THE SONG OF THE OPERA GHOST
Chapter Two (Five regenerations later…) Rose yawned and stretched as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Mornin’ TARDIS,” she said smiling up at the ceiling. The TARDIS rumbled affectionately at her. “Is the Doctor in the console room?” she asked. The TARDIS was silent for a moment and then Rose heard laughing in her head. Rose smiled “What? What’s so funny?” Go to the console room. The TARDIS thought to her. “Why? What’s the Doctor doing now?” Just go and see. “Oh lord, now what is he up to?” Rose muttered, as she quickly got dressed. Rose heard him long before she reached the console room. He was singing in what sounded like Italian at the top of his lungs. Per montagne, per valloni, She walked into the console room. The Doctor was standing by the console singing off key to an opera CD. She noticed he was trying to sing the words dramatically and was failing miserably in the process. “Doctor,” she said walking over to him. Non piu avrai quei penacchini, “Doctor!” Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso, Rose gritted her teeth when he yelled out the last word in a high falsetto voice. “DOCTOR!” The Doctor sighed and turned to her. “What, Rose? I’m in the middle of The Marriage of Figaro here!” he said angrily. “Do ya have to scream it?” The Doctor gave her an indignant look. “I am not screaming, I am being dramatic,” he said. “No, Doctor, you are screaming. And you’re so loud I can hear you halfway to my room!” The Doctor sighed, turned off the CD, and ejected it from his player. “Well, I’m sorry if my Mozart CD is clashing with your Fergie CD,” he said to her. “I’m a huge fan of Mozart. The man was a genius and an extremely nice chap. He was a bit crazy at times, but, blimey, the man did know how to party. Shame he died so young. He was one of the greatest composers who ever lived. You need to listen to him, Rose. You need to appreciate true music instead of listening to Beyonce or Spice Girls or whatever it is you listen to. And Opera is an art form. One of the best things Earth ever came up with. There is nothing like sitting in a darkened Opera House listening to arias from Mozart or Puccini or Wagner. Gives me chills just thinking about it.” Rose groaned when she saw that look forming on his face. The 'wait a tic, I have a fantastic idea' look. “Rose Tyler, it’s time you had a little culture in your life,” he said punching in some coordinates. “You need to hear live opera and I know just the place to take you. The Académie Nationale de Musique - Théâtre de l’Opéra in Paris, France.” He glared at her when she groaned. “No groaning, Rose, you need to do this. Everyone needs to hear an opera at least once in their life and it’s high time you did just that. It won’t kill you to spend an evening listening to good music for a change. Now follow me and I’ll pick out something suitable for you to wear. Come on.” Rose sighed. “Why didn’t I just stay in bed today?” she muttered as she followed him. Joseph Buquet walked onto the stage and began to check that the props were in order for the performance of Don Giovanni later that night. As he worked, he got a funny feeling. A feeling he always got when he worked by himself, that feeling of being watched. He turned and his eyes drifted over to box five as they always did. He didn’t know why, but he always felt like someone was up there watching him. However, when he would go to check, there was never anyone there. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was keeping an eye on him while he was working. Of course, like everyone else he had heard the rumors of the Opera Ghost that haunted the opera house. He scoffed at that, thinking it was just superstitious nonsense. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Ghosts inhabited ghost stories and fairy tales, not real life. No, there had to be a more plausible explanation for this so-called ghost that people were seeing. Personally, he figured the only apparitions were the one caused by the wine, absinthe, and opium that most of the cast and crew indulged in. He had been high a few times and could attest that being that way caused you to see odd things, things that weren’t really there. As for the unexplained deaths of two of the crewmembers, one had fallen to his death from the catwalk onto the stage, a tragic but common mishap. The other was found hanging from his neck backstage. Another tragic death, but the man in question had just recently lost his wife and had been distraught. Joseph figured it was suicide that did him in, not some ghost. But the one thing in his mind that confirmed it wasn’t a ghost was the fact that someone had been sending letters to the managers demanding a monthly stipend, a quite substantial sum if the rumors were to be believed. He wasn’t the brightest man in the world, but a ghost who needed money seemed a bit strange. What threw him for a loop was the managers actually seemed to be falling for this idiotic extortion racket. How someone that scatterbrained gained control of a storied building like the Paris Opera House was beyond him. If brains weren’t a requirement to run it, then why didn’t they make him manager then? He finished checking the props and turned to walk offstage when suddenly he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see something moving up in box five. He narrowed his eyes. “Who’s there?” he yelled. Joseph sighed angrily when there was no answer. “Right, I’m getting to the bottom of this once and for all!” he said. “And if someone has been up there watching and trying to scare me, I’ll kill em myself!” He jumped off the stage and ran for the stairs leading up to the box seats. He flew up the stairs wanting to catch the person before they got away. He reached box five and flung open the door. Running in, he cursed when he saw it was empty. Sighing, he leaned against the doorway staring at the plush interior. “How stupid can you be, Joseph,” he muttered. “You’ve heard so many of these Opera Ghost rumors that now you’re imaging things that aren’t there. And here is what comes of it, running up the stairs and nearly giving yourself a heart attack chasing phantoms.” He closed the door and started to go down the hall towards the stairs. As he went down, he failed to see the door next to box five opening and a man wearing a black robe and cowl sticking his head out to look at him. The TARDIS powered down and the Doctor looked towards the back door. “Rose, you ready?” he yelled. “I guess so.” She came into the console room and the Doctor drew in his breath. She was wearing a blue dress with a white ruffled lace collar and puffy sleeves with white lace cuffs and a dark blue sash around her middle. Her hair was done up in a tight bun on the top of her head and she was wearing a small, dark blue hat with a blue bow. The Doctor was bowled over. “You look beautiful,” he said awed. Rose rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re going to add…for a human,” she said. “No, you look beautiful. Full stop.” Rose blushed. “Thanks,” she said. “What about you, what are you wearing?” “I think my tux will do for tonight,” the Doctor replied. “However, I’m going to wait till this evening to put it on. We’ve arrived several hours before the show so we can go out and look around. My brown suit will be alright, men are wearing suits at this point in time.” “I bet they aren’t wearing plimsols though,” Rose said pointing to his feet. The Doctor glanced down at them. “Eh, I’ll leave em. I’ve never been a slave to fashion anyway,” he said shrugging. “Got that right!” The Doctor eyed her. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” he said folding his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen some of the outfits you used to wear, Doctor,” Rose replied. “From what I can tell, you didn’t start dressing like a normal person until your last life.” The Doctor’s mouth dropped open. “I’ll have you know I looked absolutely stunning in those outfits!” he said angrily. “Yeah, stunning as in you stunned everybody you got around because they couldn’t believe a person would actually go out dressed like that in broad daylight.” She laughed and ran when the Doctor lunged at her.
Con le nevi, e i solioni,
Al concerto di tromboni,
Di bombarde, di cannoni,
Che le palle in tutti i tuoni,
All'orecchio fan fischiar.
Non piu avrai quel cappello
Non piu avrai quella chioma
Non piu avrai quell'aria brillante.
Notte e giorno d'intorno girando,
Delle belle turbando il riposo,
Narcisetto, Adoncino d'amooooooooooor.
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