Opera House Wars
Episode II:
The Phantom Menace Strikes Back!!!!!
Erik plotted sneakily in his lair. He giggled maniacally, and exclaimed with five exclamation points!!!!! Sure his previous schemes had not gone quite as well as he had intended, but this one…Oh they would all run in horror! He was getting quite proficient, if unsuccessful, in the art of being an operatic terrorist. His first attempt at terror had been to release a plague of rats upon the opera house by murdering the rat catcher. This backfired however, because no one really missed Buquet, and now the sopranos hit their high notes even higher every time a rat ran past. Then there was the time he sent everyone very stern notes. He could have sworn a harsh memo would have made them shiver to the spine, but no. They just stood around harmonizing about it. Dropping a chandelier onstage in the middle of a performance should have been a disaster beyond their wildest dreams, but it didn't even make it into the film version of the events that transpired!
Sadly he hadn't even managed to properly kill Piangi. He vastly underestimated the girth of the tenor's neck, and merely startled the flabby man into fainting, rather than throttling his life's breath out of him. Even blowing up the opera house was to no avail. The government gave Andre & Firmin a grant to rebuild; within a year they were back on their feet again.
Now he had it all thought out though. He'd hidden away for over a year now. They all assumed he would never return, but he would. With a vengeance! This ruse would be the most diabolical of all. They would rue the day they did not do all that he asked of them to do.
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Go away!"
"Why?"
"Leave me alone!!"
"Aww, is my Eriky Weriky gettin' angwy?"
"Go haunt someone else!!!"
"Someone else? But I thought I was your little Meggikins."
"Meg, don't make me use five exclamation points!!!!"
"Fine!!!!! If you won't tell me what you're scheming, I won't sing for you any more, and there definitely won't be any music of the night in bed tonight." Meg pouted off, and flopped down on the giant swan bed. The phantom shouldn't have been so hard on her. It was Raoul he was plotting against, not Meg. But why did her voice have to be so breathy and whining? At least she was company. She'd followed his trail when he went into hiding, and had been with him ever since. She was rather like an exuberant Pomeranian. Not a particularly fitting companion for a brooding lord of the Parisian underworld, but she was better than nothing.
In fact, she had proved useful. She was responsible for his recent stroke of genius. She knew the in and outs and habits of the people of the Opera as well as he knew its architecture. But this plan he had to do alone. He alone would plan! He alone would plot!! He alone would strike fear into the hearts of divas and ballerinas alike!!! He alone would conquer Christine Daae!!!! He alone would rule the Opera!!!!!
"Would you cut it out with the maniacal laughter? You're giving me a headache!"
Carlotta fumed as she sipped her herbal water. Raoul had spurned her advances once again for that twirp of an ingénue. True Christine and Raoul were engaged, but since they weren't married she still thought her Italian whiles could seduce the French fop. She saw Andre out of the corner of her eye.
"Pig," she stated matter-of-factly as she emptied the dregs of her cup in his face. She had no particular reason to do this, but it brought her much satisfaction. Since she had been reduced to character parts in the company, she'd taken to throwing her drink of choice in people's faces. Madame Giry seemed to find this new habit of hers rather amusing. She always turned up with a wry smile whenever anyone was forced to gently wipe their face. Carlotta had only tried this on the ballet instructor once. She was still sore.
Andre dripped out of the room as whom else but Madame Giry herself glided in. She gave the singer a grateful nod, and drifted over to a nearby full length mirror. She seemed to be staring intently into it. The diva was annoyed. She placed her now empty cup on the table, and said, "Don'ta worry abouta washing dis cup, I shalla return hafter my warm uppa!"
"I wouldn't dream of washing up after you, Carlotta. And why bother warming up your voice? There is no need."
Carlotta beamed. "Dank youa very mucha! But I must confessa it dakes practice to sounda like dis."
"No doubt…but you misunderstood me. I meant to imply that no amount of warmth could take the shrill out of your voice."
A large Italian whirlwind hurled itself out of the room in a huff. Giry smiled. That was done. Without turning back to the mirror she said, "She's gone Erik, you can cease your skulking now."
The phantom creeped out from behind the two way mirror rather sheepishly. Somehow she always knew where he was. How did she always know?
"How is my daughter? Is she improving?"
"Not really."
"Why are you here?" She faced him rather defiantly.
"I've a plot!"
"You always have a plot. Why now? It's been over a year."
"It took a while to plan. It's a big plot!!"
"What are you doing? You realize I've no intention of covering up for you again."
The phantom realized he would have to try a different tactic to maneuver this obstacle. He screamed, "Out of my way, woman!!!" Judging from the look on her face, this was the wrong tactic.
"Don't you dare go three exclamation points with me, Erik. You will tell me this instant what you are intending to do, or I shall evict you from these premises. You know I can."
The disfigured man muttered compliantly under his breath.
"What was that, Erik? Speak clearly when you address me."
"I just wanted Carlotta's cup," he stammered.
Madame Giry relaxed. "If all you're doing is poisoning that woman, why didn't you say so to begin with? Here, do whatever you like with it." She handed him the cup and turned to leave. "Do try not to damage the Opera House this time. I happen to like it here," and with that she briskly exited.
"That was easier than I thought," the phantom naughtily observed. He tucked the cup into a pocket inside his cape, and took out a small note. He slinked carefully down the hall past the rehearsal rooms to where he heard Carlotta's wailing scales. He gently placed the small note on the floor, and slid it under the door. Then he ran like only a demented French villain can. He made it down the corridor and up a flight of stairs by the time he heard the door open. Act I completed. Now for the finale.
He knew Raoul and Christine would be having a romantic luncheon in her dressing room. He quickly slithered through secret passages and hallways until he was on the other side of the two way mirror adjoining the room. He removed a small, shiny object and the cup from his cape along with a thermos. He poured a brown steamy substance into the cup and waited. He knew it would only take a few moments before his diabolical machinations would come to fruition.
Carlotta squealed with pleasure. She raced down the corridor. Could it be true? Could that silly count really have changed his mind? She read the note once more to make sure:
My bella diva,
Your Italian voice drives my French loins mad with desire! I tire of the perfect Christine!! Come run away with me!!! Leave your old life behind and pass the point of no return!!!! Meet me now in Christine's dressing room to experience pure passion!!!!!
Your Don Juan,
Raoul
There could be no doubt of the level of his passion: he had used five exclamation points. He really must be mad with desire. She reached Christine's dressing room door. Oh, how she resented the size of Christine's dressing room…the pampered little primadonna. She hammered on the door. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Raoul would take her in Christine's room. She admired how kinky his scheme was.
Erik saw Raoul confusedly walk to the door. With a superhuman quickness he burst into the room, threw the tiny reflective coin on the floor near Christine and placed the cup of doom on the dressing table. He whisked back behind the mirror and watched with anticipation. It all happened so quickly, but the phantom caught every moment.
"Ooh Shiny," Christine exclaimed as she picked up the small coin. She was completely enraptured and absorbed in the minuscule object. As Raoul opened the door, Carlotta flung herself on top of him full force. They fell to the ground as she passionately accosted him. She smothered him with kisses, as he desperately tried to pry her off of his face.
"Christine help," Raoul pleaded.
"Look at how shiny it is," she unhelpfully replied.
Carlotta looked up. That woman was here. What was this? Did he want a ménage a trois? She should have known better than to fall for a Frenchman. "Pig," she said as she slapped him across the face and dismounted from his person. She stormed over to the dressing table intending to smash the mirror to bits…and then she saw it. How did it get here? No matter. She picked up her customary hurling cup and flung its contents as melodramatically as she could. Raoul was just rising when SPLASH! He recoiled in pain, fell back, and began to weep on the floor. "Dat isa what you get, you nasty perverta," she bawled and swept from the room.
"Christine help me please!" Raoul begged.
"It sparkles so much."
"The pain!!
"Pretty."
"Christine, my love, get a doctor!!! That's all I ask of you!!!!
"I should take it outside in the sunlight." Christine bounded out of the room excitedly with her new toy. Raoul took a deep breath and steadied himself on the dressing room chair. He steeled himself and looked in the mirror.
"I'm a monster!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
The badly burned count ran screaming from the room. He flailed his arms and ranted like a madman. The phantom chuckled with triumph. His dastardly designs worked. SUCCESS!!!!! Now with Raoul's face matching his, he would surely win the heart of his sultry soprano. He descended down into his lair with a jaunt in his step. He wondered what kind of mask Raoul would wear.
It had been one week since "the cocoa incident", and things had taken a rather bizarre turn around the opera house. Erik tiptoed onto the roof to take one last look at how his world had turned upside down. Two couples looked out onto the romantic horizon. Carlotta was snuggled up against a now rather trim Piangi. His near death experience had frightened him into being exceedingly health conscious, and he was now a surprisingly handsome man. Carlotta, after her humiliation and guilt from "the cocoa incident" made several changes. Firstly, she had been banned from carrying any container without a lid. Scarring their primary patron had frightened Andre and Firmin to enforce higher security, particularly on their unpredictable second soprano. All of this seemed to have a positive effect on the Italian tempest, however. Having received the final insult from the French count, she quickly transferred her obsession to her fellow singer. Piangi, being a rather awkward and lonely man, had no objection to this.
What the phantom saw on the other side of the parapet made him heave…literally. Projectile chunks of phantom fury rained past gargoyles and down upon the Paris streets. Unfortunately for Firmin, it rained upon Parisian citizens too. Sopping wet with angel of music bile, he gingerly dripped back into the opera house to change. On the way he passed Andre and Madame Giry. One was staring perplexedly, while the other seemed to be having a fit of giggles. She nearly dropped her umbrella from an excess of hilarity convulsions.
The vision that had caused the phantom to force Firmin to the costume shop was Christine licking a red and shiny Raoul. There had been no permanent damage to the Count, but he did have some temporary scarring that made his face resemble an over ripe tomato. He also exuded an intense chocolatey odor. Christine had initially been horrified after she finally realized her fiancé had been attacked. Then she smelled him. Over the course of the last week she had constructed a mask for him out of doilies. This did not help his lack of masculinity. Currently she was trying to dig any remnants of cocoa she could out of his nose cavity with her tongue. Piangi looked over…and vomited. Carlotta, disgusted that the man she was hugging erupted stomach acid, also vomited. Two separate streams upchucked their way down past the fascade of the theater like a Frank Wildhorn ballad.
Raoul managed to pry his cocoa-filled orifices from the ravenous diva for a moment to look down. Andre was covered in the remains of an éclair while the ballet instructor was cackling away on the ground near a very soiled umbrella.
"You are yummy yummy yummy in my tummy! Graaar," Christine proclaimed, leaping upon the helpless count. He succumbed to the tongue bath, which under more normal circumstance would have aroused him. Instead he was just disturbed. The phantom observed as
The soprano and tenor ran down the stairs away from the salivic molestation. He was about to be sick again, when it struck him. Well two things struck him. An idea and a moist splat accompanied by a breathy, whining "Oh that is just nasty! You two get a room!!"
"Meg, you just threw up on the Phantom of the Opera!!!!!"
"Oh boohoo. Go cry to Andrew Lloyd Webber. Maybe he'll write an extra song for you in the 25th anniversary DVD. I just came up to say I'm leaving. I'm eloping with Raoul's brother. He's a count too. And he's rich. And he's smart. And he's a lord of the underworld too…well kind of"
"I thought I killed him."
"Not really. He was about to drown when these pirates that were just sailing down the Seine, happened to go under the Opera house. Apparently he made a deal with them. As long as he pledged 7 years of his life to being a pirate, they wouldn't let him drown. You know pirates are really cool by the way. You really should try piracy on your days off instead of running around in your underwear around Thermopylae with 299 other sweaty guys. Anyway, he joined up and now he's a pirate with lots of loot and booty. He has a tortoise shell thing on his back now, and a tentacle or two. But really who doesn't love an extra tentacle. The suction cups tickle something awful though. So…yah. It's been fun, I'm leaving you, and feel free to write. Bye." With that she scampered away. He sulked there, briefly dazed and depressed, and then he remembered. He had had an idea! A brilliant idea!! A plan to crush all previous plans!!! A sure-fire way to win Christine's heart!!!! A plan that could not fail!!!!!
"Raoul, let's go somewhere else. That gargoyle is laughing maniacally at us."
His skills at sneaking had vastly improved with the loss of his blonde minion. He had succeeded. Careful painstaking days had been spent in preparing his weapon. It had required stealth, theft, an artistic flair, and some degree of culinary expertise. Now it was finished; his grand finale! He gently positioned the weapon, and slunk out of his lair. He slinked to the two way mirror adjoining Christine's dressing room. The situation was perfect. There was Raoul succumbing to a facial massage by Christine's surprisingly large tongue. Erik stared longingly. Raoul looked irritated. Actually his skin looked more irritated. Raoul was still red-faced. This was most likely due to the constant abrasion his face was receiving rather than a lack of healing.
The Phantom could not stand it any longer, now was the time. He removed a blowgun from the depths of his cape. He would enjoy this moment immensely, but the blowgun wasn't his ultimate weapon. He took aim carefully at Raoul's neck and fired. A small dart flew across the room in an instant. Unfortunately, Christine was getting rather vigorous just at that moment and the dart impaled her overactive, chocolate craving tongue.
"Ow! Wha juth happenth? I fee weawy sweepy," Christine mumbled. She looked more dazed than usual for a moment, and collapsed in a frilly heap onto the floor. Her tongue dangled from her mouth, the poisoned barb protruding ridiculously. Raoul stared in shock and horror for a moment, and then leapt to his feet.
"Who's there? Where are you? Show yourself!"
The culprit guiltily stepped into the room.
"Is she dead?
The Phantom knew Christine would only be unconscious for a few minutes. "No," he replied.
Raoul looked his nemesis over. Their relationship could be described as strained at best. Mortal enemies would not be that far from the truth. He smiled and leapt at the Phantom. It was the tightest embrace Erik had ever experienced. He was stunned.
"Thank you," Raoul cried. "I've really been needing a break. Don't get me wrong, I love Christine, but her chocolate obsession is becoming scary. I'm going on vacation for a week or so while she's asleep to give my face a rest. Goodbye." In a moment the count had flitted from the room.
The Phantom couldn't believe his luck. The plan had backfired, yet here he was alone with Christine in her dressing room. He knew he should remain honorable, but he was a villain after all. He knelt by Christine's limp form, grasped her in his arms, removed his mask, and kissed her deeply.
"Mmmm, whath tha' sthmell," Christine asked as she began to regain consciousness. Her stalker removed the dart from her tongue, and quickly put his new mask back on again. "Ow, my tongue hurts. Raoul? Where are you? I still smell you." And then she saw it. The weapon Erik had designed with his own insane genius.
"Are you my Angel of Music returned at last?"
"Yes."
"Are you wearing a mask entirely made of chocolate?"
"Yes."
What happened next satisfied nearly every sick fantasy the Phantom had ever dreamed of. Christine pounced and the next few moments were pure bliss. Sadly, they were over too soon. His mask now completely devoured, Christine stared down at him. She was still sitting astride him like a thoroughbred.
"Welcome back. Do you have another mask I could have?"
"That one took me weeks to design and perfect. You masticated it in a mere moment. You are my perfect woman."
:"I'm still hungry. Bye now." She merrily bounded out of the room in search of another source for her insatiable appetite. Erik was alone…again. He stood up and stared at his unmasked face in the mirror. He had failed yet again. Nothing he could do would ever win the heart of the lovely ingénue. Perhaps he should stop trying. He went over to the elaborate sink and washed his face of the drool and chocolate. He picked up a glass from the table and drank deeply. Breathed deeply. Sighed deeply. He supposed he should learn to be lonely.
Suddenly a knock at the door heralded an intruder to his angsty reverie. It was Firmin. The owner stared at the room in disarray. His eyes slowly panned up to see the Phantom unmasked and alone in his primadonna's dressing room, Christine nowhere to be seen. He screamed a note that even Carlotta could not reach. Irritated Erik hurled the water from his glass in the stuffy man's face. His scream was abruptly ended.
"I hate my life," Firmin stated mater-of-factly, and slumped out of the room. Erik smiled wryly. He had enjoyed that immensely. Then he heard a faint chuckle. Madame Giry slowly peeped her head around the door frame.
"What are you doing," she coyly asked.
"Failing."
"On the contrary, I would say your plot was a success. You managed to irritate one of the opera owners, send Raoul away for a week, and I feel sure without a steady supply of chocolate, Christine will be back to normal shortly. Celebrations are in order I believe."
"How do you know me so well?"
"You a fabrication of Andrew Lloyd Webber. All his characters are two dimensional."
"Does that mean we have to have a happy ending?"
"It certainly does." The two opera addicts closed the door, turned out the lights and commenced with defiling Christine's room in sick, sexual, and very creative ways. For the first time in a lifetime, Erik felt at home.