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fellowshippers2005-08-02 06:16 pm
tinkerbell-may.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-08-02 06:16 pm
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Title: The Phantom of the Opera, 1/?
Author: Tinkerbell
Pairing: Viggorli, eventually
Warnings: Angst, deformity, AU
Rating: All over NC-17. This part not, though.
Summary: Orlando is a talented young singer in a Parisian Opera. He learns the true meaning of beauty and love by a strange encounter.
Disclaimer: My apologies, this is not true. Damnit.
Feedback: I need it like oxygen, the comment-whore that I am.
The hall was filled with music so proud and strong it made his skin crawl.
Orlando stood at the side of the stage, tilted his head and smiled. This was his heaven. He had come here, to this place, Le Opera Populaire, to learn to sing, to learn to act, and to perhaps one day become a star, as the singers that now walked on stage were. Paris was the most inspirational place in the world, and he was lucky to be admitted to the school of dancers and singers here. Now all he did was listen to the great artists perform on stage, as he mopped the floors and dusted shelves to earn a living and pay for his accommodation and schooling.
Orlando had become an orphan at a very young age. His mother had died in childbirth and his father five years later in pneumonia. At the age of five, alone, cold and hungry he had wandered the streets of Paris, trying to find a place to sleep safely, when was picked up by a teacher of a Parisian drama school. His father used to be a talented violinist, and as he was as if a reflection of his father, the woman recognized him and took him in. Lynette, his guardian, had fed him and taught him a bit about singing and dancing, enough to make Orlando love it from the bottom of his heart.
They never had too much money, and when Orlando wanted to go and study in Le Opera Populaire, it was clear they could never afford it. But Lynette took more private students after school to make more money, and Orlando worked his way in the Opera, living in the dorms with the other boys and girls who worked there, cleaning and running errands to upkeep himself. Lynette helped as much as she could, but she was getting old, and couldn’t work as much as she used to. Orlando had to work harder to have the money to stay in the school, but it was his third year already, and the training took five. Soon he would graduate and then he could become a star, like the performers he so very much admired.
He could listen to them sing all day long, he could loose himself into the beautiful music they made with their voices. Orlando wanted to do that. He wanted to touch people with his voice. The young man closed his eyes and sighed.
“Orlando? Hello? Are we daydreaming again?”
Orlando jerked towards the voice. He ran his hand through his short, dark curls and gave the principal of the school one of his dashing smiles, the ones that usually got his out of trouble.
“No, no, monsieur Wenham, I was just waiting for the rehearsal to end so I can clean the stage. A big night tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Monsieur Wenham smiled, tilted his head and nodded. “Very, so do a good job, all right young man?”
“Don’t I always?” Orlando smiled. “Je suis désolée, I must go to work.” The older man snorted, but tapped his shoulder with a warm smile on his face.
Orlando waited until the stars had left the stage. He didn’t want them to see him going around the stage with a mop. Even though it was an honest living, he was still a bit embarrassed to have to be the cleaner of the place just to afford to study there. Most of the students were from rich families, who didn’t even love music as much as he did. They simply obliged their parent’s will. Perhaps that was the reason Orlando never got along with them too much. He knew everyone who worked in the building, though, from the cooks to the maids. They were a happy lot, and Orlando loved all of them with all of his heart.
He decided he should write to Lynette after he would get the stage cleaned.
Orlando hummed to himself as the worked his magic on the wooden floor. Every once and a while he turned to see the view from the edge of the stage. The seats, the balconies, everything in this place was beautiful to him. His heart leaped every time he stood here, facing the hall, imagining the seats to be filled with well-dressed, eager music-lovers and that same music, that had just filled the room would be played again, and he could sing.
Sing.
Orlando was so caught in his daydream, that he forgot his usual, gnawing feeling of being watched.
A loud swearing woke him up. Orlando turned to face one of the singers laying down, holding his knee, and Orlando’s bucket, filled with dirty water, lay next to him. Orlando took a deep breath. He could feel his heart miss a few beats. The floor was slippery from the spilled water, and the older man didn’t look too happy about being in pain as much as getting wet, too.
“Monsieur Bean. Are you alright?” Orlando leaped over the water and tried to help the other man up.
“Do I look I’m alright, damnit? I twisted my knee because of your incompetence.”
Orlando bit his lip.
“Excusez-moi, monsieur. I shouldn’t have left the bucket in the middle of the floor, that was all my fault. I promise to be more careful in the future.”
“Well, yes, you’d better be.”
As much as Orlando admired monsieur Bean’s great voice, he hated him for being a bastard. Monsieur Bean was arrogant, self-centered, twisted and simply nasty. He had a great voice, he was one of the stars of Le Opera Populaire, but that had gotten to his head like a ton of lead. Orlando tried to hold his tongue around him, just to keep the peace (not to mention not to be kicked out of the school for talking back to one of it’s stars).
“What happened?”
Orlando sighed and closed his eyes. Monsieur Wenham ran to the stage, almost tripped on the wet floor, got back to balance and stared at monsieur Bean, then slowly turned his look to Orlando.
“I left my bucket on the stage. Monsieur here must have not seen it and tripped on it. I’m very sorry.” Orlando explained. Monsieur Wenham didn’t seem too happy.
“It’s not all your fault, Orlando, even though I cannot believe I actually used that sentence for even once in my life.” He shook his head. “But this is bad. The opening night is tomorrow, and if monsieur Ban does not recover, we have no leading role.”
“Oh.” Orlando turned to face he angry singer. “I’m…”
“Terribly sorry, I bet.” Monsieur Bean said and snorted. “That’s not going to do much good, is it?”
“I, uh. No.” Orlando looked at his hands. “Can’t you put any weight on you feet at all?”
“If I could I would need someone to lean to, now would I?” Monsieur Bean snapped. “Well, monsieur Wenham, you seem to have a little trouble here, then. Who is going to sing my part tomorrow, or are you simply going to cancel?”
A long silence passed between the three.
“Orlando. Didn’t you remember Hannibal by heart?” Monsieur Wenham said then.
“Me? I, uh, yes, yes I do.” Orlando said, in shock.
“What? This little nobody is going to replace me?” Bean was not happy.
“We have no time to try to get someone who isn’t a nobody, and Orlando is clearly the most talented student I have in this school.” Monsieur Wenham said firmly. “Go on, give it a go, Orlando. Sing for us.”
Orlando was silent for a long time. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, after all those years, his dream was there, being handed to him like on a silver plate. He desperately wanted to do this right.
Slowly he started to sing the first aria of the opera. His voice was silent at first, then, when he got a feeling to the acoustics of the room, it became stronger, prouder, more powerful. Monsieur Wenham smiled. Monsieur Bean didn’t.
“He has a squeaky voice. He cannot be Hannibal.”
“What are you talking about? He has a marvelous voice. All right, Orlando, tomorrow you will be on this stage. You will sing to a full house. How does that feel?”
“Like a dream coming true, monsieur.” Orlando whispered.
Monsieur Bean limped away from the stage, raged.
A dark figure in the shadows stared after him, then smiled to itself. It turned to look at the slender, young man left alone on the stage, amazed. The figure opened a door, that wasn’t there just a minute ago and rushed in, disappearing from sight.
“You deserve this, my beautiful, talented creature.” It whispered just before the door closed. “You deserve this.”
Author: Tinkerbell
Pairing: Viggorli, eventually
Warnings: Angst, deformity, AU
Rating: All over NC-17. This part not, though.
Summary: Orlando is a talented young singer in a Parisian Opera. He learns the true meaning of beauty and love by a strange encounter.
Disclaimer: My apologies, this is not true. Damnit.
Feedback: I need it like oxygen, the comment-whore that I am.
The hall was filled with music so proud and strong it made his skin crawl.
Orlando stood at the side of the stage, tilted his head and smiled. This was his heaven. He had come here, to this place, Le Opera Populaire, to learn to sing, to learn to act, and to perhaps one day become a star, as the singers that now walked on stage were. Paris was the most inspirational place in the world, and he was lucky to be admitted to the school of dancers and singers here. Now all he did was listen to the great artists perform on stage, as he mopped the floors and dusted shelves to earn a living and pay for his accommodation and schooling.
Orlando had become an orphan at a very young age. His mother had died in childbirth and his father five years later in pneumonia. At the age of five, alone, cold and hungry he had wandered the streets of Paris, trying to find a place to sleep safely, when was picked up by a teacher of a Parisian drama school. His father used to be a talented violinist, and as he was as if a reflection of his father, the woman recognized him and took him in. Lynette, his guardian, had fed him and taught him a bit about singing and dancing, enough to make Orlando love it from the bottom of his heart.
They never had too much money, and when Orlando wanted to go and study in Le Opera Populaire, it was clear they could never afford it. But Lynette took more private students after school to make more money, and Orlando worked his way in the Opera, living in the dorms with the other boys and girls who worked there, cleaning and running errands to upkeep himself. Lynette helped as much as she could, but she was getting old, and couldn’t work as much as she used to. Orlando had to work harder to have the money to stay in the school, but it was his third year already, and the training took five. Soon he would graduate and then he could become a star, like the performers he so very much admired.
He could listen to them sing all day long, he could loose himself into the beautiful music they made with their voices. Orlando wanted to do that. He wanted to touch people with his voice. The young man closed his eyes and sighed.
“Orlando? Hello? Are we daydreaming again?”
Orlando jerked towards the voice. He ran his hand through his short, dark curls and gave the principal of the school one of his dashing smiles, the ones that usually got his out of trouble.
“No, no, monsieur Wenham, I was just waiting for the rehearsal to end so I can clean the stage. A big night tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Monsieur Wenham smiled, tilted his head and nodded. “Very, so do a good job, all right young man?”
“Don’t I always?” Orlando smiled. “Je suis désolée, I must go to work.” The older man snorted, but tapped his shoulder with a warm smile on his face.
Orlando waited until the stars had left the stage. He didn’t want them to see him going around the stage with a mop. Even though it was an honest living, he was still a bit embarrassed to have to be the cleaner of the place just to afford to study there. Most of the students were from rich families, who didn’t even love music as much as he did. They simply obliged their parent’s will. Perhaps that was the reason Orlando never got along with them too much. He knew everyone who worked in the building, though, from the cooks to the maids. They were a happy lot, and Orlando loved all of them with all of his heart.
He decided he should write to Lynette after he would get the stage cleaned.
Orlando hummed to himself as the worked his magic on the wooden floor. Every once and a while he turned to see the view from the edge of the stage. The seats, the balconies, everything in this place was beautiful to him. His heart leaped every time he stood here, facing the hall, imagining the seats to be filled with well-dressed, eager music-lovers and that same music, that had just filled the room would be played again, and he could sing.
Sing.
Orlando was so caught in his daydream, that he forgot his usual, gnawing feeling of being watched.
A loud swearing woke him up. Orlando turned to face one of the singers laying down, holding his knee, and Orlando’s bucket, filled with dirty water, lay next to him. Orlando took a deep breath. He could feel his heart miss a few beats. The floor was slippery from the spilled water, and the older man didn’t look too happy about being in pain as much as getting wet, too.
“Monsieur Bean. Are you alright?” Orlando leaped over the water and tried to help the other man up.
“Do I look I’m alright, damnit? I twisted my knee because of your incompetence.”
Orlando bit his lip.
“Excusez-moi, monsieur. I shouldn’t have left the bucket in the middle of the floor, that was all my fault. I promise to be more careful in the future.”
“Well, yes, you’d better be.”
As much as Orlando admired monsieur Bean’s great voice, he hated him for being a bastard. Monsieur Bean was arrogant, self-centered, twisted and simply nasty. He had a great voice, he was one of the stars of Le Opera Populaire, but that had gotten to his head like a ton of lead. Orlando tried to hold his tongue around him, just to keep the peace (not to mention not to be kicked out of the school for talking back to one of it’s stars).
“What happened?”
Orlando sighed and closed his eyes. Monsieur Wenham ran to the stage, almost tripped on the wet floor, got back to balance and stared at monsieur Bean, then slowly turned his look to Orlando.
“I left my bucket on the stage. Monsieur here must have not seen it and tripped on it. I’m very sorry.” Orlando explained. Monsieur Wenham didn’t seem too happy.
“It’s not all your fault, Orlando, even though I cannot believe I actually used that sentence for even once in my life.” He shook his head. “But this is bad. The opening night is tomorrow, and if monsieur Ban does not recover, we have no leading role.”
“Oh.” Orlando turned to face he angry singer. “I’m…”
“Terribly sorry, I bet.” Monsieur Bean said and snorted. “That’s not going to do much good, is it?”
“I, uh. No.” Orlando looked at his hands. “Can’t you put any weight on you feet at all?”
“If I could I would need someone to lean to, now would I?” Monsieur Bean snapped. “Well, monsieur Wenham, you seem to have a little trouble here, then. Who is going to sing my part tomorrow, or are you simply going to cancel?”
A long silence passed between the three.
“Orlando. Didn’t you remember Hannibal by heart?” Monsieur Wenham said then.
“Me? I, uh, yes, yes I do.” Orlando said, in shock.
“What? This little nobody is going to replace me?” Bean was not happy.
“We have no time to try to get someone who isn’t a nobody, and Orlando is clearly the most talented student I have in this school.” Monsieur Wenham said firmly. “Go on, give it a go, Orlando. Sing for us.”
Orlando was silent for a long time. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, after all those years, his dream was there, being handed to him like on a silver plate. He desperately wanted to do this right.
Slowly he started to sing the first aria of the opera. His voice was silent at first, then, when he got a feeling to the acoustics of the room, it became stronger, prouder, more powerful. Monsieur Wenham smiled. Monsieur Bean didn’t.
“He has a squeaky voice. He cannot be Hannibal.”
“What are you talking about? He has a marvelous voice. All right, Orlando, tomorrow you will be on this stage. You will sing to a full house. How does that feel?”
“Like a dream coming true, monsieur.” Orlando whispered.
Monsieur Bean limped away from the stage, raged.
A dark figure in the shadows stared after him, then smiled to itself. It turned to look at the slender, young man left alone on the stage, amazed. The figure opened a door, that wasn’t there just a minute ago and rushed in, disappearing from sight.
“You deserve this, my beautiful, talented creature.” It whispered just before the door closed. “You deserve this.”
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Thanks for reading, love :)
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Brava, brava, bravissima...
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Angie