charleygirl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charleygirl) wrote2011-08-21 03:28 pm
charleygirl) wrote2011-08-21 03:28 pm
Entry tags:
Fic | Phantom of the Opera | Beyond the Green Baize Door 2/?
Title: Beyond the Green Baize Door 2/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1217
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Carlotta, various others
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Exactly what does 'a disaster beyond your imagination' entail?
Author's Notes: Intended to be a Phantom version of my series Jottings from a Doctor's Journal, a collection of fragments, vignettes and missing scenes. Mainly musical-based, but I have picked up bits and pieces from various places.
A WONDERFUL IDEA
‘Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.’
Fine words, thought Erik as he paced back and forth across his drawing room deep down in the fifth cellar, a threat worthy of the Opera Ghost. But what, exactly, would a disaster beyond their imagination entail? While it was true that he did not expect even idiots like Andre and Firmin to flout his instructions, it did no harm to be prepared for every eventuality.
Carlotta’s presence as the Countess instead of Christine could be easily dealt with – the dreadful woman croaked enough already, so much so that proving it to everyone else would be child’s play. And as for a presence in his box... they would not dare. But if they did... a few well-chosen words in the ear of the trespasser usually had them running down the hall, shrieking with terror. He chuckled at the thought. It had been some time since he had last scared unwary patrons.
These were hardly disasters, though. No, he would need something more spectacular should he be forced to make his point, something more... operatic. Yes, operatic, that was fitting.
But what, precisely?
He thumped the piano keys in frustration as he passed it for the twenty-sixth time. When the discordant echo eventually died away, he became aware of sounds from above. A particularly loud screech made him wince and he knew that rehearsals had begun. Listening for a moment, Erik turned on his heel; snatching up cloak and hat from their hooks he stalked from the house.
Maybe some time spent in the world above would provide inspiration.
________________________________________
The transition from the silence of the cellars to the cacophony of an operatic rehearsal had ceased to affect Erik many years ago. Thankfully, he had learned how to selectively ignore any noise which bothered him, which was a very handy skill to possess when continually having to put up with the present company. As he made his way through the concealed passageways to Box Five, he made an mental note once more to press those two fools in charge for Carlotta’s removal – she was arguing loudly with Monsieur Reyer and the acting manager over a point in Act II, waving her fan about and nearly smacking Piangi in the face as he attempted to calm her down.
“I don’t-a care what you think!” she shouted. “You expect an artist like-a me to sing such... such... spazzatura! Immondizia! Non degno della mia attenzione!”
“Signora, it is in the script...” Laurent, the acting manager, said, wringing his hands in desperation. “We cannot - ”
“Then we will-a rewrite the script! You!” Carlotta pointed at Reyer with her increasingly lethal fan. “You will-a go away and-a give me something better than-a this!”
The conductor glared. “Signora, I am not a librettist, and I do not have time to do that which is completely unnecessary. I suggest - ”
He did not get to voice that suggestion as the prima donna shouted him down with a tirade of incomprehensible Italian. Erik gritted his teeth. Opera was supposed to be theatrical, yes, melodramatic even, but that woman’s histrionics were becoming utterly unbearable. There was no question about it: she had to go! And if then managers were still reluctant he would quite happily perform the deed himself!
Moving to the front of the box but taking care to remain in shadow, his eyes searched for Christine. There she was, standing with the chorus and watching Carlotta’s antics with a resigned expression. The rehearsal was partial-dress, and Erik noticed with mounting anger that she was wearing the breeches and stockings of the silent page, Serafimo. After all the work they had done! His hands clenched into fists. Fools! Ingrates! Defy me, will you...
Madame Giry was there, trying to keep time for her ballerinas and failing miserably as Carlotta’s complaints increased in volubility and volume. As though motivated by some sixth sense, the ballet mistress turned her head and looked straight at Box Five. Erik withdrew, melting back into the darkness just as there was a clattering of footsteps on the stairs to the stage and those two simpletons of management appeared in the middle of the chaos, calling for quiet.
Silence reigned for approximately two minutes. Then there was a pregnant pause before everyone began talking at once. Erik groaned and resisted the urge to cover his ears. He slid out of the door and into the opulent, red-carpeted corridor behind the boxes. A moment later, two workmen, obviously taking a short-cut and ignoring the fact that they were not allowed front of house unless absolutely necessary, came past, forcing him to duck hurriedly into one of the many hidey-holes he kept around the building. This one was in the base of one of the gilded statues, and he could see the pair quite clearly through a gap in the base.
“I don’t know,” one of them, a short, cocky-looking individual with a swagger, said, “Clean the chandelier, ‘e says. Does ‘e even have any idea what a big job that is? A week’s work at the least, and ‘e wants it done by tomorrow night!”
His tall, lanky companion nodded. “They think it’s easy, runnin’ a theatre,” he observed morosely. “More money than sense, they ‘ave.”
“Should’ve given us the job, eh?” The first one nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “Think about it: place like this, full o’ nobs with too much cash... this time next year we could be millionaires!”
“Won’t be nothin’ if that chandelier falls on someone’s head. Chain’s rusted through, but they’ll blame us if it comes down...”
Their complaints faded away as they vanished down the stairs. Their conversation, however facile, had, however, given Erik an idea. Swiftly, he made his way to the very top of the auditorium, where the great chandelier was secured. Unlit at present and gleaming dully in the weak afternoon sunlight that filtered through the dome, it looked far less impressive than on the gala evenings when it was often the star of the show. Seen from such close proximity, it was grimy and indeed rusting, the chains with which it was fixed to the ceiling appearing none too safe. Normally, a note to the managers would point this out and order them to have it mended immediately, but on this occasion OG thought better of his usual tactics.
He reached out and tested the rope which ran from the chandelier to a tethering ring above the balcony. There were several feet of fraying hemp looped around a hook beneath the ring, enough to lower the huge contraption down into the auditorium for maintenance. Responding to the sudden movement, the chandelier creaked and swung, glass tinkling against metal. From down below, he heard a shout of “He’s here! The Phantom!” but it was almost immediately drowned out by the raised voices of Andre and Firmin as they tried to reason with their irate diva.
This is a disaster waiting to happen, Erik mused silently, and then his face creased in a smile behind his mask. He tugged slightly on the rope again. A disaster beyond your imagination indeed...
Come Il Muto’s opening night, the Phantom would indeed be there, and he would be prepared.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1217
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Carlotta, various others
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Exactly what does 'a disaster beyond your imagination' entail?
Author's Notes: Intended to be a Phantom version of my series Jottings from a Doctor's Journal, a collection of fragments, vignettes and missing scenes. Mainly musical-based, but I have picked up bits and pieces from various places.
A WONDERFUL IDEA
‘Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.’
Fine words, thought Erik as he paced back and forth across his drawing room deep down in the fifth cellar, a threat worthy of the Opera Ghost. But what, exactly, would a disaster beyond their imagination entail? While it was true that he did not expect even idiots like Andre and Firmin to flout his instructions, it did no harm to be prepared for every eventuality.
Carlotta’s presence as the Countess instead of Christine could be easily dealt with – the dreadful woman croaked enough already, so much so that proving it to everyone else would be child’s play. And as for a presence in his box... they would not dare. But if they did... a few well-chosen words in the ear of the trespasser usually had them running down the hall, shrieking with terror. He chuckled at the thought. It had been some time since he had last scared unwary patrons.
These were hardly disasters, though. No, he would need something more spectacular should he be forced to make his point, something more... operatic. Yes, operatic, that was fitting.
But what, precisely?
He thumped the piano keys in frustration as he passed it for the twenty-sixth time. When the discordant echo eventually died away, he became aware of sounds from above. A particularly loud screech made him wince and he knew that rehearsals had begun. Listening for a moment, Erik turned on his heel; snatching up cloak and hat from their hooks he stalked from the house.
Maybe some time spent in the world above would provide inspiration.
________________________________________
The transition from the silence of the cellars to the cacophony of an operatic rehearsal had ceased to affect Erik many years ago. Thankfully, he had learned how to selectively ignore any noise which bothered him, which was a very handy skill to possess when continually having to put up with the present company. As he made his way through the concealed passageways to Box Five, he made an mental note once more to press those two fools in charge for Carlotta’s removal – she was arguing loudly with Monsieur Reyer and the acting manager over a point in Act II, waving her fan about and nearly smacking Piangi in the face as he attempted to calm her down.
“I don’t-a care what you think!” she shouted. “You expect an artist like-a me to sing such... such... spazzatura! Immondizia! Non degno della mia attenzione!”
“Signora, it is in the script...” Laurent, the acting manager, said, wringing his hands in desperation. “We cannot - ”
“Then we will-a rewrite the script! You!” Carlotta pointed at Reyer with her increasingly lethal fan. “You will-a go away and-a give me something better than-a this!”
The conductor glared. “Signora, I am not a librettist, and I do not have time to do that which is completely unnecessary. I suggest - ”
He did not get to voice that suggestion as the prima donna shouted him down with a tirade of incomprehensible Italian. Erik gritted his teeth. Opera was supposed to be theatrical, yes, melodramatic even, but that woman’s histrionics were becoming utterly unbearable. There was no question about it: she had to go! And if then managers were still reluctant he would quite happily perform the deed himself!
Moving to the front of the box but taking care to remain in shadow, his eyes searched for Christine. There she was, standing with the chorus and watching Carlotta’s antics with a resigned expression. The rehearsal was partial-dress, and Erik noticed with mounting anger that she was wearing the breeches and stockings of the silent page, Serafimo. After all the work they had done! His hands clenched into fists. Fools! Ingrates! Defy me, will you...
Madame Giry was there, trying to keep time for her ballerinas and failing miserably as Carlotta’s complaints increased in volubility and volume. As though motivated by some sixth sense, the ballet mistress turned her head and looked straight at Box Five. Erik withdrew, melting back into the darkness just as there was a clattering of footsteps on the stairs to the stage and those two simpletons of management appeared in the middle of the chaos, calling for quiet.
Silence reigned for approximately two minutes. Then there was a pregnant pause before everyone began talking at once. Erik groaned and resisted the urge to cover his ears. He slid out of the door and into the opulent, red-carpeted corridor behind the boxes. A moment later, two workmen, obviously taking a short-cut and ignoring the fact that they were not allowed front of house unless absolutely necessary, came past, forcing him to duck hurriedly into one of the many hidey-holes he kept around the building. This one was in the base of one of the gilded statues, and he could see the pair quite clearly through a gap in the base.
“I don’t know,” one of them, a short, cocky-looking individual with a swagger, said, “Clean the chandelier, ‘e says. Does ‘e even have any idea what a big job that is? A week’s work at the least, and ‘e wants it done by tomorrow night!”
His tall, lanky companion nodded. “They think it’s easy, runnin’ a theatre,” he observed morosely. “More money than sense, they ‘ave.”
“Should’ve given us the job, eh?” The first one nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “Think about it: place like this, full o’ nobs with too much cash... this time next year we could be millionaires!”
“Won’t be nothin’ if that chandelier falls on someone’s head. Chain’s rusted through, but they’ll blame us if it comes down...”
Their complaints faded away as they vanished down the stairs. Their conversation, however facile, had, however, given Erik an idea. Swiftly, he made his way to the very top of the auditorium, where the great chandelier was secured. Unlit at present and gleaming dully in the weak afternoon sunlight that filtered through the dome, it looked far less impressive than on the gala evenings when it was often the star of the show. Seen from such close proximity, it was grimy and indeed rusting, the chains with which it was fixed to the ceiling appearing none too safe. Normally, a note to the managers would point this out and order them to have it mended immediately, but on this occasion OG thought better of his usual tactics.
He reached out and tested the rope which ran from the chandelier to a tethering ring above the balcony. There were several feet of fraying hemp looped around a hook beneath the ring, enough to lower the huge contraption down into the auditorium for maintenance. Responding to the sudden movement, the chandelier creaked and swung, glass tinkling against metal. From down below, he heard a shout of “He’s here! The Phantom!” but it was almost immediately drowned out by the raised voices of Andre and Firmin as they tried to reason with their irate diva.
This is a disaster waiting to happen, Erik mused silently, and then his face creased in a smile behind his mask. He tugged slightly on the rope again. A disaster beyond your imagination indeed...
Come Il Muto’s opening night, the Phantom would indeed be there, and he would be prepared.
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