So pretty much I have no excuse for not writing. For a while, I was just too lazy to write, then I honestly forgot about it for a bit, but now here I am. While I was gone, I read the original book "Le Fantome de l'Opera," and I've gotten a bit more information for the story. I hope I didn't lose my few fans. So here is Chapter 4 of my long-forgotten story.


Chapter 4: The Other Chagny

Lifting the cup to his lips, he gently took a sip of the tea, vapors of aroma rising to his nose before he even touched the liquid. The tea was very fine, affordable by only the most bloated budgets. Yet despite its worth, the tea was still a touch too bitter for his tastes. His sweet tooth was almost infamous among his family and friends.

Count Philippe de Chagny sat in a rather ornate room with no windows. A red patterned rug rested in the middle of the room, and the walls were also red-velvet color. One wall hosted a full bookshelf, as did the next. The third bore a small mirror and the framed painting of a countryside. The last wall was bare, excepting the door that sat in the corner and led out into the deserted hall. He sat at a cluttered desk, holding an envelope that bore the seal of a red skull. Monsieur Andre and Firmin stood behind him, hovering nervously over his shoulder.

"So, let me go over this again," he said slowly, standing up to face them. The two managers swallowed nervously. "My brother arrived here before the Gala performance to celebrate with you his becoming the Patron and you becoming proud new managers. However, not all was well. You began receiving notes such as these," he flipped the letter in Andre's face, who recoiled indignantly. "They were all of a threatening nature, most involving a certain Mms. Christine Daae. You obeyed his orders, and after a very ill-fated performance of "Il Muto," it is my understanding..." Philippe took in a deep breath and a vein in his forehead became quite visible. The hear from his eyes made the managers take a quick step back.

"It is my understanding that at this time, my brother disappeared from his room, when not so long ago the very same thing happened to the young Christine Daae. It is also my understanding that, by way of letters my dear brother sent me, he was rather taken with Mms. Daae, and began courting her." Philippe slowly began walking towards the managers. They took in a deep breath, expecting a quick and fiery death. However, he walked straight between them, turned on his heel and put his arms on their shoulders. He leaned in close between them, gesturing for them to come closer, and they nervously did so.

"Now. Monsieurs. It seems to me that this O.G. fellow, whoever he may be, is quite mad. He is also taken with Chirstine Daae, which makes him a natural enemy of my brother. He has taken my brother somewhere, in God knows what condition, and will do God knows what to him. What do you plan on doing about this?"

... ... There was a long pause as the managers thought about what the right answer was, the answer that would keep them alive. "Um..." Andre began to speak. "We should look for your brother and the man behind it?" A quick smack on the back of the head told Andre he was wrong.

"Close! But you didn't quite pin it down. Monsieur Firmin, care for a guess?"

... ... "Uh... we should contact the police and employ them to find the madman and your brother?" Philippe didn't answer. Instead he took his arms from their soulders, and silently headed for the door. The managers looked at each other in confusion. He opened the door, but before leaving said, "I hope the bad publicity won't deter you from getting the authorities involved in this. Keep in my mind that my family is very... very influential when it comes to business." With that said, he stormed from the room, slamming the door loudly, and leaving the two poor men with very few options.

"What a pain," Philippe muttered to himself as he ran to his carriage through the rain. He hadn't expected the people in charge to be such daft idiots. He had assumed that they had already contacted the police, and that he would be helping the investigation. Instead, there hadn't even been a discussion to do anything about the mad man, and they were simply letting him be. Therefore, he resolved to investigate the issue himself.

It honestly hadn't even been his idea to come to Paris and figure out what was going on. His parents had encouraged him (aka threatened him) into leaving his vacation house in Greece and taking the long, annoying, dirty trip to Paris. Although, it wasn't as if he didn't care about Raoul. It was just that he would just as soon have his family's private investigators look into the issue, but it was "elder brother" this and "don't have the money" that. His parents wouldn't admit it, but they didn't exavtly have a lot of money in their coffers at the present. Too much gambling, too much pampering his reckless brother, and too much investing in "the arts." Philippe personally didn't see how either an ugly woman standing on a stage shrieking or a sculpture of a decapitated nude man could be considered "art."

One way or another, he was stuck with the task of finding his brother and catching the man behind the years of extortion and the recent kidnappings at the opera house. He secretly enjoyed playing the role of P.I. and had already done the first few steps towards solving a case: finding out the basic information of the case, learning about the suspect, and speaking to witnesses. Although it was only two witnesses, it was a start. He would have spent more of the day talking with people around the opera house, but that would involve being inside the wretched place. So, he resolved to stop his work for the day and see what could be seen in Paris, maybe boosting his bad mood by going to some of the shops in the area which were said to be imressive. Naturally, as soon as he walked out the door, he knew there was no salvaging his positive adittiude. The pouring rain washed away all hope of cheer.

(Neautral POV)

A man entered the store. This was enough to draw the attention of the shopkeeper. He looked up from the paper which proclaimed "VISCOUNT FOUND MISSING IN OPERAHOUSE," and examined the customer. He was a younger man, no older than 30. He had clear, pale complexion and long blonde hair. He wore a dark casual coat, although it might have just been soaked by the rain. The shopkeep hadn't been expecting any more customers for the day, and had just started relaxing when this peculiar fellow walked in. "Anything I can help ye with, monsieur?" he asked the man, who was glancing around the shop.

"Um, yes... I need some makeup."

The shopkeep sat up and spoke slowly, "Yes, that's usually what folks want when they come in here. This is a makeup shop." The man turned red, obviously becoming aware of how stupid he had just sounded.

"No, I mean..." the man glanced nervously out the window. "It's my daughter, monsieur. My daughter needs it rather severely. She's off in the shop on the other side of the street, and I don't want her to know what I'm doing. You see, she's very ugly due to a massive breakout her face has had recently. Unfortunately, at the same time a very handsome young man from a wealthy family is seeking her hand. He cannot see her face in this condition, monsieur! I need to completely remake it! Do you have any makeup that can disguise even the most hideous of deformities?"

"Aye, I do. But what exactly do you need, aside from some strong cover?" The man rattled off a long list of supplies. The shopkeep turned and went to the storeroom to retrieve as many of the items as he could remember, muttering to himself. He came back with his arms full, and laid the stuff on the counter. "Will this be all, sir?"

"Yes, for now. I'm rather worried, however, that this infection will remain for quite some time, so perhaps we shall see each other again?" The man fidgeted and glanced towards the door for the thousandth time. ahem The barkeep cleared his throat.

"Oh, yes! Money!" The man took out more than enough money in an instant, and placed it in the shopkeep's palm. He then resumed staring out the window. ... ... ...

"Your change, sir?"

"OH! CHANGE! I'll have some of that, sure... I mean..." the man smacked himself across the face. "I'm sorry, I'm rather on edge right now. You can keep the change, monsieur. I'll be on my way now." And so, faster than a hawk diving from the sky, the man took all the products up into his arms and bounded out the door.

The shopkeep sat back down, and flipped open the paper once again. "That's the third one this week," he muttered to himself. "Bloody rich men buying makeup for their 'wives' or 'daughters' or 'mistresses."

Bloody fairies, he thought.


Yay for drag queens! Again, sorry for stopping for so long. For those who just found this story a bit ago, sorry for making you wonder if it was abandoned. Hope you enjoyed the new bit, and don't worry: more romance is coming!