Erik had been watching from one of his many spots within his Opera House, minding the progress of the practice and only mildly approving. There was much work to be done as the chorus messily filed onto the stage, their singing interrupted by the crass tones of one Joseph Buquet. Erik had a distaste for the drunkard, his antics were distracting to the cast, and his work shoddy. He was too nosy, and if he found him in the lower tiers again he might just find himself unable to muscle his way out of trouble.

The interruption to the rehearsal made him wince behind his mask as he slipped from his little corner of shadows to lean over the edge of the nearest catwalk. Pity was not something Erik often exercised, and today was little different. He was more angry at the interruption and then he saw the man striking one of the new waifs.

The entire situation was unacceptable, and a quick glance over gave Erik the necessary inspiration. With a deft pluck of the rope, a hefty sandbag went plummeting for the man as he stumbled forward. The girl, pitiful thing she was, was crawling away and the exacting measure of the timing, like fingers upon a keyboard really, meant that the sack delivered a withering, glancing blow that sent Buquet howling to the floor at Jacqueline's feet, clutching at his bleeding skull.