I’ve always been a huge fan of the “Phantom of the Opera”. Here’s hoping I can do it justice once it’s been added to ponies :3
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Lights glittered from every surface as important ponies from all around gathered for the premier social event of the year: the Grand Galloping Gala. Anypony who was anypony received an invitation to attend and none but the most important were allowed into the spectacular festivities. It had grown even more prestigious once Princess Celestia had added two more days onto the celebration.
For months ahead of time, businesses all around had been hired out to fill the massive orders; ton upon ton of fancy cakes and hoof-foods, gallons of imported wines and cocktails. It seemed enough food to feed an army of refined ponies; it was just enough to last through the three nights of celebration. Artists all around, jugglers and dancers, tumblers and acrobats, singers and musicians, hoped that every knock at the door would bring the gilded request from the princess requesting their services for the event; each of these specially sealed parchment invitations would later be found framed and hung in a place of honor, a sight to be marveled at for generations to come. Even those who’d been skilled enough to previously entertain here found themselves honing their skills to ensure a return visit.
Ponies filed in, their invitations held high, their pride boosted by the ornate letters of one scrap of parchment. Soft music poured in from all around, the musicians had been cleverly hidden to allow the full pleasure of their talent without the inconvenience of finding a place large enough to host them all. One solitary mare had been placed within easy view of the elite attendees, a gray earth pony with a sleek black mane. She leaned over a large cello, deep, soul shaking notes poured out as the bow drifted, almost lazily, across the strings. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, this look somehow enhanced by the fact that, though her coat and mane were obviously well cared for, as was her instrument, she wore no finery in a room filled with lace and gilt trimmings. Many found themselves glancing between their outfits and those they’d arrived with, hoping that they didn’t somehow come across as shallow and pretentious.
Strings of lights had been stretched across the palace’s entry hall, in which Octavia stood, her music affecting all who entered. Each string was filled with lights of every color; they glistened and almost seemed to shimmer. Oranges and reds blended beautifully with violets and pinks to resemble a sunrise at one end of the room. This faded slowly into a deep blue, small patches of white lights spotted through here, a perfect midday sky. The lights continued their skilled arrangements, turning once more to the myriad of colors for a sunset before continuing to the deep ebony of a night sky along the ceiling’s edges. Vast windows allowed for the illusion’s success. As the lights faded to resemble the night, the walls formed a brief intermission before the real night began.
In the center of the hall stood a sweeping, grand staircase. The lights glittered off of its polished marble surface and seemed to bounce around the slowly rounding hoofrails along the edges. Glittering ribbons of ivory and gold had been hung from these, their movements in the slight breeze from outdoors only served to enhance their grandeur. A plush, red carpet had been carefully laid along the stairs, perfectly centered. It was molded into every crevice, every indentation of the stairs until it seemed almost painted on, until, that is, one was to step on it and realize what such beautifully-made, thick, soft fabric must be worth. Several ponies found themselves paling at the thought of dirtying something so beautiful with their hooves and took care to walk along the edges of the staircase so as to preserve its quality.
At the top of the stairs stood a larger than normal, majestic figure. Princess Celestia stood, her mane flowing gracefully through the air, though no wind served to move it. She smiled as each pony made their way past her into the grand halls of Canterlot Castle, eager to see more of the flaunted wealth they found in the entry. Each pony, regardless of their importance, found themselves making excuses to return to the staircase for another smile and hoofshake from the princess. She was only too happy to oblige; it made her happy to see her subjects enjoying themselves.
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A few hours into the celebration, a local performance group was scheduled to put on a show in the gardens. The Royal Canterlot Opera had been practicing for months to be ready for this show. It was their most important of the year and, seeing as complications had ruined their show the previous year, it seemed to be the only chance they had at remaining Equestria’s premier group.
Ponies rushed around in various states of dress. Costumes littered the ground and hung off of bushes and even other ponies. In the central garden, a small stage had been constructed and the stage hooves were now putting the finishing touches on the decorations and prop placements. The last knots were tied and the last trapdoor tested. Everything was in place… except for the star.
“What is the matter this time!” cried an irate Sun Runner. Her yellow coat had been brushed to a beautiful, glossy finish. Her orange and yellow swirled mane was still up in hair pins awaiting its arrangement for the first scene. Her wings, ribbons braided into the feathers, quickly flared out with her agitation. She looked around angrily, searching for someone to blame
for the delays. “How can I go on if my costume is not più eccellente? Do you want me to look like a fool? My mane is undone and you know what?” She picked up a brightly colored headpiece from the small vanity mirror in front of her. “I hate my hat!” She threw the offending clothing at a nearby stagehand who looked unsure how to react. She continued yelling and throwing things, completely unaware that everyone was slowly moving away from her.
“What now?” a weary looking pony, his coat streaked deeply with gray, pulled a hoof through his mane. “Why can things never go off without a hitch? Not once, I tell you.” He quickly dodged a flying hoofstool; his years of running the opera had made him quite adept at furniture dodging. “Coming Ms. Runner,” he yelled, scurrying to please the diva.
A figure stood in the shadows cast by the corner of the gardens’ walls watching the preparations. “Tsk, tsk. That used up excuse for a singer still leads the show? And I’ve asked so many times for auditions to be held. Perhaps it’s time I filed a complaint.” He spun, somehow moving into the stone construct he stood by. Even after he was gone an odd clanking noise could be heard, as if of metal repeatedly striking a hard surface.
One of the mares who had been rushing to prepare the event paused as she saw a glimmer of light in a corner. She moved to investigate and heard the repetitive collision of metal on stone. Shaking her head, she placed a hoof on one of the darker stones making up the wall. She pressed inwards and turned, effectively locking the door in place. “Not this year I’m afraid, old friend. We can’t have any interruptions this time.” A voice rang out over the din. “Coming monsieur,” yelled the slightly aged powder blue pony. She hurried away to attend to her duties.
‘I hope Trixie can manage her special effects alone tonight, I don’t think I’ll have the time to help her,’ Show Stopper thought as she saw the state of the ballerinas. Many had somehow managed to put their shoes on the wrong hooves, regardless of the fact that the hooves and shoes were all completely identical in shape. Their costumes were either inside out or bits and pieces were mixed up or strewn across the ground. “Pourquoi moi?” she repeated quietly as she tried untangling the mess her students had made trying to get ready.
Just off to the side of the mostly confused ballerinas stood two who had managed to put on their costumes with little help. “I hope tonight goes well,” said the white pegasus. Her mane’s green and red stripes were carefully brushed together, melding into a deep brown from a distance; the perfect complement to the shining gold and red to the outfit.
Her friend, another little known though quite capable dancer, Meg, paused in her stretches. “I’m sure it will. Sun Runner will give another spectacular performance and then tomorrow we can hear all about it… again and again and again.”
“And again and again and again,” giggled Dasher. She suddenly stretched her neck out and put her nose in the air, her voice sounding quite comical due to her half-hearted attempts at Sun’s accent. “Aren’t I seemply deevine? I only can hope that those lis-en-ning do not compliment me too much, for my hat size is much too beeg already!” The two mares leaned into each other as they started laughing.
Meg deepened her voice into a false tenor. “Ms. Runner, would you please sing again? The room has grown quite cold and I would enjoy some of the hot air you have so much of.”
“Why of course,” Dasher said between bursts of laughter, “just let me get my fan. I don’t think I can afford to replace this much makeup if I sweat it off right now.”
The two mares continued laughing, not noticing when Show Stopper stomped over to them. “Dites-moi s'il vous plaît, why neither of you are ready to go on yet?” She glared at the suddenly horrified dancers. “The show starts in THREE MINUTES, yet neither of you are even in the right part of the gardens!” They looked around and realized that the other dancers had already left; discarded pieces of costumes reattached and taken away. A small burst of noise could be heard not far away. “Two minutes,” Show Stopper said coldly.
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The first act of the performance went off, surprisingly, without a hitch. Sun Runner’s highly talented voice did wonders for la Carlotta, the lead of "Hannibal". As an intermission was called, three ponies stepped onto the stage. The first looked as though something had been pulling out great clumps of hair from his quickly graying coat. He cleared his throat and introduced the two unicorns behind him. The first was short and rather round, his brown coat brushed to a careful sheen and his black mane was cut short, though it was very curly. The other was a tall and thin with a light brown coat. His mane, straight and black, was cut slightly longer than his partner’s.
“As a few of you may know,” Barry Tone announced, his voice carrying easily over the gathered crowd, “I will be retiring as the opera’s manager.” A slight booing accompanied this. “But,” he continued, hushing the crowd, “these two fine gentlecolts have shown themselves to be competent, if unskilled, successors for me.” The two unicorns smiled at the dig as the audience applauded them. “They will,” the soon to be ex-manager said, “govern these fine musicians in my stead and hopefully will find as much success here as they did in the junk business which gave them the funds to assume ownership of this extremely talented group.”
The shorter of the unicorns scowled and said, rather too loudly, “It was scrap metal.”
Barry Tone ignored him and spoke on. “Monsieur Andre,” he gestured to the shorter of the two, “and Monsieur Firmin,” now to the taller one, “the new managers of the Royal Canterlot Opera!” He moved to leave them on the stage, a huge applause left in the wake of his announcement; whether from joy at the news or simply too much cider, nopony knew.
“Be careful monsieurs,” he said gravely, “lest he find you less than useful in running his opera.”
“His opera?” the two unicorns said in unison.
“What do you mean his?” asked Andre, looking angry.
“And who is he?” demanded Firmin.
“You have not heard? Well then, you shall meet him soon.” He tried to leave but the new managers stood in his way.
“What in Celestia’s name are you talking about?”
“I am sorry monsieurs, it is not my place to say. I would sooner stick my head in a snake’s den then risk his anger – I at least have a chance to survive that act of stupidity.” Barry Tone kept his voice low to avoid dragging the audience into things. “You will learn soon, that much I can tell you, but now I must be off. Remember gentlecolts, this is his opera- have no delusions on that.”
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A dark figure moved amongst the upper levels of the stage. He swung rope to rope seemingly without effort, landing each time with a very light sound- reminiscent, in all but volume, of a hammer striking a nail. On a row of wooden platforms hung below him, dozens of ropes were tied; some were attached to levers, others tied directly to the railing. Suspended from these were sandbags and lights of incredible weight. Wires ran along the ropes to the lights, all connecting at a small metal box, covered in switches, on the central platform. The figure eyed this for a moment before shaking his head and moving on.
The second act of the show was now underway and Sun Runner stood at the center of the stage, her voice wavering in a perfect vibrato. She strutted around the stage, as though giving a halfhearted attempt to acting out her part. All across the stage ranged dancers and other singers, all twirling and responding to cues in the music. An elephant stood near the back, pretending to be the source of the noise of the lower brass instruments played by the orchestra.
The stallion shook his head. “A mere trifle of skill and she thinks herself a Muse. She will find- soon I’m sure- that she is merely another Icarus. She struts around the stage like an overly pampered tom-cat. Let’s see what can be done to, ah, give her incentive to better herself.”
A lever on one of the platforms below glowed in a soft green light; a twin of a small glowing circle around the figure’s head. He wore a slim white mask that hid all of his face except his eyes and mouth. The mask was sculpted perfectly to resemble a normal equine face, but for the fact that it was deathly pale. A black cloak rested on his back, hiding his entire figure except where it neared his mask. Here, a short crop of dark brown mane showed; catching the little light around it and reflecting it back in its glossy mahogany depths. His eyes, a deep cerulean, seemed empty, devoid of being as he concentrated on the task at hand. The lever slid silently into place, releasing a rope. There was a slight whirring as the rope slid through a series of pulleys; a set of boards on the stage below falling open. The trapdoor swung open just as Sun Runner moved above it. The audience gasped as she began to fall. Her wings flared out, catching her mere inches from striking the edge of the hole face first. She quickly flew out of the hole and lay on the planks beside it- gasping- her eyes wide with fear.
“Mademoiselle! Are you all right?” Firmin asked as he jumped onto the stage. His partner arrived mere seconds later.
“What happened?” Andre asked, sweat running down his round face due to his mad scramble to the stage.
She rounded on her new managers angrily. “I’ll tell you what ‘appened!” she cried, “These things, they always ‘appen!” She pointed a hoof at an entrance to the garden where the form of Barry Tone could be seen scurrying away. “’E said the same thing! But did he ever try to stop them? No! They continued ‘appening and they still ‘appen now! You two are as bad as him!” She stood and walked off of the stage, careful to keep an eye out for anymore sudden surprises in the floor.
The crowd murmured uneasily as the diva stomped offstage. The two unicorns left to clean up the mess remained onstage, sweating nervously as they faced the massive crowd before them. “Ehem, well then,” said Firmin as he scratched at his neck, “we seem to be having some difficulties. In the meantime, we would like to present to you the ballet from scene eight. Ah, maestro?” He waved frantically at the pony leading the orchestra who angrily repeated the orders to his musicians.
The two unicorns went behind the curtains just as they were opening to reveal the scene in mid-change. Stagehooves and technicians rushed around frantically to move the oversized props, while the dancers had already begun their ballet, much to the stagehooves’ dismay. Amid the ensuing collisions, a gray mare from the background of one of the earlier scenes danced onto the stage. She stumbled around frequently- her eyes stayed crossed – causing as many collisions as the other dancers combined.
“What happened?” demanded Andre angrily, looking at a lightly bearded pony who stood on the platforms.
“I don’t know, sir! I swear on Luna’s name, I don’t know! I left my post for a minute and when I came back one of these levers had been pulled.” He took a drink from a large, opaque bottle sitting by his hooves. “I got a little thirsty.”
“Filthy drunk,” Andre exclaimed angrily as he and Firmin walked away. “Now what are we going to do? They expect a show and if this goes poorly not only will we be ruined, but the entire opera is likely to be ruined as well!”
“Dasher could do it,” came a feminine voice to the side. The managers whirled and saw the aging ballet instructor, Show Stopper, standing with her leg around one of her dancers. “She may not look like much, but she has a good voice and an excellent teacher.”
The music for the unplanned dance was coming to an end. “Fine, fine,” Firmin snarled, “but you’d better not be wasting our time. We need to find a replacement for our diva!”
“I promise you monseiurs, I do not spend time idly.” The aging mare turned to the white pegasus beside her. “Go on. Sing.”
Dasher closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She seemed to settle, like a tree when the wind stills. Her mouth parted slightly and she began singing softly.
“This is absurd,” Firmin said angrily, “I can’t even hear her. What about those in the back?”
“Give her a moment.” Show Stopper held a hoof in front of the agitated unicorn. “You will see.”
Her singing slowly grew louder, building on itself as it went. When it was loud enough for them to easily hear, her voice was clear and unwavering, like the ringing of a small crystal bell. Andre and Firmin smiled hopefully.
“She’s still far too quiet though,” grumbled Andre. Show Stopper glared at him and cut him off with a quick hoof to the ribs.
Dasher continued singing louder and louder, her voice rising with the imagined orchestra- it seemed that one could almost hear an orchestral accompaniment behind her voice. It grew greater and greater, her voice ringing out, the words falling upon those around her like sweet drops of life-giving rain. Still she stood, unmoving, her eyes closed, her face expressionless. The stagehooves stopped rushing around as they heard her, tears filling their eyes as they listened to the song.
Suddenly, she stopped. The ponies around her breathed in, realizing they’d been holding their breath as they listened. They looked at her in shock, she had been with the opera for most of her life, but nopony had ever heard her sing; even more, they’d never heard anypony sing like that. She smiled awkwardly, realizing how many had been listening to her. A light echoing clap could be heard coming from somewhere in a corner of the garden away from the fervent activity of the show. As it fell upon the assembled ponies they too began clapping their hooves together.
“I do believe that she’ll do quite nicely,” Firmin said, looking at the blushing mare. “Do you know the songs in this opera?” She nodded quickly.
“Yes, I was one of the dancers so I was at all of the rehearsals and I was onstage for many of the songs.” She looked at the three ponies before her. “Should I go get into costume then or-”
“Yes! Yes! By all means, GO! We can’t afford for you not to do this!” Firmin shooed her towards the dressing room, “don’t come out until you look as beautiful as you sing – the audience will find it worth the wait.”
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The lone pony watched as his prodigy sang for the fools who had taken command of his opera. “A touch higher there, not enough breath to properly sustain that note… she still has much to learn, though she had come far.” He smiled, remembering the young filly he’d approached. She’d reminded him of himself when he was young: alone and abandoned – though he’d been through far more than she ever could.
She finished singing. “Bravo my dear, bravo.” He began clapping his hooves together slowly. She’d never received much praise from him, not without criticism, though on several occasions she’d done much better than he’d expected she could and all he could respond with was this slow clap. She would recognize it, he was sure.
As he watched, she gave a slight twitch when the sound reached her. He smiled, she knew he was watching. She was smart, she probably realized that he had caused the trapdoor to open as well, but she wouldn’t mind, not after this success and praise she was receiving. He sighed; it would be worth the added effort she would take to critique to see her onstage now. In the meantime, he had more preparations to make- letters to draft, music to write, fail-safes to build – he would have time to watch her, but only if he hurried his plans.
As the shadowed unicorn passed into a door hidden in the wall behind him, a sudden draft shifted his cloak revealing three golden gears on his flank. He took another step and they fell back beneath the black folds of cloth. An eerie humming emanated from the doorway as it closed, sweet and clear as an angel’s voice, but dark and hidden as the devil’s. It seemed to hang in the air after he left, a sound of wisdom, of the knowledge held by darkness to be learned by those daring enough to brave its depth. As the last note finally fell, the garden seemed to darken, though in an almost unnoticeable way, as though life, rather than light, had been removed.
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Please note that any OC’s I borrowed for this are acting, as far as I know, completely OOC. They were not made for these parts; I just threw their faces onto the ponies playing these parts.
Sun Runner belongs to NowImTaken, an ‘old’ reader of mine, back from the days of “Business is Boomin”. (Sun Runner appeared in that one as well… yeah, she died in it, but who’s counting?) [Also, I apologize for her accent, I’m not entirely sure how to write with Carlotta’s accent (for those of you who don’t know, Carlotta is a character in the Phantom of the Opera who Sun Runner is playing)]
Dasher is a ponysona of DJ Dasher… I have nothing more to say yet I insist on typing something here.
Show Stopper and Barry Tone don’t really belong to anypony; I just threw them together for this… so actually, they’re mine, I guess…. They’re fired when this is over
I can’t remember who owns Phantom of the Opera but I’m willing to bet that this will never get back to them in any way, so I’m sure it doesn’t matter too much if I don’t give them their full credit. (The for the record, I’m giving them credit) They also get credit for Andre and Firmin who are sad attempts at ponifying characters from a French novel from the late 19th early 20th century.
