A bit of paint, a lot of talent (with LND Meg)

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik had been waiting for the Vicomte, the one he had known from before, to meet him in the Opera House. The strange dilapidated opera house, within this castle or mansion whatever it was. From fronds of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling to the dust covered, broken chandelier, hanging a bit askew, to the torn red velvet seats, the place couldn't look worse.

Finally Erik sat down next to the seat in which he had set his cape and fedora. He tapped his foot and drummed his fingers in impatience. He had already been waiting quite some time for de Chagny and the little blonde Christine had come in the room and he had talked to her for some time and then she had left. Earlier he had written in his diary. He was getting annoyed, but it might not be de Chagny's fault, considering how odd time was in this place. But he was still annoyed.

He started to pace. Back and forth, then he took the stairs up to the stage, two by two. He examined the red velvet stage curtains. In some places, they were worn so much you could see the light through them. There were gas lights on the edge of the stage, the back of their reflectors facing the audience, so the light of their flames would not be seen, only the light that they threw on the performers. The reflectors were rusted, some so badly that the flames would be visible to the audience, if there had been a flame....or an audience. It looked, on closer inspection that the lights would probably not work anymore.

Erik went backstage to see how things looked. He took the oil lamp that had become his constant companion since finding it in his first few moments here. It had been of quite a bit of use since then.

Backstage, there was mostly trash and broken items about. A few items were rather mysterious. A small item with numbered buttons from zero to nine on it and a grey strip across the top. A part was missing in back, showing a little empty compartment with a tiny piece of ribbon hanging out. Erik looked at it curiously and put it back down, wondering what it was for. A pile of old costumes in a box sat neglected in a corner. There was really not much of interest.

Then Erik heard a sound. The squeaky door was being opened again. Thank goodness, it must be the Vicomte. He would surely give the man an earful for making him wait. He came out on the stage and took the few steps down to the main level and stood in the aisle to see who it was...

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

Meg had wandered aimlessly through the manor for what seemed like forever, looking for food, looking for the room she'd claimed as her own, looking for anyone who might explain her peculiar situation. 'Geez, this place needs a map or something,' she thought. Or it might be enchanted, and it might just keep changing its layout every time she turned around, like in a fairytale.

"Hellooooooo?!" She called out stupidly in a signifcantly cleaner hallway than the rest of the house. Her voice echoed and reverberated down into the next corridor, and she followed where that led. The scenery changed down here, and she felt as if she was in a crypt again! Meg shook her head, sighing, and walked down it, realizing she had absolutely no where else she needed to be. 'How depressing,' she thought. If only she were home. She light be dancing, or singing for Him. She smiled as she remembered Mister Y's sad, kind eyes.

Without thinking (or rather lost in her own daydreams), Meg ran into a large set of double doors at the end of the hall. She yelped in surprise and rubbed her stinging nose, gritting her teeth and gazing up at the ornate entrance with watery eyes. It looked like the door to a... "A theatre!" she exclaimed. Her pain forgotten, she quickly moved to open the huge doors. If this was a theatre, she might be able to dance on its stage, which would calm her nerves and ease her fears significantly, and she might be able to think clearly for once since coming here.

Upon entering the theatre, Meg's eyes had to adjust to the darkness. She rubbed them tenderly, and as she moved further inside she could see a bit of light here and there, particularly from some sort of lantern near the stage. She saw how grand in scale this place was, and decided it must be an opera house. She smiled in remembrance, but her eyes widened when she saw a figure coming closer down the isle.

Desperate to know who it was and if they knew what the hell was going on, she nearly sprinted toward the warm body, uncaring of any danger this might hold. However, when she saw who it was, any thought of caution and propriety slipped from her mind, and she gasped, placing a hand to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

"M-Master?!"

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik came down the stairs and could see right away that the figure coming toward him was not the Vicomte, it was definitely a female figure. The light of his oil lamp cast illuminated her figure as she sprinted down the aisle toward him. Being used to the dark, Erik could see quite well in a small amount of light, almost as well as could a cat. But he didn't recognize the woman who stopped a few feet away from him. She was obviously a dancer, for she was light on her feet and agile. She was small and not very tall. And she looked terribly familiar.

Erik couldn't hide his puzzlement. She had blue eyes and blonde hair. She was very pretty, he thought, but he just couldn't think of who she was.

"I'm sorry, I don't seem to recall your name..." It sounded incredibly odd to say that, for if he did indeed know her from somewhere, it would sound rude. And another thing, he was not exactly a social person. The people he had talked to during these weeks at the mansion were the most acquaintances he had met since his days in Persia. Probably more. Erik always kept to himself during his days in the opera house. He seldom talked to anyone. His talkativeness to these people here had surprised him, really, but it was his desperation to find out what was happening to him that made him speak more than usual.

And strangely enough, ERrik had found a few people here who were not put off by his appearance. Not that any of them had seen beneath his mask, except for the Vicomte, but de Chagny didn't remember it. It reminded him...Erik took out his pocket watch and consulted it. "Damnit!" he said, forgetting there was a lady present. Erik looked over at her. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. I am waiting for someone and he is intolerably late!"

The woman was still standing there, looking at him as if she knew him and there was something glistening in her eyes...she was crying.... Erik didn't know what to say. She was actually making him slightly uncomfortable.

Earlier, when he had talked to the little blonde Christine, she and Erik had exchanged words, a few of them disparaging. He didn't dislike her, but she emanated such a dislke for Erik, that he could hardly warm up to her. And she had an attitude that was unbearable! And even whhile he and the blonde Christine were sparring, he had not really felt uncomfortable. He felt rather superior, for although she showed her excellent knowledge of music, her logic and thinking processes were somewhat lacking. She was amusing in her own way, althought he did not think she would feel that way.

"Won't you sit down, please, Mademoiselle?" he said to the woman. He gestured with a flourish of his hand to one of the torn velvet seats in the first row where he had been sitting earlier. "I cleaned off a couple of them. At least they won't dirty your clothing. I hate being dirty or unkempt. " Here he smoothed back the hair of his hairpiece with both hands.

Erik still couldn't plave her. "I just cannot, for the life of me, although you l0ok terribly familiar..." Then he thought, she called him Master....what an odd thing. He kept thinking...who could she be....he had few friends at the opera house...Madame Giry was almost the only one...wait...Madame Giry...her daughter Meg....could it be? The shy little blonde girl, Christine's best friendd...could it be Meg?

Erik took a couple of steps toeard her, then said, "Meg, is it you?" He was glad to see a familir face, although she had changed. She seemed not so innocent, more mature certainly and not naiive any more. He took her hands in his cold ones and looked down at her and smiled. "Meg, is it really you? Little Meg..."

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

Meg immediately notice his confusion, and in turn became confused herself. Did he not recognize her? Well, she always did usually wear her costumes in his presence. Maybe he just wasn't used to seeing her in normal clothes. Fair enough...

But... He didn't know her name? How was this possible? Meg stepped closer, her eyes pleading with his to remember her in the darkness. Yes, it was just dark, he would remember her soon if she came closer. She could tell he was trying to. He wanted to. She smiled at him as she swallowed, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear to clear her face. Perhaps she should help him to remember! She prepared to do a dancer's spin, announcijg herself playfully as the fabulous "Oh! La La" girl, when he cursed aloud. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. I am waiting for someone and he is intolerably late!"

Meg furrowed her eyebrows, looking away. Tears built in her eyes again as she realized he wouldn't remember her, not even if she did a whole vaudeville routine right in front of him. Was this one of the affects the manor had on people, erasing their memories? She sighed, wiping her eyes and preparing to turn away to leave.

"Won't you sit down, please, Mademoiselle?" he said suddenly. As he gestured towards the seats he'd supposedly cleaned off, she realized he was trying to comfort her. She smiled brightly and moved to sit down never taking her admiring eyes off of him. But when he said he did recognise her, she stopped and sighed with relief. "Well thank God, I was beginning to worry!" she exclaimed.

When he said her name, she just about died of bliss at the sound of it rolling from his lips. She knew it wouldn't take him long. After all, they'd seen each other nearly every day (well... maybe she was exaggerating) for ten years. Even a good bit of amnesia after coming here was understandable. She nodded brightly, but when he took her hands in his and looked into her eyes, her mouth fell open. She couldn't speak with her Master this close... But he'd never been this close, no... He'd always been more... Reserved. Her gaze fell to his throat, and a blush rose to her face. She smiled and moved forward. Wait... Had he always looked this young? Oh, now matter. Now that they were here together, she felt all her inhibitions melt away, and she longed to tell him what shed been meaning to tell him for the longest time.

"Mister Y, I--"

"Little Meg!"

Her face fell. 'Love you...' she finished in her mind. She shook her head and moved away, grinning sadly. "Not anymore, Monsieur. I'm all grown up now." She held out her hands to bade him look down at her, and she twirled to further her claim.

Meg sighed. "What's the last thing you remember before coming here?

[Erik Lenoir]

Even though Erik could see that she was no longer a naiive child, he found it hard not to treat her any different than he always had. That was of course, not to pay her much mind. She was always very sprightly and sweet seeming. She had usually been the one who started the chorus of The Phantom is Here whenever he wanted to create a bit of havoc and mystery and do something to get his own way. He suspected that Giry had told her daughter everything she knew of him, which was a considerable amount.

Meg didn't look so naiive any more, but she was still spritely and bubbly. The way she had danced down the aisle to meet him was rather typical of her. She had definitely lost her shyness, fo rshe would not have approached him before without her mother.

And yet, here she was in the mansion. Erik suspected that she was probably taken out of her life in some place in her life, perhaps past the time when he had known her. She looked older, although not very much older. It was her attitude, her persona and the whole way she presented herself that was different.

When he took her hands, Erik wondered why she called him Mr Y...that was cryptic...as odd as her earlier name for him, Master... He began to wonder if this were a doppelganger of the little Meg he knew. There was a definite resemblance...and a definite difference.

Erik had invited her to sit down beside him. He was confused and didn't want to show it, but he could see that Meg already recognized it. Then she said What was the last thing you remember before coming here? He became paler than his usual pale colour. "I had just left my...home under the opera house when I fell asleep and came here." Erik didn't want to say, "lair" or what he had done to Christine and the Vicomte. He had told the Vicomte much too much information inadvertently and he didn't want to make that mustake again. Unless, of course she already knew. But that was to be seen. He would not offer any more information unless he had to. He would find out more about Meg first.

"Meg, I must tell you," he began, hoping to start a conversation and find out some information. "I must tell you that you look spectacular...wonderful. And I see you have kept up the ballet. You are very light on your feet as you always were. Perhaps you would grace me with a glimpse of your present artistry...if you would care to..."

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

When Meg had asked him what the last thing he remembered was, he grew pale, and she knew immediately when he had arrived. His words confirmed it, as Mister Y had told her that he had fled his home just after he let Christine go. She sighed, smiling at him. "I think I have some explaining to do, then," she said.

Her eyes brightened when he said she looked wonderful. "R-really?! You mean it?!" She looked down and swished the long purple skirt she had found, blushing and smiling. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said, finding it odd calling him that rather than "Master," or "Mister Y."

"Perhaps you would grace me with a glimpse of your present artistry...if you would care to..."

Meg's jaw nearly dropped. "Well, I... I um... yes!" she squeaked. She blushed even more, fluttering nearer to the stage, but turning back to him. "I-I'm afraid that I haven't danced ballet in years, but I have been dancing in shows. I've been living in New York City for the past ten years, and I dance and sing on Coney Island, an amusement park, which is a place of entertainment, like a carnival, but it stays in one place." She rubbed her hands together. "Usually I have backup singers and dancers, but I'll do my best.

Always wanting to impress Mister Y, she went up to the stage and got into position. She smiled at him, wondering which song she should sing and dance, before she decided on something that was a solo act for her, something she hadn't done in years to an audience but practiced all the time, because he'd wrote it for her. "This one is a solo, so it's perfect, okay?" she asked, not waiting for his answer.

She had danced and sang many a time in front of Mister Y, even practiced with him, so doing this was very easy, almost natural. She knew he would criticize her every move, as he'd always done, so she strove to be the best she could be. No note was off key, every move was in place. She was glad she chose to wear a skirt rather than those interesting pants for women she'd found, for that would have been a disaster. The song she'd picked had a bit more ballet in it than most of her songs, because her mother had choreographed it especially for her. She added a few touches here and there, though, to make it her own.

After the final note of the number (it had been a rather funny and charismatic song, and she added hilarious inflection toward the end), she was breathing heavily, and curtsied as she finally looked down at the Master. She'd been avoiding looking at him the entire dance, but now she was prepared to look him in the eye. "Well? What do you think?!"

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik's face fell a bit when Meg stated that she wasn't doing ballet anymore, but some type of "popular" dance, Erik was a bit let down. He wondered why she had left the ballet for New York. Certainly an odd occurrence, that. But one cannot force someone to love the finer things in life, he supposed.

Meg began to sing and dance. The dance had a lot of ballet steps to it and Erik approved of that. She made no false moves, although he could see Madame Giry's correographing in her movements, and he could see a few things he would have liked improved. But the song she sang, it was nothing like opera, nothing like fine music. It was written to bring in the masses, the ones who knew nothing of good music. She had said, Coney Island...New York....carnival? What sort of place could that be but a place where the ignorant masses went to have some fun, would you call it? He really thought that Meg should be keeping herself for finer things, better music and so on.

And yet, as Erik watched Meg sing and dance, there was something familiar about the song. But there couldn't be...he had never in his life heard the song, unless this place had caused a huge hole in his memories. What could be familiar about the song? He pondered it.

Then Meg finished the song and asked her question, "Well? What do you think?!" He was still sitting in the front row of seats watching Meg on the stage. His left hand was cupping his chin in his hand. He wasn't sure what he thought.

"That was interesting, Meg..." he said non-comittally. Then he realized she wanted more, she wanted some praise. It seemed she was craving praise and he didn't know why...praise from him. Erik wondered if there were something that he didn't know about their relationship. It had obviously gone on after his leaving the opera house ten years ago. When could he have seen her? She said she was in New York...and he would have had to have fled Paris...could he have gone there with some sympathetic members of the opera company? Except who would have been sympathetic except Madame Giry...and Meg... And her cryptic names for him. He needed to carefully question her. There was something he did not know and it was important that he find out.

"Come down here, Meg..." He gestured with his hand to come and sit next to him in the front row. "Meg, your ballet steps were flawless and undoubtedly your mother correographed it for you. Is she here by any chance?" Erik pasused, thinking of how to continue.

"That song...the style is different...a more popular music sort of music...you sang it well, but I must say, I am not an advocatte of the popular genre of music. Who wrote it though, for some reason it sounds a bit familiar..."

"And tell me, Meg, where have I been for the last 10 years of your life? Do you even know? " Then Erik leaned forward, turning a bit toward her and looked her directly in the eyes, with a hard look in his oddly coloured ones. "And Meg, how well do we know each other?"

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

"That was interesting, Meg..." the Master had said. Wait... interesting? Not fantastic or marvelous? Not stupendous and brilliant? Interesting... That was hardly what she'd expected to hear from him. Her face fell slightly, and her brows furrowed. She stepped forward, ever ready to try and please him some more.

"I could sing something else? Something slower, maybe?" she offered desperately. "That was... that was just something for fun, not my serious work," she lied as she joined him when he asked. She never took her eyes off of him, very nearly running to meet him as she'd done before when he'd been in the isles. She stood straight, her hands by her sides and her feet in fourth position. If he asked her to, she'd do triple pirouettes at the drop of his hat, all day long.

But he didn't ask. "Meg, your ballet steps were flawless and undoubtedly your mother correographed it for you. Is she here by any chance?"

Meg beamed with pride and gratitude as he spoke of her dancing. "Well, merci monsieur, I've been practicing, even if ballet is no longer my focus." She wished he'd commented on her singing, first, as of course he must have been impressed. After all, he had trained her himself.

She ignored the question about her mother, in favor of his critique of the song, which was exactly what she wanted. "This kind of music wasn't really around much ten years ago, so of course it's not really what you're used to," she said in vaudeville's defense. "But I tell you, it's the future of popular music! The composer, he..."

Meg stopped herself before she said anything horribly revealing, but the Master continued with his investigation. "And tell me, Meg, where have I been for the last 10 years of your life? Do you even know?"

The girl began shifting her weight and almost backing up, as if she'd been caught. She did always dreamed she could be at the center of her Master's attention... "Well, you see monsieur, I..." she began. 'Think Meg, Think! Lie lie lie! You can do this! You can't let him know just yet, he can't figure it out! If he figures it out then... then...!' " My mother and I we were in New York after Paris and... And..." she stumbled over her words. The way he looked at her, peering at her and into her soul... She was both uncomfortable and mesmerized at the same time. "I mean, why should it matter where you've been? I... I hardly knew you monsieur! At the opera I mean, so what does it matter?!"

"And Meg, how well do we know each other?"

Meg caught her breath. She wanted to look away from his eyes, those eyes of a different color... but she couldn't. She'd hardly ever made eye contact with him since they'd met, and yet he did so now... Why? Why would he want to look her in the eye when she knew of three different Christines he could be hypnotizing right at that moment?!

Sadly, she finally did look away, but it was too late. She had to tell him what he wanted to know. She'd do anything for him, only... only if he'd notice her, at least once.

She laughed dryly, looking back up at him. "I don't even know your real name, monsieur... But you did write that song... for me."

[Erik Lenoir]

Meg's face fell a bit when Erik called her performance merely interesting. She seemed so willing to please Erik, almost desperately trying to please him. He wondered why. He had really not had much to do with her except in relation to her mother. And now here she was, dancing and singing for him. He realized much more must have gone on in those mysterious lost ten years. However, he had to correct himself. He had thought out this conundrum logically. He was not missing ten years, it was an older Erik who had known this girl. Another man, from a different time, a different world knew this Meg. She resembled the Meg Giry he had known, of course more mature, but still, she was not the Meg he had known before at the Opera house, any more than Christine Emilie was the sweet angel he had seen just a short time ago. They were years and worlds apart.

Still, he was interested to find out what Meg thought of him, or make that, the person she thought he was.

"I don't know, Meg...he said in answer to her request of what she should perform for him. Anything you would care to perform for me...but before you do, I want to ask you what you think of this idea of mine...I am intending to refurbish the opera house and I will need performers. You are definitely one of those I would wish to have in my opera. Of course there will be other shows where you could use your..." here he made a gesture with his hand which looked like he didn't really know the name for her style of music...."your different style of songs..."

"I must say that I am somewhat disappointed that ballet is not your main focus any more...You were always one of the talented ones in that pursuit. However, you must do what is pleasing to you and of course we shall be able to find a place for you in a show of some type. We will of course, have a variety of venues..."

Then Meg spoke of where she had been for the last ten years. Erik frowned. "New York...America?....and your mother has been there with you?" Erik wanted to know more, he found himself looking at Meg with a mesmerizing look that he knew few could resist. His eyes met hers as if to pull the information from them...

Meg finally gave in, I don't even know your real name, monsieur... But you did write that song... for me...

Erik opened his eyes in surprise. "My song?" he repeated. "I suppose that's why it's familiar...and, " here he looked at her again, "my name, you don't know my name? I am called Erik. Erik Lenoir. The surname is of course a reference to my personality, not my real surname..."

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

Meg was delighted at the prospect of performing in one of his operas again. It had been ten years since Don Juan Triumphant and she'd only had a minor dancing part before it had ended abruptly. Then... she'd been so afraid of him. But Mister Y was so kind, if only strict with her. Christine had ruined him with her misjudgement, and it was only thanks to Meg that he had smiled again on Coney Island. Now, to dance upon a stage to his music? It had to be God's good graces that brought her here to him. She would dance for him as much as he wanted, until the day she died even.

She smiled widely. "I'll be happy to perform what you wish, Master..." she replied to his offer, letting her eyes fall to the floor in a nod and curtsy. A blush rose to her cheeks, however, when she realized her error, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh!" she squeaked. "I'm so sorry, I just..." she said with alarm. She tried to write it off as nothing with a laugh, but she knew he thought her mad anyway with this, she just knew it. She replied to the rest of his conversation to change the subject.

"Well, you know I like this music, because..." Again, with this mouth! "Because it's fun!" No, not because he wrote it. Not at all... "Everyone loves vaudeville, after all! Or at least that's what mother says... In America they do. After everything in Paris, I don't think many people trusted mother, though they should have! She was the least back-stabbing one out of the whole lot of them. In America, we found a new home, you know?" She didn't babble as much in his presence, usually, but thinking about New York... about home will get a girl talking. "I miss my home... I miss my mother, so much..." she sighed.

"I am called Erik. Erik Lenoir."

She'd thought once that his name had been some sort of secret that he wouldn't dare utter to anyone. She'd apparently been wrong, what with the way it rolled so easily off his tongue. "Erik..." she repeated, her face heating with warmth. Feelings were bubbling inside her at knowing his name. "M-Monsieur Lenoir, I mean," she corrected, "For the longest time I've known you as Mister Y, the owner of the greatest place on Earth, Phantasma!" she said with excitement. She shouldn't be telling him this, she shouldn't be telling him this! And yet she had to, for her own piece of mind. Her mother would call her selfish. But... She wanted to make him feel loved, something she was sure he had never felt before in his life. She was indeed selfish to hide her feelings --and her admiration-- until now.

She spun in a circle from her fourth position, her hands open wide as if she was under Phantasma's gate at that very moment. "On Coney Island, people can lose themselves, and forget about their troubles. They can see freaks and monsters, conjured apparitions, mechanichal creations. They can ride roller coasters and play games, and they never leave before seeing the best part: the shows!" She curtsied with a wide smile, as if she was introducing herself. "'Introducing the Oh! La La Girl, Meg Giry! Five Shows daily, Ladies and Gentlemen!' they'd say! Oh they didn't just come to see me! They came to hear your music, because everybody loved the mysterious Mister Y! When they went home, they were happy and content, and the next day we'd do it all over again, every summer. It was like magic!"

Meg sighed at her memories, realizing it was only till recently that they were reality. Then Christine had come, and had ruined everything she'd ever known! But now, he was here, and she wasn't going anywhere.

"On Coney Island, it was like Paris never existed, and we got to start all over again. We were..." she began, tears starting to well up in her eyes. She couldn't tell him how she felt, she just couldn't. Would he even understand how she felt, or would he think her the little chorus girl she once was and find her love mere fancy? "We were together, you, me, and mother. We were like a family." She beamed at him, wanting to touch her cheeks to hide her blush, but she restrained herself.

"Monsieur Lenoir... Mister Y... You trained me to be a star. For that I am eternally grateful," she added, curtsying for the hundredth time that day. Her breath was caught in her throat.

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik listened intently to Meg's story of how she and her mother and his future self had gone to New York, in America, forsaking the Opera House and starting a new life for themselves. A place called Coney Island, Phantasma...it seemed unreal until Meg started to explain about the attractions, the mechanical marvels and most of all the shows. Erik thought, his mind racing through all the information she gave him. At first, the idea of popular entertainment, vaudeville sounded so gauche, something made for the masses, the ignorant masses. But then as she continued, Erik could see himself becoming involved in something like this. It truly made sense.

Leaving Paris, wasn't that what he had planned to do after the terrible scene in the lair with Christine and Raoul? He could have fled to America...it made sense. And the mechanical attractions...Erik had always been interested in things of that sort. After all, when h e had first seen the lift in this mansion, the one that went from one lair to another, wasn't he consumed with curiosity to see how it ran? To see the mechanics behind it? Wasn't he the one who was always interested in fixing clocks? He had designed great architectural structures...all of this made sense. And of course the shows. Perhaps his tastes in music had changed or perhaps he was just catering to the general public. He didn't know. But still, it was not something that he could not see himself doing.

But what could explain the relationship between himself and Meg? It seemed different than just employer and employee...different than just friends. Could it be that she had some deeper feelings for him? He thought it u nlikely, and yet...

Even though his mind was a bit uneasy with the relationship, not knowing what it was, he suspected that Meg would do whatever he asked her to do. He smiled when she stated she would perform whatever he wished. "That would indeed be helpful, Meg. Perhaps you could give me some insitht into what it was that we were doing on Coney Island and we could incorporate some of this into our shows here. I fully intend this to be a viable and money making enterprise. And an outlet for all of our talents. You know, I am even thinking about performing myself. It would of course have to be in a costume in which my face could not be seen, but still I had only a short time to perform before my opera was cruelly cut off before it was finished." He looked at meg, knowing that she knew the details of everything that had happened that night, and yet she didn't hate him for it. At least it didn't seem that she did. "Would you do me a great favour and not speak a word about what happened that night. There are a few who know, but I would rather not have it be general knowledge. I don't intend for anything like that to happen again...so can I have your word on it?"

After he said his name, Meg said first, Erik, then changed it to Monsieur Lenoir. Erik decided to keep it at the more formal name, considering he didn't know the complete story...

He smiled when she said that her mother stated that everyone loves vaudeville. "Well if your mother said everyone loves vaudeville, it most certainly must be true..." He went on, " So New York is home to you now. I missed being home for the first few weeks, until I found my ...quarters here. " Erik hated to call his home a lair. It sounded so much like an animal's cave where it would lurk, waiting to come out and devour something...he hated that so much...he rarely called his cellar home a lair, even though that was apparently the popular name for it.

"Its so much like my quarters under the opera house, amazingly reproduced in every detail. I have found nothing that is not exact. It is a bit frightening to think about ... that someone or something unknown knows so much about one that they can do that..."

Meg talked a lot. She rambled on and on, but it was undoubtedly because she was nervous. She started to blush, but he let her continue and said nothing about it. "Mr Y? Is that what I called myself? I see. Well, perhaps we shall make this opera house home to some amazing shows. Perhaps..." here Erik looked at her intensely. "Perhaps you could help me ... you can tell me what we did...in the future...so we can recreate it. " He laughed. Or whatever you call something recreated before it happened..."

Erik was rather taken with her way of presenting herself, the energetic ballet moves. It was pleasing to watch her and he found himself enjoying her immensely. He had haradly noticed her at the opera house in Paris. Now she presesnted herself in a way that called attention to her. He liked that. She would be an amazing addition to his shows. Then he smiled to himself. He was already saying shows instead of opera... He smiled as she introdced herself. Meg had indeed come a long way!

"So you were able to start all over again. I hope to do that here. And I shall be counting on your help indeed....* He paused. "A star? I trained you to be a star? It seems you have taking the advice to heart!" He smiled again.

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

"Perhaps you could give me some insitht into what it was that we were doing on Coney Island and we could incorporate some of this into our shows here. I fully intend this to be a viable and money making enterprise. And an outlet for all of our talents."

Meg clapped her hands in delight and nodded. "Yes! Yes that's exactly what we should do!" she said, taking a lock of hair in her hand and stroking it rapidly. "Really if you think about it vaudeville is just like the great-grand-baby of l'Opéra-Comique, like Il Muto and all that. It's really funny, and usually in English, but my show always had a touch of French style to it, so we can appeal to everyone! Oh, won't it be such great fun!" she continued with wide and excited eyes. "And you on stage would be marvelous, Monsieur! I've been dying to hear you sing on stage again since that night." She smiled. "Not to worry, either. I haven't spoken a word to anyone of it in ten years, why should I start?" She crossed her fingers behind her back and smiled in deception. She'd already spoken of it to a few people since arrival at the manor, but she had been so confused, thinking everyone and anyone knew about what her Master had done, and she wanted to say how she forgave him, but from this point forth she wouldn't mention it again. She wouldn't betray anything he told her to do, never!

She continued a bit slower, as she could tell it was getting hard for him to keep up. "I've been here for a bit, but nothing seems like home to me, except you being here. You're the only sanity in this place I think," she said, but a blush crept slightly to her cheeks before she could hide it. "A-anyway, I'm glad that you're happy here. Maybe I can be, too. I-I mean, maybe we all can be."

Meg internally rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She was always so tongue-tied around him. It was a wonder she could even speak to him at all. Even though he was her Master, he was still different than Mister Y. He was younger, and he didn't seem to be as depressed. And yet... he had mentioned that night he performed. That was the cause of his depression, and yet where was it? He seemed calm, almost jolly even, and was determined to fix up this opera house and perform shows. It was hardly how she expected her Master to act, more like how she had wanted to fix him. He was already fixed, it seemed. Was there something else she didn't know, or...?

She was beginning to panic. Could Christine already have gotten to him? It would explain his practically normal behavior. If she had, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. This was not fair. Just as she might have him all to herself, her former best friend had to go and ruin things again! She didn't choose him, she chose Raoul! The Vicomte! Why couldn't Meg have her love when she was more loyal to him than the soprano could ever be?

Meg didn't show the emotions that were running through her head, and instead she smiled. "I'd be happy to help you, Monsieur Lenoir, in your shows and fixing this place up. I have nothing better to do except perhaps wait for my mother, in which case I think we can do that together, don't you agree?" She smiled again, though she hardly believed her mother would drop in on them any time soon. If her mother was there, then she would certainly make Meg's heart feel at ease, but being with her Master was the next best thing, if not THE best thing.

"A star? I trained you to be a star? It seems you have taking the advice to heart!"

Meg's mouth dropped a little, but formed into a grin. "You really think so, truly? Mother always wanted me to be a star. She told me I was going to be empress one day when I was little, and... well gee, I usually feel like it when I'm on stage! Hehe!" she giggled with another little blush clouding her cheeks, but her hand was curled at her mouth. She probably seemed like a little schoolgirl to him, but... if he thought she was a start, then that must be true!

'If only I was the star of your heart...' she thought to herself.

"I... Um... Well now..." she scratched her head, staring into his eyes. "I sorta forgot what I was going to say..."

He always had that effect on her.

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik looked at Meg with fondness. He wondered how he had overlooked her before. She was so fresh and happy and energetic, a very delight to be around. Of course he had been concentrating on Christine and many other things didn't even make an impression on him unless they impinged on his obsession.

"I'm sure you're right about vaudeville. I think though, if you were in it, I should be very much more interested. In English, with a French style. I like that. I have heard from someone here at the Mansion that we may be in England. I am not sure he is a reliable source, but it could be true. In that case, if the villagers were invited, we probably should do the vaudeville part of our shows in English. I do wish to do opera and ballet though. I do wish your mother were here. She was my right hand in things of that sort, teaching and correographing the girls and so on. Perhaps you could take over some of that. "

Erik stood up and walked to several places in the large opera house and pointed out places that were in bad repair.

"I also have had an interesting idea. What if we were to clean the opera house to to the point where it could be used, but keep some of the shabbines. We could then have a fund raising performance. We may even find some people to be patrons and give us large funds for the continuation of the refurbishment. Then, we could do work on the rest of the place and in subsequent performances, show the patrons where their money is going."

Erik sat down again in front. "Of course there will be a lot of work to be done before we can even let the general public in..."

Then Erik became a bit quieter and stopped speaking for a moment. He closed his eyes and rubbed his left temple. "Meg, you know, coming here may have been one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I feel like I have a purpose in life. I was so devastated when Christine left me...and I felt that I was worthless, that all my accomplishments were as nothing, because she cared not for me. And yet, her kiss...she kissed me you know, in my catacombs and showed me what unselfish love was."

"I had been living by myself for so long, wanting only one thing, to be loved and I thought I had found that in Christine. But she would have none of it. I was expecting that if I forced her to love me, she would capitulate. I am an expert in many things, I have many accomplishments and talents, but I lack in the knowledge of love. I believe that Christine has opened up that empty chasm in my life. How I long to see her again and to thank her for all she has done for me. And to hope, upon vain hope, that she may have a spark of feeling left for me. Perhaps she has not married her Vicomte yet. I can only hope."

He smiled at Meg, blissfully unaware of her feelings for him. Never for one moment did he think that anyone save Christine would ever even consider him as a object of her love.

"Meg, I will tell you something else. I was filled with melancholia when I came here. I was devastated and had been on my way to the Seine to board a ship anywhere to get away from the Opera House, where I felt I would be killed or taken into custody.I was at the point of despair and had been considering suicide. But coming here, difficult as it was at first, has opened a new life for me. I am happier than I have ever been in my life and while my dear Christine is not here, I have her to thank for my different attitude. She pitied me, it is true, but she would have stayed with me, had I not let her and the Vicomte leave. She was completely unselfish. She did it for him, it's true. But she would have sacrificed herself so that I would not kill him. It seems so long ago and yet it was not even half a year. I wish I could see her again to tell her that I still love her and to ask her forgiveness. Would that she come here..." There was a sad and melancholic look in Erik's eyes...

[Meg "Oh! La La" Giry]

"Perhaps you could take over some of that. "

Meg's mouth widened considerably, and her eyes were like eggs. Her? Become his right-hand-(wo)man? For the longest time (ten years to be exact) she'd coveted her mother's position as being closest to him, and always wished she could master the kind of grace, attitude, and intelligence her mother held that made her such a formidable ally. Everyone knew she looked up to her mother, but in secret she was both jealous of her and scorned by her. She'd always felt that though her mother listened to her and helped her to become a star, she was secretly keeping her away from the Master, dismissing her when important things were discussed, diverting her from meeting with him when he asked... And now she was being offered the chance to finally become what she'd dreamed of? And maybe... maybe he'd finally see her... for once.

Meg closed her mouth and cleared her throat, becoming poised and refined and wiping away any hint of shock on her face. "Monsieur Lenoir... I would like nothing more than to be of assistance," she said with the slight bow of her head, just like she'd seen her mother do to him time and time again. But a smile lit her features, and she couldn't hid her blue eyes being tinted with happiness.

Her master continued without a beat, and she almost struggled to keep up following him. She really wished she had something to take notes on--just like her mother! She nodded sternly at each thing he said as she comprehended them. "All excellent ideas, Monsieur! With your charm, of course, and your vision, no one would be able to resist funding this place! I've heard that the village is small and without much culture... Perhaps our humble Opera House with give them cause to rethink!" she said proudly. It was something her mother would say, to be sure. Though... She realized with regret that if she became too much like her mother, he would never see the love underneath.

Meg was surprised when he stopped talking so vivaciously, and was concerned when his face grew dark and sad. "Master..." she whispered as he began to speak. "Meg, you know, coming here may have been one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I feel like I have a purpose in life. I was so devastated when Christine left me...and I felt that I was worthless, that all my accomplishments were as nothing, because she cared not for me. And yet, her kiss...she kissed me you know, in my catacombs and showed me what unselfish love was."

They had discussed this before, many years ago. When her mother was away, she was the only one he could turn to, to confess how he was feeling. It was when she began to fall in love with him. The way he felt about her former best friend was seemingly unbreakable, even after ten years. Meg had long ago given up hope that he might let the woman go, but she had always hoped that he would move on. If only she'd done things differently, been more aggressive in comforting him, instead of listening to her mother all the time, then she might have won him in some way.

As he continued, she realized quickly that she had to steer away thoughts of the woman from his mind. He was still fantasizing about her, just as he'd been when they'd left for America ten years ago. "I am glad that you find this place has given you a new life. That is just what America did for me, honey, I mean!" Meg blushed. "Monsieur..."

"I wish I could see her again to tell her that I still love her and to ask her forgiveness. Would that she come here..." "

Meg sighed, stroking a lock of her hair again. She looked to him blankly, smiling a little, but it did not reach her eyes. "Monsieur, if I may be frank, it is a noble cause to hold out hope, but I must tell you that you'll be holding that hope for years to come. At least I think so. It's not necessarily my place, but..." she continued, digging her foot slightly in the dusty carpet, "In the ten years I've known you, you never moved on, and mother and I did. We moved on from being taken from our lives and built new ones, but I've always thought you were a little behind. I wanted to help you rectify that, but I couldn't. I didn't know you, or at least I didn't think I knew you well enough to say anything to you, but I'd like to say this now, knowing what has happened in the past, you might better yourself and move on for the future." She nodded. Her comments were not rude or had ulterior motives, but they were honest and true. She always had wanted him to move on, not only for her sake, but for his.

"I know you love Christine, Monsieur... You have told me before all of this, and I've listened. Even..." she paused. "Even if Christine was here, which she very well might be, I think that it would be in your best interests to... not pursue her. Not because you don't love her, but because I know she loves Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny. Even if she did hold some love for you, she would never betray his trust. She is my best friend, after all, or at least she was. It is not for her sake that I say this, but for yours." She sighed, her eyes nearly tearing. "I don't want to see you hurt anymore than you have been. You are too good to have Christine's fickle-- b-but by no means unkind-- ways cloud your judgement."

Meg bit her lip. Had she said too much? She twirled her hair around her finger and looked away, fearful that he would disapprove of her impertinence. But... it had to be said.

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik saw Meg's expresson of interest and happiness when he suggested that she help him and knew that she would help him. He smiled. He suspected that she had her mother's strength of character. Giry would never mince words with Erik, and although she held him in a healthy respect, she was plain spoken and he respected her opinion. There were times when Erik had not wished to hear Giry's advice, for it went against his own selfish wishes. He had not always taken her advice and had often disparaged her for her words which hurt his sensitive ego. But she was almost always correct, he had to admit. She was never afraid to tell Erik when he was wrong, although it usually angered him. Would Meg have the strength of character to stand up to him? He wondered. If she did, she was in for a difficult time, if she ever tried to convince Erik that he was wrong.

Erik raised his visible eyebrow when Meg said, With your charm, of course, and your vision, no one would be able to resist funding this place! "Meg, don't flatter me. You really think me charming? So charming that I could stand on this stange and hold a fund raising meeting and thousands of people would rally round me and given me money? Hardly. That will be your job. You have the charm and the looks and the persuasive personality. It's true, I've always yearned to perform on the stage, but if that would ever come to pass, it would be in a suitable costume and mask so that I would never be seeen with my own face or even this mask." He paused. "My job is to direct the refurbishing of this opera house and then to direct the shows that will be performed upon it."

"And in addition to fund raising and publicity, you will help me recruit people to help with the refurbishing and later with the shows. I am intending to work here with everyone else on the refurbishing, but we must have workers here too. We are a larger company now than when I first arrived. The mansion was almost bereft of people at that time."

"Now I have pointed out the places that need the most work and they are the first things that must be done. I will be funding the immediate expenses and once some of the first work is done, we shall start fundraising. I do think that you would be much better suited to persuading people to help with the project than I am. Some don't care for me, for some odd reason." He projected an odd look, perhaps of irritation with those people who cared not to listen to his very logical reasons for this project. "I am sure they would respond to you so much better, Meg."

"And yes, I agree. The village, I am sure is in desperate need of some culture. Small or not, we shall make this opera house a place of culture in which everyone will want to indulge."

Then oddly, Meg called him honey... why on earth would she ever call him that? He looked at her sharply, peering down the large nose of his mask. He said nothing, but wondered...

"America gave you a new life? I see. And you equate that to living here? Well, I hope all of us will be that happy. So far, as I have mentioned, I am happy here. I'm hidden away from the prying eyes of the general public and most of the people here love music as I do. I expect it may be a good match. Although, I should truly love to know how to get away from the place...it is not healthy to be kept captive, no matter how pleasant one's prison is." He turned and smiled at Meg. "Of ocourse, as I said before, it has been a good thing..."

"Perhaps your mother will come here," said Erik gently. "I expect her any day..." He paused and became solemn. "You don't hold out hope that your friend and mine, Christine Daaé, will ever appear here?" Then Meg said that perhaps Erik should not pursue Christine, should she appear. He looked a little bit angry. His voice was soft and quiet, but his words were sharp."And why should I not pursue Christine? You think her fickle? and she clouds my judgement?"