Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Opera Populaire was a rather large and imposing building from the outside where one might find their pace quicken slightly as they passed beneath its shadow. Yes, on the outside it was somewhat forbidding, but inside it was like a world unto itself.

The normal laws did not apply here. One could suspend their belief in reality for a few hours as they became immerssed in the telling of an ancient tale. A person could forget his own sorrows for a while as he became enraptured by the greater tragedies of another. It was somewhat reminescent of the ancient coliseum of Rome, where spectators watched as gladiators fought for their lives against vicious beasts. A performer could triumph one night, but the next they could find their career very abruptly ended by the whims of a fickle and unforgiving audience. Of course, there were also the vicious beasts of the opera one had to consider. There was always someone ready to stab another in the back simply for the hope of an opportunity to step into the limelight. The tragedies that occurred backstage were more numerous and infinitely more interesting to watch than those that occurred on stage.

Those deserving of praise were not always given their due while those of only average or even mediocre talent were lauded for their ability to turn sweet music into a cacophonous jumble of screeches and bellows. There was a game to play if someone wanted to succeed, and only the best players were ever given the chance to succeed. It was sickening, and it pleased me that I was no part of it.

It was a beautiful world built upon shattered dreams as fragile as butterfly wings, and I was able to watch for free the greatest tragedies that the paying audiences would never be able to view. The part I played in this world was only minimal at best. What did I care if one woman spent her entire life working towards a dream only to have it snuffed out like the flame of a candle? I had no reason to care. All it meant was another show for me to play the unknown spectator to. I had been fortunate enough to escape being caught in any of these impromptu operas. Little did I know that my own opera was to become the greatest of all that had taken place within these walls.



((Is that a good enough start for everyone?))

((Its wonderful, I will start when I come back from eating.))

~Monsieur Reyer~

"Where is it?" Reyer demanded.

The rehearsal, as usual, was about to fall apart before it even began.

Somehow the director had managed to lose the first twenty measures of the second act- measures that, naturally, the choir had had trouble mastering. Not only that, but someone was complaining loudly to the rest of those setting up their instruments that their precious wind instrument was being repaired and he couldn't play today.

And to think tonight was the gala...

Biting back a groan, he leafed through a few more pages of tonight's music, hoping to find those twenty measures. No such luck.

Wonderful. It was almost time for rehearsal, and almost no one was present, and he couldn't find the damned opening page to the second act!

The Opera Populaire's present diva had not even shown up yet, and already the hapless director knew things were bound to be interesting tonight...

I wonder if they'll place bets on how long it will take for me to rip out the rest of my hair during rehearsal, he wondered ruefully.

Mary Jane laughed at Monsieur Reyer quietly to herself as she danced. Now she was back in speed unlike before when she had previously kicked Desiree in her butt. She danced not taking her eyes of Desiree for she knew that Desiree had every idea of what she was doing, so Mary Jane followed. When Mary Jane had time she looked around the theatre once, only to see Sir Vicomte in his box. Quickly they twirlded, and gracefully they all danced. Following Desiree's every movement and step, everything done exactly or as best as she could do to move like her. Once again Mary Jane glanced put at the handsome Patron, only to hope that he was hers.

~OC: Bella~

Not again! I can't BELIEVE I did that again...

Wonderful. Not only was she late to rehearsal- again- but she had managed to forget how to do the most important move the dancers had in the gala altogether! Thank the Lord that she wasn't in the first row, or no doubt someone would have chewed her out for her very obvious mishap.

Bella attempted to continue as though she had never messed up in the first place.

It's a wonder I wasn't called out on the spot for that...

((What's with the speaking in first person? Do some people actually roleplay like that? Hmn.
And Jurori, do not god-mod my character. I will say what she does.))

Madame Giry stood upstage right, quietly watching as the dancers lept onto the stage and began their ballet number. Mary Jane was missing--again--it seemed and she knew that the moment the girl came onstage everyone would have to stop and be lectured because one girl was late.
Her old, worn dancing shoes on her feet did nothing for the callouses and corns on the soles of her old feet. She was only about forty-one, but a hard career and the past fifteen years of instructing the little ballerinas had given her more wrinkles than any woman could want. Her mouse-brown hair still had its youth. Thank goodness she hadn't seen a grey hair yet. But, with all the chaos going on to put this show together (what could you expect from just a month of rehearsing?) it would only be a matter of time before she would look in her vanity mirror to see silver streaking through her long hair.
She wrinkled her nose as one girl almost tripped and threw the entire back row of dancers off, but she let it go as things smoothed out and returned to normal. And then one of the violins hit a sour note, which made her cringe and almost hiss in annoyance. She wasn't a music expert, heaven help her if she was, but she knew a bad note when she heard it. The violinist would probably get it by the end of the afternoon's rehearsal.
And then in came Mary Jane, who got a swift kick to another girl's bum by accident as she tried lining herself up and straightening out. Taking her hand to her exposed forehead, the elder Giry smacked her open palm against the tight flesh of her face. How many times was it that girl had been late? Too many. As if little Mary Jane coming in late wasn't enough, one of the third row dancers--Bella, if she could recall correctly--came rushing in and found her place with about as much grace as a drunkard.
She wrinkled her nose at this, taking her silver cane from beside her near the ballet's stretch bar and stomping it angrily on the wood of the stage which cut what little orchestra memebers had shown up and to stop the dancers.
"I want those who showed up for rehearsal in front of me now. The rest of you, I suggest you stretch and practice. I have never seen such messy dancing in my life! Must I do it all for you?" She said in a stern voice, her eyes roaming across the group of young girls. The woman knew as soon as her back was turned, the girls would call her nasty names and wish her death of the worst kind. It was always so. As such, it would always be that way. It would be no wonder if even her own daughter didn't think nasty of her at some point. She taught every dancer and treated them all equally. Meg was no different. "Come, come! We do not have all day, little mam'selles! We must rehearse and look as if we have been practising all these weeks!" She added in her famous impatience as once again the old cane came rapping down on the stage.
How was it she had these girls working day and night every day, only to have them slack off and dance as if it were a burden? What happened to enjoying things? It was as if they were all soul-less creatures who ran around the stage in tu-tus and ballet slippers.
"Now!" She bellowed.

Antoinette, sometimes I think you are a bit too harsh on those girls, thought Erik as he watched the woman smack her cane against the floor again. Of course, then there are all those times that I couldn't agree with you more. Your girls are really making quite a mess of things right now. I wonder if that Bella could do a clean pirouette to save her life. I suppose you wouldn't like me to test that theory.

Looking over at the orchestra pit from his current position, he could just see Reyer and the rather flustered look he had on his face. He wanted to laugh, but he restrained himself. It wouldn't do for him to give away his hiding place. God knew there would not be many willing to take mercy on him if they knew that he was not the ghost they imagined him to be.