ChristineDaae Christine - Tumblr Posts
Helen Draiz
I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.
CHAPTER 1
“Where on Earth are your shoes?” laughed the red haired maid who was hanging up the laundry to dry. “You know Madame Bisset will have a fit once she sees your feet!”
The woman with no shoes was none other than Helen Driaz. A fellow maid at the Opera Populaire who was too free spirited for her own good. She wiggled her toes in the wet grass, smiling. “Then let her have a fit Camille! Feeling the grass against my skin reminds me of home.”
Home.
Helen hadn’t been there in years since her brother died. They had always wanted to travel the world together and just a few months before they would be, he died. Most say it was an accident, while other’s thought it was a murder attempt.
Home was in the grassy meadows of the United States of America. Home was in a secluded area that not many people knew about, and that’s what she loved most about it.
Camille shook her head, wringing out another dress from the ballerinas before hanging it up to dry. “You should go back then if you miss it so much Helen,” she chuckled.
Helen hummed in response, helping Camille lift the dress over the string, clipping it in place. “If I return home then I’m afraid I might never travel again. And we can’t have that, now can we?” she replied, bumping hips with the younger girl.
The red curls framing Camille’s face bounced as she tried to regain her balance, softly laughing. “Then you should at least write more to your family. I’m sure they’re worried sick.”
Helen smiled, shaking her head. “No they’re not. They know Henry is looking after me.” she replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Camille sighed dreamily, leaning backwards into the brunette. “Henry,” she smirked, fanning herself.
Helen shook her head, chuckling. “Careful now, he is courting me.” she said, fanning the girl too.
Camille smiled, shaking her head as she stood straight up. “Surely he must mean to propose soon! You have been courting since you left America which was...how long ago?”
Helen smiled. “Nearing two years ago.”
“Two years!” gasped the girl, covering her mouth. “And he hasn’t even suggested it?”
The brunette rolled her eyes at the 18 year old. “Of course he has. He has suggested it a few times but it always becomes quiet afterwards.”
“He’s probably nervous Helen. All men get nervous before popping the question.”
Helen nodded. He often was nervous when he brought up the subject of marriage. The sweat that formed on his brow always proved the idea. But why would he be so nervous? They had been courting for nearly two years now and he already had her family’s blessing. So what was he waiting for?
“Mademoiselle Helen!” screeched an older woman in horror. “Where are your shoes?!”
Helen blushed, chuckling to herself. “They must have walked off Madame.”
Madame Bisset crossed her arms. “Walked off have they?” she retorted, looking around the yard. “You best find them young lady. Señora Carlotta has a tear in her dress, she would like you to fix it immediately.”
Camille hid her laughter behind her hand, shaking her head as Madame Bisset walked off cursing the brunette.
Helen curtseyed mockeringly, stifling her laughter behind her tightly closed lips. “I honestly haven’t the faintest clue on how I still work here.” she said before walking towards where she hid her shoes.
Camille chuckled, crouching down to lift the basket up. “Neither do I,” she replied, hoisting the basket up and balancing it on her hip as she walked over to Helen.
The brunette had just finished slipping on her black flats when Camille made it over to her, offering her an arm.
Helen gladly accepted the arm, walking up the stone steps to enter the Opera Populaire.
~-~-~
The needle pierced through the fabric as Carlotta yelled at the new managers. Turns out, she hadn’t just ripped her dress but her head piece as well. Helen sat on the sidelines, listening with a smirk as the managers began to grovel to the fierce redhead.
She stopped her foot in annoyance, spinning towards where Helen was situated, pouring herself a glass of water as the managers tripped over their own feet to try and keep up with her.
“Mr. Reyer!” called the shorter of the two managers. “Isn’t there a rather marvelous aria for Elisa in act three of Hannibal?”
Carlotta hummed, shaking her head no. “Yes, yes, but no! Because I have not my costume for act three because,” she turned around to face the seamstress in charge of her dress. “somebody not finish it!”
She then spun back to Helen, pointing to the headpiece. “And, I hate my hat!”
Helen chuckled, tying off the thread and finishing the sewing. She held it up in her hands, examining it. “I’ll see what I can do to fix it, sí?” Helen said, standing up and gently placing the headpiece back on her head.
Carlotta huffed, crossing her arms as she turned her attention back to the managers just in time for them to suggest she sing from the act.
Monsieur Reyer stood tall, a frown on his lips. “If my diva commands,” he said with annoyance.
Carlotta, with just as much annoyance, glared at him while she replied, “Yes! I do!”
Camille walked over to Helen and nudged her shoulder, pointing to Henry and waving to him as he set up his violin. He gave the two girls a grin, acknowledging them before Mr. Reyer began directing them.
Camille’s arms fell around Helen’s neck as she swayed with the music, Helen wrapping her hands around her friend’s arms as she watched Henry play with as much passion as the day they met.
Helen smiled, closing her eyes as she listened to the soft music and Carlotta’s, somewhat, decent voice.
She was at peace here. She never wanted to leave the opera house. This was her new home.
Screams filled the stage as a loud thud sounded throughout the auditorium. When Helen opened her eyes, she gasped, covering her mouth. The backdrop had fallen on top of Carlotta, pinning her to the ground.
She immediately stood up to help the distressed woman up from the ground. Once the backdrop was off her, Helen took a hold of her hands and helped her to her feet as the former manager yelled up to Joseph Buquet on what had happened.
“Are you alright?” she asked, flinching away when the soprano ripped her hands out of Helen’s.
“Senora, these things do happen,” a voice said, trying to soothe the diva from breaking down.
“For the past years, these things do happen! And did you stop them from happening? No!” she fumed, pointing to the former manager before spinning towards the new ones. “And you two! You are as bad as him! These things happen! Well until you stop these things from happening, this thing. Does not happen!”
She pushed past Helen and towards her own maid, storming off the stage, her husband, Piangi, following behind her.
Henry climbed onto the stage, leaving his violin behind to check on Helen. When he reached her, his hands rested on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Helen nodded, smiling softly at him. “Yes, I am fine. Are you okay?”
Henry nodded, a twinkle in his eyes as he hugged her. “Yes, I am fine.” he whispered, running his hands through her hair.
Helen smiled and hugged him back. He has always been so protective of her, claiming it was to keep her family sane. He hated to see even the faintest of a frown on her face, always ensuring that she was kept happy.
“-so Monsieur?” a gentle voice cut in through the argument. Madame Giry. “I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost.”
Henry pulled back, scoffing lightly. “This Opera Ghost is on the last of my nerves…” he grumbled to Helen, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.
Helen chuckled. “I think it’s entertaining.” she admitted, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.
“Christine Daae could sing it sir,” Madame Giry called to the bickering managers.
“A chorus girl?” questioned Monsieur Andre. “Don’t be silly.”
“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher, Monsieur.”
The manager became intrigued, turning to face the chorus girl fully. “Who?”
The blonde girl lowered her blue eyes before answering. “I do not know his name, Monsieur.”
Madame Giry rested a hand on Christine’s shoulder, brushing her blonde curls back. “Let her sing for you Monsieur. She has been taught well.”
Helen led Henry away from the center of the stage as Christine walked forward, her hands shaking from nerves.
“Get back to playing,” she whispered to him, kissing his cheek and helping him lower himself back into his seat.
Henry grinned and squeezed her hand once more before returning to his instrument to begin playing.
Helen watched the blonde woman shaking her nerves out before singing. It started off very soft, almost like she was singing under her breath but as she looked around to see the comforting smiles, her confidence grew. Along with her confidence, her voice grew louder, echoing throughout the auditorium.
By the looks the managers shared with one another, everyone knew who would be taking Carlotta’s place.
Christine Daae would be the leading soprano until Carlotta decided to return.
~-~-~
The opera was filled with a standing ovation as the blonde from earlier softened her voice, distinguishing the end of the song. The curtains closed as she bowed, resting her hand gently on her bosom. The cast and some other stage hands around cheered for her as she made her way off the stage.
Helen, however, was not so lucky to give the talented girl a standing ovation. She, instead, had been fixing another one of Carlotta’s dresses, muttering to herself, wishing she could be there to congratulate the 19 year old.
A knock sounded on the doorway and a familiar redhead peeked inside the crowded room. “You’re muttering again,” she pointed out, entering the room and lifting a hat to her head.
“I don’t mutter,” replied the brunette as she gently took the hat from Camille’s head.
Camille laughed, leaning back against the table. “Yes you do,” she replied, watching Helen work. “Henry wants to take you to supper.”
Helen looked up at the mention of Henry, a small smile tugging her lips. But that smile soon vanished when she looked down at the rip in the dress. It was nowhere near finished.
“Could you tell him perhaps another time?” she asked, looking up at her best friend. “Please?”
Camille shook her head. “Helen. Tonight could be the night.” she tutted, standing upright and taking the dress from her hands. “Go have dinner. Show me that diamond when you get back.”
Helen reached for the dress, shaking her head. “Camille. Please. I have to finish that before morning.”
Camille held the dress behind her back just as Helen stood from her seat. “I’ll finish it. You go have dinner.”
Helen raised her eyebrow, frowning at the 17 year old. “You? Sew?”
Camille faked a gasp of pain. “How dare you. I can sew.” she said, fighting back Helen’s reaching hands.
Helen laughed, shaking her head as she gave up, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine! You win!” she chuckled. “I’ll have dinner.”
Camille grinned, dropping the dress on the table behind her as she hugged Helen. “Bien (Good)!”
The red haired girl then took Helen’s hand and dragged her out of the sewing room towards their shared room. “We must find you a dress! He’s proposing!” Camille laughed.
Helen shook her head, following the eccentric girl. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, lifting her skirts up so she wouldn’t trip over them.
“I just have a feeling Helen!” she laughed, tossing the girl onto her bed before flinging open their closets, looking for the perfect dress.