Wow! It has been forever since I've been on! But I'm off hiatus. Well, at least, for now…
I must warn you all: THIS IS A COMEDY! And not just any comedy, but an insane, sane, sanely insane, insanely sanely insane , sanely insanely sanely insane, random comedy. But, you probably already know that if you're reading a fiction by me. Really, any funny (I should say Phunny) situation I come up with using Phantom characters, it'll most likely end up here. So, be alerted, totally random crap can happen.
Oh, and this is set after the events of the 2004 movie. Basically the Opera Populaire didn't perish, the two idiot managers are still running the place (somehow getting the money to get another chandelier), and, of course, the Phantom still lives in the cellars. Christine, Meg, Madame Giry and (very unfortunately) Carlotta, still work at the Opera Populaire. And the rest, you will find out!
Disclaimer: Ah! It's so good to be back! Well, we don't own the Phantom of the Opera.
Me: Aww man!
Erik: Well, look on the bright side. At least the disclaimer isn't written in verse…
Me: O_O Oh snap. No you've done it! DON'T DO IT DISCLAIMER!
Disclaimer: TO LATE! We sadly do not own thee, so never shall we truly squee. While asleep we rest, we dream of a quest, in which we shall find you, and all things that are true. When we awake with grief, the thought that is most chief, the thought that we shall never own the Phantom of the Opera.
Me: Okay okay, on to the story!
Erik's Slingshot
Quiet. Complete silence. Normally, this would be heaven for him. Normally…
"CURSE THIS UTTER SILENCE!" screamed the powerful voice of Erik. He threw some unlucky sheets of parchment in the air and watched grudgingly as they floated to the ground, completely unharmed.
Why? Why today? Why must no one bother me the day AFTER I finish my latest composition? Why does everyone bother me WHILE I work, then, when I'm done, no one seems to care that I still exist?
He remembered what everyone was doing today. Meg was going to attempt to climb Mt. Everest, Christine was out shopping, and Raoul was worshipping his big mansion.
Gah! Why am I even CONSIDERING doing something with that fop? he thought. He felt too out of the ordinary today. Out of the ordinary… his thoughts trailed off to the bizarre note Madame Giry left him. He couldn't tell if he was just so bored or if it was the countless amount of times he read the note, but he memorized the whole thing.
My Dearest Erik,
I have mastered the art of time travel. I have been practicing it for weeks, and, today, I have been able to send a baby chick back to the era of Mozart, and a ballet slipper to the year 2012. I am now going to use my new power to establish world peace, end poverty, and catch a Willie Nelson concert. So, I bid you farewell, my humble friend. Remember me as the first person AND WOMAN to have traveled through time.
Sincerely,
Antoinette Giry
Erik shook his head. The old woman's lost it. Time travel? Baby chick? World peace? WILLIE NELSON? I knew one day she'd crack, but this is just, just not her.
Erik sighed. He bent over and began to pick up the papers he had disturbed. Suddenly, he spotted a Y-shaped stick. He remembered that day, when some of the little brats of the ballet corps decided to sneak into the catacombs and throw rocks, sticks, and any other hard projectile they could find at him.
Dirty little imps! he thought, grabbing the stick. He studied it for a second. Erik then saw a rock, also thrown at him by one of the ballerinas. He picked it up, and put it on the V-shaped portion of the stick. He then turned to the vast, dark lake, and flicked the rock off the stick. It flew quite far, soaring out of sight before making a sploosh sound.
Erik grinned with amusement. He grabbed another rock, repeating the act. This rock flew further than the other one, making an even fainter splish. He found an even bigger rock, but, this time, when Erik tried flicking it, all it did was fall to the ground.
Erik frowned. How would he get this rock to fly just like the other two without flicking it? Erik was about to just throw the rock across the lake, but something caught his eye.
It was the sleeve of an old dress from the costume room. Madame Giry had given it to him when he had first started living in the cellars. She thought it would make a good blanket. The truth was, that dress was sitting in the exact spot he first put it-behind his organ, where no one would see it.
He thought it looked quite ugly. It was pink but had brown stains almost everywhere. Erik sighed and yanked it from behind the organ and examined it. He noticed that the buttons on it would probably fly through the air with ease, but another thing stole his attention. It was the collar of the dress. It had some kind of string sticking out of it.
Desperate for something to do, Erik tugged on the string. It stayed in the dress. He tugged it again. Same results. Finally, Erik pulled with all his might (which, actually, is probably a little to much might just for a measly string…). The string quickly came out of the collar, and so did a button on the dress.
Erik examined his "prize". The string was not very long, but it also wasn't really short. Just right if you wanted to use it for something. He grabbed both ends of the string and pulled them. It stretched as he pulled it. He kept stretching it until he finally got bored.
Erik then spotted the button that came off the dress, and grabbed the Y-shaped stick. He put the button on the stick, and was about to flick it, but, suddenly, he got an idea. He tied the elastic string to the stick, tying each side to one top branch of the stick (and, of course, he probably tied it quite tightly, since he's tied Punjab lassos for umpteen years…).
He put the button on the ground, pulled back the freely hanging part of the string, and made it fly across the lake. Splish. Erik grinned, and moved back to where he left the larger rock. He tried to do the same thing he did with the button, but the rock still wouldn't move. This made him angry.
He then studied the stick. What else would I need to add? he thought. He then looked back at the dress. He saw that one of the panniers was also sticking off of the dress. So, Erik went to the dress and yanked the pannier off, and folded it into a square. Then, using the threads hanging off the back of the square cloth, Erik tied the piece to the part of the string that was hanging down.
In other words, Erik created a slingshot.
Grabbing another button off the dress, he placed it on the square cloth, pulled back the string, and shot it across the lake, hearing a very faint splish after a few moments.
He rushed back to the rock, grabbed it, put it on the cloth, and finally shot it across the lake. Splosh.
Erik grinned an evil grin. He grabbed the last button off the dress, about 4 other rocks thrown by the ballerinas, some balled up parchment from composing, and a trusty Punjab (always good to keep one handy…), put them in a black pouch, jumped into his gondola, and rowed off, thinking of and planning the havoc he was about to wreak.
Meanwhile, the opera company was doing a final dress rehearsal of The Magic Flute before it was to be performed that night. They were rehearsing the scene where Tamino and Papageno are told by the Queen of the Night to go save Pamina, her daughter.
Now, this situation wouldn't have been anything too annoying, except for the fact that The Queen of the Night was being played by none other than Carlotta Giudicelli. Carlotta, of course, sang sourly, put emphasis on the wrong notes, sang without any depth or true tone, ect. ect.
If this wasn't enough to just make you want to scream, the two managers of the Opera Populaire came in. Well, I shouldn't say 'came in' as if it meant casually walking into a place without causing any mayhem. I should say Andre came running in, screaming "I BAKED MEATBALLS!" like a maniac while holding a wooden bucket full of meatballs. Firmin was chasing his partner in crime, trying to settle him down.
Carlotta, the eternal dictator of being a melodramatic whiner, was furious that her aria had been interrupted.
"Why dida you have to-a come in hear screaming about meatballs you, you, YOU STUPIDA LITTLE STUPID!" Carlotta screamed at her short, excited manager.
Though that was obviously one of the worst insults ever uttered, it was enough to make the little man cry.
"You're mean!" Andre replied before waddling off, crying. He tripped and…cried even more.
Now, you don't know how this made Firmin feel (partially because I didn't tell you…). Firmin had been with Andre the whole day, trying ever so hard to put up with his shenanigans. First, it was wanting to see and read a story to each "magical pretty pony" at the local stable. Next, it was going to the "big food land" to get ingredients for the meatballs. Then, it was having to sing the "super happy lunchtime song" before eating a lunch, made by Andre himself, of buttons, water-soaked bread, and cheese, simply called "Tasty". Lastly, it was watching Andre "bake" the meatballs, which basically meant making them out of cheap meat, probably a whole ton of black pepper, buttons, soggy bread, cheese, and a rotten tomato Andre called his "Tippy". So, naturally, this event made him practically crack.
He walked straight up to Carlotta and glared at her.
"Apologize, now," he said in a dangerous tone. Carlotta simply turned her head away from him.
Firmin walked out of sight and came back with Carlotta's dog.
He turned to her once more. "Apologize, now, or else the dog gets it," he warned in the exact same tone. He then proceeded to hold the dog by its throat.
Carlotta looked desperately at her "doggy". She groaned, then walked offstage towards Andre. She tapped on his shoulder, and he turned around.
"Ima sorry for-a snapping Monsieur Andre," she said quite grudgingly.
Firmin, hearing this, let the dog run away (in the end, it ran all the way to Switzerland… before dropping dead), and quietly walked off the stage.
Andre, also hearing Carlotta's apology, smiled like a dofus and hugged her.
"It's OK really loud lady!" He exclaimed joyously, handing her a meatball. "I forgive you! Come on Ricky! Let's go put these meatballs on plates for the people who are gonna watch the really loud show!" And with that, the little man ran off happily towards the stage.
Before leaving, Firmin took the meatball given to Carlotta.
"You're lucky I didn't let you eat this Madame," he said cooly. And, with that, we stalked after his companion.
By now, Erik had made it to the catwalks of the opera. Most of his ammo was gone, used to knock out some ballerinas who saw him. He watched as Andre pushed through the people backstage, sitting down beside a large, prop temple.
"I'm going outside to ponder why I've wasted my life with shenanigans instead of listening to my mother and becoming a lawyer," Firmin said to Andre.
"Okay Ricky!" Andre replied, apparently not being able to comprehend the burden he was to his taller companion.
Erik watched as Firmin left. Andre was almost totally alone. He snuck down to where Andre was, hiding behind the temple. He saw some note cards that Andre had written. They said:
Complamenturee Meetbauls
Curtasee uv:
Gillz Aundray
Erik crumbled up the card and threw it behind him. He then spotted the bucket of meatballs, sitting there so, so, um, innocently, and quickly grabbed some, putting them into his pouch.
Erik then raced back to the catwalks, grabbing his slingshot and moving so he the stage was visible.
It was just at this moment that Carlotta began to screech, erm, I mean, sing.
"So it seems our toad still steals the limelight," Erik said to himself. He took out a meatball, put it on the slingshot, and aimed for Carlotta's hat. He was about to fire the meatball, but, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.
"Is that you there Erik?" It asked teasingly, making Erik jump and almost drop the meatball.
Erik turned around, and saw…the ghost of Joseph Buquet? Erm, I mean yes, he saw the ghost of Joseph Buquet. Erik groaned and tried to aim again, but was, unfortunately, interrupted once more.
"Long time, noosee Erik," Buquet went on. "Get it? Noosee? Like a noose? Get it?"
"Unfortunately yes Buquet, I do," Erik replied, annoyed. "On the whole, that "joke", as you would call it, was corny and unappealing. Why are you bothering me?"
"Oh come on mate! I've been haunting these catwalks ever since you done gone and strangled me!" Buquet answered somewhat angrily. " This is my home now. Because of you! Now, what are you doing up here, eh?"
Erik growled and aimed once more. By now, the dying hippo-I mean, Carlotta was once again, "singing" her aria again. Erik stretched back the meatball-loaded slingshot, and fired, sending the meatball straight for Carlotta.
Carlotta was just about to hit a really high note (OH THE HORROR!), when suddenly, she was hit in the head with the meatball. The diva suddenly stopped singing (That's all I wanted for Christmas…). She tried to find out what hit her in the head, when, instantly, another meatball hit her on the cheek.
"WHO IS-A DOING THIS? HUH?" The loudmouthed whiner demanded angrily. No response. Carlotta sighed, cleared her throat, and began to sing again (WHY CRUEL WORLD? WHYYY).
"Persistent are we?" Erik asked under his breath, reaching for another meatball.
"Alright mate, just remember this: Treat the meatball as if your life depended on it. You are the meatball. " Buquet primed, acting like a coach.
"I would appreciate it, Joseph, if you acted like an idiot later," Erik growled, trying to aim precisely.
"What? I was trying to help! Besides, part of your face looks like a meatball!" Buquet replied.
That did it. Erik was enraged. He thrust his hands around Buquet's neck and tried to strangle him, but, since Buquet was now a ghost, his hands only went through Buquet's neck.
"Ha! That's one advantage to being an ACTUAL ghost you poser!" Buquet taunted, sticking his tongue out.
Erik shook his head and groaned. He watched as Carlotta was about to hit the high note from which she was "so rudely interrupted" and prepared his slingshot. As she opened her mouth, Erik fired.
Now, imagine this scene in slow motion. It's neat right? Carlotta's mouth is slowly opening wider, like some black hole or something, while the meatball whizzes through the air, doing flips and stuff and dripping grease and, and meat juice or something. And then, we go to Erik, who's laugh is totally screwed up and deep because we're watching this in slo mo.
Alright, no more slow motion, I'm getting nauseous. Anyway, Carlotta had her mouth wide open when, all of a sudden, something with a ghastly taste fell right inside (which, actually, wouldn't seem like a hard task. She already has such a big mouth…).
Carlotta began to choke, and, after awhile, she fell onto the ground, unconscious.
Normally, people would just ignore her and let life go on (some would probably try to celebrate or make this a national holiday.). But, since the people at the Opera Populaire were so easy to scare, they all began to run around and scream.
Erik merely smirked at the chaos he'd just caused.
"Well, I guess this is my queue. See you later meat face!" Buquet said before floating down and beginning to sing Blue Bells of Scotland. Naturally, this scared the people even more.
As Erik watched all the lonely people run around like ants that you just want to crush at a picnic, he got an idea. He aimed for and fired at…THE CHANDELIER! (Didn't see that one coming did you? Oh, you did. Right…)
The Chandelier fell, just like it does in EVERY FREAKIN' ADAPTATION OF PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! Luckily, since Madame Giry secretly rigged the chandelier so that it would use electricity every Tuesday, there was no fire that could make people scream and run like idiots and apparently blow out windows.
As all this mayhem was happening, it just so happened that Christine, Raoul, and Meg entered the opera house, evidently done with what they were doing that day.
"What's happening Christine?" Meg frantically asked.
Christine suddenly caught a glimpse of Erik, who was sneaking away from the scene.
"I think I know who did this," Christine stated before running off with Meg and Raoul trailing behind.
"Where are we going?" Raoul asked, but no one answered (I wonder why…).
They reached Christine's dressing room in no time. Christine burst through the door and headed for the mirror, while the other two followed. Christine and Meg pried open the secret mirror passageway, and the three headed for Erik's lair.
The three were lucky and found the gondola just where Erik had left it when he was trekking to cause the mayhem he did just 4 hours ago. (something like that. What? You expect me to be keeping track of the time? IN MY OWN PHIC?) It didn't take the gang too long to reach Erik's place.
When they did reach his, uh, "living space", they found the phantom in hysterics, laughing on the floor, and his slingshot on his organ stool.
"Gotcha!" Meg cried, snatching the slingshot. She turned around and, suddenly, Erik appeared in front of her, looking quite irritated.
"Give it back Margaret," he said sternly.
Meg, not knowing what to do, threw it to Raoul, accidentally hitting him in the head. Raoul dramatically staggered back and fell into the lake. Christine and Meg ran to go help him, while Erik merely cracked up.
As they were helping Raoul, Meg saw the slingshot and dove for it. Erik, seeing Meg, dove for it as well. Both hands were just about to touch the weapon, until:
VWHEEM
The figure of Madame Giry appeared from an aquamarine vortex, which disappeared a few seconds after. Everyone just froze, shocked. They all stared at the ballet instructor, who was clad in a Willie Nelson fan T-shirt, surfing shorts, a John Deere baseball cap, and cowboy boots.
Madame Giry simply walked towards the group and took the slingshot.
"You have caused enough trouble for one day Erik. I will dispose of this properly," she stated simply.
Erik merely growled, getting up. Meg got up as well, helping Christine and Raoul out of the lake.
"What are you going to do with that mother?" Meg inquired curiously.
"I shall send it to its proper place. To a delinquent's bedroom in the late 20th century," the ballet instructor replied. She snapped her fingers and, instantly, the aquamarine vortex reappeared.
"September 15th, 1999," Madame Giry said before chucking the slingshot into the vortex. It sucked the weapon up, and disappeared with a faint ding. You know, the one you hear when you're at a fancy hotel and you hit that bell thing at the manager's desk. Or, when you're waiting for an elevator, and the thingy at the top suddenly dings when it's at your floor.
"I guess that's that," Raoul said after wringing out his hair.
"Oh shut up you stupid fop!" Erik growled before pushing him back into the lake.
"You barely appeared in this story, and yet you're trying to be the one who says the last line," Madame Giry went on. "That's shallow."
"What are you talking about mother?" Meg asked with concern.
"Come, my daughter, now is not the time for questions. Now is the time for us to go into the 1920's and listen to some smooth jazz," Madame Giry replied, snapping her fingers once again, making the vortex reappear.
So, in the end, everyone went with Madame Giry to the 20's, enjoyed some jazz, and even got to see Babe Ruth at a baseball game before returning home to the 1800's. But who cares about that. I WAS THE LAST ONE TO SPEAK IN THE STORY! WOOT! THE END PEOPLE! WHOOO!
Well, that may not have been as phunny as I planned. I'll try to make some stories that are phunnier than this. But, this is a start. And it introduces Madame Giry's power to travel through time AND the ghost of Joseph Buquet.
Erik: AND Andre's idiocy.
Me: Yes, and the little man's insanity. So, R&R if you feel like it. Flames totally welcome, and will be used to destroy any of Andre's meatballs that still might exist. PEACE!