lured her closer with the power of his finger. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Your name, what is your name?" Erik tilted his head as he narrowed his eyes at the red head. Taking a step to the side, his hand immediately fell onto her shoulder as he moved to stop her from following him. As her eyes darted towards the stage floor, the composer continued to circle her like a hungry vulture, out for his next meal.

"Tiffany, Tiffany VaanGuard, sir, Director-"

"Composer would be just fine, Ms. VaanGuard."

Tiffany VaanGuard was your standard ballerina, Erik assessed as he continually rounded about the young girl, waiting for the stage to be set and the instruments to be tuned. Her figure was that of a normal ballerina; broad shoulders, a lean torso and lean arms to go with it, and muscular legs to support the body that rises with her en pointe. Her dyed red hair looked as if it would fall to her mid back, at least that's what Erik calculated. Based on his experience with Bailey, it looked damaged from the dye and he could tell the natural color was beginning to show through the roots. The Composer wondered when it would be a good... appropriate time to tell Ms. VaanGuard that she needed to wash that cheap dye out, or whatever was taking over her naturally dirty blonde hair. As her bright blue eyes gathered in a pool of sapphire, gradually making contact with the Composer's mismatched irises, Tiffany VaanGuard exhaled a short breath as Erik's hand floated effortlessly underneath her smooth chin - just barely touching the soft, white skin. Tilting her chin upward with the power of his presence alone, Tiffany VaanGuard's lips fell apart ever-so-slightly to form a perfect, "O," shape as she finally received the chance to bask in the mystifying glory that engulfed and that simply emanated off of the Composer. Erik's stiff hand fell to the ballerina's lower back as Tiffany VaanGuard fell back in a movement of her breath being taken out of her. Surprised by his quick reflexes, Erik gently pushed Ms. VaanGuard back to her feet - back to first position - as he stood in front of her, towering over her five foot five stature. There was not an inch of him that was not glowing and the stage lights were not even on yet. Erik took one last look at the ballerina displayed in front of him and with a satisfied nod, he turned on his heel and continued his journey towards the pit, in which the orchestra waited anxiously for their Director.

"Composer!" Stopping in his trail halfway across the stage by now, Erik turned his head to listen to what the young girl had to say to him. "I... I... Mr. Composer, sir."

"I'm waiting, Ms. VaanGuard. Tell me what you have to say, we're on a time crunch." Almost smiling at the sound of his resonant voice, Tiffany VaanGuard quickly walked forward towards the Director, with nothing but fear in her heart and amazement in her eyes.

"I just wanted to be sure... I am to be the maid? Is this what this is about?" The Composer paused before turning towards the ballerina again, his one eyebrow raised to the mindless ballerina. Without another word, the Composer tapped his nose twice with his slender index finger and went on his way, his hands folded behind his back in such a way that made his shoulders seem more wide than before. "T-Thank you!" Ms. VaanGuard yelled before the Composer disappeared behind the stage, leaving her alone on the great stage with only one thought in her mind as she looked out at the empty theater: He picked me.

Two Weeks Later

"No, that isn't correct! Mr. Richards, if you are going to tell me you play the first bassoon, actually learn how to play it before you even attempt to take a seat in my pit!" Mr. Richards brown eyes widened at the sheet music in front of him. This music was impossible and this was the fourth time the Composer had stopped the whole show to tell someone they were horrible in the pit. "We shall take a five minute break and in that five minutes, I hope you learn to play your instrument correctly. If not, do not bother coming back into my orchestra, Mr. Richards."

As the stage emptied and the musicians in the orchestra escaped the confines of the pit, Erik waited for the crowd to leave before removing his mask in the privacy of the pit. The stress of the the opera was making his skin irritated and the mask unbearable as he continued to rub on the swollen cheek, just wishing that the opera would put itself together.

"Composer?" Suddenly, the familiar voice broke from above the pit as Erik dropped his mask in fright. Leaning down, Erik stayed with his face to the ground as he fumbled to angrily put the damned mask back on his infected face.

"I said five minutes! Does that mean nothing to you?" Erik roared through the pit, shaking the stands as the voice from above hushed. "What do you want? Tell me now, then leave me in peace."

"I... I just wanted to thank you, for this opportunity, sir. It's always been a dream of mine to dance on this stage and to dance for you... Well, it's more than I could ever ask for, sir... So... Thank you for that, Composer." As Erik adjusted his mask and looked above him, he found the red-headed ballerina leaning down to gaze upon him. Sitting wit her legs crossed, she looked at the Composer with great confusion. "Your mask... It's falling, sir." She reached out her hand to assist the Composer, only for him to flinch away from the tiny hand.

"I'm sorry, Ms. VaanGuard. I do not like anyone touching my mask, except for myself." Erik reached behind him to further adjust his mask as she slowly nodded.

"Except for that curly headed girl, right?" Erik's head suddenly snapped towards Tiffany VaanGuard at the mention of her presence. Taking a deep breath in to keep his anger in, he pulled on the end of his jacket to restrict him from going for her throat.

"No, not even that girl can touch my mask, Ms. VaanGuard." Erik seethed through his gritted teeth. "I appreciate your kind words, but you have much to learn. You are a good ballerina, but I am looking for great, exceptional. I want you to outshine all the other ballerinas dancing in the background. At the moment, I could very well just put you back in the ensemble and you would fit right in, Ms. VaanGuard. I am sure you do not want that. Do I stand corrected?" The red-head vehemently shook her head as she scooted forward. She wanted to be as close as she could. "Would you like me to tell you where you lack an outstanding quality in which I am looking?"

"Anything to make me better, Composer." Erik nodded, clearing his throat as the young girl prepared for the worst.

"Originality." Silence fell between them as Tiffany VaanGuard waited for the Composer to finish his sentence, but once the ballerina realized that was all he had to say, her posture stiffened in awkwardness.

"Originality? What do you mean?" Letting out an airy laugh that bellowed from his chest, Erik crossed his arms and pointed to the ballerina's hair. "My hair? What is wrong with it?"

"You've dyed it red. I want it natural by the time my opera is in its final week of rehearsal. Your combination before the curtain falls at intermission is your chance to shine and it is true that you are hitting every mark with the music, but that is all you are doing. You are simply just hitting your mark and that is not what I chose you for, Ms. VaanGuard. I chose you for originality. I chose you in order to give you the power to make the role of Serafimo your own. You need the three F's in order to satisfy me. You lack fluidity, finesse, and you need fine-tuning. Making your combinations and each movement you hit more fluid will make it more appealing to the eye, your finesse... Oh, your finesse is very important in the first act. You are a boy, pretending to be a girl, but still you must pursue your lover - your Countess, should you not? You must still posses the ability to make the countess swoon, even as a page-boy. Do you understand?"

"Of course-"

"Of course? Ms. VaanGuard, choose your words wisely, Miss. This is where your fine-tuning comes into place. You are too shy as Serafimo. Do you think the page-boy in his act of pursuing would be shy? Do you think he would get anywhere with the fair Countess as a diffident page-boy? Tell me Ms. VaanGuard, do you truly understand the character in which I have given you and which whom you are to perform as in three and a half weeks time?"

Down to her bones, Tiffany VaanGuard felt the timbre of the Composer's voice as he spoke the words she needed to hear. With his hands balled in his fists, the ballerina slowly locked eyes with the Composer, earning another loss of breath as she finally noticed that his eyes were not matching colors. As her pupils dilated and her nostrils involuntarily flared, Erik's palms relaxed on the stage and his shoulders loosened. He was the one to finally realize just how important Tiffany VaanGuard was to his company and production as she sat across from him, eyes wide and lips separated perfectly. Erik needed Tiffany VaanGuard as much as he needed this opera and very soon, he would hope to she would come to realize it too.

3:47am

The Composer gathered his belongings from the locker backstage, completely exhausted from his day. As he slammed the door of the metal locker, the all-too familiar sound of her footsteps entered the room - entered his mind. Surely, it was just his ears playing tricks on him. It was practically four in the morning and he had been running the opera all day, over and over again until he got one number to his liking (which seemed impossible with the group of people he was stuck with for the next three and a half weeks). Blinking away the sound of footsteps, the Composer moved forward to the staircase that led to the back parking lot, hoping that the unbearable sound of her footsteps would disappear along with the worries of the stage behind him.

"Erik?" The Composer froze in his tracks as the voice trailed down his spine, his goose-flesh rising with each haunted spoken syllable. "Erik... Please, turn around." With his head hung low, the Composer turned around and refused to look at the girl who walked away from him. Did she deserve his presence? No. Would he give it to her ten times over? Of course.

"What... W-What are you d-doing here?" Swallowing hard as he try so hard to hold back the hot tears that begged to cascade down his cheeks, he pulled his head up with an excruciating pain, almost forcing him to bow his head back down in humiliation. In humiliation for what, that was the true question.

"I knew you would be here this late and I needed to get you alone... To talk to you." The chocolate curls fell down the left side of her torso in a loose braid, tied with a black ribbon as she stepped forward towards the slumped over Composer. "I... I'm sorry, Erik. I'm sorry I left you there on that stage... I... You scared me and I just ran away from you... From what was frightening me... I'm sorry... I didn't understand why you got so mad at me... I don't... I'm sorry... I... I should have never come here!" Turning on her heel, Christine immediately ran for the door in a full force of regret. Before she could reach for the handle bar of the door, something tight wrapped around her bony wrist. As Christine was swung around by the weighted jerk of her wrist to face the masked man.

"Christine." Immediately, the silky voice filled her body with a warmth she missed so dearly from her the tip of her fingers to her tip of her toes. "Christine, have I ever told you that you talk too much, too quickly?"

"Once or twice, I believe, Erik." Slowly, the small smile he came to know so well appeared on he face as they stood inches apart from each other. "I'm sorry, Erik. I'm just not ready to perform in front of thousands of people like... I'm just not ready to perform the way you wanted me to... I'm sorry, Erik." The Composer smiled softly as his former student's voice filled the room.

"Don't worry, Christine. You're here now, that's all I want - That's all I need." Erik shifted in his stance as he took a deep breath. "I found a girl to be the pageboy." In a sudden movement, Christine's hand was torn from his grasp as she stepped backwards away from the Composer.

"A girl?" Her eyebrows furrowed inward in confusion as she searched his mismatched eyes for a viable answer. "Who is this girl?"

"A ballerina from the ensemble, I picked her out to replace you. She's very good, but she still has much to learn for the role. I tried explaining to her the three F's and just exactly what she needed to know about the role of Serafimo. I'm sure she will internalize it as soon as possible and-"

"Erik." As Christine interrupted the Composer's speech with her harsh tone, the five foot three former student suddenly became tense. "Who is this girl?" The Composer took a shallow breath as he nervously raised his eyebrow towards the narrow-eyed girl in front of him. He could practically feel the heat blazing off her tongue as she spitfired the question quicker than he could count.

"She's just a dancer, Christine! She comes from a rich family, but I do not consider wealth when I cast for my operas. She had talent and potential. I thought she would be good in the ensemble, but when you left me on that stage, I was desperate for a lead. I thoroughly remembered her audition. She had outstanding qualities and I finally made the instinctual decision to cast her in the role of Serafimo, the pageboy." Erik was speaking faster than his mouth could keep up with. It was almost as if he was defending the red-headed ballerina. Surely, he was not helping his case in anyway. "She is a good dancer, but nowhere near as good as you, Christine. She has many things to fine-tune about her technique and about her style. I am sure she will succeed in due time." As Erik finished, he could clearly see that Christine was seething. Her tiny hands were balled up in fists as she rocked back and forth on her heels to contain her anger. Erik bit his swelled lower lip to stop himself speaking any more. Erik knew that he had ruined any chance of reconciliation between them as Christine stood there. She didn't even realize she was crying until the taste of hot salt fell on her quivering lips. Gathering all the strength she had, she took a deep breath and prepared to ask the one question she never wanted to know the answer to in the first place.

"W-What's... W-What's... What's her n-name, Erik?" Before the Composer could answer, the sound of the red-headed ballerina's voice interrupted the masked man as she stood behind the mass of curls on the staircase, silhouetted in a haze of unknowing tragedy and disaster.

"My name is Tiffany VaanGuard. Who is asking?"