Chapter One
Mr. Mistoffelees
AN: Yes.This IS one of those crazy self-insert phics. Waddaya gonna do about it? Please excuse the inside jokes, it will get better, I swear it. So. I'd like to thank my beta/grammar nazi WastedxOpportunity aka Kimberly. She has an amazing POTO/Cats crossover. Go look. I order you. /end advertisement
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO anymore than I own the straightjacket I strapped in.
The teenager sighed. "And why can't they give musicals a separate section from movie and TV soundtracks?" She pawed through the discs, clumsily pushing past the soundtrack for Carrots Attack.
"Aha!" cried Jordan exultantly, reaching for the Cats CD. "Found it at last!"
"Mine!" piped up a voice, snatching the disc.
"Hey!" Jordan snapped, glaring at the thief. "That's the last one on sale–Kimberly?" She stared at the familiar face of her fellow phan and email buddy...who appeared to be dressed as one of the Jellicle Cats.
"Hello, Masque," Kimberly replied, grinning blithesomely.
"Squee!"
Kimberly found herself the victim of a hug. Jordie found herself the victim of Kimberly's spiked collar.
"Air...air!"
"Oh! Sorry."
"I'll live."
"Shopping!" Jordan commented randomly.
"...'Scuse me?"
"Let's go shopping!"
"...Okay..."
And so Jordie dragged her pal to the checkout line, and then into the rest of the mall.
Six shopping bags later, the duo found themselves sitting in the food court, nibbling on french fries.
"So...what are you doing in Boringsville, California, oh oddest chum o' mine?" Jordan inquired.
"Well," her comrade began. "I'm here because in the real world, you needed a plot device for a story, and I suggested using myself as one."
"Oh. Okay." Munch. Munch. "Plot device for what?"
"I don't know."
Kimberly's backpack started to sway. The two girls gazed at it languidly.
"Your pack is moving."
"I can see that, Masque. Thank you for stating the obvious."
"No need to be snooty. I'm older than you. Show respect for your elders."
The pack started rolling towards the edge of the table.
"What does age have to do with–"
"Way back before ye were a twinkle in yer mama's eye, I 'ad to crawl to the daycare and back 'ome again in just a nappy made o' sabertooth tiger skin, in the snow, both ways, while me mama and pop were out huntin' fer woolly mammoths, ye young whippersnapper, ye!"
The backpack fell to the floor.
"Oh, now you're just being silly–"
"Get me out of this bag!"
"Your pack just talked."
"I heard."
Jordie oh-so-gently picked up the talking baggage, and oh-so-carefully opened it.
A little black cat hopped out, and jumped onto the table.
"Presto!" he said.
"It's Mr. Mistoffelees!" Kimberly squealed, eyes glazing over in joy. She rapturously pulled the adorable cat into her arms. He purred, snuggling against the girl.
"Can I see him?" cooed Jordan, reaching out.
"No! He's mine!"
"But–"
"He likes me best!"
"But–"
"Mine! My own! My preciousssss..."
"But can't I just pet him?" Jordan reached out again.
As it so happened, Misto did not want to see Jordie at all. And he told her so, with a very sparkly magic trick.
Zappyfrytobits!
"Aaaaaaiiiieeee!"
Today, Erik mused, was not a good day to get out of bed...coffin...bed. First, he'd realized that he hadn't eaten in seven days. And, as everyone knows, going seven days without food makes one weak. So, he'd tried to cook himself a piece of toast. And he'd burnt it.
Second, he sighed, stretching sore shoulders, he'd run out of ink in the middle of writing a note to the management. So off he'd slunk to steal a bottle from Pierre-the-violinist. But it was a different shade of red, which made his note very unprofessional-looking. And then, that daroga had visited, trying to be all buddy-buddy, as he had every week since she'd left six months ago.
A bell jangled by the front door. The Phantom ignored it, scribbling down another line of lyrics.
Another bell jangled. Someone was wandering through the labyrinth of cellars beneath his opera house. Erik groaned, sinking his face–mask–into his long, skeletal hands.
"Leave me alone!" he murmured. "Why can't anyone leave poor old Erik alone? All he wants is peace!"
Jingle, jangle. The trespasser was by the lake.
"Let me be!"
Jingle, jangle. The trespasser was ringing the bell by the lake.
"If it's that miserable Persian again..." He stood, swept his cloak around his shoulders, put on his hat, and made way for his boat.
There was a man, cast in shadows, standing on the dock. Erik poled the gondola closer, witch-fire eyes glaring.
"Daroga?"
"No..." It was the shade.
"Oh. What do you want?"
The shade shifted slightly, and Erik realized that the man was holding a body.
"I found this young girl, sleeping soundly in the fourth cellar. The fourth cellar, if memory serves, is your territory."
Uneasiness flickered in the back of the Phantom's mind. "All of the cellars are Erik's territory. All of the opera house is Erik's territory. And it is your job to make sure people stay in the upper levels of Erik's territory, namely, the opera, and that they do not stray into the cellars."
"What I meant is: it's my job that they do not roam below the third cellar. If they make it into the fourth or fifth, it's your problem to deal with. So this lass is your problem." The shade brusquely dropped the body into the gondola, causing the vessel to dip low. The child stirred, and grumbled softly.
"What am I supposed to do with her?"
"Strangle her, as it seems to be your speciality. Or keep her." The shade tipped his cap mockingly and ambled away.
Erik regarded the girl helplessly. Definitely not a good day to get out of bed.