Title: It's just Chronic
Author: Slashydutchie
HATEDOM: Love Never Dies
Characters: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Otto the Cat, the Phantom and more.
Rating: T for insanity, not for sex.
Summary: What was going on when Love Never Dies was conceived, the alternate ending... and start... and middle bit.
A/N: I know this is terrible, it's meant to be, I don't care, just amusement for me and hopefully for other true Phantom fans. And if ALW decides to consider suing or something alike... well, fuck him if he can't take a joke, pompous ass.
"Ah, yes... and then... FINISHED!" Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's voice rang triumphantly through his London home as he beamed a very scary smile at his digital piano, greatly upsetting Otto the cat who had just finished taking a nice big dump in his litter box filled with shredded copies of rejected songs. The near manic laughter that followed sent the feline scrambling around the room, from one corner came a loud ping from a vase that might just have been Ming, followed by an awful racket as the cat pounced onto the keys of Andrew's piano, erasing anything that had been on there.
It was silent for a long time, then a new sound rang through the building.
"!!!!"
Webber glared at his cat, promptly causing Otto to pounce and land upon the man's head. Andrew tried shaking a bit in an effort to detach the feline, but that only caused Otto to dig in his nails.
Damn it, damn it, damn it... he needed that play! He needed it now so he could milk the cash cows... but no matter how often he bashed in the keys of his piano the score would not show up. What to do? What to do?
Desperate for anything he looked around the apartment. Yes, there! There it was! On the heap of things that would once become part of Otto's toilet there was a book with Phantom in the title! Brilliant!
Andrew snatched up the book, pushing the light button behind it in his haste, making it click.
"The Phantom of Manhattan... that sounds..." Otto dug his nails in a bit more, making Andrew wince and glance down, noticing a few bills he could pay with ease if he had any desire to. Money... yum. "BRILLIANT! YES, this shall be the story... whatever it is. I shall have people read it... or dogs, they're cheaper! And then I can put millions in other bullshit like an almost non-existent set!"
Now, he needed songs... yes, songs... now where did he keep... THE LITTER BOX!
His lordship almost dove headfirst into the reeking pile of cat-extrement covered music. Beautiful Game... yes, there was a bit of a hit in that, wasn't there? Yes, yes! And a bit of this, a little of that...
With crazy eyes, a book he hadn't read and an armful of stinky music Andrew rushed to his desk. Now, if he could only cut and paste this together in a good way... no, no time! He ripped Otto from his head, laughing and screaming at the same time as rivulets of blood began streaming down his face as the cat's sharp claws tore his skin.
"Help me, Otto! Cats worked before, they shall make money once again!" Hidden in the attic, the true Phantom of the Opera (or rather, Phantom of ALW's House) shook his head and muttered something about people calling HIM crazy.
Andrew meanwhile laughed and began smashing things together in the order Otto chose, because a cat sniffing was the same thing as a cat choosing. Because he said so. He was Andrew Lloyd fucking Webber!
"Wait, Otto, are you sure? This would mean..." The cat swiped a claw at Andrew's approaching hand. "Okay, we'll fix that... we'll just say Christine defied a murdering mass to go back for a quickie after making her choice. Yes, yes, that works! It's genius! Why didn't I think of that?!"
After about an hour of this the play was finished and Andrew called his people so they could send someone to pick up his masterpiece.
Otto sat and glared at him for a bit before slinking off to do some important cat-stuff on the roof. He never made it there. Somewhere near the attic a lasso was thrown around his mid-section and the Phantom pulled the cat up like a catfish.
He didn't kill him.
Even the Phantom wouldn't kill a fluffy kitten, especially not one with evil potential... even if it was trying to claw at his face.
"Stop it, it's not like you can make it much worse. It's not a third-degree sunburn from hell, you know. Now, listen my furry friend..." The Phantom lowered his mouth to Otto's ear and started whispering. If you looked closely, the feline appeared to be nodding, a look of calculated evil on his furry little face.
Several hours later a very exhausted messenger was standing in Webber's living room, panting.
"All's done, Sir. The script has gone to print and has been distributed to the cast, everyone has been notified of the plans, the media have taken a hold of it and all the fan-forums have been alerted. We can start previews in a week." The young man saluted, in spite of barely having enough energy left to lift his arm.
"Good, good... excellent," Andrew replied, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his fancy leather chair as dramatic lighting played across his face.
Wait... where did that come from?
"You, boy, go find the source of that dramatic lighting!" Webber barked, promptly causing the already exhausted messenger to scurry over to the window that appeared to be the source of the light.
"I think they're Phantom fans, sir... they've brought torches," the boy announced.
"Ah, celebrating already, how nice of them.
"They've also brought pitchforks, sir."
"Getting ready to fork over their hard-earned money, I suspect."
"Yes, sir, that must be it," said the terrified boy, backing away slowly.
Meanwhile, clawing his way along the ceiling like a tiny furry ninja, was Otto the cat.
"Just listen to this marvellous tune, boy, nobody who likes Phantom will be able to wait!" Webber grabbed his piano and started playing and singing, striking the messenger with surprise narcolepsy almost instantly.
Otto resisted, the Phantom had thought him to be strong, to hear the beautiful songs in his kitty cat mind instead of the garbage coming from Webber's playing. He'd started this and he was bloody well going to finish it!
As the fans began storming the house they heard a loud crash, the kind of sound made by a chandelier hitting an insane man in the head. They were astonished by the coincidence when they found Andrew, pinned under what did indeed appear to be a chandelier, not dead but babbling utter nonsense about a cat assassin.
"Clearly this man should be locked up forever in a small room with soft walls! I shall take him now!" decided a convenient psychologist among them. After all, there wasn't even a cat to be seen anywhere.
This was because the cat was sitting on the roof with the Phantom, enjoying a good scratch behind the ears.
"You did well, my minion. Now let's go from this place." Otto cocked his head as if to say "Where to?"
The Phantom smiled, an ugly sight on the best of days. "Anywhere but Coney Island."