#fem!logan

The first thing she saw was the backstage team carrying far more props than they could reasonably hold, inevitably dropping them all over the place. She quickly moved to pick up some of the more breakable ones, before speaking to one of the young men.

“Monsieur, what is going on, I thought I said all the props were to be tidied away?”

“There’s no space for them, Madame, we tried and tried but they couldn’t all fit, so we’re just putting them outside round the back for now -“

“But these scarves are silk, and it looks like rain!” she protested. 

“They must be put back in the cupboard at once!” 

The lad shrugged, before nonchalantly turning around and shuffling towards backstage. Logan had not been in the building two minutes and she already wanted to tear out large strands of her hair. 

She waded through the sea of props towards the stage, intending to briefly check on the singers rehearsing before going to do her actual job of teaching the dancers. When she opened the auditorium door, instead of gorgeous opera singing she instead heard the unmistakable sound of a woman crying, the loud, heaving sobs filling the entire room. It did not take her long to find the source, though she could have reliably guessed it.  

Virgil Giudicelli, the infamous soprano who sang at the Opéra Populaire, their ticket sales having more than doubled from the moment she so courteously agreed to grace them with her flawless soprano voice, stood centre stage in an ornate purple dress, blowing her nose on a handkerchief someone had handed her as her dark eyeshadow ran all down her face. Some of the dancers were watching this display with expressions of curiosity, though not without a hint of mild terror.

Logan fought back from sighing the biggest sigh she had ever sighed, was itching to ask her what on earth the matter was this time and tell her to pull herself together, however instead she bit her tongue and forced a sympathetic smile. 

“Signora, please tell me what ails you?” 

“Thank goodness you are here, Giry, you will bring these utter idiots into line, I am sure!” she ranted as Logan ascended the last of the steps to the stage. 

With great effort of will she kept her pleasant demeanour.

“I will do my best, however I cannot help you if I do not know what the matter is,” Logan said kindly. 

“It is the nitwits in your costume department!”

“This is not actually my theatre,” fell out of her mouth before she could stop herself. 

Virgil did not seem to have heard her anyway. “I asked for purple sapphires on the trim of my dress, and they have added amethysts. Everyone knows that is bad luck!” 

Logan had never heard anyone say that in her entire life. 

“Though I can hardly imagine how that must distress you, I am afraid it cannot be fixed before tonight. But who could care with a voice like yours? I am sure everyone will be far too mesmerised by your singing to look at the details of your dress! Only imagine how impressed our new owners will be when they walk through that door and the first thing they hear is you singing,” Logan drawled in a desperate attempt to get her to return to rehearsing with her fellow cast. 

“You flatter me, Madame, and perhaps there is even an element of truth in what you have said. Alright, I shall -“

“Signora, look out!”

Logan noticed the great red stage curtain falling from above them and shoved Virgil to one side, her sharp reflexes the only thing saving the singer from a nasty injury or worse.  She screamed, once in terror and then again in outrage as she lifted the curtain up, ducking under to rejoin Logan on the audience side. 

The ballet mistress heard a few whispers of “it’s the ghost,” or “the Phantom must have done it,” no doubt coming from the dancers who had witnessed the incident.

“This is completely unacceptable!” Virgil screeched. Logan wasn’t entirely sure who this was directed at. 

“Giry, you need to fix this!”That answered her question.  

“Signora, I’m just the ballet mistress, I’ve been helping run the theatre in the interim. I don’t see what I can do about this, I can tell them to be more careful -“

“It’s not the nitwits up there! You’ve worked here for years, Madame, you must have heard the legends -“

“That mere idea is preposterous,” Logan dared to interrupt her. 

“I know you’re not a fool. You know just as well as I do something queer is happening in this theatre, something that isn’t natural. It needs to be dealt with,” she almost hissed, her hand shaking slightly as she jabbed a finger at Logan.

“Until that happens, this does not happen!” she declared, before flouncing off the stage. Madame Giry had no doubts she would come back before the show later that night - this was not the first time, nor, regrettably, would it be the last. Logan could only hope she knew her lines, for she doubted they would see Virgil again in rehearsal today… 

She was distracted from her thoughts by someone clearing his throat in the audience. She turned to see two men dressed like the height of fashion. The man on the left removed his tinted spectacles to address her. 

“Bonjour, Madame, my greatest apologies if this is a bad time, but you must allow me to introduce myself.”

She simply dreaded to think how long they had been stood there watching. Logan was not prone to the vapours, but even she felt a little queasy knowing that, as well as the utter chaos happening in the foyer and the curtain nearly injuring a performer, the new owners had just witnessed the lead soprano storm out of the theatre in outrage. 

“I am Monsieur Remy Firmin and this is Monsieur Dice André. We are the new owners of the Paris Opéra Populaire. And who might you be, Madame?” 

“A thousand apologies for the state you find us in, Messieurs. My name is Logan Giry, I teach ballet here.” 

As she spoke Logan had rushed to meet them in the auditorium. M. Firmin now bent down and kissed the back of her right hand, as was polite. 

“A real pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame.”

“Might I venture to ask what is happening here?” M. André put in. “It seems your lead soprano has done a runner on you!” 

If Logan didn’t want to avoid tempting fate, she would ask how this could possibly get any worse. Maintaining her composure, though she knew not how, she responded, “Signora Giudicelli is a real talent to behold, but there is always a price to pay when working with such high-profile stars, they are anxious to have things done a certain way. We are not unused to this, I am sure she will return before the opening show tonight, have no fear Messieurs.”

But Logan was saved the humiliation of listening to M. André’s response by the arrival of two more men in the room. Both with the same piercing green eyes, they wore pristine tailcoats and matching cravats. The man who wore the red cravat had tied it a good deal neater and was clean shaven, while the one with the green cravat had a thick brown moustache and a shock of premature white in his hair. These were, respectively, the Vicompte and Duc de Chagny, Remus having been bestowed with the more distinguished title of Duke due to his being born seven minutes earlier. Messieurs Firmin and André beamed at them. 

“Madame, it is an honour to present to you our donateurs, the Vicompte and Duc de Chagny.”

Logan dropped into a low curtsey as both men introduced themselves to her. As all the expected formalities were exchanged, Logan hoped that neither man remarked the perspiration on her hands. 

The five stood staring at each other, not one of them having the faintest clue what to say until the Duc broke the silence. 

“So, who’s the lady outside with all the luggage, looking like she’s moving out?”

The Vicompte shot him a sharp glare. Logan wanted to combust there on the spot. So Virgil really had been serious this time in her talk of leaving the opera house. 

It was not often that Logan was wrong, though it was bound to happen once in a while. And this really was an unfortunate time for it to happen. 

“Seriously, who is this diva, does no one know?” the Duc continued, completely oblivious to his brother’s checking of his manners. Logan tried to talk, but her words caught in her throat. M. André stepped in. 

“I believe you must refer to Virgil Giudicelli, the lead soprano, who, it now seems, is certainly not coming back.” 

The man’s harsh stare caused Logan to practically fold in on herself.

“What is to be done, Madame Giry? Should we cancel the show immediately? Refund all the tickets? If that is our course of action, we must make haste about it.”

Impossible. Logan knew for certain that the opera house could not afford that. 

“Hold on just a moment, my good man, is there not an understudy who can fill the role?” Roman (the Vicompte) suggested.

M. Firmin laughed out loud. “An understudy? For Virgil Giudicelli? If you would like to try and find one, my dear fellow!” 

It was true. There was no understudy. No one else could fill that role in time. Unless… 

“Then what is to be done about this mess? I declare I feel a fit of the vapours coming on.” Remy Firmin began to hyperventilate, clutching one of the theatre seats for support.

“I have an idea.” Logan’s clear voice cut through the fast descent of the men into hysterics. 

“If you will excuse me for a moment, s’il vous plait.” 

—-

The twenty five ballet dancers who lived, practised and worked at the opera house had been listening to this entire exchange, lined up with their ears against the curtain. Most of their whispering consisted of exclamations of utter disbelief that Nobility was present, here in the Opéra Populaire! A Duc, and a Vicompte too! 

One young woman was more shocked than all the rest of her peers. Twenty-one-year-old Patton Daaé wore a pale blue romantic tutu skirt, slightly nicer than most of the others’ costumes as she had been due to perform a solo. She had very dark hair in long, shiny ringlets, as well as very dark eyebrows and brown eyes that shone with the joy of, after all these years, hearing once again the voice of her childhood best friends, especially Roman was most dear to her heart. She turned to beam at her friend next to her.

“Emile, I know them both!”

“You do?” she said, a little too loud, causing Patton to press her finger to her friend’s lips. 

“Yes, we played together as children.”

“Perhaps he shall spot you when we perform later!”

“If we perform.”

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it…” Emile gave a disappointed sigh. 

“No. And besides, it was all so long ago, I doubt they would recognise me…”

Logan tutted and shook her head when she saw what they were doing. As soon as they took notice of their Mistress, the entire troupe gathered around her, standing in fifth position, awaiting her instruction as though they were still performing later, giving no indication that they had heard the conversation which had just occurred. Logan did not find it difficult to join in on the act.

“My students, there is much to do before the performance tonight. There has been a … change of plans regarding the singers’ rehearsal so we now have the stage to ourselves. Let us begin with the big number in Act Three. Take your places, please, make haste. Monsieur, raise the curtain, please!” she called to the workers in the rafters who operated the lights and such. 

She knew her dancers would do her proud, hopefully in seeing the ballet the new owners and their sponsors would realise not every part of the show had been destined to be a complete disaster. She confessed to being a little disappointed when, as the curtain rose, she saw the Duc and Vicompte had left already. Still, she could show Firmin and André she wasn’t a total failure. 

“From the top, everyone! Apart from you, Patton. I’d like to talk to you a moment.” 

Patton looked shocked, but followed her nonetheless into one of the wings. 

“Madame,” she began, “I really was shocked to hear you say to Signora Giudicelli that you’re “just” the ballet mistress. You really didn’t have to do all this, tidying the theatre, running the accounts - I’m not sure the theatre’s finances would still be afloat if it weren’t for you! Everyone should appreciate you more.”

“That is very kind of you, Patton, but there are more pressing matters at hand,” said Logan swiftly. “I understand from what you just said that you heard the conversation that just transpired between me and our… new owners?”

“Yes, I must admit we were listening… Madame Giry, what is your great idea?” Patton stared at her as though she held all the wisdom in the world.

“My child, pray do not be nervous when I say what I am about to say, but give it serious consideration. I have heard you time and time again singing around the theatre, and I know you possess a lovely voice.”

Patton’s face fell, quickly turning pale as she realised what she was about to be asked. 

“I understand you have also been receiving singing tuition in your free time?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“From whom?”

For the first time in the conversation, Patton lost eye contact with her teacher.

“I do not know the name, Madame,” she mumbled, staring at the floor. 

“Look, it does not matter. I know you are capable of this, Patton.” 

She had never tried to sing any of Signora’s songs, that would be incredibly disrespectful to such a great star. But she had sung other songs that were in a similar sort of range, and she knew the opera they were rehearsing by heart from having heard it so much. She didn’t doubt that she could achieve the notes required for the role if she gave it a try. But she was no Prima Donna, she was merely a chorus girl! Lucky to even be that after having been orphaned at age seven.

“I’m not good enough, Madame, I’ll only disappoint you.”

“Now that is an utter falsehood. I’ve heard you.“ 

Logan realised she had been taking the wrong approach. But she wasn’t going to give in. 

“Patton, if you cannot do this for yourself, could you please do it for me? If this show fails, it is highly likely that the new owners will dismiss me from my post, we’ll be forced to refund everyone, it may just bring the Opéra Populaire to ruin. Please come with me and sing for the owners. It would only be until we can find someone else, if you truly do not wish it.” 

After hearing this, Patton did not hesitate. “Fine, Madame. For you. I don’t like the thought of all those people looking only at me.” 

Logan could not help but sigh with relief. “You truly have a good heart, Patton. Now come with me.” 

——

Both women took a deep breath before they stepped out into the auditorium, Patton clinging to Logan’s arm. 

“Splendid ballet, Madame!” said M. Firmin, smiling at her across the room.

“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur,” Logan replied. “Allow me to present Mademoiselle Patton Daaé. She had singing lessons in her youth and I know she has competency enough to take on this role.”

M. André stared at Patton over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Logan felt her student’s grip on her arm tighten. 

“No relation, I assume, to the late pianist?” André asked. 

Patton smiled and let go of Logan’s arm. “He was my father. Did you know him?”

“I knew of him, though I’m sad to say we never met. Was it he who taught you to sing?”

“Yes,” was what Patton thought Madame Giry would want her to say. 

“If you don’t mind, Mademoiselle, we would all like to hear you before we make our final decision.”

“What about the Aria from Act Two?” Logan suggested, both to Patton and to the orchestra seated below the stage. 

“Yes, Madame.” Patton nodded and moved up the stairs, where her fellow dancers were just finishing their number. The two owners clapped enthusiastically. 

“Well done, all of you, take a break for a few minutes!” said Logan, smiling genuinely for the first time all morning. 

The dancers ran off in all directions and, for the first time ever, Patton was alone on the opera house stage. It had never seemed so big. 

It was sort of true that Patton’s father had taught her to sing. Every evening in their terraced house on the other side of the Seine, M. Daaé would play songs on his piano and his young daughter, sometimes the Duc and the Vicompte as well, would sing along with him. 

Not anymore though. Nowadays she only sang when she was alone, taking refuge in a small room deep in the lower levels of the theatre, doing her best to remember her father and the songs they used to sing together, though the memory of his soft baritone voice grew more distant with each year of Patton’s life that went by. 

She had thought, at least, that she was alone in that room. Nonetheless an audience of three was the largest she had ever had before, and as she began the first note she hoped the owners did not notice her legs shaking underneath her tutu skirt. 

As the song went on, Patton’s nerves dissipated a little. She began to think less about singing the notes, and more about telling the story, even adding a little flourish on the last note that was not written in the score. When the music finished, she left the stage immediately, before the owners had even finished their applause, unused to that feeling of being watched. She could only hope she had done enough.

“Madame, she is simply marvellous!” Firmin exclaimed. “She must be cast! We will have our show after all!” 

She must have done alright, then. 

—— 

Later that night, Patton was surrounded by friends all whispering “bonne chance” to her as they added the final touches to her attire. A beautiful white dress which trailed behind her on the floor. Emile and Madame Giry had done her hair and makeup. She felt like royalty. She must be dreaming. She was on in two minutes. 

——

Up in the heavens of the theatre, in the box closest to the stage, sat the Duc and the Vicompte. Roman gasped as Patton walked out onto the stage, recognising her instantly by her thick dark curls, the likes of which he had never seen since. He had often thought about his childhood friend, wished to find her again, though in his head she was still the little girl he used to play with. He hadn’t thought about the fact she’d be a woman now. An incredibly capable one, he thought as she started to sing. As soon as he heard her voice, Remus was shaking his brother’s shoulders. 

“Ro, Ro! Do you recognise who that is?”

“Yes, Remus, calm down!” he shook his head, sighing fondly. 

“Oh, I am so endlessly glad that diva decided to walk out! Go Patton!” he almost shouted. Luckily she did not hear, for it would have startled her to the point of putting her off singing. 

“Shush, Remus!” Roman hissed, aware of the stares they were receiving from the box next to them.

“You can tell her how proud you are after the show. We’ll go to meet her and formally re-introduce ourselves. For she may not remember us, but I remember her.”

Hope you enjoyed!! I have the whole thing planned out so If u wanna read more yell at me and I’ll write more