OK, this is my first fanfiction, so please be kind, at least for a little bit.
Summary Our dear, beloved Phantom is fleeing the country, his heart has been broken by Christine (I warn you now, I am a Christine hater!) And the police now want him for the deaths of many. He flees to Ireland where he takes the money he has been saving over the years and buys a house. He wants to spend the rest of his life alone, playing the piano for a bar, and composing music, but it doesn't take long before an amusing young lady gets the best of him. ErikOC hopefully this will turn into a series.
Disclaimer I own nothing related to the Phantom of the Opera, (but one day Erik will be mine!) I own Brigit, I own the plot, I own everything that is not in any of the versions of POTO. This applies to all of the following chapters as well.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been on that, and frankly he didn't care, he was glad to be off the damn thing! He had fled his home and everything he knew to get freedom and found himself trapped on a ship, but after seeing where he was he felt it was a small price to pay. Ireland was better than he had hoped! It was marvelous, it was green, it was quiet out of town.
He bought an Irish Draught black stallion and was off. He followed the roads north, looking for a quiet, small town where he could live his life alone without annoyances. He stopped every once and a while, but none of the places he stopped at a house for sale up to his standards. He needed one large enough for an organ and a piano, he needed enough land to be away from everyone, but he had to be close enough to town to get food.
Finally, after a week of searching, he found a home in the county of Sligo that was perfect. Carrowmore. A perfectly small town, and right outside it was a cottage, it was large and would suit his purposes, and it was on a wonderfully large plot of land. He bought it with cash.
For the next few weeks he cleaned his estate, went out and bought an organ and piano which he had put into his house. While he was fixing his home word had spread around the small town about their newest inhabitant.
"They say he wears bandages all over his face!"
"They say he's a music teacher!"
"I heard he's an architect!"
"No! He's a sorcerer! I saw him make a fence talk once!"
Even though the entire town was excited about their new member of the town there was one young woman who didn't care. "Does it matter what he looks like? So what if he does magic? We need a new musician around here anyways!" She would say when people tried to talk to her about it. She hated when people talked like this in the town. Wasn't a person allowed to live their life with some kind of privacy?
He had owned his house a month before he finally decided to go to the town. He had spent the entire night trying to decide what his new identity would be. He decided to keep part of his name and take on an Irish last name. Erik O'hUigin, the Frenchman with Irish parents who emigrated to France when he was a child. Yes, he liked that story. When he went to his closet he decided he was going to have to get new clothes, he definitely could not spend the rest of his days with one suit.
He put on his mask and saddled his stallion, and began the semi-long trip to the town. He was thoroughly enjoying the quiet ride until he realized he was lost. He decided it would be easier to continue his ride until he ran into someone and would get directions. He rode on for near a half hour before he spotted someone near the road. He thought it was a you boy tending his sheep, but as he neared he heard a sweet girl's voice singing an Irish song.
"Oh, the other night I got an invitation to a funeral
But to me disappointment the fucker didn't die
So to ease our disappointment he took us out and treated us
And seein' as he apologized, we let the thing go by.
To ease our disappointment he took us out and treated us
He bought a quart of ale for a company of ten
When some one of us asked him whose money he was squanderin'
The fellow took his wallet out, we never asked again
Now, we got a concertina for to aid in the rascality
But none of us could play it though we tried our best and worse
We made an awful noise, and if it's any benefit
We played the thing so carefully that all the bellows burst
We got a boiled potato for to mend the concertina with
When someone hit Maloney with the carcass of a cat
He bottled up his whiskers, and he read out the riot act
He swore he'd put two hits upon the bastard who did that
When the owner of the beershop, he saw us all a'riotin'
He gave orders to get out but, at that we all refused
So he whistled in some loafers that were standin' round the corner and
For ten or fifteen minutes we was bodily abused
When we left the beershop, on down the road we started
When a bunch of hungry urchins, they pelted us with mud
We told them to chuck it -- they said that they were doin' that
And then they all ran off and they left us where we stood
Well, the next thing we got was a bunch of salvationers
They rifled all our pockets and they asked us, were we saved?
Poor little John McGintey got escorted to the station-house
For askin' a great policeman if his appetite was shaved
Oh, for to free McGintey we then took off our undershirts
And down to the pawnshop we took the bloomin' lot
We told him that we only wanted ten and six on them
There's enough on them already was the answer that we got
We got our ten and six all for to free McGintey with
Bad luck to that beershop that we passed along the way
For of course we couldn't pass it without having some refesherment
And we squandered all the money of the fine we had to pay
Now the drink bein' in us, the sense, it was all out of us
And for a bit of riotin' we quickly did repair
We battered one another till we all weren't worth three ha'pennies
You could have carpeted the floor with all the skin and hair
For McCarty hit McGintey and McGintey hit some other man
And every man hit any man against he had a spite.
Poor old Macnamara who was sittin' sayin' nothin' got
A kick that broke his jaw for not indulgin' in the fight.
We fought away like Turks until the police separated us
They took us to the jail with broken noses and black eyes
I got sixty days in prison and it was a lesson, sure:
I'll go no more to funerals until the bastard dies."
The young person finished the song when Erik got close enough to see that the young person was most definitely a young woman. She had an upside-down egg shaped face, with alabaster skin which he thought strange of an Irish girl. Beautiful thin red lips and green eyes so dark they looked close to black seemed to perfect the young woman's face. She was wearing a billowing white shirt under a brown vest and brown slacks. A large hat hid her hair from sight, he inwardly wondered what color it was.
"Starin's rude, 'aven't ya' 'erd?" She said brashly, getting up from the stone she had been sitting on.
"I'm sorry, I hadn't realized I was staring, I was just wondering if you were the one singing just a moment ago?" He ask as politely as possible. He had gone from having all the power and people fearing him to being scolded by a sixteen year old girl!
"Aye, that I was." She answered not nearly as rudely as her last comment. He wasn't bad looking she had to admit. He had lovely black hair that was combed back, slightly tanned skin, and the most beautiful green eyes she'd ever seen. No, he wasn't bad looking in the least, she only wished he would turn so she could see the rest of him.
"You are very talented, have you taken lessons?" He asked truly interested in the gorgeous girl.
"Nah, me Pa always said I was graced with the voice of a bird like me Ma." She began to gather her things, she'd have to bring the sheep in if she planned on dancing at the bar that night.
Erik watched her pick up her things for a few moments before she returned her attention to him again. "Is there somet'in' else ye' want?" She asked putting her hand on her hip which had jut out. He had to admit she looked very cute like that.
"Um..." He had forgotten what he originally planned to ask! "Can you point me in the direction of Carrowmore?" He asked shifting in the saddle.
"You're gonna' have ta' turn around, you're going the wrong way. T'is 'bout a 'alf 'ours ride the other way." Oops, he thought, well, at least it was a nice ride! He was about to turn his stallion around when she turned as well. "If ye' want I can ride wit' ye'. I 'ave t' take the sheep in and change first, but I'm 'eaded the same way as ye'."
Erik eagerly accepted, he was really becoming quite lucky on this island. He hopped off his stallion and followed the young woman up a hill and through green pastures to her little farm house. As they approached Erik saw an old man feeding some sows outside the house.
"'Bout ye!" The man called to the girl.
"Grand altogether!" She yelled back, "Da! I'm goin' to the town!" He waved his hand as she dashed into the house.
She turned and looked at Erik, "Fella, ye' got a name?" she asked lifting an eyebrow in question.
"Oh, yes, I'm Erik." He reached his hand out for hers.
She shook his hand quickly, "Nice te' meet ya'." She disappeared into the house then reappeared, "Stay 'ere for tree minutes." She disappeared again.
It took less than three minutes before she reappeared, this time showing her feminine curves. Erik had to keep his jaw from dropping. She had come out wearing a white dress that had short sleeves, the end of the dress stopped shortly under her knees, the dress had a green sash around the her middle making her bosom more pronounced. She had white stockings on under her dress and was holding a pair of what appeared to be black leather ballet slippers. But the most amazing thing about her was her shoulder length wavy hair the color of dark wheat. She was stunning.
"Well, Erik, ye ready?" He could only nod dumbly. He followed her as she went to the stable and got her own brown Irish Draught mare. She quickly hopped on the horse and spurred the horse into a walk as she settled herself side-saddle.
They had been on the road for five minutes before Erik realized he didn't know the young woman's name. "Excuse me, I'm afraid I don't know your name."
She turned to him, his right side bared to her. "I'm Brigit Muldoon." She turned away. Why would such a handsome man wear a mask that covers half his face. "Are ye the man that moved in the cottage down the road?"
Erik was startled, word sure got around fast in Ireland. "I am, how did you know?"
"Ye've become the center of attention in town, it'd be 'ard not te know!" She turned and looked him strait in the eye, "Just between us, I think it's sad no bloody person can mind their own business!"
Erik relaxed at that, he thought she was going to ask about the mask, but after she had said that he didn't think she would ask. "Would you mind me asking what those shoes are for?" He asked pointing at the black leather shoes dangling from her hands.
"Ye goin' te the bar?" she asked, he nodded, he had been offered a night job there. "Well, then, ye'll be seein' what the shoes 're fer." She turned back in her saddle. He continued to stare at her, she was an odd young woman, he wondered how old she was. What did he care? He had already decided to remain alone for the rest of his life, he was never going to fall in love again, no one could reciprocate his feelings when he looked the way he did.
When they reached the bar they tied up the horses and walked into the green building. Inside smoke filled the air along with laughter and voices. AS they walked in they each went their separate ways, Erik to the bar, Brigit to the table filled with girls who were changing their shoes into ones similar to hers.
"Mr. McGinty?" Erik asked the bartender he nodded and wove out from behind the bar. McGinty was a tall, portly man, he was going bald but had a short red beard growing on his face. His blue eyes sparkled with joy. "I'm Erik, your new pianist."
"My, ain't you just a lawdy daw! I figured ye were the new 'pianist', we gots some music up on the piana' fer ye." He turned and pointed at man who was tuning a violin, "That's Jimmy, 'es ye're 'ccopaniant." He walked back over to the bar and brought Erik a tall glass of ale. "When ye're ready g'head and play." He left and let Erik situate himself.
As he organized his music he listened to what the people in the bar were saying.
"Hey, John, ain't that the new fella? Sure looks like a jackeens."
"Nah, more like a West Brit." John replied.
"Molly! Would you look at that fine half!"
"I'd be his mot any day!" Molly exclaimed.
Erik wasn't sure what any of the things he'd just been called were, but he was pretty sure his plans weren't going as planned.
AN: So the song is in fact an Irish song, "Bout ye'?" means how are you, a "Jackeens" is a Dubliner, a "West Brit" is someone who really likes Englishmen, a "fine half" is a good looking member of the opposite sex, and a "mot" is a girlfriend. So...anyone liking the story? Please review!