Disclaimer: The usual, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, blah, blah, blah.

First and foremost:

POTO FANS: PLEASE DON'T LYNCH ME! THIS CAME OUT OF FOUR CUPS OF COFFEE WITH LOTSA SUGRAR! IT INDUSES MADNESS I TELL YOU!

Anyway: Our beloved Erik gets introduced to Pixie Stix and goes on a sugar-high rampage. Oh God, the Opera Populair will NEVER be the same.

Warning: serious silliness, convenient mood swings, sugar-highness, and last but not least some poor folks getting stalked by a sugar-intolerant Erik

Enjoy


Another quiet day in the darkness of the Opera Populair's labyrinth of tunnels. Erik had been wandering down them for a while, thinking to himself. Not many clever or genius thoughts had come that day, and in fact, it seemed he was quite stuck as far as 1) his music and 2) scaring the life out of the singers and ballerinas went. No ideas for either one, absolutely none. It was aggravating to the point of being ready to slam his head against the wall for some relief.

It wasn't long before he was back in Box Five to watch rehearsals for the latest play they were putting on. It wasn't anything spectacular really, but it was a way to pass the time. Maybe, he thought, watching someone else's work would help inspire work of his own.

So far, it wasn't working at all.

Not long after, Madam Giry found her way into the box with a friendly greeting toward the Phantom.

"Good afternoon Erik," she said kindly, sitting next to him. "What do you think so far of our latest production?"

"One," he said, holding up a gloved finger, "Carlotta once again ruins what would be a semi- good performance. Two," he held up another, "all the dancers are off by at least three beats. Three," he held up a third finger, "I am bored as I've ever been. Yes, it's a wonderful afternoon Madam." Madam G. cast him a look, but it was quickly gone from her face as her eyes returned to the stage.

"I admit it's not the best I've seen them perform..."

"You think?"

"I know," Madam G. said sternly. "Though I'm rather curious as to the reason you're here my old friend. Usually you are never to be found. Well, not since Raoul and Christine went through with the wedding." At this there was a very visible twitch of Erik's person and for a moment he looked like he would lose his temper and maybe rip out one of the seats and toss it down onto the stage. Luckily though, he just huffed angrily.

"I...can't write music as of late," he said, as though the mere thought was extremely embarrassing.

"Composer's Block?"

"Bingo," he said, snapping his fingers. He folded his arms on the ledge of the box, leaning forward only slightly so that he could rest his chin on his folded arms. "I don't know what's doing it, but it's doing a damn good job. I can't think of anything."

"Perhaps all you need is the right influence," Madam G. suggested. Erik looked over at her, the one visible eyebrow arching curiously.

"Influence?"

"Of course. For instance, I've heard it said that musical comedy writers have to get drunk beyond recognizing themselves in a mirror before they can write something decent."

"You don't say. That would explain some of the obvious idiocy you see in some of those things," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Are you suggesting I drink till I think my shadow is attacking me?"

"Oh heavens no!", she said quickly. A regular Erik was bad enough...God only knows what a drunken one was like. "I'm merely suggesting a certain...stimulus to get the creative juice flowing, so to speak."

"Stimu-" His eyes widened. "MADAM, YOU HAVE A SICK, SICK MIND!" Now it was Madam G.'s turn to widen her eyes and look repulsed.

"NOT LIKE THAT YOU PERVERT!"

"Oh," he said. "Well...then...do go on." Madam G. cast him another look before continuing.

"And you say I have a sick mind, really," she muttered before continuing. "Well, there's a very recent invention that I think may help. I happen to have one with me right now." She began digging through a small purse tied around her waist and fished out what looked like a small white straw. However, when she shook it, there was a soft sifting noise, like when sand starts pouring from a timer.

"What is that, if I may ask Madam," Erik asked curiously.

"Well, it's been called a Pixie Stick, or at least that's what the girls call it."

"What is it exactly?"

"Sugar. Almost pure sugar with a bit of tart flavor to it. You see, the sugar instead of being white, comes in many colors: blue, red, yellow, what have you. Also, each color is a different flavor: blue is blue-raspberry, red is cherry, yellow is lemon etc, etc." Erik looked at the little stick in amazement. Pure sugar? Who would consume such a thing? Erik had never really tasted sugar, but had heard about it's effects in mass quantities. He'd also rarely SEEN the effects as well, so no real way to tell if what he'd heard was true.

"And you believe this will help me?" Madam G. nodded.

"It should, or at least lighten your mood a little," she said, handing it to him. Erik shrugged, it couldn't hurt. After all, this was lowest he'd felt in a LOOONG time. He took the little stick from Madam G.'s hand and proceeded to try and figure out how to open the blasted thing. After several tries, including one where he tried to rip it open with his teeth, the older woman sighed and took it back.

"I'll open it," she said, exasperated.

"Appreciated," Erik said, knowing that if she hadn't figured out how to open it he would never have gotten then damn thing open.

Once she'd succeeded, she handed the white straw back to Erik who inspected it a moment.

"Just put the open end to your mouth and tip it up," she explained. "The sugar should flow right out." Erik quickly did as she instructed and sure enough the sandy substance fell right onto his tongue. He made a brief face as the sour taste followed. However, after a few moments, the shock of it faded and he was able to swallow the sugar down. It was actually pretty good, if you were prepared for the tang.

"Not bad," he said, a rare smile crossing his lips.

"Well, it is popular for a reason I suppose," Madam G. said. Erik quickly finished the first Pixie Stick and pouted like a child when it was finally gone. After turning it completely upside down to try and get whatever was left, Madam G. pulled out another white straw with the sugar in it, opened it, then handed it to Erik, who was done with that one very soon as well.

He went through five of those things. And by the time they were gone...Oh. My. God.

Erik...was giggling.

Yes...giggling ladies and not ladies.

"Erik...," Madam G. said cautiously to the giggling phantom. "Are you feeling all right?"

"BETTER THEN ALL RIGHT!", he said, standing up with a fist help up, as though in triumph. Madam G. could only blink at the site before her. Erik was laughing loudly with one foot up on the ledge and fist still help up in triumph, as though her were pretending her were Napoleon. "I FEEL GREAT!" The unusually bright smile was the final straw. Madam G. pulled Erik back into the box, throwing him into a seat. "OW! THAT HURT!", he said loudly, pouting and rubbing the arm she'd pulled on.

"Erik, I think you had one too many of those things," she said, sounding very much like a worried mother.

"Naaaah, I'm fine Madam!", he proclaimed, again with the child-like smile.

"Mon dieu what have a done?", she said miserably, rubbing her head and looking at the floor, thinking of what to do. See now, here's where she makes Big Mistake Number 2. Big Mistake Number 1 was giving Erik pure flavored sugar in the first place. He took her moment of distraction to promptly get out of his seat and bolt into the hall.

"SUCKER!", he yelled, taking off down the carpeted hallway, laughing like a maniac. "THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA LIIIIIIVES! MUWAHAHAHA!"

And he's off.

"Dear God...," Madam G. said, her face adorned with a look of morbid fear. "What have I unleashed upon this opera house?"


Funny?

Stupid?

Wondering why I dared give Erik sugar?

You tell me in a review. OR I SHALL SEND SUGAR-HIGH ERIK AFTER ALL OF YOU!