A few hours later I awoke to my door opening. Turing my head I spied Madame Giry as she walked into the room, two girls trailing behind her. Madame Giry stared down at me, holding a small tray of food in her arms. I sat up in my bed and glanced over at the two girls standing behind Madame Giry. Only two guesses on who they were. The first had wavy, blonde hair, and innocent brown eyes. She wore a pure white tutu with tights and point shoes, standing in a relaxed first position with her arms resting in front of her. She looked down at me with a smile and I couldn't help but timidly smile back. It was clearly Meg Giry. The other girl was slightly taller than the first, yet wore the same garments as Meg did. She had curly, chocolate brown hair that tumbled down her back in waves. Unlike Meg, she stood normally, her arms by her side, holding a jar in her hands as her doe eyes gazed at me in curiosity. I couldn't help but stare back in wonder.
It's freakin' Emmy. I thought to myself. It's Emmy Rossum. From Phantom. From Shameless! I blinked. Wait, no. Not Emmy. Christine. Christine Daae... Still super intimidating though, jeez.
Madame Giry cleared her throat, causing me to draw my attention to her, "How are you feeling, mademoiselle?" she asked.
"B-Better." I answered. Glancing back and forth from Madame Giry to the two girls.
Madame Giry handed me the tray and I glanced down at it. On the tray was two slices of cheese, a piece of bread, a couple of steamed carrots and a small slice of ham. My stomach immediately began growling at the sight. I muttered a quick and very grateful thank you to Madame Giry before I snatched the bread and tore into it hungrily, grabbing the fork and knife and cutting into the ham as I chewed. It felt like I hadn't eaten in years, yet it had only been, at most, a day since the last time I had eaten. Granted, it hadn't been much. A large box of popcorn wasn't enough to keep me fed for 24 hours, despite how delicious it may have been.
Madame Giry coughed again to get my attention, causing me to look up at her wide eyed. I muttered a small apology and set down my utensils, giving her my full attention.
She gestured to the two girls, "Mademoiselle Moore, I would like to introduce to you my daughter, Meg Giry, and her friend Christine Daae."
I freakin' knew it.
"Its very nice to meet you two." I said to them. They smiled, nodded, and looked to Madame Giry as she continued.
"Meg is Prima Ballerina in the Opera Populaire and Christine is a dancer and chorus girl. They are going to help me take care of you for the next couple of days, bringing you your food and such if I should be busy."
So Christine isn't Prima Donna yet. I thought. Looks like I am in the beginning of the story.
Christine stepped forwards holding out the jar she was carrying, "I brought this for you," she said as she handed it to me. It was full of chopped ice and was cold to the touch, "I heard that you had a concussion from the fall, so I brought some ice for you."
I smiled up at her, "That's so sweet. Thank you Christine." Christine smiled back and backed away. I placed the jar upon my forehead and sighed softly as the cold began to dull the throbbing, which was finally almost gone. I took this moment to glance down at what I was wearing, and found myself in a white dressing gown.
I looked up to Madame Giry, "Where are my clothes?" I asked softly.
Madame Giry looked at me quizzically, "What do you mean?"
"I was wearing a red shirt and pants, wasn't I?" I asked.
She pursed her lips, "Oh, yes. The... garments that you were wearing were very... odd, to say the least. We wanted to make sure there were no other injuries from the fall, such as broken bones, so we had to remove them. Unfortunately, we had to cut them away. I apologize for any inconvenience."
I nodded my head, "No, it's alright. I understand."
"I'll have some dresses sent up for you once you are finished with you food. For now, eat, rest. And I assure you, you will be out of this room and on your feet soon."
I nodded again, moving the jar to the other side of my head, "Thank you Madame. I really appreciate you helping me get better. And I apologize if I have been a nuisance from this ordeal. I promise I'll make up for it in the future."
Madame Giry's eyes softened, "Of course."
Soon I found myself sitting alone in the room, munching on my meal in silence, thinking about my current predicament.
"Ok, Scarlet. Everything's fine. Everything is going to be alright. You don't know how you got here, or how in the world you are going to get back home but you're going to figure this out," I sighed and took another bite, chewing for a moment, "Whatever happens from now on, I'll just roll with it. Just roll with the punches," I took a deep breath, running my hand through my hair, "The future is known, yet unknown. At least in my circumstances."
I softly set my fork down upon the tray, staring at it in thought.
"Also I'm going to need to find some pants. I'm going to freakin' die here if I have to wear dresses all the time."
XxX
My eyes widened in awe as I gazed around the large auditorium. The giant chandelier shimmering in all it's glory above me, the gold statues against the wall gleaming in its light made my heart leap in excitement. The hundreds of red chairs stood out surrounded in all the gold and I felt giddy as I gazed up at the mural on the ceiling. The heels of my shoes clicked against the hardwood floor of the stage as I walked across, gazing up at box five, wondering if he could be up there; watching.
"This place is so beautiful." I whispered, turning to Madame Giry, who was standing behind me. She had been showing me around the Opera House for most of the day, and had saved best for last, "I could just stand here and look around, taking in every detail for the rest of the day."
Madame Giry smiled at me, "I'm glad you feel that way," she spoke, "But we must continue. You did say that you wish for a job here?"
I nodded, "Of course."
"Then follow me, I'll have you talk with Monsieur Lefevre." she instructed, and the two of us left the stage and began our trek through the Opera house, "May I ask, what position are you applying for? Dancer? Seamstress? Chorus Girl?"
I shook my head, "No, I can't dance. The last time I tried to sew something I ended up ripping what I was working on, and I can kind of sing, but I'm not trained or anything, plus I have a bit of a fear singing in front of large audiences, so that's out of the question too."
Madame Giry tilted her head at me, "Then what position are you applying for?"
I shrugged, "Stagehand."
XxX
"You wish to apply for... what job exactly?" asked Lefevre, his eyes wide. Madame Giry and I were currently standing in his office. It was full of stacked books, papers, and files. His desk was covered in letters and pieces of scrap paper, yet was also organized in an unorganized sort of way. Lefevre was a tall, very professional man and his mustache had him remind me slightly of Theodore Roosevelt, who, if I was correct, was still alive. His hair was perfectly in place and his suit nicely tailored and prim. Not a thing was out of place, and I knew just by looking that this man meant business; that his job was important to him.
"A stagehand, Monsieur." I replied.
There was a pregnant pause, then he cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his seat. There was a window behind him, with the sun shining through, filling the room with a bit of warmth despite the autumn season I knew was on the way, "Surely you could have a less... dangerous job. Can you sing? Dance, sew? Anything?" he asked.
I, once again, shook my head at this question, "No, Monsieur."
"How about a... maid, perhaps?"
"Please, Monsieur, I promise that I'll work very hard. No mess, no funny business. I can paint, carry heavy things, the works. Trust me."
Monsieur Lefevre sighed, glancing over at Madame Giry, then back to me, "Are you sure?" he asked.
I nodded, "Positive."
Lefevre stared at me for a moment, then stood up from his desk with a deep sigh. Walking over to a drawer he pulled it open and began to riffle through it. After a moment, he pulled out a piece of paper, and walked back towards the desk, grabbing a quill and ink and setting the three in front of me.
"This is a stagehand contact," he explained, "I'll have you sign it, but if you decide that you would like to change positions, or leave the set crew just let me know and I'll have it changed for you on the spot. Understand?"
I nodded, "Yes, thank you, Monsieur." I grabbed the piece of paper, detailing my job title and all that was required of the position. At the bottom was a single line for me to sign my name on. I grabbed the pen, and hovered it over the ink jar.
I've never used one of these before. I puzzled, then dipped the quill in the ink. I took it out and wiped the edge against the jar, then hovered it over the line. Well, here goes nothing. Breathing out slowly I placed the pen on the paper, slowly writing out my name.