Block
So, the idea behind this was that I had a writer's block, and then I wondered if Erik ever had a musician's block. And then I couldn't help envisioning this scene. It's fluff, and totally off the rails of anything in the book or musical, but I just had to write it down. Totally AU, because I have Christine and Erik married, and he doesn't wear his mask around her anymore-and she doesn't mind. It was the only way that this story would really work. Also, they live in his lair. Like I said, complete AU that doesn't make too much sense if I'm honest with myself.
Erik dropped his inky quill and sighed, rubbing his temples in slow soothing circles. It had been a long, fruitless day opposite to all the others he's had since he met Christine. She was his Angel, and she was also his inspiration. In the past while, he'd always an idea, had notes in his head that he managed to make flow out onto the paper that sat before him on his organ. He'd spend hours a day sitting in his music room, playing and writing while Christine watched or sang to his music. But today, he had nothing. His mind was a blank, even with Christine sitting there, waiting for him to play so that she could sing to him. In frustration, he stopped thinking clearly and he threw his quill and ink pot across the room, ignoring the shatter of the ink jar. He ripped up what music he had managed to think of and write down, and stormed away, his feet pounding down the corridor, leaving Christine thoroughly confused and worried.
She'd seen him lose his temper and kill, kidnap, and threaten, but in all the time that she had know her Angel of Music, she had never, not once, seen him get so angry or upset that he tore up his music or destroyed his ink supply and quill. Her only thought as she plunged down the hall after him was that something must have been really wrong, or he'd not have done that.
She finally realized he must have gone- to his study, where he normally went when frustrated. He lost himself in his favourite pieces, hoping they would soothe him. Actually, that was what tipped Christine that he was in there. She could hear soft music coming from behind the rich mahogany door. She opened it, noticing that he visibly winced at her seeing him without his mask or wig. Christine ignored it and walked up to him, sitting beside him on the blood red sofa he had in his study. She ran a hand gently down the unmarred side of his face.
"What's wrong?" She asked, the concern dripping from her voice. Erik looked guilty.
"I couldn't think of anything to write..." he trailed, realizing how childish he sounded. He'd had a tantrum over such a small, matter. He ducked his head, embarrassed.
Christine muffled a giggle. "It's okay, you know. Sometimes we all have issues thinking of things to write." She consoled, hoping he did not hear the break in her voice.
He looked back up at her. "I know." He whispered. "I'll paste the sheets of music together again, and get more ink and a new quill." He replied. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, Angel." He added, standing up and offering his hand to Christine. She took it.
"It's okay, Angel. You didn't. But I don't think I've ever seen the Phantom of the Opera throw a tantrum before!"
See what I mean? It probably sucked, but it was a thought that I had to get out of my system. I couldn't help but picture Erik storming away because he had a writer's block. I am also aware that I didn't do so well when it came to writing their personalities, but please keep in mind that this actually only my second fan fiction ever, let alone a Phan Phiction. So please be kind when reviewing (hint hint) my story. Thanks for reading, despite the fact that it was totally off the rails of any 'The Phantom of the Opera. '