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(( I dont wanna do the rehearsal scene. I thought we were going by the movie not the play))

((Answer one: I think we're done with this scene.

Answer two: Well, we need to do something in leeway of showing rehearsals for Don Juan even if it's just a bunch of cries of "omg there's SEX in this thing!" or any other nonsense that can be incorporated into it. Imptovision is what makes up a good 40% of roleplays.))

((Sounds good to me. I'll get my post done when I can get the computer to cooperate and I get some time to do it, which shouldn't be that long from now.))

((Pardon me, but what exactly do you mean by posting in an RPG thread in which you are not a player? You should not interrupt an RPG by posting in it unless you are a player or wish to become a player.))

(( *hands her the frying pan* There you go girl! Ok I'm going to take my medication now.........))

(( Ok ok))

Meg walk up and saw thw girl fall off the bed. She looked at her mother tas if to say 'Good Lord...'. Meg kissed her mother good morning and changed in her dress. She went back to her mother as she tied her shoe.

" Mother? What role shall I play?"

((*looks around* Is there a reason why nothing has been happening?))

In the hidden passageway on the other side of the office wall, Erik's brow furrowed in disapproval as he listened to the managers. They were treading dangerous waters by saying such things about his opera. He had worked on it for years, and he had poured so much of himself into the music that it had become an extension of himself. Speaking ill of his opera was to slap him in the face, and his days of taking such punishments were long gone.

A smirk twisted his lips in the darkness of the passage. "Two foolish men have thus far been spared the fullness of my wrath, but their luck will run out if they continue down this chosen path," he said in a sing-song voice that he allowed to float into the office.

Cursed? The only curse these men had was their joint foolishness and stupidity. On their own it seemed like they might be reasonable men. That was really what their problem was. Together they were just too reasonable. A touch of madness would have done wonders for their ability to manage the opera, but there was just too much reason for any madness to fit in. Lefevre must have realized what a poor fit these managers would be, but he must have been to desperate about leaving to care.

Deciding that he'd had enough of listening to them insulting him and his opera, he walked off to find a place to watch the rehearsals. He knew that today's practices would be a disaster, and he was willing to allow for that as well as a couple of other days. However, when time for the performance came he would expect nothing less than perfection out of everyone. The dancers would be in step, the singers on key, the stagehands on cue, and the orchestra on tune. If he had to, he would spend the entire night prior to its opening tuning every damn instrument.

((I guess I'll play a ballet girl for a little bit as well. It would be nice if other players could temporarily pick up a ballet girl for a little bit as well.))

For a minute after Martine rose she could not understand what Madame Giry was on about, and she sat quietly in her bed, mind still wrapped comfortably in the haze of sleep. However, slowly the events of the Bal Masque came back to her. The man dressed in that greusome, red costume marching down the stairs and ordering that his opera be performed.

It had been the same voice that everyone had heard the night Buquet had been hung from the flies. The red swathed figure had been the Phantom of the Opera.

She stared slightly at that realization. He had walked right past her on the staircase, but weren't ghosts supposed to be transparent and insubstantial creatures. That man had looked as solid as any of the other men at the masque.

Glancing at Christine's still sleeping form, she frowned thoughtfully. He had been just as solid as any og the other men. His sword had been solid enough to cut the feather's of Carlotta's hat, and his hand had been real enough to snatch that ring from Christine's neck.

The thought of the ring made her think of what the ghost had said. He claimed to be the one to have taught her to sing so well. Martine wondered how long Christine had known that her teacher was really the Phantom of the Opera. Certainly she had to have known it before last night. She hadn't seemed at all surprised when he'd said it. In fact, she had seemed almost happy to see him, but he had not seemed at all happy to see that ring that had been hanging around her neck. Was the ghost in love with Christine Daae? If he was it would certainly make a few things about his behavior begin to make sense.

As many questions as such a realization might have been able to answer, it raised so many more questions. Did Christine possibly love the ghost back? Could a living woman love a ghost, and what could they do with their love even if it was mutual? Ghosts were dead, weren't they?

Finally rising from her bed, Martine tried to push these thoughts from her head as she began to dress. They were to begin rehearsals on the ghost's opera. She did not want to anger him with sloppy dancing. "What a love story Christine seems to be tangled in," she mumbled quietly. "It would make a wonderful opera all its own, wouldn't it?"

Meg went down the hall. She had a copy of the script in her hand. She then looked at her part. A whore! Meg was to be a whore! Meg rolled her eyes.

Is this what Erik thinks of me?

Meg wasn't in the best of moods. Meg considered herself the only dignified ballerina at the Opera Garnier. She started with her stretches. Before she was finished she looked back at the script. She wasn't required to dance. Only a twirl and a few quick steps. She went to her mother and questioned her.

" I suppose I don't need to be in ballet today?"