![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
neko-no-hanashi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tutufansHeysies, everyone! Finally got to work on a project I've been sitting on for quite a while: a Phantom of the Opera/Princess Tutu crossover AU. I've written the prologue as well as the first chapter...and here they are! May you enjoy The Music of the Knight! (...I know. Worst pun in the world, ne? XD)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
^^^^^^^^^^^
In case you didn't realize, Autor is narrating the prologue. =) Please comment; I'd love feedback.
Once upon a time…
That’s how stories are supposed to begin. Unfortunately it seems the story I’m telling will be very unlike this; after all, it’s not like this story is something of my creation written so that my word becomes reality. No. I don’t have that power, even if my name is German for “author.” I’m here solely to document this story which has already happened: a story written by and about another man’s inner conflict.
This man, to most, didn’t even appear to be a man, for the only shape this man took with the public was that of the Phantom of the Ballet, or, if he was being informal, “B.G.” for “Ballet Ghost.” Very often the superstitious ballet girls and stage crew claimed to have seen him appearing and disappearing into the stage rafters and such, but never had anyone been able to pin down exactly what he looked like. Fortunately this “Phantom” didn’t seem to want to bother anyone; the only times we ever heard from him were when he sent letters critiquing our rehearsals to improve them before the opening show and, sometimes, offering up suggestions for future ballets. The directors actually appreciated his input for a while there, even though the more easily spooked members of our cast and crew claimed to see blood falling from his shadow in his private Box 5 and other such scary nonsense. But soon the Phantom’s words became something to dread, and, eventually, created the tragedy I’m obligated to tell in its entirety.
It must have all began when Miss Rue auditioned for the Royal Ballet Company. The directors, Paulamoni and her husband Paulo, was putting together their cast for the Company’s production of “Swan Lake.” The Phantom had suggested the show, but had made it very firm that the ballerina playing Odette and Odile had to be someone with a great talent without a large name in ballet. The directors, however, gave the part to Miss Rue, who had trained in ballet for many years and was known in several other countries for her talent.
Miss Rue’s history probably wouldn’t have bothered the Phantom too much by itself, but the presence of a flock of ravens lining the beams along the back of the theatre during her audition definitely did.
Ravens are generally known to be temperamental, fearsome creatures. Articles and obituaries concerning raven attacks weren’t uncommon around that time, and the ravens attacking were very often unprovoked, so it’s not surprising everyone became anxious when the ravens flew in when Miss Rue came on-stage. Yet the ravens made no movement to hurt any of the humans in the theatre, resting peacefully on the back beam until Miss Rue was finished with her performance, upon which time they cawed loudly and flew away out the window. Miss Rue was cast as the lead, and everything seemed to move smoothly after that, even with the flock of ravens coming to roost in the back of the theatre whenever Miss Rue was rehearsing.
The Phantom, however, was not happy. Upon Miss Rue’s casting, he sent a very angry letter to Paulamoni and Paulo, demanding that Miss Rue be rejected from the cast list immediately and that any ravens that dared to enter his theatre again be instantly killed. The directors were very conflicted but, knowing they had no one to replace Miss Rue, decided against listening to the Phantom’s advice. Several days later, Miss Rue was almost crushed when a stage-light from the rafters fell but a foot away from where she was dancing. Despite more threatening letters and several other well-placed “accidents” thrown her way, Miss Rue refused to quit and continued rehearsing. And so the rivalry continued between Miss Rue and the Phantom of the Ballet for control over the Royal Ballet’s show.
Then, at that point, I can assume that Drosselmeyer, the spinner of stories and the puppeteer of fates, took over the path of this tale. That’s the only explanation that a useless, clumsy girl like Ahiru ever could’ve made such an influence on the story…
That’s how stories are supposed to begin. Unfortunately it seems the story I’m telling will be very unlike this; after all, it’s not like this story is something of my creation written so that my word becomes reality. No. I don’t have that power, even if my name is German for “author.” I’m here solely to document this story which has already happened: a story written by and about another man’s inner conflict.
This man, to most, didn’t even appear to be a man, for the only shape this man took with the public was that of the Phantom of the Ballet, or, if he was being informal, “B.G.” for “Ballet Ghost.” Very often the superstitious ballet girls and stage crew claimed to have seen him appearing and disappearing into the stage rafters and such, but never had anyone been able to pin down exactly what he looked like. Fortunately this “Phantom” didn’t seem to want to bother anyone; the only times we ever heard from him were when he sent letters critiquing our rehearsals to improve them before the opening show and, sometimes, offering up suggestions for future ballets. The directors actually appreciated his input for a while there, even though the more easily spooked members of our cast and crew claimed to see blood falling from his shadow in his private Box 5 and other such scary nonsense. But soon the Phantom’s words became something to dread, and, eventually, created the tragedy I’m obligated to tell in its entirety.
It must have all began when Miss Rue auditioned for the Royal Ballet Company. The directors, Paulamoni and her husband Paulo, was putting together their cast for the Company’s production of “Swan Lake.” The Phantom had suggested the show, but had made it very firm that the ballerina playing Odette and Odile had to be someone with a great talent without a large name in ballet. The directors, however, gave the part to Miss Rue, who had trained in ballet for many years and was known in several other countries for her talent.
Miss Rue’s history probably wouldn’t have bothered the Phantom too much by itself, but the presence of a flock of ravens lining the beams along the back of the theatre during her audition definitely did.
Ravens are generally known to be temperamental, fearsome creatures. Articles and obituaries concerning raven attacks weren’t uncommon around that time, and the ravens attacking were very often unprovoked, so it’s not surprising everyone became anxious when the ravens flew in when Miss Rue came on-stage. Yet the ravens made no movement to hurt any of the humans in the theatre, resting peacefully on the back beam until Miss Rue was finished with her performance, upon which time they cawed loudly and flew away out the window. Miss Rue was cast as the lead, and everything seemed to move smoothly after that, even with the flock of ravens coming to roost in the back of the theatre whenever Miss Rue was rehearsing.
The Phantom, however, was not happy. Upon Miss Rue’s casting, he sent a very angry letter to Paulamoni and Paulo, demanding that Miss Rue be rejected from the cast list immediately and that any ravens that dared to enter his theatre again be instantly killed. The directors were very conflicted but, knowing they had no one to replace Miss Rue, decided against listening to the Phantom’s advice. Several days later, Miss Rue was almost crushed when a stage-light from the rafters fell but a foot away from where she was dancing. Despite more threatening letters and several other well-placed “accidents” thrown her way, Miss Rue refused to quit and continued rehearsing. And so the rivalry continued between Miss Rue and the Phantom of the Ballet for control over the Royal Ballet’s show.
Then, at that point, I can assume that Drosselmeyer, the spinner of stories and the puppeteer of fates, took over the path of this tale. That’s the only explanation that a useless, clumsy girl like Ahiru ever could’ve made such an influence on the story…
Oh, what’s this now? You’re trying to retell the story? Now isn’t that a foolish thing to do, you’re not even a main character in it! What is the beginning of the story? There isn’t one! There is no beginning, and no end! Let a true master start this chapter…yes, let us rewind time, back, back, back to the beginning of that tragic act…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Once upon a time there was a tragedy-loving storyteller who wrote a story of two countries in a war. The two countries became ruthless with their battle, making it so that they would not be satisfied until one destroyed the other. This was their fate. “No!” the storyteller then cried in displeasure. “If one killed the other this way, it would be a happy ending for that victorious country. I must make it so that victory is also defeat…” And so the storyteller wrote a passage, connecting one tragic story with another…
Scene One: The Gears Start to Move
Ahiru steadied her grip on the mop, heaving it up so that its wet, white head was hanging over her shoulder, and picked up her pail of water as she moved from the directors’ office to walk down the hall toward the practice rooms. She smiled at the thought that if she hurried, she might catch the end of the ballet corps’ practice session.
When Ahiru had first come to the Royal Ballet Company, she’d wished to join the ballet corps. Sadly she lost her nerve when she tripped on a stair when going to meet the directors, and therefore was presented with a job in the stage crew instead. Needing the job badly, Ahiru accepted; besides, she often reminded herself, this way she could still see the ballet’s productions up close.
The innocent girl sneaked a peek around the corner into the ballet practice room, her long red braid bouncing behind her with the movement of her head, and her face lit up when she saw the prima ballerina, Rue, running through the routine she’d recently learned for “The Dying Swan.”
‘Rue-chan is so pretty, isn’t she?’ Ahiru thought, a big smile adorning her features and her ocean-blue eyes bright. ‘I wish I could dance like she does…’
Rue, a young woman with passionate scarlet eyes, a graceful, pale figure and curly black hair currently tied up in a bun, was playing the lead roles of Odette and Odile in the Company’s production of “Swan Lake,” which would be performed in less than two months. Unfortunately her talent had to share the spotlight with the danseur Femio, a young man with very curly violet-brown hair and narcissistic lavender eyes, whose flair of dancing was…eccentric, at the very least. Sadly he was the best danseur on hand to play the part of Prince Siegfried; fortunately Rue, being confident and stubborn, wasn’t going to let Femio’s oddity get in the way of her performance.
Ahiru subconsciously leaned against the doorway, her eyes shining as she watched Rue dance, and tried not to lift a leg back in imitation to one of the prima’s steps as she recalled the routine. Rue was like a swan, Ahiru thought, a beautiful black swan, gracefully moving across a misty lake. It was hard to believe that Rue was so few years older than Ahiru herself, and yet was so much more trained in ballet form than she was. Rue’s skill, however, didn’t discourage Ahiru; it only gave her that much more reason to want to train hard and be a great prima ballerina too.
Ahiru wasn’t the only one looking at the dark-haired ballerina with bright eyes. The rest of the ballet girls likewise were in awe as they watched her, and even the directors Paulamoni and Paulo couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces. The pianist, the conductor of the Ballet Orchestra, Autor, also was taking peeks up from the piano so he could focus on Rue, his cheeks lightly flushed and his brown eyes alight.
Rue slid, down, down, down, until she had gracefully fallen into a split on the ground, arching her arms above her head as if flapping her swan wings one last exhausted time. Then, as the swan princess Odette, she bent down so that her head and hands lay on her legs with her “death” at the music’s end.
Everyone watching burst into applause, including Ahiru.
“Brava!” Paulo praised in his native Italian. “Brava! Bravissima!”
Rue gently got to her feet, smiling pleasantly and inclining her head.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Now, directors, Neko-sensei…I think I’ll be leaving. It’s getting quite late.”
“Yes, Miss Rue, of course,” Paulamoni granted politely, standing with Paulo and moving to leave the room.
The ballet instructor, Neko-sensei stood himself, clapping his gray cat paws together seriously as he spoke to the rest of the class.
“This ends our session for today! Sleep well and be up bright and early for morning’s rehearsal at seven! If you’re late, then you will have to MARRY ME!”
The extremeness of the feline teacher’s voice was enough to make all the ballet girls shove past each other to get out the door. Fortunately Ahiru was used to the rush to follow Neko-sensei’s requests upon the threat of marriage, so she knew to shove herself against the side of the hallway before the chorus girls knocked her over.
Neko-sensei licked his paw, grooming his face in slight disappointment, as he had been half-wishing someone would screw up so he could get the wife he so desired. Femio and Rue, the only two ballet dancers unfazed by Neko-sensei’s threats, walked patiently out the door after the rush of girls, Neko-sensei and Autor had taken their respective departures.
Both of them noticed Ahiru outside the practice room: Rue merely glanced at her, but Ahiru’s presence seemed to make Femio’s whole face light up.
“Ah, Mademoiselle!” the danseur cried in an extremely dramatic voice, his French accent apparent, as he seized Ahiru’s hand before the sweatdropping redhead could escape. “You look so exquisite, your eyes, your face…please…take this as a gift of my unending affection!”
He materialized a rose from nowhere, shoving it under Ahiru’s nose.
“Uh…thank you?” Ahiru answered meekly, not being quite sure how else to respond but still being hesitant to take the red flower.
Femio, as well as being strange in his dance, was very eccentric in nature. He seemed to be raised, coming from a very wealthy, sheltering and spoiled French family, with the idea that everyone loved him, and seemed to think his one destiny in life was to love everyone in return. Unfortunately his love was very often forced on people who didn’t want it in very theatrical ways.
“For goodness sake, Femio,” Rue scorned darkly, “let the girl be. She obviously has work to do, and you’re not making her job any easier with your hollow promises of love and devotion.”
Femio was taken aback only for a moment: after that moment, he grinned widely, placing a hand to his heart and brandishing his other spectacular hand toward Rue.
“Oh, what a sinful man I am! You two beautiful women, forcing me to choose between you in expressing my love…alas! I cannot choose! I must find Montand, so that I may take Heaven into my own hands and take punishment for my sins!”
And with that overly dramatic monologue, the unusual danseur practically jumped away, with multiple jetés in a style worthy of a bullfrog.
Rue turned to smile at Ahiru. “Don’t mind him, he does that to everyone.”
“Oh, I-I know!” Ahiru stammered, blushing at being talked to by the prima ballerina. “I-I mean, I’ve seen him do that with s-some of the other girls, he hasn’t done it to me, particularly…”
‘Oh, I sound like such an idiot!’ she thought miserably.
But Rue’s smile only widened, as if amused by her discomfort. “You like ballet, don’t you?”
“Y-yes!” Ahiru replied. “Very much!”
“Why didn’t you try out for the ballet corps?”
“Oh…well, um…” Ahiru looked down awkwardly. “Well, I wasn’t sure…I mean, I went to see the directors so I could…try out, I mean…but I tripped and fell right into them and I’m really clumsy and the other girls are a lot better than me and I’m not very good and…”
The redhead forcibly stopped herself, realizing she was rambling. Rue’s face sobered slightly, her eyebrows raised.
“That’s too bad,” the black-haired ballerina stated as she turned and started to follow Femio’s path toward the exit. “We could use dancers with more passion in the chorus.”
Ahiru stared at her departing figure for a long moment, before she finally came back to her senses and plucked up the courage to call after her, “Th-thank you! Thank you very much!”
Rue didn’t answer, so Ahiru wasn’t sure if she heard her or not. Smiling widely and feeling a flutter in her chest at being complimented by the prima, Ahiru steadied her grip on her mop and pail and moved inside the now-empty practice room.
It was a rather standard practice room; ballet bars lined each of the mirror-covered walls, the one on the right wall being the highest, and a piano sat in the left corner for Autor to accompany the ballet corps’ routines. Even though it wasn’t particularly special, just being in it made Ahiru want to dance, and she wasn’t sure if it was just because she wasn’t in the ballet corps or if it was something indescribable about the room that persuaded the desire from her.
Ahiru raced back to the doorway to take a few quick, nervous looks around the hallway. Upon finding it was empty, the redhead timidly inched the door over so that it was almost closed, as to keep anyone who might pass by from seeing everything in the room at a single glance, and put down her mop for the first time that afternoon.
Placing her rounded arms so that her hands lay at her navel in ballet’s second position and turning her feet out in first position with her heels touching, Ahiru dreamily moved through the routine Rue had been practicing, closing her eyes to help her focus on “The Dying Swan.”
‘Feet in first position, arms in second…arms fifth position, into second, like wings…flap down, two, three, head down…’
Ahiru was so involved with remembering the steps, she did not see or hear the door to the practice room slowly slide shut of its own accord.
‘Feet en pointe, step, step, step…chest down, arabesque…arms flap, hand to heart-’
“Your arms are much too stiff,” a quiet voice spoke suddenly from somewhere in the ceilings.
The suddenness of the voice was enough to make Ahiru topple over in the middle of her arabesque, making the pail of water fall over with a CLANG and a SPLASH and Ahiru’s chin collide with the wooden floor rather painfully.
“Be a little quieter, moron, or everyone in the building will hear you,” the voice snapped rather impatiently.
Ahiru scrambled to her feet, looking at the spilled water all over the floor; feeling very sour that she had to go all the way to the other side of the building to get more, she answered the voice in irritation.
“Well, don’t scare me like that! I was concentrating!”
“Concentrating on a routine that isn’t yours to concentrate on?” the voice murmured in a rather mellow tone.
Ahiru opened her mouth to answer, and then deflated sheepishly. “Well…yeah…”
But when the voice spoke again, it wasn’t condescending: almost pleased.
“I see.”
Ahiru looked around the room for the source of the voice, to find none, and suddenly looked a little panicky.
‘Huh? A voice without a body…am I talking to a ghost?’
“Hey, uh…where are you?”
“I’m here,” the voice answered: Ahiru guessed it was coming from the left corner of the room.
“And here.”
Ahiru whirled around to look behind her at the closed door.
“And here.”
‘Is he next to the right bar?’ Ahiru wondered.
“And here. And here. And here.”
The redhead rubbed her head in aggravation at the fruitlessness of trying to pinpoint the location of the ever-shifting voice, feeling very dizzy.
The voice chuckled in scornful amusement, and Ahiru puffed indignantly. He thought this was funny!
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m teaching you not to ask stupid questions, moron,” the voice responded arrogantly. “If I’m not appearing beside you and you’re working for a Ballet Company that is supposedly haunted, where do you think I am? Somewhere you can’t see me, so don’t bother looking for me.”
Ahiru’s eyes widened. “You’re…you’re not human, are you?”
“Congratulations,” the voice replied dully. “Feel free to scream and run away anytime now.”
But Ahiru really didn’t feel scared, contrary to how she had thought she’d feel if she ever met a ghost. This ghost seemed very human…and he wasn’t appearing to her with blood on his shadow like all the ballet girls and the stage crew claimed he did.
“Um…if you mind my asking…why are you talking to me, Mr. Ghost?” Ahiru asked. “Only really Mr. Paulo and Mrs. Paulamoni hear from ghosts, and they get letters from-”
“Well, it seems you can ask good questions after all,” the voice cut in, again sounding quite arrogant. “The truth of the matter is I’ve found a need to get involved. I heard you talking to that crow masquerading as a prima ballerina-”
“You mean Rue-chan?” Ahiru interrupted, not really liking the voice’s likeness to Rue as a crow.
“Her,” the voice assented shortly, before continuing, “-and I may understand, from your conversation, that you wish to be a ballerina?”
“Um…yeah,” said Ahiru, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. Her wish probably seemed funny to a ghost who lived in the theatre; after all, it probably was there to watch all of the talented dancers dance their earned parts on stage and get critiqued. And this ghost obviously liked ballet, if it felt the need to critique Ahiru's stiff arms.
There was a silence; Ahiru guessed the voice’s owner was thinking.
Then the low, dark voice whispered, “Your dance is nothing compared to the ones danced by even the most uncoordinated in ballet corps. What makes you want to humiliate yourself by auditioning?”
Ahiru drooped like a wilting flower.
“Well, I…I don’t want to humiliate myself, I just…I know I’m not good or anything, I…I just want to dance, that’s all… I-I’d work really hard! I know I’m not really good now, but…I really want to get better!”
Ahiru thought very strange to be defending herself to someone she couldn’t see, but she didn’t know quite how else to respond.
There was another silence…then the voice spoke again.
“I’ll tutor you.”
The words at first didn’t seem to penetrate Ahiru’s conscious; then the redhead did a double take.
“W-what?”
“I’ll tutor you in ballet,” the voice recurred impatiently. “I’ll tutor you, and you will get better…better so that you can be the Company’s shows.”
For a moment Ahiru wondered if she was dreaming. Then she reminded herself that her dreams very rarely were more likely to be of ballerinas, ducks and talking vegetables than of disembodied voices offering to teach her ballet.
“R-really?” Ahiru asked weakly.
“Stop making me repeat myself, moron,” the voice snapped arrogantly. “I might change my mind.”
Ahiru felt a twinge of irritation at being referred to as “moron,” but she reminded herself that he was doing her a favor and that beggars shouldn’t be choosers.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Ghost, sir! Thank you so much!”
“Whatever,” the voice answered flatly, as if the owner really wasn’t feeling very happy about his offer. “Just don’t call me ‘Mr. Ghost,’ it sounds pathetic.”
Ahiru blinked. “Oh, um…okay! But then…uh…what do I call you?”
There was yet another pause as the voice’s owner pondered this.
“Call me…Knight,” the voice stated at last.
“Knight…” Ahiru dwelled on the strange title, frowning slightly. “Well, okay…thank you, Mr. Knight, sir.”
“Cut it out with the ‘mister,’ too,” the voice growled.
“Okay…thank you, Knight, sir.”
“And cut it out with the ‘sir!’”
“FINE,” snapped Ahiru crabbily. “Thank you, Knight.”
“You’re welcome, moron,” the voice replied in an equally irritated tone.
With that, Ahiru sighed exasperatedly, before she opened the door, grabbed the empty pail and left the room to fetch some more water.
Ahiru didn’t notice, in her quick departure, the person hiding in the shadows on the other side of the doorway.
Autor stepped out of the shadows and moved into the ballet practice room once more, though this time with his eyes grazing over the walls and ceilings as if looking for something.
“What are you up to?” he muttered at last.
There was a silence. Then as if it had spoken to him before, the voice responded in an irked tone,
“Mind your own business, Autor.”
“You aren’t usually this charitable,” the navy-haired conductor pressed, crossing his arms.
“It’s not charity,” the voice growled lowly. “That moron’s just the only one I can use right now to get rid of that wretch Rue.”
“How?” Autor demanded, and he sounded as if he was getting impatient. “How can a girl like that get Miss Rue off the stage? She’s nowhere near her skill level, and besides, the cast is already decided. Miss Rue is the lead. So what do you think you’ll accomplish?”
The voice didn’t answer. Its owner apparently had already left.
Scene One: The Gears Start to Move
Ahiru steadied her grip on the mop, heaving it up so that its wet, white head was hanging over her shoulder, and picked up her pail of water as she moved from the directors’ office to walk down the hall toward the practice rooms. She smiled at the thought that if she hurried, she might catch the end of the ballet corps’ practice session.
When Ahiru had first come to the Royal Ballet Company, she’d wished to join the ballet corps. Sadly she lost her nerve when she tripped on a stair when going to meet the directors, and therefore was presented with a job in the stage crew instead. Needing the job badly, Ahiru accepted; besides, she often reminded herself, this way she could still see the ballet’s productions up close.
The innocent girl sneaked a peek around the corner into the ballet practice room, her long red braid bouncing behind her with the movement of her head, and her face lit up when she saw the prima ballerina, Rue, running through the routine she’d recently learned for “The Dying Swan.”
‘Rue-chan is so pretty, isn’t she?’ Ahiru thought, a big smile adorning her features and her ocean-blue eyes bright. ‘I wish I could dance like she does…’
Rue, a young woman with passionate scarlet eyes, a graceful, pale figure and curly black hair currently tied up in a bun, was playing the lead roles of Odette and Odile in the Company’s production of “Swan Lake,” which would be performed in less than two months. Unfortunately her talent had to share the spotlight with the danseur Femio, a young man with very curly violet-brown hair and narcissistic lavender eyes, whose flair of dancing was…eccentric, at the very least. Sadly he was the best danseur on hand to play the part of Prince Siegfried; fortunately Rue, being confident and stubborn, wasn’t going to let Femio’s oddity get in the way of her performance.
Ahiru subconsciously leaned against the doorway, her eyes shining as she watched Rue dance, and tried not to lift a leg back in imitation to one of the prima’s steps as she recalled the routine. Rue was like a swan, Ahiru thought, a beautiful black swan, gracefully moving across a misty lake. It was hard to believe that Rue was so few years older than Ahiru herself, and yet was so much more trained in ballet form than she was. Rue’s skill, however, didn’t discourage Ahiru; it only gave her that much more reason to want to train hard and be a great prima ballerina too.
Ahiru wasn’t the only one looking at the dark-haired ballerina with bright eyes. The rest of the ballet girls likewise were in awe as they watched her, and even the directors Paulamoni and Paulo couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces. The pianist, the conductor of the Ballet Orchestra, Autor, also was taking peeks up from the piano so he could focus on Rue, his cheeks lightly flushed and his brown eyes alight.
Rue slid, down, down, down, until she had gracefully fallen into a split on the ground, arching her arms above her head as if flapping her swan wings one last exhausted time. Then, as the swan princess Odette, she bent down so that her head and hands lay on her legs with her “death” at the music’s end.
Everyone watching burst into applause, including Ahiru.
“Brava!” Paulo praised in his native Italian. “Brava! Bravissima!”
Rue gently got to her feet, smiling pleasantly and inclining her head.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Now, directors, Neko-sensei…I think I’ll be leaving. It’s getting quite late.”
“Yes, Miss Rue, of course,” Paulamoni granted politely, standing with Paulo and moving to leave the room.
The ballet instructor, Neko-sensei stood himself, clapping his gray cat paws together seriously as he spoke to the rest of the class.
“This ends our session for today! Sleep well and be up bright and early for morning’s rehearsal at seven! If you’re late, then you will have to MARRY ME!”
The extremeness of the feline teacher’s voice was enough to make all the ballet girls shove past each other to get out the door. Fortunately Ahiru was used to the rush to follow Neko-sensei’s requests upon the threat of marriage, so she knew to shove herself against the side of the hallway before the chorus girls knocked her over.
Neko-sensei licked his paw, grooming his face in slight disappointment, as he had been half-wishing someone would screw up so he could get the wife he so desired. Femio and Rue, the only two ballet dancers unfazed by Neko-sensei’s threats, walked patiently out the door after the rush of girls, Neko-sensei and Autor had taken their respective departures.
Both of them noticed Ahiru outside the practice room: Rue merely glanced at her, but Ahiru’s presence seemed to make Femio’s whole face light up.
“Ah, Mademoiselle!” the danseur cried in an extremely dramatic voice, his French accent apparent, as he seized Ahiru’s hand before the sweatdropping redhead could escape. “You look so exquisite, your eyes, your face…please…take this as a gift of my unending affection!”
He materialized a rose from nowhere, shoving it under Ahiru’s nose.
“Uh…thank you?” Ahiru answered meekly, not being quite sure how else to respond but still being hesitant to take the red flower.
Femio, as well as being strange in his dance, was very eccentric in nature. He seemed to be raised, coming from a very wealthy, sheltering and spoiled French family, with the idea that everyone loved him, and seemed to think his one destiny in life was to love everyone in return. Unfortunately his love was very often forced on people who didn’t want it in very theatrical ways.
“For goodness sake, Femio,” Rue scorned darkly, “let the girl be. She obviously has work to do, and you’re not making her job any easier with your hollow promises of love and devotion.”
Femio was taken aback only for a moment: after that moment, he grinned widely, placing a hand to his heart and brandishing his other spectacular hand toward Rue.
“Oh, what a sinful man I am! You two beautiful women, forcing me to choose between you in expressing my love…alas! I cannot choose! I must find Montand, so that I may take Heaven into my own hands and take punishment for my sins!”
And with that overly dramatic monologue, the unusual danseur practically jumped away, with multiple jetés in a style worthy of a bullfrog.
Rue turned to smile at Ahiru. “Don’t mind him, he does that to everyone.”
“Oh, I-I know!” Ahiru stammered, blushing at being talked to by the prima ballerina. “I-I mean, I’ve seen him do that with s-some of the other girls, he hasn’t done it to me, particularly…”
‘Oh, I sound like such an idiot!’ she thought miserably.
But Rue’s smile only widened, as if amused by her discomfort. “You like ballet, don’t you?”
“Y-yes!” Ahiru replied. “Very much!”
“Why didn’t you try out for the ballet corps?”
“Oh…well, um…” Ahiru looked down awkwardly. “Well, I wasn’t sure…I mean, I went to see the directors so I could…try out, I mean…but I tripped and fell right into them and I’m really clumsy and the other girls are a lot better than me and I’m not very good and…”
The redhead forcibly stopped herself, realizing she was rambling. Rue’s face sobered slightly, her eyebrows raised.
“That’s too bad,” the black-haired ballerina stated as she turned and started to follow Femio’s path toward the exit. “We could use dancers with more passion in the chorus.”
Ahiru stared at her departing figure for a long moment, before she finally came back to her senses and plucked up the courage to call after her, “Th-thank you! Thank you very much!”
Rue didn’t answer, so Ahiru wasn’t sure if she heard her or not. Smiling widely and feeling a flutter in her chest at being complimented by the prima, Ahiru steadied her grip on her mop and pail and moved inside the now-empty practice room.
It was a rather standard practice room; ballet bars lined each of the mirror-covered walls, the one on the right wall being the highest, and a piano sat in the left corner for Autor to accompany the ballet corps’ routines. Even though it wasn’t particularly special, just being in it made Ahiru want to dance, and she wasn’t sure if it was just because she wasn’t in the ballet corps or if it was something indescribable about the room that persuaded the desire from her.
Ahiru raced back to the doorway to take a few quick, nervous looks around the hallway. Upon finding it was empty, the redhead timidly inched the door over so that it was almost closed, as to keep anyone who might pass by from seeing everything in the room at a single glance, and put down her mop for the first time that afternoon.
Placing her rounded arms so that her hands lay at her navel in ballet’s second position and turning her feet out in first position with her heels touching, Ahiru dreamily moved through the routine Rue had been practicing, closing her eyes to help her focus on “The Dying Swan.”
‘Feet in first position, arms in second…arms fifth position, into second, like wings…flap down, two, three, head down…’
Ahiru was so involved with remembering the steps, she did not see or hear the door to the practice room slowly slide shut of its own accord.
‘Feet en pointe, step, step, step…chest down, arabesque…arms flap, hand to heart-’
“Your arms are much too stiff,” a quiet voice spoke suddenly from somewhere in the ceilings.
The suddenness of the voice was enough to make Ahiru topple over in the middle of her arabesque, making the pail of water fall over with a CLANG and a SPLASH and Ahiru’s chin collide with the wooden floor rather painfully.
“Be a little quieter, moron, or everyone in the building will hear you,” the voice snapped rather impatiently.
Ahiru scrambled to her feet, looking at the spilled water all over the floor; feeling very sour that she had to go all the way to the other side of the building to get more, she answered the voice in irritation.
“Well, don’t scare me like that! I was concentrating!”
“Concentrating on a routine that isn’t yours to concentrate on?” the voice murmured in a rather mellow tone.
Ahiru opened her mouth to answer, and then deflated sheepishly. “Well…yeah…”
But when the voice spoke again, it wasn’t condescending: almost pleased.
“I see.”
Ahiru looked around the room for the source of the voice, to find none, and suddenly looked a little panicky.
‘Huh? A voice without a body…am I talking to a ghost?’
“Hey, uh…where are you?”
“I’m here,” the voice answered: Ahiru guessed it was coming from the left corner of the room.
“And here.”
Ahiru whirled around to look behind her at the closed door.
“And here.”
‘Is he next to the right bar?’ Ahiru wondered.
“And here. And here. And here.”
The redhead rubbed her head in aggravation at the fruitlessness of trying to pinpoint the location of the ever-shifting voice, feeling very dizzy.
The voice chuckled in scornful amusement, and Ahiru puffed indignantly. He thought this was funny!
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m teaching you not to ask stupid questions, moron,” the voice responded arrogantly. “If I’m not appearing beside you and you’re working for a Ballet Company that is supposedly haunted, where do you think I am? Somewhere you can’t see me, so don’t bother looking for me.”
Ahiru’s eyes widened. “You’re…you’re not human, are you?”
“Congratulations,” the voice replied dully. “Feel free to scream and run away anytime now.”
But Ahiru really didn’t feel scared, contrary to how she had thought she’d feel if she ever met a ghost. This ghost seemed very human…and he wasn’t appearing to her with blood on his shadow like all the ballet girls and the stage crew claimed he did.
“Um…if you mind my asking…why are you talking to me, Mr. Ghost?” Ahiru asked. “Only really Mr. Paulo and Mrs. Paulamoni hear from ghosts, and they get letters from-”
“Well, it seems you can ask good questions after all,” the voice cut in, again sounding quite arrogant. “The truth of the matter is I’ve found a need to get involved. I heard you talking to that crow masquerading as a prima ballerina-”
“You mean Rue-chan?” Ahiru interrupted, not really liking the voice’s likeness to Rue as a crow.
“Her,” the voice assented shortly, before continuing, “-and I may understand, from your conversation, that you wish to be a ballerina?”
“Um…yeah,” said Ahiru, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. Her wish probably seemed funny to a ghost who lived in the theatre; after all, it probably was there to watch all of the talented dancers dance their earned parts on stage and get critiqued. And this ghost obviously liked ballet, if it felt the need to critique Ahiru's stiff arms.
There was a silence; Ahiru guessed the voice’s owner was thinking.
Then the low, dark voice whispered, “Your dance is nothing compared to the ones danced by even the most uncoordinated in ballet corps. What makes you want to humiliate yourself by auditioning?”
Ahiru drooped like a wilting flower.
“Well, I…I don’t want to humiliate myself, I just…I know I’m not good or anything, I…I just want to dance, that’s all… I-I’d work really hard! I know I’m not really good now, but…I really want to get better!”
Ahiru thought very strange to be defending herself to someone she couldn’t see, but she didn’t know quite how else to respond.
There was another silence…then the voice spoke again.
“I’ll tutor you.”
The words at first didn’t seem to penetrate Ahiru’s conscious; then the redhead did a double take.
“W-what?”
“I’ll tutor you in ballet,” the voice recurred impatiently. “I’ll tutor you, and you will get better…better so that you can be the Company’s shows.”
For a moment Ahiru wondered if she was dreaming. Then she reminded herself that her dreams very rarely were more likely to be of ballerinas, ducks and talking vegetables than of disembodied voices offering to teach her ballet.
“R-really?” Ahiru asked weakly.
“Stop making me repeat myself, moron,” the voice snapped arrogantly. “I might change my mind.”
Ahiru felt a twinge of irritation at being referred to as “moron,” but she reminded herself that he was doing her a favor and that beggars shouldn’t be choosers.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Ghost, sir! Thank you so much!”
“Whatever,” the voice answered flatly, as if the owner really wasn’t feeling very happy about his offer. “Just don’t call me ‘Mr. Ghost,’ it sounds pathetic.”
Ahiru blinked. “Oh, um…okay! But then…uh…what do I call you?”
There was yet another pause as the voice’s owner pondered this.
“Call me…Knight,” the voice stated at last.
“Knight…” Ahiru dwelled on the strange title, frowning slightly. “Well, okay…thank you, Mr. Knight, sir.”
“Cut it out with the ‘mister,’ too,” the voice growled.
“Okay…thank you, Knight, sir.”
“And cut it out with the ‘sir!’”
“FINE,” snapped Ahiru crabbily. “Thank you, Knight.”
“You’re welcome, moron,” the voice replied in an equally irritated tone.
With that, Ahiru sighed exasperatedly, before she opened the door, grabbed the empty pail and left the room to fetch some more water.
Ahiru didn’t notice, in her quick departure, the person hiding in the shadows on the other side of the doorway.
Autor stepped out of the shadows and moved into the ballet practice room once more, though this time with his eyes grazing over the walls and ceilings as if looking for something.
“What are you up to?” he muttered at last.
There was a silence. Then as if it had spoken to him before, the voice responded in an irked tone,
“Mind your own business, Autor.”
“You aren’t usually this charitable,” the navy-haired conductor pressed, crossing his arms.
“It’s not charity,” the voice growled lowly. “That moron’s just the only one I can use right now to get rid of that wretch Rue.”
“How?” Autor demanded, and he sounded as if he was getting impatient. “How can a girl like that get Miss Rue off the stage? She’s nowhere near her skill level, and besides, the cast is already decided. Miss Rue is the lead. So what do you think you’ll accomplish?”
The voice didn’t answer. Its owner apparently had already left.
^^^^^^^^^^^
In case you didn't realize, Autor is narrating the prologue. =) Please comment; I'd love feedback.
