This fanfic is unabashedly inspired by "When Fangirls Attack: Erik's Worst Nightmare." It is very similar, apart from the fact that the author, characters, setting, and writing style are totally different. I'm not yet sure whether it will have more humor or more seriousness, but it should have both in large doses. In this case, the fanboy (Ben) is going to the world of La Traviata, a splendid opera (my favorite), music by Verdi.
Ben's POV:
"Darn it," I whispered to myself, dropping my backpack onto the floor. I'm going to be late. The overture's almost finished. And how do you even say "darn" in Italian, anyway?
I went up to the bathroom mirror. Well, I'm looking pretty in-period. I smiled. The glasses are a bit too modern, but oh well, I'm not going to try to do without them. It had been hard enough to find a suit that would pass in the 19th century and complete the transaction without confusing my parents. I held out the printout with instructions on tying a tie, concentrating on properly folding it around my neck; not something I was used to. I frowned upon bringing up the knot; a bit uncomfortably tight. Oh well. I grinned; at least it looked alright! Indeed, I thought as I plopped a hat upon my unkempt brown hair, I look way more distinguished than usual. Forgetting my hurry, I took a moment to make faces at myself, then widen my eyes and stare at their reflection. Vain and egotistical as it was, I felt almost proud at the swirls of green and gray and flecks of yellow-brown, as if, in some way, I could credit myself with their creation.
I shook myself and turned back to my backpack. Ugh, I really do have a problem with dawdling. I could miss the opening! Quickly, I unzipped a compartment and shoved in my shoes, sweatpants, owl sweatshirt, and salaam T-shirt, jamming them around Meggy's case—Meggy being the name of my laptop. I had a lot of important files stored on her, and it would be a shame to lose access; well, I'd gotten a hand-cranked battery charger so that lack of electricity wouldn't be an issue.
Okay, anything else I need? I had enough 19th century money—American, but there would surely be an opportunity to exchange it—I had some books, a few CDs, an alarm clock, toothbrush and toothpaste, stuff for acne, pajamas, a green fleece blanket, an electric shaver—I didn't want to do that the authentic way—, a brush, an enormous stash of Kleenex, a few stuffed animals, a little medical first-aid kit, an Italian dictionary… and, of course, the libretto to La Traviata. For soon, at last, I would be able to see Violetta Valéry, not just a singer taking her role, but the real fictional character. My heart raced. I would actually go there, there in another universe where opera really happened, where French people spoke Italian and orchestra music came from thin air for accompaniment.
Not that I was entirely sure what I'd do upon arrival. I couldn't go back until Violetta's death, I knew—that was the way the other universe worked—and as a 17-year old with few skills beyond academics, and a self-admitted lack of common sense, I had little way of providing for myself… but I'd figure something out.
I hoisted my backpack—a necessary anachronism—and closed my eyes. As the opening chords of La Traviata sounded through the Chicago Lyric Opera, I jumped from the ground, letting all contact with this dull, mainstream universe slip away, letting myself drift into the speeding melodies of the opening party music, into the world of pure opera.
I am another commentivore, so please ensure that I do not go into a coma by giving me a healthy number of comments. I understand that, if you are not reading this, you may not be able to comment, but if you are, please do, unless you are actively undergoing major surgery at this very moment.