"Carlotta will be in a tizzy once she sees our new playbill." Meg's voice drifted through the one-way mirror as Erik strode past it on quick and silent feet. Though, at the words, the phantom footsteps paused in mid-step, drawn to the curiosity (and slight irritation) that Carlotta's name always produced.

"I don't know if we should offend her anymore than we already have, Meg. Erik insists on my superiority, yet I cannot see what he sees."

Erik recoiled. How could Christine be so ignorant to her own talents? And so deaf, to be praising La Carlotta, of all people!

Erik growled, the throaty rumble, which usually likened itself to a crouching tiger, came out cracked and broken-pitched. The sound was so horrid, it startled, not only the phantom, but the two occupants in the dressing room. The two girls shrieked, dainty hands flying to their costume-covered bosoms. "A banshee!" Meg cried, horror in her eyes and tone, but excitement tugging at her lips.

Erik's eyes rolled in his head. A banshee, Meg Giry? Truly?

He scoffed, flapped aside his cape dramatically (Nobody's there to see it, but it still made Erik feel a bit more dignified at least. A banshee...honestly!) and continued on his way. Another minute of traversing through the dark and dank tunnels had him arriving at the esteemed Madame Giry's office.

The woman was sat at her desk, as prim and proper as ever, hair tied up, cane settled against the desk next to her, and fountain pen flying over parchment as she wrote out some missive or other.

He engaged the mechanism on the door and swept in, cloak and laryngitis and all. The woman didn't look up from her letter, merely muttered out, "Good afternoon, Erik."

He cleared his throat, hoping to all non-existent Gods that he could make it through this one sentence. He worked his tongue around, swallowed to lubricate his throat, then -

"I'm quite busy at the moment, Erik. Please, do go on wasting my time; because, apparently, no other person's lives matter but your own." Madame Giry said, scribbling harder than necessary. Her annoyance wasn't truly with the poor boy, but she couldn't help venting it out on the closest person to her at the moment. Which just so happened to be Erik.

This damned landlord was raising the rent...AGAIN! She was having none of this. If that blasted, lecherous, slosh for a man even dared to take one more franc from her more than necessary, she was going to show him just how far that cane could go before it broke. Preferably on his back!

"Well?!"

Erik recoiled once more, frustration and anger building in his chest. "I - " He croaked, the sound causing him to wince in both pain and embarrassment. "I require - " He broke off to cough silently into his sleeve.

Madame Giry sighed, still focused fully on her work. "Erik, if you do not wish to tell me, then why have you even come? I cannot imagine it would be because of my exceptionally pleasant company."

"Madame, I - " His eyes clenched shut as a wave of pain tore through his throat like fire. DAMNED ILLNESS! If it was a living being, he'd hang the blasted thing by its neck!

Madame Giry sighed loudly, slamming her fountain pen down, eyes turning skyward. Lord give her strength to deal with infuriating phantoms!

"Spit it out, man!"

Erik growled, low in his throat, and - remembering his last attempt at such a thing - very quietly. He whirled around, cape flowing along with him in an arc, and stepped back into the darkness. He came to ask for her help to get some medicine, and she chases him away with her moodiness! Well, Erik didn't need to put up with this. He didn't need her!