Attempts at Full Rehearsals Fail ( OPEN )

[Meg Giry]

 "Marguerite! Marguerite!" the third little blond had run up to her, the possibility of tears welling in her clear brown eyes. She was a recent addition to the ballet and honestly showed true talent, but she had removed her slippers and was pointing at a bleeding toe in obvious agony.

 Meg took one look at the toe and another at the girl. This was getting annoying. "Go to Mademoiselle Fucran. She has something to wrap it with until rehearsal is over." Her voice was a bit harsh but Meg remembered when she had been that small, with the blistering feet and the aching ankles and so she was trying not to be cruel.

 But as she saw the fourth little girl running, she felt the need to hide. Why did they all come to her? She knew she was magnificent . . But why? They could've just as easily run off to M. Fabian or Aveline or anyone else except her. But they came to her.

 Meg quickly disappeared to a foreign wing, finding herself in the midst of several set pieces. Was that the elephant from Hannibal? She carefully lept and snuck about until she ran directly. . . Into someone? No. It was just a statue. Muttering a curse under her breath, she moved past it.

 Until it moved.

[Fabian DuChamps]

"Rude little snippet." Said Fabian, smoothing the front of his shirt as Meg crashed into him, and then ran away. Most likely running in terror. Either from him, Madame Giry, or the Phantom. Or Christine. Bully for you, Christine.

He passed Meg by without a second glance. Perhaps she would forget about The Incident and he could go on with the idea of it to Papa in his letters. If he did, indeed, write one. Not that he would invite Papa to his wedding, if ever he had one, which would never happen, ever.

Nay, he will grow old under the grand chandelier, arabesque-ing until the joints in his hips disintegrate. A fine way to die. On stage. Even better if the death was part of the act anyway.

[Meg Giry]

 Meg stopped. "Monsieur DuChamps?" she said, though it was less of a question than a general statement. She hadn't actually talked to him alone since..  . . Well, she couldn't quite recall. The dim setting aside, when she looked around for his shape, it was definite and all him.

 "Fabian," she said decidedly. "You haven't happened to have been avoiding me, have you? You wouldn't do that." Her voice, though still quite a bit shrill, had matured in the past few months. It was obvious that he definitely would, in her opinion, but she was leaving him innocent unless he declared himself to be otherwise.   

[Fabian DuChamps]

Oh Papa, why did you cave to Maman's demands at this particular time? Or Renée's. Or whichever of them had the bright idea to attend the goddamn Garnier's summer goddman ball.

In the moment that it took for Meg to address him, he considered, quite fully, about running away. Not just from Meg, but from every single person he knew. Leave Paris. Go to some other place. Spain, maybe. They had opera houses there. Italy. They had even better ones. Germany. Bulgaria. Oh, God, somewhere without Englishmen...

But the moment passed, as did this thought. For now. He placed the tips of his fingers together and stopped, though he did not turn around. "Nonsense. I do not avoid anything or anyone." Such a glorious lie, he nearly had to shield his eyes. "How are you keeping your chorus row? All on little chains on their ankles shackled to the hem of your skirt." He'd noticed them all running to her. Not that he would oppose girls running to him, but perhaps for reasons other than who slapped whom or who bloodied whose nose.

[Meg Giry]

 Meg raised an eyebrow, hardly caring that he couldn't see her. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that about you, sir," she said. "With all due respect." Changing the subject? Oh yes, he certainly wasn't avoiding things, was he?

 Marguerite took a very careful step forward. "The youngest are slowly finding out how very little I can really do for them," she admitted. "But it is no more different than when I ran to my row leader as a girl. The only difference is the costumes and the players, the roles seem to be the same." Not avoiding her? He couldn't even face her. It made her want to giggle.

[Fabian DuChamps]

"Indeed, you must ween them away from you." He leaned against the doorframe gently, examining his nails, tossing his head. Intrinsic nonchalantness. So we are going to continue with this conversation. Until one of us brings it up. Well it shan't be I.

He wanted to say something nastier, to make himself feel better, but that might bring her to mention it. Then he thought of mentioning something about his mother, and weening. But that would bring it up too. So, with a fleeting glance in her direction, he gave a little shrug, and disappeared out of sight. To go hide under the catwalk.

[Meg Giry]

 Oh no, he would not escape from her that easily! Meg followed, a light run that made her wish she hadn't kept her slippers on. "Fabian?" she called. "Fabian!" There was the consideration of making a threat unless he came out. With a quick look in both directions, she thought of the nastiest thing she could manage. "If you do not wish to discuss what I'm sure is on both of our minds, I'm certain my mother would love to."

[Fabian DuChamps]

Your mother is a cow and you her little cloven hoofed calf. You clomp about and give me a headache. Italy. Italy, that's right. Let us pick up this thought again. He closed his eyes and thought of what he would do to get away. He'd cut his hair and dye it, or wear a wig. Change his name to Vencenito Barbarossa. Ah, the kind of name to make love to with your ears.

He laced his hands over his head as if to hide himself better.

[Meg Giry]

 Meg didn't even move now. She was firm in her belief that not only could he hear her, but could be cracked. "M. Fabian, have you spoken to your father lately?" She was getting impatient. He wouldn't crack, he wouldn't. She would have to speak with herself and-"I wonder, has he inquired about my well being? I certainly hope so. How is he?"

 She cracked, taking a step and a glance. "I trust he's doing well." Another pause. "M. Fabian, this is cruel," she told the air. "First you avoid me and now you hide like a coward. It's not kind of you."

[Fabian DuChamps]

He snorted. "I do not keep contact with the Marquis DuChamps, Meg. You know that. Everyone in the entire house knows that. You know that I was disowned and that every single one of my relatives find me a pariah and a blight on the noble name that we share." His hands fell from his head to clasp his knees, and he spoke with some resolution and no trace of the humiliation he'd come to feel daily.

[Meg Giry]

 "And yet he thinks you are to be married," she said, glad to have gotten something out of him. "Laughable." She stopped moving again. "You felt the need to lie. Not only that, but do me the shame of including my person in the lie. It doesn't give me much to wonder when I try to think why they find you such a blight."

[Fabian DuChamps]

"Then tell the world." He massaged his temples. "Go run to your mother if you're so abhorred." At this, he emerged from the shadow of the winding staircase. "God knows another broken foot is what I need. Tell her to have at it with her dance cane, and this time aim for my face." A small duck of the head, a bow. It would give him a nice disfigurement to go along with his new name. What's vanity in the name of cowardice?

[Meg Giry]

Meg had hoped for some sort of game between the two of them. Words exchanged that would end in him declaring her to be clever and witty and victorious. In return, they would agree the entire thing to be a flop and she would skip off a happier chorus girl.

 But to have him go so early in the game was as disappointing as a ripped costume the night of show. It was. . wrong. Wrong of him to just go on and make it seem like she was being the bad guy! She wasn't! If anything, she was the beloved ingenue who was trying to save her pride and dignity.

 "I'd be in the right mind if I did," she snapped, though the heart was gone. "And-and I am. Just watch, I will!" And now she had no idea where to go. At all. It was as if they had suddenly changed the overture in Hannibal and flipped the scenes about. Meg Giry was dancing in strange territory here. . . Very strange indeed.