A/N: Just a bit of non-betaed silliness inspired by too much cake (is betaed a word? If not, it should be). All errors are my own. I do not own any characters from Phantom of the Opera, Kim Possible, Abba, Golden Girls, Hello Kitty, or anything else that looks vaguely familiar. Nor do I own Orlando Bloom (not that I'd want to--more of a Depp girl myself). However, it is true what Glamour says about the perfect blow-out...This is not intended to be Raoul-bashing, but it does come across that way. Actually, it is intended to be a send-up of the 'Raoul as a fop mentality' often found in fan-fiction. I may do a parody of Erik and Christine as well, just to keep things fair. If you've made it through the A/N, please enjoy the story.
The Amazing Adventures of Fop-Man
Ridding the world of evil one mullet at a time
Raoul couldn't hear the ring of his cell phone at first over the roar of his hair dryer. As he turned the heat down to "cool" to set the style (Glamour says it's a key step for the perfect blow-out), he noticed the stirring tones of Dancing Queen blasting from the phone.
"Young and sweet, only seventeen," he sang, searching through the various bottles, tubes, and jars that littered his vanity (insert your own joke about the man's vanity here as your author searches for the plot). "Hello?"
"Headquarters," a voice identified. "We have a situation and we need your assistance." (Ok, I found it…Kinda)
"My assistance? My assistance?" Raoul's voice rose. An unkind observer would compare it to a cross between a squealing pig and a yippy Chihuahua, if the two were to mate, then pull the tails of their resulting progeny while poking them with homemade "Muffins Unite" buttons. "Why are you calling me? The last time I offered to help you guys save the world, you blew me off for that Kim Possible tramp."
"Um…yes, well." The voice cleared its throat. "Could you come down right away?"
"Aren't you going to apologize?"
"For what?"
"For turning me down? For taking my very kind offer of assistance and throwing it back in my face like a…like a," Raoul searched desperately for a simile, metaphor, or exclamation to adequately express his wrath. He finally found it (whatever "it" was). "A nasty travel mug you've left in your car way too long because you forgot about it, and when you remember it, it's all moldy and gross, so gross you don't even want to put it in your dishwasher, so you just throw it away?"
"Um…uh…hate it when that happens. Let me talk to my supervisor and I'll get right back to you." Click.
Raoul stared numbly at the phone in his hand. Time to change the wallpaper. Maybe something piratey. Orlando Bloom is piratey. And he has great hair.
With that, he shed his bathrobe and lovingly hung it on the back of the door before shrugging into his clothes. He loved that robe: it was pink, with the word "Diva" embroidered on the back. It suited his personality, although technically he had intended it for Christine. But why waste a perfectly good bathrobe on her when she'd dumped him for that freak under the Opera House? They were probably down there right now, watching that Kim Possible. Erik had tapped into the Opera's digital cable.
Why does sKim Possble get her own show? Raoul pouted as he consulted the checklist on his mirror. I could have my own TV show and it would be way better than hers. I'm live-action!
Shower? Check.
Coiffure? Check.
Outfit and Accessories? He threw a sporty white sweater over his Ralph Lauren-clad shoulders. Check.
Fly zipped? Check.
Minty-fresh breath? Check.
Satisfied, he walked out to his waiting SUV and sped down the drive (license plate: FOPRIFC). It was long (the driveway, not the SUV). Long, long, long. Because he was rich, and it was a rule that rich people had to have long driveways. Really long. Long enough to make sure they were sheltered from the prying masses. Long enough to…ok, look, it was really long, ok? Got that? Good.
As he drove, he tuned in to a morning talk show.
"Kim and Kay-Bob in the morning! We have a caller on the line. Hey, what's your name?"
"Vicious Eddy."
"Hi there, Vicious Eddy. You're our tenth caller. Wanna know what you've won?"
"No. I have no interest in your deplorable prizes. I'm calling because I'm the most dangerous man in the world. Me, Vicious Eddy. I'm a villain. A super villain, you could say."
The radio hosts tittered. "Well, there, Vicious Eddy…hey, is 'Vicious' your real name? Like, did your momma name you 'Vicious'?"
Raoul snickered. They're so witty, he thought. He wished he could be that funny.
"Boy, Kay-Bob, I'd hate to have been in the delivery room when he was born. But enough of that, it's time to play Are you," a wah-wah sound effect played, "Smarter than an eighth-grader?"
"OH!" Raoul straightened in the driver's seat. He loved this game.
"I didn't call to play games. I called because I—"
"Kim, have we got an eight-grader on the line?"
"We sure do, Kay-Bob."
Vicious Eddy interrupted again. "I have no interest in playing your stupid games—"
Raoul snickered again. Vicious Eddy reminded him of Erik, but with better social skills. After all, Erik would never call a radio station and talk to people. He'd just Punjab them, or blow them up, or something else that would result in carnage. Although Erik's hair wasn't terribly bad, at least in the cover art for Susan Kay's book. It actually looked lush and full. He could use a good blow-out, Raoul mused, but I'm not sure there's electricity down under the Opera, so it would be hard to run the dryer. But anyone who can pirate cable should be able to do some basic electrical work. Christine might like electricity… Christine's hair had so much texture, she usually opted to air-dry, but there were other good things about electricity. Like hot water, hot food, electric can openers, refrigeration…
Electricity—It's not just blow dryers anymore! Raoul's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of trumpets announcing the first question.
"Ok, here we go. Category, Social Studies. Who is the Vice President of the United States?"
"You mean, like, right now?" a strange female voice asked. She sounded young. Raoul guessed she was the student.
"Yes, right now."
Raoul frowned. I should know this, I should know this...
"Rice, ok?" Vicious Eddy barked. "Her name is Condoleeza Rice. And now, I'd like to say something."
Rats. I knew that, I almost had it.
"Vicious Eddy—Vicious, can I call you Vicious? Great. Vicious, we're right in the middle of---"
"Shut up, you insufferable moron. You repulse me." Raoul winced. Erik had said the exact same thing to him the last time they met, and it hurt his feelings. He wondered if Kay-Bob's (or was it Kim's?) feelings were hurt, and vowed to send them a card and some samples from his new skin-care line, Forever Chagny.
"I want everyone to know that I, the most dangerous man in the world, am now holding it hostage for….ONE MILLION DOLLARS! If the world's governments do not comply with my demands, I will release a terrifying—"
"Next caller?" Kay-Bob suggested brightly, as Raoul finally (finally!) drove out the gates and pulled onto the street. He had to get to headquarters.
Rauol pulled up before a small shop; the garish painting on the windows advertised used furniture and pet grooming, but Raoul knew this was only a cover for the real business in the back. Truthfully, he was a bit miffed no one was outside waiting for him. He had to park the SUV himself, and made a mental note to ask Firman and Andre about hiring a valet. He was sure the other operatives would appreciate it. Superheroes had better things to do with their time than parallel parking.
Throwing the door open, he strode purposefully towards the back, his majestic progress only somewhat halted when he tripped over a Hello Kitty footstool.
I wonder what they want for that...
He slipped through a nondescript door. "I am here," he announced with what he thought was a commanding gesture.
Twenty heads stayed bowed over their computer terminals. Raoul spotted Firman standing before a series of giant plasma screens and crossed the room to join him. One showed a map of series of slow-moving red dots, one featured Dr. Phil, and another a Golden Girls rerun. Raoul liked the Golden Girls. He watched a few moments: Sophia was a riot and this wasn't one of the episodes he had on DVD.
"I am here," he announced again, this time somewhat more humbly.
"Oh," Firman turned. "It's you. Sorry I didn't hear you come in." He shook his head. "That Sophia is a riot."
Raoul wondered if he should confess his own fondness for the wrinkled old crone, but decided against it. He knew some of the others thought him a fop; his penchant for that particular show would only add to his reputation. Not that he worried about it too much. Others might think him a fop, true, but they had likely had split ends.
"You sent for me?" he asked.
Firman turned and walked towards his office, beckoning him to follow. "Yes, we have a situation, nothing too difficult, but it needs to be dealt with nonetheless."
"Vicious Eddy?" Raoul guessed.
"How did find out about him?" Firman closed his office door and perched on a corner of his desk. He picked up his Curious George snowglobe, turning it upside down. Briefly, he wondered if George had a Persian outfit. He'd be so cute in a turban, the little scamp.
"He was on the radio this morning. He's smarter than an eighth-grader," Raoul added helpfully, interrupting Firman's mental vacation.
Firman's unspoken "And you're not hung in the air", but he simply shook his head and watched as George was obscured by swirling white stuff. Everyone knew Raoul had been trying to win that radio game for ages. "Here's the file." He handed Raoul a yellow folder. "We would have sent someone else but," he shrugged, "everyone's busy with movie premieres. And it's not terribly high-stakes anyway. I can't believe Vicious can do any real damage, but it's good to be cautious."
"But he said he would release a 'terrifying' if his demands weren't met."
"A'terrifying' what?"
"I don't know. They hung up on him and went to the next caller before he could finish. I think that's a bit rude, don't you?"
Firman stared at him. "You should have all the information you need in that file," he said, ignoring Raoul's question. "Any gear you need, go down to Y."
"Why what?" Raoul tried to keep from laughing at his own joke.
"Funny, Fop-man. Now go change and get out there."
Raoul stopped by his locker then went to the row of phone boths lining one wall. This is my chance, he thought, changing into a pair of black bike shorts. He was glad he recently had his legs waxed. If I make good on this assignment, they'll have to treat me with more respect. Then Christine'll be begging me to take her back. He pulled a pair of tiny red bikini briefs on over the shorts, and donned a tight black shirt with a red F blazoned on the front. A matching red cape followed. A black mask, just enough to protect his anonymity, finished the look.
Raoul gazed at his reflection with pride. Sure, it took confidence to wear such a daring get-up, but he had the body for it. He wondered briefly if he should thank Erik, as Erik's own fashion choices had inspired him somewhat when he designed his Fop-man costume. The man might be a psychopath, but he was a snazzy dresser, although his skincare regime left a bit to be desired. Perhaps I should send him some Forever Chagny samples when this business with Vicious Eddy is settled. He strapped on a utility belt decked with an assortment of combs and brushes, then grabbed his two favorite weapons: a two-liter bottle of Aqua-Net and his sleek black ionic dryer (it doubled as a steam cleaner and a postage dispenser).
"Look out, Viscous Eddy," he drawled, looking into the mirror and copying his mama's Texas accent. She had been Miss Dallas four years running. The grand prize had been stock in a hairspray plant. "Fop-man's gunnin' for ya! Draw, ya yellow sucka'. " He drew his blow-dryer and aimed it at his reflection. "Pa-chow!"